Bru. Peace, peace; you durst not so have tempted him. Cas. I durst not?

Bru. No.

Cas. What! durst not tempt him?

Bru. For your life you durst not.

Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love;

I may do that I shall be sorry for.

Bru. You have done that you should be sorry for.
There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats;

For I am armed so strong in honesty,
That they pass by me as the idle wind,
Which I respect not. I did send to you

For certain sums of gold, which you denied me;
For I can raise no money by vile means:
I had rather coin my heart,

And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring
From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash
By any indirection. I did send

To you for gold to pay my legions,

Which you denied me: was that done like Cassius?
Should I have answered Caius Cassius so?
When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous,
To lock such rascal counters from his friends,
Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts,-
Dash him to pieces.

Cas. I denied you not.

Bru. You did.

Cas. I did not: he was but a fool

That brought my answer back.-Brutus hath rived my

heart:

A friend should bear his friend's infirmities,

But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.
Bru. I do not, till you practise them on me.
Cas. You love me not.

Bru. I do not like your faults.

Cas. A friendly eye could never see such faults.
Bru. A flatterer's would not, though they do appear

As huge as high Olympus.

Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come, Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius,

For Cassius is aweary of the world:

Hated by one he loves; braved by his brother;
Checked like a bondman; all his faults observed,
Set in a note-book, learned and conned by rote,
To cast into my teeth. Oh, I could weep
My spirit from mine eyes!-There is my dagger,
And here my naked breast; within, a heart
Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold:
If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth;

I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart:

Strike as thou didst at Cæsar; for I know,

When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him better

Than ever thou lovedst Cassius.

Bru. Sheathe your dagger:

Be angry when you will, it shall have scope;
Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour.
O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb,
That carries anger as the flint bears fire;
Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark,
And straight is cold again.

Cas. Hath Cassius lived

To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus,
When grief or blood ill-tempered vexeth him?

Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill-tempered too.
Cas. Do you confess so much? Give me your hand.
Bru. And my heart too.

Cas. O Brutus!

Bru. What's the matter?

Cas. Have you not love enough to bear with me, When that rash humour which my mother gave me Makes me forgetful?

Bru. Yes, Cassius; and from henceforth,

When you are over-earnest with your Brutus,
He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so.

II.-MERCY.

(SHAKSPERE.)

THE quality of mercy is not strained;
It droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed;
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes:
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown:
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,

Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
But mercy is above this sceptred sway;

It is enthroned in the hearts of kings.

It is an attribute to God himself.;

And earthly power doth then show likest God's
When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, man,
Though justice be thy plea, consider this,-
That, in the course of justice, none of us
Should see salvation. We do pray for mercy;
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render
The deeds of mercy.

III.-HAMLET ON DEATH.

(SHAKSPERE.)

To be, or not to be, that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And, by opposing, end them?-To die-to sleep—
No more; and, by a sleep, to say we end
The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to-'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die—to sleep-

To sleep!-perchance to dream—ay, there's the rub.—
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause.-There's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life:

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,
To groan and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death
(That undiscovered country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns), puzzles the will,

And makes us rather bear those ills we have,
Than fly to others that we know not of.
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all:
And thus the native hue of resolution

Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought;
And enterprises of great pith and moment,
With this regard, their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.

IV.—SHYLOCK, BASSANIO, AND ANTONIO.

(SHAKSPERE.)

Shy. THREE thousand ducats,-well.

Bass. Ay, sir, for three months.

Shy. For three months,—well.

Bass. For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be bound.

Shy. Antonio shall become bound,-well.

Bass. May you stead me? Will you pleasure me? Shall I know your answer?

Shy. Three thousand ducats, for three months, and Antonio bound.

Bass. Your answer to that.

Shy. Antonio is a good man.

Bass. Have you heard any imputation to the contrary? Shy. Ho, no, no, no, no. My meaning, in saying he is a good man, is to have you understand me that he is sufficient. Yet his means are in supposition. He hath an argosy bound to Tripolis, another to the Indies; I understand, moreover, upon the Rialto, he hath a third at Mexico, a fourth for England; and other ventures he hath squandered abroad. But ships are but boards; sailors, but men. There be land rats and water rats, land thieves and water thieves; I mean pirates: and then there is the peril of waters, winds, and rocks. The man is, notwithstanding, sufficient:-three thousand ducats;—I think I may take his

bond.

Bass. Be assured you may.

Shy. I will be assured I may; and, that I may be assured, I will bethink me. May I speak with Antonio?

Bass. If it please you to dine with us.

Shy. Yes, to smell pork; to eat of the habitation which your prophet, the Nazarite, conjured the devil into. I will buy with you, sell with you, talk with you, walk with you, and so following; but I will not eat with you, drink with you, nor pray with you.-What news on the Rialto?-Who is he comes here? [Enter Antonio.

Bass. This is Signior Antonio.

Shy. [Aside.] How like a fawning publican he looks!

I hate him, for he is a Christian :

But more, for that in low simplicity

He lends out money gratis, and brings down
The rate of usance here with us in Venice.
If I can catch him once upon the hip,

I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him.
He hates our sacred nation; and he rails,
Even there where merchants most do congregate,
On me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift,
Which he calls interest. Cursed be my tribe,
If I forgive him.

Bass. Shylock, do you hear?

Shy. I am debating on my present store;
And, by the near guess of my memory,
I cannot instantly raise up the gross