I’ll not endure it:  you forget yourself,
     To hedge me in; I am a soldier, I,
     Older in practice, abler than yourself
     To make conditions. 
Bru.  Go to; you are not, Cassius. 
Cas.  I am. 
Bru.  I say you are not. 
Cas.  Urge me no more, I shall forget myself: 
     Have mind upon your health; tempt me no further. 
Bru.  Away, slight man! 
Cas.  Is’t possible? 
Bru.  Hear me, for I will speak. 
     Must I give way and room to your rash choler? 
     Shall I be frighted when a madman stares? 
Cas.  O ye gods! ye gods! must I endure all this? 
Bru.  All this!  Ay, more:  fret till your proud heart break;
     Go, show your slaves how choleric you are,
     And make your bondmen tremble.  Must I budge? 
     Must I observe you?  Must I stand and crouch
     Under your testy humor?  By the gods,
     You shall digest the venom of your spleen,
     Though it do split you; for, from this day forth,
     I’ll use you for my mirth, yea for my laughter,
     When you are waspish. 
Cas.  Is it come to this? 
Bru.  You say you are a better soldier;
     Let it appear so; make your vaunting true,
     And it shall please me well:  for mine own part,
     I shall be glad to learn of noble men. 
Cas.  You wrong me every way; you wrong me, Brutus;
     I said, an elder soldier, not a better: 
     Did I say “better”? 
Bru.  If you did, I care not. 
Cas.  When Caesar lived, he durst not thus have moved me. 
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: 
     By heaven!  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 an 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: