CASSIUS.
And why should Caesar be a tyrant then?
Poor man! I know he would not be a wolf,
But that he sees the Romans are but sheep:
He were no lion, were not Romans hinds.
Those that with haste will make a mighty fire
Begin it with weak straws. What trash is Rome,
What rubbish, and what offal, when it serves
For the base matter to illuminate
So vile a thing as Caesar! But, O grief,
Where hast thou led me? I, perhaps, speak this
Before a willing bondman: then I know
My answer must be made; but I am arm’d,
And dangers are to me indifferent.
CASCA.
You speak to Casca, and to such a man
That is no fleering tell-tale. Hold, my hand:
Be factious for redress of all these griefs,
And I will set this foot of mine as far
As who goes farthest.
CASSIUS.
There’s a bargain made.
Now know you, Casca, I have mov’d already
Some certain of the noblest-minded Romans
To undergo with me an enterprise
Of honourable-dangerous consequence;
And I do know by this, they stay for me
In Pompey’s Porch: for now, this fearful night,
There is no stir or walking in the streets;
And the complexion of the element
In favour’s like the work we have in hand,
Most bloody, fiery, and most terrible.
Enter Cinna.
CASCA.
Stand close awhile, for here comes one in haste.
CASSIUS.
’Tis Cinna; I do know him by his gait;
He is a friend. Cinna, where haste you so?
CINNA.
To find out you. Who’s that? Metellus Cimber?
CASSIUS.
No, it is Casca, one incorporate
To our attempts. Am I not stay’d for, Cinna?
CINNA.
I am glad on’t. What a fearful night is this!
There’s two or three of us have seen strange sights.
CASSIUS.
Am I not stay’d for? tell me.