Cassi. Hath Cassius liu'd
To be but Mirth and Laughter to his Brutus,
When greefe and blood ill temper'd, vexeth him?
Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill temper'd too
Cassi. Do you confesse so much? Giue me your hand
Bru. And my heart too
Cassi. O Brutus!
Bru. What's the matter?
Cassi. Haue not you loue enough to beare with me,
When that rash humour which my Mother gaue me
Makes me forgetfull
Bru. Yes Cassius, and from henceforth
When you are ouer-earnest with your Brutus,
Hee'l thinke your Mother chides, and leaue you so.
Enter a Poet.
Poet. Let me go in to see the Generals,
There is some grudge betweene 'em, 'tis not meete
They be alone
Lucil. You shall not come to them
Poet. Nothing but death shall stay me
Cas. How now? What's the matter?
Poet. For shame you Generals; what do you meane?
Loue, and be Friends, as two such men should bee,
For I haue seene more yeeres I'me sure then yee
Cas. Ha, ha, how vildely doth this Cynicke rime?
Bru. Get you hence sirra: Sawcy Fellow, hence