Page 2159 - Shakespeare - Vol. 2

I turn the trouble of my countenance
Merely upon myself. Vexèd I am
Of late with passions of some difference, [40]
Conceptions only proper to myself,

Which give some soil, perhaps, to my behaviours.
But let not therefore my good friends be grieved −
Among which number, Cassius, be you one −
Nor construe any further my neglect [45]

Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war,
Forgets the shows of love to other men.

CASSIUS
Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion,
By means whereof this breast of mine hath buried
Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations. [50]

Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face?

BRUTUS
No, Cassius; for the eye sees not itself
But by reflection, by some other things.

CASSIUS
’Tis just;

And it is very much lamented, Brutus, [55]
That you have no such mirrors as will turn
Your hidden worthiness into your eye,
That you might see your shadow. I have heard
Where many of the best respect in Rome −

Except immortal Caesar − speaking of Brutus, [60]
And groaning underneath this age’s yoke,
Have wished that noble Brutus had his eyes.

BRUTUS
Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius,

That you would have me seek into myself
For that which is not in me? [65]

CASSIUS