senators; they remonstrate with the Dictator, who retorts with scorn, and who, retaining Brutus for a moment, while dismissing his companions, tells him that it is Brutus alone who can disarm Cæsar—it is he alone whom Cæsar desires to love. Brutus replies:—
If thou'rt a tyrant, I abhor thy smiles:
I will not stay with thee and Antony,
Since he, uncitizened, demands a king.'"
The conspirators meet; and Brutus, impelled to action by such appeals as Shakespeare, following history, tells of, is for killing Cæsar. Before Pompey's statue he vows the death of the Dictator; the others have left the scene, and he is following, when Cæsar's entrance stays him. The ambitious chief reproaches the Republican, reasons with him, draws him almost to confess his fell design, and then gives him Servilia's letter, in which the relationship between them is revealed. Brutus receives the intelligence with more horror than satisfaction; to Cæsar's appeals he at length replies, that if he be indeed his father, he will make one single prayer to him:—
"'Decree me present death—or cease to reign!'"
Cæsar, exasperated, bursts forth against him:—
Unnatural flesh that turns my flesh to stone!—
Thou art no more my son. Go, citizen!
From you remorseless my despairing heart,
The heart you stab, a stern example takes.
Go—Cæsar was not made to pray in vain;
I learn of Brutus human ties to spurn.
I know you not. Raised by my power o'er law
No more I let too partial mercy plead,
