_Cassius._ I cannot tell what you and other men Think of this life; but for my single self, I had as lief not be, as live to be In awe of such a thing as I myself. I was born free as Cæsar, so were you; We both have fed as well; and we can both Endure the winter’s cold as well as he. For once, upon a raw and gusty day, The troubled Tyber chasing with his shores, Cæsar says to me, Dar’st thou, Cassius, now Leap in with me into this angry flood, And swim to yonder point?--Upon the word, Accoutred as I was, I plunged in, And bid him follow; so indeed he did. The torrent roar’d, and we did buffet it With lusty sinews; throwing it aside, And stemming it with hearts of controversy. But ere we could arrive the point propos’d, Cæsar cry’d, Help me, Cassius, or I sink. I, as Æneas, our great ancestor, Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder The old Anchises bear; so from the waves of Tyber Did I the tired Cæsar: and this man Is now become a god, and Cassius is A wretched creature; and must bend his body, If Cæsar carelessly but nod on him. He had a fever when he was in Spain, And when the fit was on him, I did mark How he did shake. ’Tis true, this god did shake; His coward lips did from their colour fly, And that same eye whose bend doth awe the world, Did lose its lustre; I did hear him grone: Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans Mark him, and write his speeches in their books, Alas! it cry’d---- Give me some drink, Titinius---- As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me, A man of such a feeble temper should So get the start of the majestic world, And bear the palm alone. _Julius Cæsar, act I. sc. 3._ Glo’ster inflamed with resentment against his son Edgar, could even work himself into a momentary conviction that they were not related. O strange fasten’d villain! Would he deny his letter?--I never got him. _King Lear, act 2. sc. 3._ When by a great sensibility of heart or other means, grief swells beyond what the cause can justify, the mind is prone to magnify the cause, in order to gratify the passion. And if the real cause admit not of being magnified, the mind seeks a cause for its grief in imagined future events. _Bushy._ Madam, your Majesty is much too sad; You promis’d, when you parted with the King, To lay aside self-harming heaviness, And entertain a chearful disposition.