I cannot think Dr. Johnson, Mason, and Delius are right in supposing the Genius to be the power which watches over us for our protection, and that the mortal instruments are the passions which rebel against it, and, as Johnson says, ‘excite him to a deed of honour and danger.’ The Genius and the mortal instruments are in council. The Genius is the president and the mortal instruments are subordinates. The insurrection is their resistance because they cannot at once be brought to do what the Genius directs. There is no hint in what goes before of ‘safety.’ The mortal instruments suggest ‘I know no personal cause to spurn at him.’ Blakeway agrees with this interpretation. In both Plutarch and Shakespeare, Brutus refuses to kill Antony. Brutus will go no further than justice demands. But this is not enough for success. Hence the ruin of the republican cause. Steevens says that the apparition at Sardis ‘could not be at once the shade of Cæsar and the evil genius of Brutus.’ But Shakespeare intended that it should be both. Brutus in the fifth scene of the fifth act thus replies to Volumnius: ‘The ghost of Cæsar hath appear’d to me Two several times by night: at Sardis, once; And, this last night, here in Philippi’s fields.’ It is an instance of Steevens’ prosaic temper that he could not see the fitness of the combination. _Brutus_. And whether we shall meet again I know not. Therefore our everlasting farewell take; For ever, and for ever, farewell, Cassius! If we do meet again, why, we shall smile; If not, why then, this parting was well made. _Cassius_. For ever, and for ever, farewell, Brutus! If we do meet again, we’ll smile indeed; If not, ’tis true, this parting was well made. These verses are perhaps the noblest in our language. Nothing ever has gone or could go beyond them. Shakespeare here justifies the claim on his behalf to be placed alone and unreachable. Observe the repetition by Cassius almost word for word. Swift must have had this passage in his mind when in a letter to Pope, which I quote from memory, as I cannot lay my hand on it, he tells Pope that he will come over to England and see him if possible, but, if not, ‘we must part, as all human creatures have parted.’ ‘Why, then, lead on. O! that a man might know The end of this day’s business ere it come! But it sufficeth that the day will end, And then the end is known. Come, ho! away!’ These lines might easily be turned into commonplace, but what could be more pathetic or solemn?