"_Et hi Brute!_ was a mighty dextrous Parthian bolt, but it whistled away, I know not whither. Would Cæsar have been so bad a marksman, as not to have distinguished his own Anthony from the wretch who played the brute part in the capitol? Why, de Montemar you are as much like the lantern-jawed Cassius, as I to that nose-led Stoic! You are too profound in canonization not to have read of a certain saint, no matter his name, who, with a pair of convenient red-hot pincers, clutched the devil by his feature of honour, and so dragged him roaring round the world. Cassius was no saint, whatever he might be of a conjuror; but I never hear your king-killing demagogues vaunting of their _prince of patriots_, without seeing the pincers at his nose. So, prithee, my dainty Cæsar, no more misnomers if you would not have me requite you in kind! "And so, you even took the flood! I would not for happier hours, than even those your stubbornness wrested from me, I would not have lost that proof of your substance. You know I am _a being of vapour_! People who say so, must not wonder that I should be glad to play the atmosphere round something worth my while. Louis! had you not believed them, would you have fled me like a pestilence? "Being of a gentle nature, as full of ruth as perhaps I ought to be of ruefulness, I will not bristle the grey locks of your venerable uncle this Saturday night, by likening him to any old woman on earth or in heaven. But I have a shrewd guess, that like the good lady Calphurnia, he pretends to dream; and on the evidence of such whimsies will report you my orisons! ----Pulchra Laverna, Da mihi fallere, da justum sanctumque videri. --Oh, wizards, how little do you know the mettle of Philip Wharton!--In the face of day, and of these darkling augurs, I avow that it is my object to make you my own! My true spirit, wearied with the tricks of men, and their sordid chemistry, Delights to quaff the yet untasted spring, And pluck the virgin flower! "Is there a cloak over this dagger, my panic-struck Cæsar? "However, that there may be no more alarms in. Saint Cuthbert's sanctuary, tell the holy man I have met Romulus's fate. If you look for me to-night it must be amongst the stars; for, after this is dispatched, neither Bamborough nor England, will hold your faithful. "Bamborough Castle, Saturday night."