e not.

Cassius: When Caesar lived he durst not thus have moved me.

Brutus: Peace, peace! you durst not thus have tempted him.

Cassius: I durst not!

Brutus: No.

Cassius: What! Durst not tempt him!

Brutus: For your life you durst not.

Cassius: Do not presume too much upon my love;
I may do that I shall be sorry for.

Brutus: You have done that you should be sorry for.

And so on till he gets to the matter of the refused quids, which is
cleared up at the expense of the messenger.

Cassius: .... Brutus hath rived my heart
A friend should bear his friend's infirmities,
But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.

Brutus: I do not, till you practise them on me.

Cassius: You love me not.

Brutus: I do not like your faults.

Cassius: A friendly eye could never see such faults.

Brutus: A flatterer's would not, though they do appear
As huge as high Olympus.

Then Cassius lets himself go. He calls on Antony and young Octavius and
all the rest of 'em to come and be revenged on him alone, for he's tired
of the world ("Cassius is aweary of the world," he says). He's hated
by one he loves (that's Brutus). He's braved by his "brother" (Brutus),
checked like a bondman, and Brutus keeps an eye on all his faults and
puts 'em down in a note-book, and learns 'em over and gets 'em off by
memory to cast in his teeth. He offers Brutus his dagger and bare breast
and wants Brutus to take out his heart, which, he says, is richer than
all the quids--or rather gold--which Brutus said he wouldn't lend him.
He wants Brutus to strike him as he did Caesar, for he reckons that when
Brutus hated Caesar worst he loved him far better than ever he loved
Cassius.

Remember these men were Southerners, like ourselves, not cold-blooded
Northerners--and, in spite of the seemingly effeminate Italian
temperament, as brave as our men were at Elands River. The reason of
Brutus's seeming coldness and hardness during the quarrel is set forth
in a startling manner later on, as only the greatest poet in this world
could do it.

Brutus tells him kindly to put up his pig-sticker (and button his shirt)
and he could be just as mad or good-tempered as he liked, and do what he
liked, Brutus wouldn't mind him:

.... Dishonour shall be humour.
O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb
That carrie