CASSIUS.
Most noble brother, you have done me wrong.
BRUTUS.
Judge me, you gods! wrong I mine enemies?
And, if not so, how should I wrong a brother?
CASSIUS.
Brutus, this sober form of yours hides wrongs;
And when you do them —
BRUTUS.
Cassius, be content;
Speak your griefs softly, I do know you well.
Before the eyes of both our armies here,
Which should perceive nothing but love from us,
Let us not wrangle; bid them move away;
Then in my tent, Cassius, enlarge your griefs,
And I will give you audience.
CASSIUS.
Pindarus,
Bid our commanders lead their charges off
A little from this ground.
BRUTUS.
Lucilius, do you the like; and let no man
Come to our tent till we have done our conference. —
Lucius and Titinius, guard our door.
[Exeunt.]
