Thou hast described A hot friend cooling: ever note, Lucilius, When love begins to sicken and decay, It useth an enforced ceremony. There are no tricks in plain and simple faith; But hollow men, like horses hot at hand, Make gallant show and promise of their mettle; But when they should endure the bloody spur, They fall their crests, and, like deceitful jades, Sink in the trial. Comes his army on?

They mean this night in Sardis to be quarter’d; The greater part, the horse in general, Are come with Cassius.

Hark! he is arrived. Low march within. March gently on to meet him.

Judge me, you gods! wrong I mine enemies? And, if not so, how should I wrong a brother?

Brutus, this sober form of yours hides wrongs; And when you do them⁠—