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