Elfe I confess that I am guilty too:

If he loves CÆSAR, all that he can do

Is to be griev'd, and pine away for CÆSAR:
And it were ftrange he should; for he is given
Too much to Wildness, Company, and Pleasures.
CASSIUS.

There is no fear of him; let him not die;
For he will live and laugh at this hereafter,

DECIMUS BRUTUS,

But hold, how late's the Night?

BRUTUS.

'Tis five, at least,

CASSIUS.

O how I long to welcome the Eighth Hour,
The wifh'd Alarm to our great Purposes!

DECIMUS BRUTUS.

'Tis time to part, left at our feveral Homes We fhould be mifs'd too long.

CASSIUS.

But what if CÆSAR

Should forbear coming to the Capitol ?
The unaccustom'd Terror of this Night
May move the Augurs to forbid his going :
And, tho' himself's above fuch idle Fears,

Yet the most wise and brave must yield to Custom.

DE

DECIMUS BRUTUS.

Never doubt that: And tho' he were refolv'd,
I can o'er-fway him; for he loves to hear me,
Prudence, tho' much fuperior, often yields
To fubtle Mirth, and fly Infinuation.

If CÆSAR stay at home because it thunders,
I can in jeft reproach him with his Fear;

He'll laugh, yet fear he shall be thought afraid.
BRUTUS.

Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch him.
But fee, 'tis almoft Day; fome Light appears.

CASSIUS.

Then let us be difpers'd, like foggy Clouds,
To meet again in Thunder.

BRUTUS.

Friends, farewell.

Only remember that we all are Romans;

That Thought will keep up our exalted Spirits. [Exeunt Confpirators, Manet BRUTUS.

Enter PORTIA undrefs'd, as new rifen from Bed.

PORTIA.

BRUTUS! my Lord, where are you?

BRUTUS.

What, my PORTIA !

Why

Why do you thus expose your tender Health?

PORTIA.

Can I confider Health, without your Love?
You have unkindly ftol'n from me to-night,
And by your Absence robb'd me of my Rest:
How could my BRUTUS thus ungently leave
One fo unwilling to be left by you?

BRUTUS.

Chide not too much, my PORTIA; and yet
There is fome Pleasure to be chid so kindly.
Our Sex has tenderness equal to yours;
Yet we, incumbred with vexatious Cares,
No fooner bend our fofter Thoughts to Love,
But Bufinefs, like a Mafter too fevere,

Stands hov'ring over us amidst our Pleasure,
And drags us to our tiresome Task again,

PORTIA.

But Life is fhort; O why fhould we mifpend it?
A Wretch condemn'd to die within few hours,
Would think them ill employ'd in Complements:
The folemn Trifles of a bufy World

Are oft but Complement, compar'd with Love,
Whose short and precious Hours you throw away,

BRUTUS.

Dear PORTIA, now you but disturb my Thoughts,

POR

PORTIA.

Can mine be easy then? 'tis no small thing

Can vex your even Mind, and make you froward,
Froward with me, which you was ne'er till now:
This Night I folded you within these Arms,
And ask'd you if you flept, if you were well?
You faid, you could not fleep, and yet turn'd from me.
BRUTUS.

Turning from the is Restleffness indeed;
Thou only Comfort to my troubled Mind!
May Joys, and full Content remain in yours.

PORTIA.

Oh, preach Content to one upon a Rack,
And he will hear as foon.

My Soul is fo perplex'd with Fears for you,
That all the Joys of Nature or of Fortune,
Could find no entrance here at fuch a time.

BRUTUS.

Retire, retire; talking fo tenderly,

You, like officious and condoling Friends,
But more afflict that Mind you would compofe.
I hope you think me neither falfe nor foolish;
If it were fit for you to know my Cares,
'Twere ill in me to let you ask me twice:
Let that fuffice, and leave me, 'tis a word,
I never us'd to thee before.

POR

PORTIA.

Alas!

You would not use it now, if ftill you lov'd.
Can you have Thoughts unfit to own to me?
You are unjuft, and I undone, farewel.

BRUTUS.

What means my PORTIA ?

PORTIA.

BRUTUS unjust!

Oh, 'tis a Wonder, which your very Foes
Would not believe, tho' told it by your Friends:
And to me too, who had least cause to fear it!
So little I deferv'd to find him fo.

Am I but only Partner of your Pleasures?
Fit for your trifling Hours, and to be kept
At hateful distance from your nobler Thoughts?
What is it I have innocently done,

To lose that Truft, which always follows Kindness.
And therefore yours is chang'd; I fee it plainly :
Thunder is fall'n on my poor guiltless Head, [Weeps.
And all but I, perhaps, have heard the Blow.

BRUTUS.

In this you wrong me, PORTIA.

PORTIA.

Would I did: