Will purchase us a good opinion,
And buy men's voices to commend our deeds:
It shall be said, his judgment rul'd our hands;
Our youth and wildness shall no whit appear,
But all be buried in his gravity.
BRU. O, name him not! let us not break with him;
For he will never follow any thing
CASCA. Indeed he is not fit.
DEC. Shall no man else be touch'd but only Cæsar?
CASS. Decius, well urg'd. I think it is not meet
Mark Antony, so well-belov'd of Cæsar,
Should outlive Cæsar: we shall find of1 him
A shrewd contriver; and, you know, his means,
If he improve them, may well stretch so far
As to annoy us all: which to prevent,
Let Antony and Cæsar fall together.
BRU. Our course will seem too bloody, Caius Cassius,
To cut the head off, and then hack the limbs,
Like wrath in death, and envy afterwards;
For Antony is but a limb of Cæsar.
Let us be sacrificers, but not butchers, Caius.
We all stand up against the spirit of Cæsar;
And in the spirit of men there is no blood:
O, that we then could come by Cæsar's spirit,
And not dismember Cæsar! But, alas,
Cæsar must bleed for it! And, gentle Friends,
Let's kill him boldly, but not wrathfully;
Let's carve him as a dish fit for the Gods,
Not hew him as a carcass fit for hounds:
And let our hearts, as subtle masters do,
Stir up their servants to an act of rage,
And after seem to chide 'em. This shall mark
Our purpose necessary, and not envious;
Which so appearing to the common eyes,
We shall be call'd purgers, not murderers.
And for Mark Antony, think not of him;
For he can do no more than Cæsar's arm
When Cæsar's head is off.
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Yet I do fear him;
For, in the ingrafted love he bears to Cæsar-
BRU. Alas, good Cassius, do not think of him:
If he love Cæsar, all that he can do
Is to himself, take thought and die for Cæsar:
And that were much he should; for he is given
To sports, to wildness, and much company.
TREB. There is no fear in him; let him not die;
For he will live, and laugh at this hereafter. [Clock strikes. BRU. Peace! count the clock.
The clock hath stricken three.
Whe'r Cæsar will come forth to-day or no;
For he is superstitious grown of late,
Quite from the main1 opinion he held once
Of fantasy, of dreams, and ceremonies.
It may be, these apparent prodigies,
The unaccustom'd terror of this night,
And the persuasion of his augurers,
May hold him from the Capitol to-day.
DEC. Never fear that: if he be so resolv'd,
I can o'ersway him; for he loves to hear
That unicorns may be betray'd with trees,
And bears with glasses, elephants with holes,
Lions with toils, and men with flatterers:
But, when I tell him he hates flatterers,
He
says he does, being then most flattered.
Let me work;
For I can give his humour the true bent,
And I will bring him to the Capitol.
CASS. Nay; we will all of us be there to fetch3 him.
BRU. By the eighth hour: is that the uttermost?
CIN. Be that the uttermost; and fail not then.
MET. Caius Ligarius doth bear Cæsar hard,*
Who rated him for speaking well of Pompey:
I wonder none of you have thought of him.
BRU. Now, good Metellus, go along by him:
He loves me well, and I have given him reasons;
Send him but hither, and I'll fashion him.
1 chief, dominant. 2 = portents.
3 escort. 4 is incensed with Cæsar.
CASS. The morning comes upon's: we'll leave you, ACT II
And, Friends, disperse yourselves: but all remember
What you have said, and shew yourselves true
BRU. Good Gentlemen, look fresh and merrily;
Let not our looks put on our purposes;
But bear it as our Roman actors do,
With untir'd spirits and formal' constancy:
And so, good morrow to you every one.
[Exeunt all but BRUTUS.
Boy! Lucius! Fast asleep? It is no matter;
Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber:
Thou hast no figures2 nor no fantasies,
Which busy Care draws in the brains of men;
Therefore thou sleep'st so sound.
BRU. Portia, what mean you? wherefore rise you now?
It is not for your health thus to commit
Your weak condition to the raw cold morning.
POR. Nor for your's neither. You've ungently, Brutus,
Stole from my bed: and yesternight, at supper,
You suddenly arose, and walk'd about,
Musing and sighing, with your arms across;3
And, when I ask'd you what the matter was,
You star'd upon me with ungentle looks:
I urg'd you further; then you scratch'd your head,
And too impatiently stamp'd with your foot:
Yet I insisted, yet you answer'd not;
But, with an angry wafture of your hand,
Gave sign for me to leave you. So I did;
Fearing to strengthen that impatience
Which seem'd too much enkindled; and withal
Hoping it was but an effect of humour,
Which sometime hath his hour with every man.
It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep;
And, could it work so much upon your shape,
As it hath much prevail'd on your condition,
2 apparitions, antics of fancy.
I should not know you, Brutus. Dear my Lord,
Make me acquainted with your cause of grief.
BRU. I am not well in health, and that is all.
POR. Brutus is wise, and, were he not in health,
He would embrace the means to come by it.
BRU. Why, so I do.
POR. Is Brutus sick?
Good Portia, go to bed.
and is it physical1
To walk unbraced, and suck up the humours
Of the dank morning? What, is Brutus sick,
And will he steal out of his wholesome bed,
To dare the vile contagion of the night,
And tempt the rheumy and unpurged air
To add unto his sickness? No, my Brutus;
You have some sick offence within your mind,
Which, by the right and virtue of my place,
I ought to know of: and, upon my knees,
I charm2 you, by my once-commended beauty,
By all your vows of love, and that great vow
Which did incorporate and make us one,
That you unfold to me, yourself, your half,
Why you are heavy, and what men to-night
Have had resort to you; for here have been
Some six or seven, who did hide their faces
Even from darkness.
Kneel not, gentle Portia.
POR. I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus.
Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus,
Is it excepted I should know no secrets
That appertain to you? Am I yourself
But as it were in sort or limitation,
To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed,
And talk to you sometimes? Dwell I but in the suburbs
Of your good pleasure? If it be no more,
Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife.
BRU. You are my true and honourable wife;
As dear to me as are the ruddy drops
That visit my sad heart.
POR. If this were true, then should I know this secret.
I grant I am a woman; but withal
A woman that Lord Brutus took to wife:
I grant I am a woman; but withal
A woman well-reputed, Cato's daughter.
Think you I am no stronger than my sex,
Being so father'd and so husbanded?
Tell me your counsels; I will not disclose 'em.
I have made strong proof of my constancy,
Giving myself a voluntary wound
Here, in the thigh: can I bear that with patience,
And not my husband's secrets?
Render me worthy of this noble wife!
Hark, hark! one knocks: Portia, go in awhile;
And by-and-by thy bosom shall partake
The secrets of my heart:
All my engagements I will construe to thee,
All the charactery1 of my sad brows:
Leave me with haste. [Exit PORTIA.] Lucius, who's that knocks?
Re-enter LUCIUS with LIGARIUS.
Luc. Here is a sick man that would speak with you.
BRU. Caius Ligarius, that Metellus spake of.
Boy, stand aside. Caius Ligarius! how?
LIG. Vouchsafe good morrow from a feeble tongue.
BRU. O, what a time have you chose out, brave Caius,
To wear a kerchief! Would you were not sick!
LIG. I am not sick, if Brutus have in hand
Any exploit worthy the name of honour.
BRU. Such an exploit have I in hand, Ligarius,
Had you a healthful ear to hear of it.
LIG. By all the Gods that Romans bow before,
I here discard my sickness! Soul of Rome!
Brave Son, deriv'd from honourable loins!
Thou, like an exorcist, hast conjur❜d up
My mortify'd Spirit. Now bid me run,
And I will strive with things impossible;
Yea, get the better of them. What's to do?
BRU. A piece of work that will make sick men whole.
LIG. But are not some whole that we must make sick?
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