Cas.

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.

Bru. Peace, count the clock.
Cas.

[Clock strikes.

The clock hath stricken three.

Treb. 'Tis time to part.
Cas.
But it is doubtful yet,
Whe'r Cæsar will come forth to-day, or no:
For he is superstitious grown of late;
Quite from the main opinion he held once
Of fantasy, of dreams, and ceremonies :3
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.

Cas. Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch 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.

Cas. The morning comes upon us: We'll leave
you, Brutus:-

And, friends, disperse yourselves but all remember
What you have said, and show yourselves true Romans.
Bru. Good gentlemen, look fresh and merrily;
Let not our looks put on our purposes;1
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 figures, nor no fantasies,
Which busy care draws in the brains of men;
Therefore thou sleep'st so sound.

Por.

Enter PORTIA.

Brutus, my lord!

[now?

Bru. Portia, what mean you? Wherefore rise you It is not for your health, thus to commit

Your weak condition to the raw-cold morning.

Por. Nor for yours neither. You have ungently,
Brutus,

Stole from my bed: And yesternight, at supper,
You suddenly arose, and walk'd about,
Musing, and sighing, with your arms across :
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
And too impatiently stamp'd with your foot:

wear, or show our designs.

head,

A double negative-in frequent use with Shakspeare, and other old authors.

[J. CÆS. 25]

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,"
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 de:-Good Portia, go to bed.
Por. Is Brutus sick? and is it physical3
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 charm 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.

Bru.

Kneel not, gentle Portia. Por. I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus.

Still I insisted, still, &c.

on your disposition.

3 medicinal.

[J. Cæs. 26]

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 Of your good pleasure? If it be no more,

Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife.

[suburbs

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

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?

[secret.

Tell me your counsels, I will not disclose them:
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?

Bru.

O ye gods,

Render me worthy of this noble wife!

[Knocking within. Hark, hark! one knocks: Portia, go in a while;

And by and by thy bosom shall partake

The secrets of my heart.

All my engagenients I will construe to thee,

All the charactery' of my sad brows:

Leave me with haste.

[Exit PORTIA.

Lucius, who is that, knocks?

Enter Lucius and LIGARIUs.

Luc. Here is a sick man, that would speak with

you.

[J. CAS. 27]

All that is charactered on, &c.

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, has conjur’d up
My mortified 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?

Bru. That must we also. I shall unfold to thee, as we To whom it must be done.

What it is, my Caius, are going,

Set on your

foot;

Lig.
And, with a heart new-fir'd, I follow you,
To do I know not what: but it sufficeth,
That Brutus leads me on.

Bru.

Follow me then. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.—The same. A room in Cæsar's palace.

Thunder and lightning. Enter Cæsar in his

night-gown.

Cas. Nor heaven, nor earth, have been at peace to-night:

Thrice hath Calphurnia in her sleep cried out, Help, ho! They murder Cæsar! Who's within? [J. CAS. 28]