That should be in a Roman, you do want,
Or else you use not; you look pale, and gaze,
And put on fear, and caft your felf in wonder,
To fee the strange impatience of the heav'ns:
But if you would confider the true cause,
Why all these fires, why all thefe gliding ghofts,
Why birds and beafts from quality and kind,
Why old men, fools, and children calculate;
Why all these things change, from their ordinance,
Their natures and pre-formed faculties

To monftrous quality; why, you fhall find,
That heaven hath infus'd them with thefe fpirits,
To make them inftruments of fear and warning,
Unto fome monstrous ftate. Now could I, Cafca,
Name to thee a man moft like this dreadful night;
That thunders, lightens, opens graves, and roars
As doth the lion in the Capitol;

A man no mightier than thy felf or me,
In perfonal action; yet prodigious grown,
And fearful, as thefe ftrange eruptions are.

Cafe. 'Tis Cæfar that you mean; is it not, Caffius? Caf. Let it be who it is: for Romans now Have thewes and limbs like to their ancestors; But, woe the while! our fathers minds are dead, And we are govern'd with our mothers spirits: Our yoke and fuff'rance fhew us womanish.

Cafe. Indeed, they fay, the Senators to-morrow
Mean to establish Cefar as a King:

And he fhall wear his crown by fea, and land,
In every place, fave here in Italy.

Caf. I know where I will wear this dagger then.
Caffius from bondage will deliver Caffius.

Therein, ye Gods, you make the weak moft ftrong;
Therein, ye Gods, you tyrants do defeat:
Nor ftony tower, nor walls of beaten brass,
Nor airless dungeon, nor ftrong links of iron,
Can be retentive to the ftrength of 1pirit:
But life, being weary of thefe worldly bars,

0 3

Never

Never lacks power to difmifs it felf.

If I know this; know all the world befides,
That part of tyranny that I do bear,
I can fhake off at pleasure.

Cafc. So can I:

So every bondman in his own hand bears
The power to cancel his captivity.

Caf. And why fhould Cæfar be a tyrant then?
Poor man! I know he would not be a wolf,
But that he fees the Romans are but sheep;
He were no lion, were not Romans hinds.
Thofe that with hafte will make a mighty fire,
Begin it with weak ftraws. What trafh is Rome,
What rubbish, and what offal, when it ferves
For the bafe matter to illuminate

So vile a thing as Cefar? But, oh grief!
Where haft thou led me? I, perhaps, fpeak this
Before a willing bondman: then I know
My answer must be made. But I am arm'd,
And dangers are to me indifferent.

Caf. You speak to Cafea, and to fuch a man,
That is no flearing tell-tale. Hold my hand;
Be factious for redrefs of all thefe griefs,
And I will fet this foot of mine as far,
As who goes fartheft.

Caf. There's a bargain made.

Now know you, Cafca, I have mov'd already
Some certain of the nobleft-minded Romans,
To under-go, with me, an enterprize,
Of honourable dang'rous confequence;
And I do know, by this they stay for me
In Pompey's porch. For now this fearful night,
There is no ftir, or walking in the streets;
And the complexion of the element
Is feav'rous, like the work we have in hand,
Moft bloody, fiery, and most terrible.

Enter

Enter Cinna.

Cafe. Stand clofe a while, for here comes one in haste. Caf. 'Tis Cinna, I do know him by his gate; He is a friend. Cinna, where hafte you fo?

Cin. To find out you: who's that? Metellus Cimber? Cafe. No, it is Cafca, one incorporate

To our attempts. Am I not ftaid for, Cinna?

Cin. I'm glad on't. What a fearful night is this! There's two or three of us have feen ftrange fights. Caf. Am I not ftaid for? tell me.

Cin. Yes you are.

O Caffius! could you win the noble Brutus
To our party

Caf. Be you content. Good Cinna, take this paper,
And look you lay it in the Prætor's chair,
Where Brutus may but find it; and throw this
In at his window; fet this up with wax
Upon old Brutus' ftatue: all this done,

Repair to Pompey's porch, where you fhall find us.
Is 9 'Decimus Brutus, and Trebonius there?

Cin. All but Metellus Cimber, and he's gone
To feek you at your houfe. Well, I will hie,
And fo bestow these papers as you bad me.

Caf. That done, repair to Pompey's theatre. [Exit Cinna.
Come, Cafea, you and I will, yet, ere day,
See Brutus at his houfe; three parts of him
''Are` ours already, and the man entire
Upon the next encounter yields him ours.
Cafe. O, he fits high in all the people's hearts :

And that which would appear offence in us,
His countenance, like richeft alchymy,

Will change to virtue, and to worthiness.

Caf. Him, and his worth, and our great need of him, You have right well conceited; let us go, For it is after mid-night, and ere day We will awake him, and be fure of him.

[Exeunt.

ACT II. S CENE I.

A Garden belonging to Brutus.

Enter Brutus.

HAT, Lucius! ho!

I cannot, by the progress of the stars,
Give guess how near to day--Lucius, I fay!
I would it were my fault to fleep fo foundly.
When, Lucius, when? awake, I fay! what, Lucius!
Enter Lucius.

Luc. Call'd you, my Lord?

Bru. Get me a taper in my ftudy, Lucius: When it is lighted, come and call me here.

Luc. I will, my Lord.

Bru. It must be by his death: and for my part,

I know no perfonal caufe to fpurn at him,

But for the general. He would be crown'd

[Exit.

How that might change his nature, there's the queftion.
It is the bright day that brings forth the adder,
And that craves wary walking: crown him-that-
And then I grant we put a fting in him,
That at his will he may do danger with.
Th' abufe of greatness is, when it disjoins
Remorfe from power: and to fpeak truth of Cafar,
I have not known when his affections fway'd
More than his reafon. But 'tis a common proof,
That lowlinefs is young ambition's ladder,
Whereto the climber upward turns his face;
But when he once attains the upmost round,
He then unto the ladder turns his back,
Looks in the clouds, fcorning the base degrees
By which he did afcend: fo Cæfar may:

Then,

Then, left he may, prevent. And fince the quarrel
Will bear no colour for the thing he is,

Fashion it thus; that what he is, augmented,

Would run to these and thefe extremities:
And therefore think him as a ferpent's egg,

Which hatch'd would, as his kind, grow mischievous: And kill him in the fhell.

Enter Lucius.

Luc. The taper burneth in your closet, Sir:
Searching the window for a flint, I found
This paper, thus feal'd up, and I am fure
It did not lye there, when I went to bed.

[Gives him a letter.
Bru. Get you to bed again, it is not day:
Is not to-morrow, boy, the Ides of March?
Luc. I know not, Sir.

2

Bru. Look in the kalendar, and bring me word.
Luc. I will, Sir.

Bru. The exhalations, whizzing in the air,

[Exit.

[Opens the letter, and reads.

Give fo much light, that I may read by them.

Brutus, thou sleep'ft; awake, and fee thy felf:
Speak, ftrike, redress.

Shall Rome

Brutus, thou sleep'ft: awake.

Such inftigations have been often dropt,

Where I have took them up:

Shall Rome-thus muft I piece it out,

Shall Rome ftand under one man's awe? what, Rome? My ancestors did from the ftreets of Rome

The Tarquin drive, when he was call'd a King.

Speak, ftrike, redrefs. -am I entreated then

To fpeak, and ftrike? O Rome! I make thee promife, If the redrefs will follow, thou receiv'st

Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus.

Enter Lucius.

Luc. Sir, March is wafted 3 'fourteen days. [Knock within:

Bru.

2 first...eld edit. Warb. emend. 3 fifteen...old edit. Theob. emend