Our even Souls, without one doubtful start. What Roman dares be base in such a business? Reckon his Guilt, and Shame, he ventures more Than if he did attempt ten Thousand Tyrants.

CASSIUS.

But what of CICERO? Shall we found him?
His Gravity will countenance our Heat.

TREBONIUS.

No need of that, now BRUTUS is engag'd.

BRUTUS.

I know him well, believe him juft and wife;
Yet Vanity a little clouds his Virtue:
Nor is he bold enough for such a Business.
The Horse that starts, however good befides,
In War is troublefome, nay dangerous.

DECIUS BRUTUS.

But ANTONY, fo well belov'd by CÆSAR,
That Inftrument of all his Tyranny,
If he furvive, will be another CÆSAR,

TREBONIUS.

DECIUS, well urg'd; ANTONIUS must die,

BRUTUS.

O, by no means, our courfe will feem too bloody, To cut the Head off, and then hack the Limbs :

'Twill look like Anger, nay like Envy too;
For, ANTONY is great by CÆSAR's Favour;
Let us be Sacrificers, but not Butchers.
We only draw our Swords against Ambition ;
Not against CÆSAR's Person, but his Power:
Oh that we, then, could come at CESAR's Spirit,
Abate his Pride, and yet not spill his Blood! [Sighs.
It cannot be; CASAR alas must bleed.

Yet, gentle Friends!

Let's kill him boldly, but not wrathfully;
Let's ferve him up, a Dish fit for the Gods;
Not mangled, as a Feast to Beasts of Prey.

Our Hearts fhould melt, like those of tender Parents,
Who oft in fharp, but neceffary Rage,

Correct offending Children with Remorse,
Feeling more pain than what they make them suffer.
This Mercy too looks better to the World,
Which shall not call us Murderers, but Heroes,
As for ANTONIUS therefore, think not of him;
For he can do no more, than CÆSAR's Arm,
When CESAR's Head is off.

TREBONIUS.

But yet I fear him:

For he loves CÆSAR, and is most audacious.

BRUTUS.

I hope that loving CESAR is no Fault;

Elfe

Elfe I confess that I am guilty too:

If he loves CESAR, all that he can do

Is to be griev'd, and pine away for CÆSAR :
And it were strange he fhould; 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 several 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

D Ee

DECIMUS BRUTUS.

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

SCENE III.

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

PORTIA.

BRUTUS! my Lord, where are you?

BRUTUS.

What, my PORTIA !

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 fo kindly.
Our Sex has tenderness equal to yours;
Yet we, incumbred with vexatious Cares,
No fooner bend our fofter Thoughts to Love,
But Business, 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 busy World

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

BRUTUS.

Dear PORTIA, now you but difturb my Thoughts,

POR