Bru. That every like is not the same, O Cefar,

[Afide. The heart of Brutus yerns to think upon ! [Exeunt.

SCENE changes to a Street near the Capitol. (16) Enter Artemidorus, reading a paper.

, beware of Brutus beed ; come not near Casca; have an eye to Cinna; truf not Trebonius ; mark well Metellus Cimber ; Decius Brutus loves thee not; thou hast wrong'd Caius Ligarius. There is but one mind in all these men, and it is bent against Cæsar. If thou beeft not immortal, look about thee: security gives way to conspiracy. The mighty Gods defend thee!

Thy Lover Artemidorus.

Here will I stand, 'till Cæfar pass along,
And as a suitor will I give him this:
My heart laments, that virtue cannot live
Out of the teeth of emulation.
If thou read this, O Cæfar, thou may'st live;
If not, the fates with Traitors do contrive. [Exit.

Enter Porcia and Lucius.
Por. I pr’ythee, Boy, run to the Senate-house;
Stay not to answer me, but get thee gone:
Why dost thou stay?

(16) Enter Artemidorus,] In the Dramatis Persona, thro' all the Editions, Artemidorus is callà a Sootýlayer. But, 'tis certain, the Poet defign'd two diftinct Characters. Artemidorus was neither Augur, nor Soothsayer. 'Tis true, there was an Artemidorus, whofe Critic ou Dreams we still have : but He did not live 'till the Time of Antoninus. He likewise wrote, according to Suidas, of Augury and Palmistry. But this Artemidorus, who had been Cæsar's Hoft at Cnidos, as we learn from Plutarch, Appian, &c. did not pretend to know any thing of the Conspiracy againt Cefar by Prescience, or Prognostication. He was a Sophist, who taught that Science in Greek at Rome; by which Means being intimate with Brutus, and those about him, he got into their Secret; and, out of his old Affection for Cæfar, was desirous of acquainting him with his Danger.

Luc.

.

Luc. To know my errand, Madam.

Por. I would have had thee there, and here again, Ere I can tell chee what thou should'st do there o Conftancy, be {trong upon my side, Set a huge mountain 'tween my heart and tongue ; I have a man's mind, but a woman's might: How hard it is for women to keep counsel! Art thou here yer ?

Luc. Madam, what should I do?
Run to the Capitol, and nothing else?
And so return to you, and nothing else?
Por. Yes, bring me word, boy, if thy Lord look

well,
For he went fickly forth : and take good note,
What Cæfar doth, what suitors press to him.
Hark, boy! what noise is that ?

Luc. I hear none, Madam.

Por. Pr'ythee, liften well :
I heard a bustling rumour like a fray,
And the wind brings it from the Capitol.
Luc. Sooth, Madam, I hear nothing.

Enter Artemidorus.
Por. Come hither, fellow, which way haft thou been?
Art. At mine own house, good Lady.
Por. What is't o'clock?
Art. About the ninth hour, Lady.
Por. Is Cæfar yet gone to the Capitol?

Art. Madam, not yet ; I go to take my Stand, To see him pass on to the Capitol.

Por. Thou hast some fuit to Cæfar, bast thou not?

Art. That I have, Lady, if it will please Cæfar To be so good to Cæfar, as to hear me: I shall beseech him to befriend himself. Por. Why, know'ft thou any harm intended tow'rds

him? Art. None that I know will be, much that I fear; Good morrow to you. Here the streer is narrow : The throng, that follows Cæfar at the heels, Of Senators, of Prætors, common Suitors,

Will crowd a feeble Man almost to death :
I'll get me to a place more void, and there
Speak to great Cæfar as he comes along. [Exit.

Por. I must go in--aye me! how weak a thing
The heart of Woman is! O Brutus ! Brutus !
The Heavens speed thee in thine enterprize!
Sure, the Boy heard me: Brutus hath a Suit,
That Cæfar will not grant.--

O, I grow faint:
Run, Lúcius, and commend me to my Lord;
Say, I am merry; come to me again,
And bring me word what he doth fay to thee.

[Exeunt severally.

SCENE, the Street before the Capitol;

and the Capitol open. Flourish. Enter Cæsar, Brutus, Callius, Casca, Decius, Metellus, Trebonius, Cinna, Antony, Lepidus, Artemidorus, Popilius, Publius, and the

Sootb-sayer.

T

CA

S. AR.
HE Ides of March are come.

Sootb. Ay, Cæfar, but not gone.

Art. Hail, Cæfar: read this schedule. Dec. Trebonius doch desire you to o’erread, At your best leisure, this his humble suit.

Art. O Cæfar, read mine first; for mine's a suit, That touches Cæsar nearer. Read it, great Cæfar. i Cef. What touches us our self, shall be last sery'd.

Art. Delay not, Cæfar, read it instantly.
Cæf. What, is the fellow mad?
Púb. Sirrah, give place.

Caf. What, urge you your petitions in the street?
Come to the Capitol.

Pop. I wish, your enterprize to day may thrive. .
Caf. What enterprize, Popilius ?
Pop. Fare you well.
Bru. What said Popilius Lena?

Caf. He wilh'd, to day our enterprize might thrive:
I fear, our purpose is discovered.

Bru. Look, how he makes to Cæfar ; mark him.

Caf. Casca, be sudden, for we fear prevention.
Brutus, what shall be done, if this be known?
Caffius, or Cæfar, never shall turn back;
For I will say my self.

Bru. Casius, be constant:
Popilius Lena speaks not of

our purpose;
For, look, he smiles, arid Cæfar doth not change.

Caf. Trebonius knows his time; for look you, Brutus,
He draws Mark Antony out of the way.

Dec. Where is Metellus Cimber ? let him go,
And presently prefer his suit to Cæfar.

Bru. He is addrest; press near, and second him.
Cin. Casca, you are the first that rears your hand.
Cæf. Are we all ready? what is now amiss,
That Cæfar and his Senate must redress?
Met. Most high, molt mighty, and most puissant

Cæfar,
Metellus Cimber throws before thy feat [Kneeling
An humble heart.

Cæf, I must prevent thee, Cimber ;
These couchings and these lowly curtefies
Might fire the blood of ordinary men,
And turn pre-ordinance and first decree
Into the lane of children. Be not fond,
To think that Cæfar bears such rebel blood,
That will be thaw'd from the true quality
With That which melteth fools; I mean, sweet words;
Low-crooked curtsies, and base spaniel fawning.
Thy brother by decree is banished ;
If thou doft bend, and pray, and fawn for him,
I spurn thee like a cur out of my way. .
Vol. VI.

M

(17) Know,

(17) Know, Cæfar doth not wrong, nor without cause Will he be satisfied.

Met. Is there no voice more worthy than my own,
To sound more sweetly in great Cæsar's car,
For the repealing of my banish'd Brother?

Bru. I kiss thy hand, but not in flattery, Gefar;
Desiring thee, that Publius Cimber may
Have an immediate freedom of repeal.

Cæs. What, Brutus?

Cas. Pardon, Cæfar; Cæsar, pardon;
As low as to thy foot doth Casius fall,
To beg enfranchisement for Publius Cimber.

Cef. I could be well mov’d, if I were as you;
If I could pray to move, prayers would move me:
But I am constant as the northern Star,
Of whose true, fixt, and resting quality,
There is no fellow in the firmament;
The skies are painted with unnumbred sparks,

(17) Know, Cæsar doth not wrong,] Ben. Jonson in the Induction to his Staple of News has a Sneer upon this paffage: “ Cry you Mercy, “ You never did wrong but with just Cause."

The Words are constantly printed in a different Character, and, that they are levellid at Shakespeare, is fully clear'd up by another Passage in Ben's Discoveries, where he thus speaks of

our Author :

Many times he fell into “ those Things could not escape Laughter; as when he said in the Per“ fon of Cæfar, one speaking to him, Cæsar, thou doft me wrong; “ he reply'd, Cæsar did never wrong, but with just Cause." I can't pretend to guess, for what Reason Ben has left this Sarcasm upon our Aathor; when there is no Room for it from any of the printed Copies: nor should I have thought it worth while to revive the Memory of such a Remark, had not Mr. Pope purposely deviated into a Criticism upon the Affair. There is a Sort of Fatalicy attends fome People, when they aim at being hypercritical.“ He thinks, Ben Jonson's Remark was “ made upon no better Credit, than some Blunder of an Alor in speak

ing the Verse now under Debate: And, perhaps, (says He) this Play was never printed in ß. Jonson's Time; and fo he had nothing to judge by, but as the A&or was pleas'd to speak it.”.

I don't know how this Gentleman's Head was employ'd, when he made this profound Observation: for He could not but know, that B. Jonson liv'd to the Year 1637, fourteen years before which the Players had pat but their Edition of all Shakespeare's genuine Plays in Folio. The furly Laureat therefore cannot stand exçus d, from any Blunder of an Actor, for wounding the Memory of a Poet; when the Absurdity, reflected on, is not to be found in his Works.

They