PORTIA.

Can mine be easy then? 'tis no small thing

Can vex your even Mind, and make you froward,
Froward with me, which you was ne'er till now:
This Night I folded you within these Arms,
And ask'd you if you slept, if you were well?
You faid, you could not fleep, and yet turn'd from me.
BRUTUS.

Turning from thee is Reftleffness indeed;
Thou only Comfort to my troubled Mind!
May Joys, and full Content remain in yours.

PORTIA.

Oh, preach Content to one upon a Rack,
And he will hear as foon.

My Soul is fo perplex'd with Fears for you,
That all the Joys of Nature or of Fortune,
Could find no entrance here at such a time.

BRUTUS.

Retire, retire; talking fo tenderly,

You, like officious and condoling Friends,
But more afflict that Mind you would compofc.
I hope you think me neither false nor foolish;
If it were fit for you to know my Cares,
'Twere ill in me to let you ask me twice:
Let that fuffice, and leave me, 'tis a word,
I never us'd to thee before.

POR

PORTIA.

Alas!

You would not use it now, if ftill you lov❜d.
Can you have Thoughts unfit to own to me?
You are unjuft, and I undone, farewel.

BRUTUS.

What means my PORTIA ?

PORTIA.

BRUTUS unjuft!

Oh, 'tis a Wonder, which your very Foes
Would not believe, tho' told it by your Friends:
And to me too, who had least cause to fear it!

So little I deferv'd to find him fo.

Am I but only Partner of your Pleasures?

Fit for your trifling Hours, and to be kept
At hateful distance from your nobler Thoughts?
What is it I have innocently done,

To lose that Truft, which always follows Kindness.
And therefore yours is chang'd; I fee it plainly:
Thunder is fall'n on my poor guiltless Head, [Weeps.
And all but I, perhaps, have heard the Blow.

BRUTUS.

In this you wrong me, PORTIA.

PORTIA.

Would I did:

I never wifh'd a Wrong to you before.

BRUTUS.

How have I liv'd, and which of all my Actions
Has giv'n the least occafion ev'n for Malice?
I am, you know, not like the rest of Husbands;
My Promise and my Vows are Ties to me,
As ftrong as Fame and Virtue are to you:
I will not mention now the Bands of Love,
In which I thought we were for ever fix'd.
What these unjuft Sufpicions may produce
Either in you or me, alas, I know not.
Therefore be calm and kind, as thou art us'd,
And try fuch rough ungentle ways no more.
My Mind, you know, hardens against Compulfion,
But easily bends under gentle Usage.

PORTIA.

O let me now try that soft way again.

Thus low, thus tenderly, I beg to know

[Falls on his Neck.

That which, in troubling you, ev'n tortures me.
Shunn'd as I am, I have a share in all

Your Refolutions, spite of your Unkindness.
You cannot fhut me out from tender Cares
For
every Thought of yours: that zealous part
The meaneft Slave may have in mighty CÆSAR,
And yet give no Offence.

BRU

BRUTUS.

The mighty CÆSAR !

I am that meaneft Slave, if he remain

[Apart.

The mighty CÆSAR. Kneel not, gentle PORTIA.

PORTIA.

Ifhould not need, if you were gentle BRUTUS. [Weeps.

BRUTUS.

O my soft Heart! my Refolution's arm'd
Against all Dangers, nay, against my Friend;
Yet firm to all things elfe, it yields to Love;

[Takes her in his Arms.

It yields to PORTIA. You are now too charming:
For pity hide your Kindness, or your Beauty;
There's no refifting both.

PORTIA.

'Tis Kindness only

Which makes me wish I had that Beauty too.

But are you, then, not angry?

BRUTUS.

What, with thee?

The most obdurate Creature, ev'n a Tyrant,
In all his height of Anger, and of Pride,
Could not be proof against one Tear of thine.

[Kiffes ..

O PORTIA, be not you that Tyrant then;

For well you know your Power, and may be mine.

PORTIA.

But tell me all.

BRUTUS.

Then, know that they who came to me this Night-
But why should I go on to thee, my PORTIA,
In any Language but in that of Love?

'Tis to profane thy Ear, to entertain it
With any harsher found; fpare then thy self.

PORTIA.

But you were juft about to let me know.

BRUTUS.

Know what? know things that will but trouble thee? Believe me, PORTIA, 'tis dangerous

For thee to tread in these obfcurer Paths;

Serpents lie hidden there, whose conscious Sting

Will rob thee of thy Reft.

Oh, prefs not thus to bear a part in that,

Which with its weight will crush thy tender Mind.

PORTIA.

I am a Woman, but am CATO's Daughter:
My Heart is tender, but to BRUTUS only.

Think you 'tis nothing to have fuch a Father,

And fuch a Husband?

VOL. I.

S

BRU