But, when I tell him, he hates flatterers, He says, he does; being then most flattered. 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; But bear it as our Roman actors do, With untir'd spirits, and formal constancy : And so, good morrow to you every one. Boy! Lucius! [Exeunt all but BRUTUS. Fast asleep? It is no matter; Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber : Por. Enter PORTIA. Brutus, my lord! Bru. Portia, what mean you? Wherefore rise you now? 2 By his house. * Shapes created by imagination. It is not for your health thus to commit Your weak condition to the raw-cold morning. Stole from my bed: And yesternight, at supper, Musing, and sighing, with your arms across : 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 do:-good Portia, go to bed. Por. Is Brutus sick? and is it physical 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, 6 I charm you, by my once commended beauty, Bru. Kneel not, gentle Portia. Por. I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus. Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus, Of your good pleasure? If it be no more, Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife. 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 secret. I grant, I am a woman, but, withal, A woman that lord Brutus took to wife: Tell me your counsels, I will not disclose them: Here, in the thigh: Can I bear that with patience Bru. Render me worthy of this noble wife! O ye gods, [Knocking within. Hark, hark! one knocks: Portia, go in a while; The secrets of my heart. All my engagements I will construe to thee, Leave me with haste. [Exit PORTIA. Enter LUCIUS and LIGArius. Lucius, who is that knocks? Luc. Here is a sick man, that would speak with you. 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, hast 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. To do I know not what: but it sufficeth, Thunder and Lightning. Enter CESAR, 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? Serv. My lord? Enter a Servant. Cas. Go bid the priests do present sacrifice, And bring me their opinions of success. Serv. I will, my lord. Enter CALPHURNLA. [Exit. Cal. What mean you, Cæsar? Think you to walk forth? You shall not stir out of your house to-day. Cæs. Cæsar shall forth: The things that threaten'd me, Ne'er look'd but on my back; when they shall see The face of Cæsar, they are vanished. Cal. Cæsar, I never stood on ceremonies 7, Yet now they fright me. There is one within, 7 Never paid a regard to prodigies or omens. |