Like a phantasma^{8 note}

Are then in council; and the state of a man,
Like to a little kingdom, suffers then
The nature of an insurrection.

Re-enter Lucius.

Luc.
Sir, 'tis your brother Cassius^{9 note} at the door,
Who doth desire to see you.

Bru.
Is he alone?

Luc.
No, sir, there are more with him.

Bru.
Do you know them?

Luc.
No, sir; their hats are pluck'd about their ears,
And half their faces buried in their cloaks,
That by no means I may discover them
By any mark of favour^{1 note}.

Bru.
Let them enter. [Exit Lucius.
They are the faction. O conspiracy!
Sham'st thou to show thy dangerous brow by night,
When evils are most free? O, then, by day,
Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough
To mask thy monstrous visage? Seek none, conspiracy;
Hide in it smiles, and affability:
For if thou path, thy native semblance on^{2 note}

Not Erebus itself were dim enough
To hide thee from prevention. Enter Cassius, Casca, Decius, Cinna, Metellus Cimber, and Trebonius.

Cas.
I think we are too bold upon your rest:
Good morrow, Brutus; Do we trouble you?

Bru.
I have been up this hour; awake, all night.
Know I these men, that come along with you?

Cas.
Yes, every man of them; and no man here,
But honours you; and every one doth wish,
You had but that opinion of yourself,
Which every noble Roman bears of you.
This is Trebonius.

Bru.
He is welcome hither.

Cas.
This Decius Brutus.

Bru.
He is welcome too.

Cas.
This, Casca; this, Cinna;
And this, Metellus Cimber.

Bru.
They are all welcome.
What watchful cares do interpose themselves^{3 note}



Betwixt your eyes and night?

Cas.
Shall I entreat a word? [They whisper.

Dec.
Here lies the east: Doth not the day break here?

Casca.
No.

Cin.
O, pardon, sir, it doth; and yon grey lines,
That fret the clouds, are messengers of day.

Casca.
You shall confess, that you are both deceiv'd.

Here, as I point my sword, the sun arises;
Which is a great way growing on the south,
Weighing the youthful season of the year.
Some two months hence, up higher toward the north
He first presents his fire; and the high east
Stands, as the Capitol, directly here.

Bru.
Give me your hands all over, one by one.

Cas.
And let us swear our resolution.

Bru.
No, not an oath: If not the face of men^{4 note}

The sufferance of our souls, the time's abuse,—
If these be motives weak, break off betimes,
And every man hence to his idle bed;
So let high-sighted tyranny range on,
Till each man drop by lottery^{5 note}

That this shall be, or we will fall for it?
Swear priests^{7 note}
, and cowards, and men cautelous^{8 note}

Cas.
But what of Cicero? Shall we sound him?
I think, he will stand very strong with us.

Casca.
Let us not leave him out.

Cin.
No, by no means.

Met.
O let us have him; for his silver hairs
Will purchase us a good opinion^{1 note}

And buy men's voices to commend our deeds:
It shall be said, his judgment rul'd our hands;
Our youths, and wildness, shall no whit appear,
But all be buried in his gravity.

Bru.
O, name him not; let us not break with him;
For he will never follow any thing
That other men begin.

Cas.
Then leave him out.

Casca.
Indeed he is not fit.

Dec.
Shall no man else be touch'd but only Cæsar?

Cas.
Decius, well urg'd:—I think it is not meet,
Mark Antony, so well belov'd of Cæsar,
Should outlive Cæsar: We shall find of him
A shrewd contriver; and, you know, his means,
If he improves them, may well stretch so far,
As to annoy us all: which to prevent,
Let Antony, and Cæsar, fall together.

Bru.
Our course will seem too bloody, Caius Cassius,
To cut the head off, and then hack the limbs;
Like wrath in death, and envy afterwards^{2 note}:
For Antony is but a limb of Cæsar.
Let us be sacrificers, but not butchers, Caius.
We all stand up against the spirit of Cæsar,
And in the spirit of men there is no blood:
O, that we then could come by Cæsar's spirit^{3 note}



,
And not dismember Cæsar! But, alas,

Cæsar must bleed for it! And, gentle friends,
Let's kill him boldly, but not wrathfully;
Let's carve him as a dish fit for the gods^{4 note}



,
Not hew him as a carcase fit for hounds^{5 note}:
And let our hearts, as subtle masters do,
Stir up their servants^{6 note} to an act of rage,
And after seem to chide them. This shall make
Our purpose necessary, and not envious:
Which so appearing to the common eyes,
We shall be call'd purgers, not murderers.
And for Mark Antony, think not of him;
For he can do no more than Cæsar's arm,
When Cæsar's head is off.

Cas.
Yet I do fear him^{7 note}

:
For in the ingrafted love he bears to Cæsar,—

Bru.
Alas, good Cassius, do not think of him:
If he love Cæsar, all that he can do
Is to himself; take thought^{8 note}

And that were much he should; for he is given
To sports, to wildness, and much company.

Treb.
There is no fear in him; let him not die;
For he will live, and laugh at this hereafter. [Clock strikes.

Bru.
Peace, count the clock.

Cas.
The clock hath stricken three.

Treb.
'Tis time to part.

Cas.
But it is doubtful yet,
Whe'r* ^note Cæsar^{8 note}

will come forth to-day, or no;

For he is superstitious grown of late;
Quite from the main opinion he held once
Of fantasy, of dreams, and ceremonies^{9 note}

Dec.
Never fear that: If he be so revolv'd,
I can o'ersway him: for he loves to hear,
That unicorns may be betray'd with trees,
And bears with glasses, elephants with holes^{1 note}

Lions with toils, and men with flatterers:
But, when I tell him, he hates flatterers,
He says, he does; being then most flattered.
Let me work^{2 note}

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^{3 note}

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^{5 note}:
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^{6 note} 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. [Exeunt all but Brutus.
Boy! Lucius!—Fast asleep? It is no matter;
Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber:
Thou hast no figures^{7 note}
, nor no fantasies,
Which busy care draws in the brains of men;
Therefore thou sleep'st so sound. Enter Portia.

Por.
Brutus, my lord!

Bru.
Portia, what mean you? Wherefore rise you now?
It is not for your health, thus to commit
Your weak condition to the raw-cold morning.

Por.
Nor for yours neither. You have ungently, Brutus,
Stole from my bed: And yesternight, at supper,
You suddenly arose, and walk'd about,
Musing, and sighing, with your arms across:
And when I ask'd you what the matter was,
You star'd upon me with ungentle looks:
I urg'd you further; then you scratch'd your head,
And too impatiently stamp'd with your foot:
Yet I insisted, yet you answer'd not;
But, with an angry wafture of your hand,
Gave sign for me to leave you: So I did;
Fearing to strengthen that impatience,
Which seem'd too much enkindled; and, withal,
Hoping it was but an effect of humour,
Which sometime hath his hour with every man.
It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep;
And, could it work so much upon your shape,
As it hath much prevail'd on your condition^{8 note},
I should not know you, Brutus. Dear my lord,
Make me acquainted with your cause of grief.

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,
I charm you^{9 note}


, by my once commended beauty,
By all your vows of love, and that great vow
Which did incorporate and make us one,
That you unfold to me, yourself, your half,
Why you are heavy; and what men to-night
Have had resort to you: for here have been
Some six or seven, who did hide their faces
Even from darkness.

Bru.
Kneel not, gentle Portia.

Por.
I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus.
Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus,
Is it excepted, I should know no secrets
That appertain to you? Am I yourself,
But, as it were, in sort, or limitation;
To keep with you at meals^{1 note}

And talk to you sometimes? Dwell I but in the suburbs^{3 note}



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^{4 note}
.

Por.
If this were true, then should I know this secret.
I grant, I am a woman^{5 note}







; but, withal,
A woman that lord Brutus took to wife:
I grant, I am a woman; but, withal,
A woman well-reputed; Cato's daughter^{6 note}

.
Think you, I am no stronger than my sex,
Being so father'd, and so husbanded?
Tell me your counsels, I will not disclose them:
I have made strong proof of my constancy,
Giving myself a voluntary wound
Here, in the thigh: Can I bear that with patience,
And not my husband's secrets?

Bru.
O ye gods,
Render me worthy of this noble wife! [Knocking within.
Hark, hark! one knocks: Portia, go in a while;
And by and by thy bosom shall partake
The secrets of my heart.
All my engagements I will construe to thee,
All the charactery^{7 note}

Enter Lucius and Ligarius.
Lucius, who is that, knocks^{8 note}?

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^{9 note}

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^{1 note}

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, What it is, my Caius,
I shall unfold to thee, as we are going
To whom it must be done.

Lig.
Set on your foot;
And, with a heart new-fir'd, I follow you,
To do I know not what: but it sufficeth,
That Brutus leads me on.

Bru.
Follow me, then. [Exeunt.

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