Brutus.
What, Lucius! ho!—
I cannot by the progress of the stars
Give guess how near to day—Lucius, I say!
I would, it were my fault to sleep so soundly.
When, Lucius, when? awake, I say! what, Lucius! Enter Lucius.

Luc.
Call'd you, my lord?

Bru.
Get me a taper in my Study, Lucius:
When it is lighted, come and call me here.

Luc.
I will, my lord. [Exit.

Bru.
It must be by his death: and, for my part,
I know no personal cause to spurn at him;
But for the general. He would be crown'd—
How that might change his nature, there's the question.
It is the bright day, that brings forth the adder;
And that craves wary walking: crown him—that—
And then I grant we put a sting in him,
That at his will he may do danger with.
Th' abuse of Greatness is, when it disjoins
Remorse from Power: and, to speak truth of Cæsar,
I have not known when his affections sway'd
More than his reason. But 'tis a common proof,
That lowliness is young ambition's ladder,
Whereto the climber upward turns his face;
But when he once attains the upmost round,
He then unto the ladder turns his back,
Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees

By which he did ascend: so Cæsar may:
Then, lest he may, prevent. And since the quarrel
Will bear no colour, for the thing he is,
Fashion it thus; that what he is, augmented,
Would run to these, and these extremities:
And therefore think him as a serpent's egg,
Which, hatch'd, would, as his kind, grow mischievous;
And kill him in the shell. Enter Lucius.

Luc.
The taper burneth in your closet, Sir:
Searching the window for a flint, I found
This paper, thus seal'd up; and, I am sure,
It did not lie there, when I went to bed. [Gives him the letter.

Bru.
Get you to bed again, it is not day:
Is not to morrow, boy, the Ides of March?(8) ^note

Luc.
I know not, Sir.

Bru.
Look in the kalendar, and bring me word.

Luc.
I will, Sir. [Exit.

Bru.
The exhalations, whizzing in the air,
Give so much light, that I may read by them. [Opens the letter, and reads.

Brutus, thou sleep'st; awake, and see thy self:
Shall Rome,—speak, strike, redress.
Brutus, thou sleep'st: awake.
Such instigations have been often dropt,
Where I have took them up:
Shall Rome—thus must I piece it out,
“Shall Rome stand under one man's awe? what! Rome?
“My ancestors did from the streets of Rome
“The Tarquin drive, when he was call'd a King.
Speak, strike, redress—am I entreated then
To speak, and strike? O Rome! I make thee promise,
If the redress will follow, thou receiv'st
Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus! Enter Lucius.

Luc.
Sir, March is wasted fourteen days.(9) ^note [knocks within.

Bru.
'Tis good. Go to the gate; some body knocks: [Exit Lucius.
Since Cassius first did whet me against Cæsar,(10) ^note

I have not slept.—
Between the acting of a dreadful thing,
And the first motion, all the interim is

Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream:
The Genius, and the mortal instruments
Are then in council; and the state of man,
Like to a little Kingdom, suffers then
The nature of an insurrection. Enter Lucius.

Luc.
Sir, 'tis your brother Cassius 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 pluckt about their ears,
And half their faces buried in their Cloaks;
That by no means I may discover them
By any mark of favour.

Bru.
Let them enter. [Exit Lucius.
They are the faction. O Conspiracy!
Sham'st thou to shew thy dang'rous 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 it in Smiles and Affability:
For if thou path, thy native semblance on,
Not Erebus it self were dim enough
To hide thee from prevention. Enter Cassius, Casca, Decius, Cinna, Metellus, 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? [Aside.

Cas.
Yes, every man of them; and no man here,
But honours you: and every one doth wish,
You had but that opinion of your self,
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
Betwixt your eyes and night?

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

Dec.
Here lies the East: doth not the day break here?(11) ^note

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 that the face of men,
The sufferance of our souls, the time's abuse,—

If these be motives weak, break off betimes;
And ev'ry man hence to his idle bed:
So let high-sighted tyranny range on,(12) ^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,
And buy mens 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 out-live Cæsar: we shall find of him
A shrewd contriver. And you know, his means,
If he improve 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:
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 man there is no blood:
O, that we then could come by Cæsar's spirit,
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,
Not hew him as a carkass fit for hounds.
And let our hearts, as subtle masters do,
Stir up their servants 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;
For in th' 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, and die for Cæsar:
And that were much, he should; for he is giv'n
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,
If Cæsar will come forth to day, or no:
For he is superstitious grown of late,
(Quite from the main opinion he held once
Of fantasie, of dreams, and ceremonies:)
It may be, these apparent prodigies,
The unaccustom'd terror of this night,
And the persuasion of his augurers,
May hold him from the Capitol to day.

Dec.
Never fear that; if he be so resolv'd,
I can o'er-sway him; for he loves to hear,
That unicorns may be betray'd with trees,
And bears with glasses, elephants with holes,
Lions with toils, and men with flatterers.
But when I tell him, he hates flatterers,
He says, he does; being then most flattered.
Leave me to work:
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 to him:
He loves me well: and I have giv'n him reasons;

Send him but hither, and I'll fashion him.

Cas.
The morning comes upon's; we'll leave you, Brutus;
And, friends! disperse your selves; but all remember
What you have said, and shew your selves 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. [Exeunt. Manet Brutus.
Boy! Lucius! fast asleep? it is no matter,
Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of Slumber:
Thou hast no figures, nor no fantasies,
Which busie care draws in the brains of men;
Therefore thou sleep'st so sound. Enter Porcia.

Por.
Brutus, my lord!

Bru.
Porcia, 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've ungently, Brutus,
Stole from my bed: and, yesternight at supper,
You suddenly arose and walk'd about,
Musing and sighing, with your arms a-cross:
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 inkindled; 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,
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 Porcia, 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 wholsom 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, by my once-commended beauty,(13) ^note
By all your vows of love, and that great vow
Which did incorporate and make us one,
That you unfold to me, your self, 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 Porcia.

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 your self,
But, as it were, in sort or limitation?
To keep with you at meals, consort your bed,(14) ^note

And talk to you sometimes? dwell I but in the suburbs
Of your good pleasure? if it be no more,
Porcia 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:
I grant, I am a woman; but withal,
A woman well reputed; Cato's daughter.
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 my self 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. [Knock.
Hark, hark, one knocks: Porcia, 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 of my sad brows.
Leave me with haste. [Exit Portia.

Enter Lucius and Ligarius.
Lucius, who's there 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?

Cai.
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!

Cai.
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 an healthful ear to hear of it.

Cai.
By all the Gods the 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.

Cai.
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.

Cai.
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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