PORTIA.
Brutus! my Lord, where are you?

BRUTUS.
What, my Portia?
Why do you thus expose your tender health?

PORTIA.
Can I consider Health, without your Love?
You have unkindly stol'n from me to Night,
And by your Absence robb'd me of my Rest:
How could my Brutus thus ungently leave
One so unwilling to be left by you?

BRUTUS.
  Chide not too much, my Portia; and yet
There is some pleasure to be chid so kindly.
Our Sex has tenderness equal to yours;
Yet we, incumbred with vexatious Cares,
No sooner bend our softer Thoughts to Love,
But Business, like a Master too severe,
Stands hov'ring over us amidst our Pleasure,
And drags us to our tiresome Task again.

PORTIA.
But Life is short; O why should we mispend it?
A Wretch condemn'd to dye within few hours,
Would think them ill employ'd in Complements:

The solemn Trifles of a busy World
Are oft but Complement, compar'd with Love,
Whose short and precious hours you throw away.

BRUTUS.
Dear Portia, now you but disturb my Thoughts.

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 said, you could not sleep, and yet turn'd from me.

BRUTUS.
Turning from thee is Restlesness 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 soon.

My Soul is so 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 so tenderly,
You, like officious and condoling Friends,
But more afflict that Mind you would compose.
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 suffice, and leave me; 'tis a word,
I never us'd to thee before.

PORTIA.
Alas!
You would not use it now, if still you lov'd.
Can you have thoughts unfit to own to me?
You are unjust, and I undone, farewel.

BRUTUS.
What means my Portia?

PORTIA.
Brutus unjust!
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 deserv'd to find him so.
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 Trust, which always follows Kindness.
And therefore yours is chang'd; I see 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 wish'd a Wrong to you before.

BRUTUS
How have I liv'd, and which of all my Actions
Has giv'n the least occasion ev'n for Malice?
I am, you know, not like the rest of Husbands;
My Promise and my Vows are Tyes to me,
As strong 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 unjust Suspicions may produce
Either in you or me, alas, I know not.
Therefore be calm and kind, as thou art us'd,
And try such rough ungentle ways no more.
My Mind, you know, hardens against Compulsion,
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 Resolutions, spite of your Unkindness.
You cannot shut me out from tender cares
For every thought of yours: that zealous part
The meanest Slave may have in mighty Cæsar,
And yet give no offence.

BRUTUS.
The mighty Cæsar!
I am that meanest Slave, if he remain (Apart.
The mighty Cæsar. Kneel not, gentle Portia.

PORTIA.
I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus. (Weeps.

BRUTUS.
O my soft Heart! my Resolution's arm'd
Against all Dangers, nay, against my Friend;
Yet firm to all things else, 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 resisting 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. (Kisses her.
O Portia, be not you that Tyrant then;
For well you know your Pow'r, and may be mine.

PORTIA.
But tell me all.

BRUTUS.
Then, know that they who came to me this Night—
But why shou'd 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 sound; spare then thy self.

PORTIA.
But you were just 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 obscurer Paths;
Serpents lye hidden there, whose conscious Sting
Will rob thee of thy rest.
Oh, press 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 such a Father,
And such a Husband?

BRUTUS.
Well then, hear it all.

PORTIA.
Hold, dearest Brutus!
I dare not hear it yet; I'll try this first. She stabs her self in the Arm.

BRUTUS.
Hold, what d'ye mean?

PORTIA.
To try my Fortitude.
For tho' I durst have trusted my firm Mind
With any thing which but concern'd my self;
Where you're engag'd, it was too great a venture:
I doubt my firmest thoughts, while you suspect them.

BRUTUS.
Oh, Wonder of thy Sex!
Gods! make me worthy of this matchless Woman!
Haste, haste, and let thy Wound be quickly dress'd.
Within I'll tell thee all,
And in thy Bosom pour my very Soul. Exit Porcia.

Enter Lucius.

LUCIUS.
A Messenger, my Lord, from mighty Cæsar
Is sent to summon you, and Caius Cassius,
About some weighty matter presently. (Exit Lucius.

BRUTUS.
From Cæsar? and my Brother Cassius too?
An early Summons this! We are betray'd,
Lost and undone, yet less in our own ruin,
Than in the letting him escape. Oh Rome,
Thou hast in vain depended on thy Brutus!
But I will go, lest my delaying now
Should raise Suspicion; and if all's discover'd,
My Life is useless, and not worth my Care. (Exeunt.

Between the second and third Act, these Verses are to be sung by a Person representing the Genius of Rome. Second CHORUS.
Lo, to prevent this mighty Empire's Doom,
From bright unknown Abodes of Bliss I come,
The awful Genius of Majestick Rome.
Great is her Danger: but I will engage
Some few, the Master-Souls of all this Age,
To do an Act of just Heroic Rage.
'Tis hard, a Man so great, should fall so low;
More hard, to let so brave a People bow
To one themselves have rais'd, who scorns them now.

Yet oh, I grieve, that Brutus should be stain'd;
Whose Life, excepting this one Act, remain'd
So pure, that future times will think it feign'd.
But only he can make the rest combine;
The very Life, and Soul of their Design;
The Centre, where those mighty Spirits join.
Unthinking Men no sort of Scruples make;
Others do ill, only for Mischief's sake;
But ev'n the best are guilty by Mistake.
Thus some, for Envy, or Revenge, intend
To bring the bold Usurper to his end;
But for his Country, Brutus stabs his Friend.

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