Bru.
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? ^note 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;— ^note
And then, I grant, we put a sting in him,
That at his will he may do danger with.
The 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 ^note turns his face;

But when he once attains the upmost ^note 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 ^note he may ^note, 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. Re-enter ^note 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 ^note him the letter.

Bru.
Get you to bed again; it is not day.
Is not to-morrow, boy, the ides ^note of March?

Luc.
I know not, sir.

Bru.
Look in the calendar 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 thyself.
Shall Rome, &c. ^note Speak, strike, redress.
Brutus, thou sleep'st: awake.’
Such instigations have been often dropp'd
Where I have took ^note them up.
‘Shall Rome, &c. ^note’ Thus must I piece it out:
Shall Rome stand under one man's awe? What, Rome? ^note

My ancestors ^note did from the streets of Rome
The Tarquin drive, when he was call'd a king.
‘Speak, strike, redress.’ Am I entreated ^{note note}
To speak and strike? O Rome, I make thee ^note promise,
If the redress will follow, thou receivest ^note
Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus! Re-enter Lucius.

Luc.
Sir, March is wasted fifteen ^note days. [Knocking within. ^note

Bru.
'Tis good. Go to the gate; somebody knocks. [Exit Lucius. ^note
Since Cassius first did whet me against Cæsar
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 ^note
Are then in council, and the state of man ^note
Like to a little kingdom suffers then
The nature of an insurrection. Re-enter ^note 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 moe ^note with him.

Bru.
Do you know them? ^note

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

Bru.
Let 'em ^note enter. [Exit Lucius.
They are the faction. O conspiracy,
Shamest 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 ^note none, conspiracy;
Hide it in ^note smiles and affability:
For if thou path, thy native semblance on, ^note
Not Erebus itself were dim enough
To hide thee from prevention. Enter the conspirators ^note, Cassius, Casca, Decius, Cinna, Metellus Cimber, and Trebonius. ^note

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. ^note
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 ^{note note}; and this, Metellus Cimber. ^note

Bru.
They are all welcome ^note.
What watchful cares do interpose themselves ^note
Betwixt your eyes and night?

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

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 deceived.
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 ^note of men,
The sufferance of our souls, the time's abuse,— ^note
If these be motives weak, break off betimes,
And every man hence to his idle bed;
So let high-sighted ^note tyranny range on
Till each man drop by lottery. But if these,
As I am sure they do, bear fire enough
To kindle cowards and to steel with valour
The melting spirits of women, then ^note, countrymen,

What need we any spur but our own cause
To prick us to redress? what other bond
Than secret Romans ^note that have spoke the word,
And will not palter ^note? and what other oath
Than honesty to honesty engaged
That this shall be or we will fall for it? ^note
Swear priests and cowards and men cautelous,
Old feeble carrions and such suffering souls
That ^note welcome wrongs; unto bad causes swear
Such creatures as men doubt: but do not stain ^note
The even virtue of our enterprise,
Nor the insuppressive mettle of our spirits,
To think that or our cause or our performance
Did ^note need an oath; when ^note every drop of blood
That every Roman bears, and nobly bears,
Is guilty of a several bastardy
If he do ^note break the smallest particle
Of any promise that hath pass'd from him.

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 men's voices to commend our deeds:
It shall be said his judgement ruled 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? ^note

Cas.
Decius, well urged: I think it is not meet
Mark Antony, so well beloved of Cæsar,
Should outlive 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. ^note
We all stand up against the spirit of Cæsar,
And in the spirit of men ^note there is no blood:
O, that we then could come by Cæsar's spirit ^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,
Not hew him as a carcass fit for hounds:
And ^note let our hearts, as subtle masters do,
Stir up their servants to an act of rage
And after seem to chide 'em ^note. This shall make ^note
Our purpose necessary and not envious:
Which so appearing to the common eyes,
We shall be call'd purgers ^{note note}, 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 fear ^note him,

For in ^note the ingrafted love he bears to Cæsar— ^note

Bru.
Alas, good Cassius, do not think of him:
If he love Cæsar, all that he can do
Is to himself, take ^note thought and die for Cæsar:
And that were much he should, for he is given
To sports, to wildness ^note and much company.

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

Bru.
Peace! count the clock.

Cas.
The clock hath stricken ^note three.

Treb.
'Tis time to part.

Cas.
But it is doubtful yet
Whether ^note Cæsar will come forth to-day or no;
For he is superstitious grown of late,
Quite from the main ^note opinion he held once
Of fantasy ^note, 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 resolved,
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 ^note,
Lions with toils and men with flatterers: ^note
But when I tell him he hates flatterers,
He says he does, being then most flattered.
Let me work ^note;
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 ^note hour: is that the uttermost?

Cin.
Be that the uttermost, and fail not then.

Met.
Caius Ligarius doth bear Cæsar hard ^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 ^note:
He loves me well, and I have given him reasons ^note;
Send him but hither, and I'll fashion him.

Cas.
The morning comes upon 's ^note: we'll leave you, Brutus: ^note
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 untired spirits and formal constancy:
And so, good morrow to you every one. [Exeunt ^note all but Brutus.
Boy! Lucius! Fast asleep! It is no matter;
Enjoy the honey-heavy dew ^note of slumber:
Thou hast no figures nor no fantasies,
Which busy care draws in the brains of men;
Therefore thou sleep'st so sound. ^noteEnter 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 ^note morning.

Por.
Nor for yours neither. You've ^note ungently, Brutus,
Stole ^note 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 stared upon me with ungentle looks:
I urged you further ^note; 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 ^note 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,
I should not know you, Brutus ^note. 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 ^note 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 ^note sickness? No, my Brutus;
You have some sick offence within your mind,

Which by the right and virtue of my place ^note
I ought to know of: and, upon my knees,
I charm ^note you, 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 ^note
Even from darkness.

Bru.
Kneel not, gentle Portia.

Por.
I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus.
Within the ^note 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, comfort ^note your bed,
And talk to you sometimes ^note? Dwell I but in the suburbs
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:
I grant I am a woman, but withal
A woman well reputed, Cato's ^note 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 'em ^note:
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 ^note?

Bru.
O ye gods,
Render me worthy of this noble wife! [Knocking within. ^note
Hark, hark! one knocks: Portia, go in awhile;
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.] Lucius, who's that ^note knocks? Re-enter ^note Lucius with Ligarius.

Luc.
Here is a sick man that would speak with you.

Bru.
Caius Ligarius, that Metellus spake of. ^note
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 ^note healthful ear to hear of it.

Lig.
By all the gods that Romans ^note bow before,
I here discard my sickness! Soul of Rome!
Brave son, derived from honourable loins!
Thou, like an exorcist, hast conjured up
My mortified spirit. Now bid me run,
And I will strive with things impossible,
Yea ^note, get the better of them. What's to do?

Bru.
A piece of work that will make sick men whole. ^note

Lig.
But are not some whole that we must make sick?

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

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

Bru.
Follow me then. [Exeunt. ^{note note}

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