Enter 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 lye 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 first of March?

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
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 fifteen Days. [Knock within.

Bru.
'Tis good. Go to the Gate, some body knocks:
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,
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 pluck'd about their Ears,
And half their Faces buried in their Cloaths,
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, Caska, 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 Caska; 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 intreat a word? [They whisper.

Dec.
Here lies the East: Doth not the Day break here?

Cask.
No.

Cin.
O pardon, Sir, it doth, and you grey Lines,
That fret the Clouds, are Messengers of Day.

Cask.
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,
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,
'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, Countrymen,
What need we any spur, but our own Cause
To prick us to redress? What other Bond,
Than secret Romans, that have spoke the word,
And will not palter? And what other Oath,
Than Honesty to Honesty engag'd,
That this shall be, or we will fall for it.
Swear Priests, and Cowards, and Men cautelous,
Old feeble Carrions, and such suffering Souls
That welcome wrongs: Unto bad Causes, swear
Such Creatures as Men doubt; but do not stain
The even Virtue of our Enterprize,
Nor th'insuppressive Mettle of our Spirits,

To think, that or our Cause, or our Performance,
Did need an Oath. When every drop of Blood
That every Roman bears, and nobly bears,
Is guilty of a several Bastardy,
If he doth break the smallest Particle
Of any Promise, that hath past from him.

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

Cask.
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.

Cask.
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's be Sacrificers, but not Butchers, Cassius:
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 Spirits,
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 fear him;
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, 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 dye,
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,
Whether 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.
Let me 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 hatred,
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 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 have you 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 Hony-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 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'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 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 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 Vertue of my Place,
I ought to know of: And upon my Knees,
I charm 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, 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 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 your self,
But as it were in sort, or Limitation?
To keep with you at Meals, Comfort your Bed,
And talk to you sometimes? 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 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: 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 of my sad Brows:
Leave me with haste. [Exit Portia. Enter Lucius and Ligarius.
Lucius, who's 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 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.

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. [Thunder.

Bru.
Follow me then. [Exeunt. SCENE II. Cæsar's Palace. Thunder and Lightning. Enter Julius Cæsar in his Night-Gown.

Cæs.
Nor Heav'n, nor Earth, have been at Peace to Night:
Thrice hath Calphurnia in her Sleep cry'd out;
Help, ho; they murder Cæsar. Who's within? Enter a Servant.

Ser.
My Lord.

Cæs.
Go, bid the Priests do present Sacrifice,
And bring me their Opinions of Success.

Ser.
I will, my Lord. [Exit. Enter Calphurnia.

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 threatned me,
Ne'er lookt but on my Back: When they shall see
The Face of Cæsar, they are vanished.

Cal.
Cæsar, I never stood on Ceremonies,
Yet now they fright me: There is one within,
Besides the things that we have heard and seen,
Recounts most horrid sights seen by the Watch.
A Lioness hath whelped in the Streets,
And Graves have yawn'd and yielded up their dead;
Fierce fiery Warriors fight upon the Clouds,
In Ranks and Squadrons, and right form of War,
Which drizzled Blood upon the Capitol:
The noise of Battel hurried in the Air,
Horses did neigh, and dying Men did groan,
And Ghosts did shriek and squeal about the Streets.

O Cæsar! these things are beyond all use,
And I do fear them.

Cæs.
What can be avoided
Whose end is purpos'd by the mighty Gods?
Yet Cæsar shall go forth: For these Predictions
Are to the World in general, as to Cæsar.

Cal.
When Beggars die there are no Comets seen,
The Heav'ns themselves blaze forth the death of Princes.

Cæs.
Cowards die many times before their Deaths,
The Valiant never taste of Death but once:
Of all the Wonders that I yet have heard,
It seems to me most strange that Men should fear,
Seeing that Death, a necessary end,
Will come, when it will come. Enter a Servant.
What say the Augurers?

Ser.
They would not have you to stir forth to Day.
Plucking the Entrails of an Offering forth,
They could not find a Heart within the Beast.

Cæs.
The Gods do this in shame of Cowardise:
Cæsar should be a Beast without a Heart,
If he should stay at home to Day for fear:
No, Cæsar shall not; Danger knows full well,
That Cæsar is more dangerous than he.
We heard two Lions litter'd in one Day,
And I the elder and more terrible;
And Cæsar shall go forth.

Cal.
Alas, my Lord,
Your Wisdom is consum'd in Confidence:
Do not go forth to Day; call it my Fear,
That keeps you in the House, and not your own.
We'll send Mark Antony to the Senate-house,
And he shall say you are not well to Day:
Let me, upon my Knee, prevail in this.

Cæs.
Mark Antony shall say I am not well,
And for thy Humour, I will stay at home. Enter Decius.
Here's Decius Brutus, he shall tell them so.

Dec.
Cæsar, all hail! Good Morrow, worthy Cæsar,
I come to fetch you to the Senate-house.

Cæs.
And you are come in very happy time,
To bear my Greeting to the Senators,
And tell them that I will not come to Day:
Cannot is false, and that I dare not, falser;
I will not come to Day; tell them so, Decius.

Cal.
Say he is sick.

Cæs.
Shall Cæsar send a Lie?
Have I in Conquest stretcht mine Arm so far,
To be afraid to tell Grey-beards the Truth?
Decius, go tell them Cæsar will not come.

Dec.
Most mighty Cæsar, let me know some Cause,
Lest I be laught at when I tell them so.

Cæs.
The Cause is in my Will, I will not come;
That is enough to satisfie the Senate.
But for your private Satisfaction,
Because I love you, I will let you know.
Calphurnia here, my Wife, stays me at home:
She dreamt last Night she saw my Statue,
Which like a Fountain, with an hundred Spouts,
Did run pure Blood; and many lusty Romans
Came smiling, and did bathe their Hands in it:
And these does she apply, for Warnings and Portents,
And Evils imminent; and on her Knee
Hath begg'd that I will stay at home to Day.

Dec.
This Dream is all amiss interpreted,
It was a Vision fair and fortunate:
Your Statue spouting Blood in many Pipes,
In which so many smiling Romans bath'd,
Signifies that from you great Rome shall suck
Reviving Blood, and that Great Men shall press
For Tinctures, Stains, Relicks, and Cognisance.
This, by Calphurnia's Dream is signified.

Cæs.
And this way have you well expounded it.

Dec.
I have, when you have heard what I can say;
And know it now, the Senate have concluded
To give this Day a Crown to mighty Cæsar.
If you shall send them Word you will not come,
Their Minds may change. Besides, it were a mock
Apt to be render'd, for some one to say,
Break up the Senate 'till another time,
When Cæsar's Wife shall meet with better Dreams:

If Cæsar hide himself, shall they not whisper,
Lo, Cæsar is afraid!
Pardon me, Cæsar, for my dear dear Love,
To your Proceeding, bids me tell you this:
And Reason to my Love is liable.

Cæs.
How foolish do your Fears seem now, Calphurnia!
I am ashamed I did yield to them.
Give me my Robe, for I will go. Enter Brutus, Ligarius, Metellus, Caska, Trebonius, Cinna, and Publius.
And look where Publius is come to fetch me.

Pub.
Good Morrow, Cæsar.

Cæs.
Welcome, Publius.
What, Brutus, are you stirr'd so early too?
Good Morrow, Caska: Caius Ligarius,
Cæsar was ne'er so much your Enemy,
As that same Ague which hath made you lean,
What is't a Clock?

Bru.
Cæsar, 'tis strucken eight.

Cæs.
I thank you for your Pains and Courtesie. Enter Antony.
See Antony, that revels long a-nights,
Is not withstanding up. Good Morrow, Antony.

Ant.
So to most noble Cæsar.

Cæs.
Bid them prepare within:
I am to blame to be thus waited for.
Now Cinna; now Metellus; what, Trebonius!
I have an hour's talk in store for you,
Remember that you call on me to Day,
Be near me, that I may remember you.

Treb.
Cæsar, I will; and so near will I be, [Aside.
That your best Friends shall wish I had been further.

Cæs.
Good Friends go in, and taste some Wine with me,
And we, like Friends, will straightway go together.

Bru.
That every like is not the same, O Cæsar,
The Heart of Brutus earns to think upon. [Exeunt.

SCENE III. The Street.

Enter Artimedorus reading a Paper.

Cæsar, beware of Brutus, take heed of Cassius, come not near Caska, have an Eye to Cinna, trust not Trebonius, mark well Metellus Cimber, Decius Brutus loves thee not; thou hast wrong'd Caius Ligarius. There is but one Mind in all these Men, and it is bent against Cæsar. If thou beest not Immortal, look about thee: Security gives way to Conspiracy. The mighty Gods defend thee.

Thy Lover Artemidorus.