Enter Artemidorus reading a paper.

Cæsar, beware of Brutus, take heed of Cassius, come not near Casca, 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

My heart laments, that virtue cannot live
Out of the teeth of emulation.
If thou read this, O Cæsar, thou may'st live;
If not, the fates with traitors do contrive. [Exit. Enter Portia and Lucius.

Por.
I pr'ythee, boy, run to the senate-house,
Stay not to answer me, but get thee gone:
Why dost thou stay?

Luc.
To know my errand, Madam.

Por.
I would have had thee there, and here again,
Ere I can tell thee what thou shouldst do there—
O constancy, be strong upon my side,
Set a huge mountain 'tween my heart and tongue;
I have a man's mind, but a woman's might:
How hard it is for women to keep counsel!
Art thou here yet?

Luc.
Madam, what should I do?
Run to the Capitol, and nothing else?
And so return to you, and nothing else?

Por.
Yes, bring me word, boy, if thy lord look well,
For he went sickly forth: and take good note,
What Cæsar doth, what suitors press to him.
Hark boy! what noise is that?

Luc.
I hear none, Madam.

Por.
Pr'ythee listen well:
I heard a bustling rumour like a fray,
And the wind brings it from the Capitol.

Luc.
Sooth, Madam, I hear nothing. Enter Artemidorus.

Por.
Come hither fellow, which way hast thou been?

Art.
At mine own house, good lady.

Por.
What is't a clock?

Art.
About the ninth hour, lady.

Por.
Is Cæsar yet gone to the Capitol?

Art.
Madam, not yet; I go to take my stand,
To see him pass on to the Capitol.

Por.
Thou hast some suit to Cæsar, hast thou not?

Art.
That I have, lady, if it will please Cæsar
To be so good to Cæsar, as to hear me:
I shall beseech him to defend himself.

Por.
Why, know'st thou any harm intended tow'rds him?

Art.
None that I know will be, much that I fear,
Good-morrow to you. Here the street is narrow:
The throng that follows Cæsar at the heels
Of Senators, of Prætors, common suitors,
Will crowd a feeble man almost to death:
I'll get me to a place more void, and there
Speak to great Cæsar as he comes along. [Exit.

Por.
I must go in—aye me! how weak a thing
The heart of woman is! O Brutus! Brutus!
The heavens speed thee in thine enterprize.
Sure the boy heard me: Brutus hath a suit
That Cæsar will not grant. O, I grow faint:
Run, Lucius, and commend me to my lord,
Say I am merry; come to me again,
And bring me word what he doth say to thee. [Exeunt.

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