Flavius.
Hence; home, you idle creatures, get you home;
Is this a holiday? what! know you not,
Being mechanical, you ought not walk
Upon a labouring day, without the sign
Of your profession? speak, what trade art thou?

Car.
Why, Sir, a carpenter.

Mar.
Where is thy leather apron, and thy rule?
What dost thou with thy best apparel on?
You, Sir,—What trade are you?

Cob.

Truly, Sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, as you would say, a cobler.

Mar.

But what trade art thou? answer me directly.

Cob.

A trade, Sir, that, I hope, I may use with a safe conscience; which is, indeed, Sir, a mender of bad soals.

Flav.

What trade, thou knave? thou naughty knave, what trade?

Cob.

Nay, I beseech you, Sir, be not out with me: yet if you be out, Sir, I can mend you.

Flav.

What mean'st thou by that? mend me, thou saucy fellow?

Cob.

Why, Sir, cobble you.

Flav.

Thou art a cobler, art thou?

Cob.

Truly, Sir, all, that I live by, is the awl: I meddle with no tradesmen's matters, nor woman's matters; but with-all, I am, indeed, Sir, a surgeon to old shoes; when they are in great danger, I recover them. As proper men as ever trod upon neats-leather have gone upon my handy-work.

Flav.

But wherefore are ^note not in thy shop to day? Why dost thou lead these men about the streets?

&wlquo;Cob.

&wlquo;Truly, Sir, to wear out their shoes, to get myself into more work.&wrquo; But, indeed, Sir, we make holiday to see Cæsar, and to rejoice in his triumph.

Mar.
Wherefore rejoice!—what conquest brings he home?
What tributaries follow him to Rome,
To grace in captive bonds his chariot-wheels?
You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things!
O you hard hearts! you cruel men of Rome!
Knew you not Pompey? many a time and oft
Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements,
To Towers and windows, yea, to chimney tops,
Your infants in your arms; and there have sate
The live-long day with patient expectation,
To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome:
And when you saw his chariot but appear,
Have you not made an universal shout,
That Tyber trembled underneath his banks
To hear the replication of your sounds,
Made in his concave shores?

And do you now put on your best attire?
And do you now cull out an holiday?
And do you now strew flowers in his way,
That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood?
Be gone.—
Run to your houses, fall upon your knees,
Pray to the Gods, to intermit the plague,
That needs must light on this ingratitude.

Flav.
Go, go, good countrymen, and for that fault
Assemble all the poor men of your sort;
Draw them to Tyber's bank, and weep your tears
Into the channel, 'till the lowest stream
Do kiss the most exalted shores of all. [Exeunt Commoners.
See, whe're their basest mettle be not mov'd;
They vanish tongue-ty'd in their guiltiness.
Go you down that way tow'rds the Capitol,
This way will I; disrobe the images,
If you do find them * ^notedeck'd with ceremonies.

Mar.
May we do so?
You know it is the feast of Lupercal.

Flav.
It is no matter, let no images
Be hung with Cæsar's trophies; I'll about,
And drive away the vulgar from the streets:
So do you too, where you perceive them thick.
These growing feathers, pluckt from Cæsar's wing,
Will make him fly an ordinary pitch;
Who else would ^{1 note}soar above the view of men,
And keep us all in servile fearfulness. [Exeunt severally.

SCENE II. Enter Cæsar, Antony, for the Course, Calphurnia, Portia, Decius, Cicero, Brutus, Cassius, Casca, a Soothsayer.

Cæs.
Calphurnia,—

Casc.
Peace, ho! Cæsar speaks.

Cæs.
Calphurnia,—

Calp.
Here, my lord.

Cæs.
Stand you directly in Antonius' way,
When he doth run his Course—Antonius,—

Ant.
Cæsar, my lord.

Cæs.
Forget not in your speed, Antonius,
To touch Calphurnia; for our Elders say,
The barren, touched in this holy chase,
Shake off their steril curse.

Ant.
I shall remember.
When Cæsar says, do this; it is perform'd.

Cæs.
Set on, and leave no ceremony out.

Sooth
Cæsar,—

Cæs.
Ha! who calls?

Casc.
Bid every noise be still: peace yet again.

Cæs.
Who is it in the Press, that calls on me?
I hear a tongue, shriller than all the musick,
Cry, Cæsar. Speak; Cæsar is turn'd to hear.

Sooth
Beware the Ides of March.

Cæs.
What man is that?

Bru.
A soothsayer bids you beware the Ides of March.

Cæs.
Set him before me, let me see his face.

Cas.
Fellow, come from the throng, look upon Cæsar.

Cæs.
What say'st thou to me now? speak once again.

Sooth.
Beware the Ides of March.

Cæs.
He is a dreamer, let us leave him; pass. [Exeunt Cæsar and Train.

SCENE III. Manent Brutus and Cassius.

Cas.
Will you go see the order of the Course?

Bru.
Not I.

Cas.
I pray you, do.

Bru.
I am not gamesom; I do lack some part
Of that quick spirit that is in Antony:
Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires;
I'll leave you.

Cas.
Brutus, I do observe you now of late;
I have not from your eyes that gentleness,
And shew of love, as I was wont to have;
You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand
Over your friend that loves you.

Bru.
Cassius,
Be not deceiv'd: if I have veil'd my look,
I turn the trouble of my countenance
Meerly upon myself. Vexed I am,
Of late, with passions of some difference,
Conceptions only proper to myself;
Which give some soil, perhaps, to my behaviour:
But let not therefore my good friends be griev'd,
Among which number, Cassius, be you one;
Nor construe any farther my neglect,
Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war,
Forgets the shews of love to other men.

Cas.
Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion;
By means whereof, this breast of mine hath buried
Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations.
Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face?

Bru.
No, Cassius; for the eye sees not itself,
But by reflexion from some other things.

Cas.
'Tis just.
And it is very much lamented, Brutus,
That you have no such mirrors, as will turn
Your hidden worthiness into your eye,
That you might see your shadow. I have heard,
Where many of the best respect in Rome,
(Except immortal Cæsar) speaking of Brutus,
And groaning underneath this age's yoak,
Have wish'd, that noble Brutus had his eyes.

Bru.
Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius,
That you would have me seek into myself,
For that which is not in me?

Cas.
Therefore, good Brutus, be prepar'd to hear;
And since you know, you cannot see yourself
So well as by reflexion; I, your glass,
Will modestly discover to yourself
That of yourself, which yet you know not of.
And be not jealous of me, gentle Brutus:
Were I a common laugher, or did use
To stale with ordinary oaths my love
To every new protestor; if you know,
That I do fawn on men, and hug them hard,
And after scandal them; or if you know,
That I profess myself in banqueting
To all the rout, then hold me dangerous. [Flourish and shout.

Bru.
What means this shouting? I do fear, the People
Chuse Cæsar for their King.

Cas.
Ay, do you fear it?
Then must I think, you would not have it so.

Bru.
I would not, Cassius; yet I love him well:
But wherefore do you hold me here so long?
What is it, that you would impart to me?
If it be aught toward the general good,
Set honour in one eye, and Death i'th' other,

^{2 note}

Cas.
I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus,
As well as I do know your outward favour.
Well, Honour is the subject of my story:—
I cannot tell, what you and other men
Think of this life; but for my single self,
I had as lief not be, as live to be
In awe of such a thing as I myself.
I was born free as Cæsar, so were you;
We both have fed as well; and we can both
Endure the winter's cold, as well as he.
&wlquo;^{3 note}

&wlquo;Cæsar says to me, dar'st thou, Cassius, now
&wlquo;Leap in with me into this angry flood,
&wlquo;And swim to yonder point?—Upon the word,
&wlquo;Accoutred as I was, I plunged in,
&wlquo;And bid him follow; so, indeed, he did.
&wlquo;The torrent roar'd, and we did buffet it
&wlquo;With lusty sinews; throwing it aside,
&wlquo;And stemming it with hearts of controversie.
&wlquo;But ere we could arrive the point propos'd,&wrquo;
Cæsar cry'd, Help me, Cassius, or I sink.
I, as Æneas, our great Ancestor,
Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder
The old Anchises bear, so, from the waves of Tyber
Did I the tired Cæsar: and this man
Is now become a God; and Cassius is
A wretched creature, and must bend his body,
If Cæsar carelessly but nod on him.
He had a fever when he was in Spain,
And when the fit was on him, I did mark
How he did shake: 'tis true, this God did shake;
^{4 note}His coward lips did from their colour fly,
And that same eye, whose Bend doth awe the world,
Did lose its lustre; I did hear him groan:
Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans
Mark him, and write his speeches in their books,
Alas! it cry'd—give me some drink, Titinius—
As a sick girl. Ye Gods, it doth amaze me,
A man of such a feeble temper should
&wlquo;So ^{5 note}get the start of the majestick world,

&wlquo;And bear the Palm alone.&wrquo; [Shout. Flourish

Bru.
Another general shout!
I do believe, that these applauses are
For some new honours that are heap'd on Cæsar.

&plquo;Cas.
&plquo;Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world
&plquo;Like a Colossus; and we petty men
&plquo;Walk under his huge legs, and peep about
&plquo;To find ourselves dishonourable graves.
&plquo;Men at sometimes are masters of their fates:
&plquo;The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
&plquo;But in ourselves, that we are underlings.
&plquo;Brutus and Cæsar! what should be in that Cæsar?
&plquo;Why should that name be sounded, more than yours?
&plquo;Write them together; yours is as fair a name:
&plquo;Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well;
&plquo;Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with 'em,
&plquo;Brutus will start a spirit, as soon as Cæsar.
&plquo;Now in the names of all the Gods at once,
&plquo;Upon what meat does this our Cæsar feed,
&plquo;That he is grown so great? Age, thou art sham'd;
&plquo;Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods.
&plquo;When went there by an age, since the great flood,
&plquo;But it was fam'd with more than with one man?
&plquo;When could they say, till now, that talk'd of Rome,
&plquo;That her wide walls incompass'd but one man?&prquo;
Now is it Rome, indeed; and room enough,
When there is in it but one only man.
Oh! you and I have heard our fathers say,
There was a Brutus once, that would have brook'd
Th' eternal devil to keep his state in Rome,
As easily as a King.

Bru.
That you do love me, I am nothing jealous;
What you would work me to, I have some aim;
How I have thought of this, and of these times,
I shall recount hereafter: for this present,
I would not (so with love I might intreat you)
Be any further mov'd. What you have said,
I will consider; what you have to say,
I will with patience hear; and find a time
Both meet to hear, and answer such high things.
'Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this;
Brutus had rather be a villager,
Than to repute himself a son of Rome
Under such hard conditions, as this time
Is like to lay upon us.

Cas.
I am glad that my weak words
Have struck but thus much shew of fire from Brutus. SCENE IV. Enter Cæsar and his Train.

Bru.
The Games are done, and Cæsar is returning.

Cas.
As they pass by, pluck Casca by the sleeve,
And he will, after his sour fashion tell you,
What hath proceeded worthy note to day.

Bru.
I will do so; but look you, Cassius,—
The angry spot doth glow on Cæsar's brow,
And all the rest look like a chidden train.
Calphurnia's cheek is pale; and Cicero
Looks with such ferret, and such fiery eyes,
As we have seen him in the Capitol,
Being crost in conf'rence by some Senators.

Cas.
Casca will tell us what the matter is.

Cæs.
Antonius,—

Ant.
Cæsar?

&wlquo;Cæs.
&wlquo;Let me have men, about me that are fat,
&wlquo;Sleek-headed men, and such as sleep a-nights:

&wlquo;Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look,
&wlquo;He thinks too much; such men are dangerous.&wrquo;

Ant.
Fear him not, Cæsar, he's not dangerous;
He is a noble Roman, and well given.

Cæs.
^{6 note}'Would he were fatter; but I fear him not:
&plquo;Yet if my name were liable to fear,
&plquo;I do not know the man I should avoid,
&plquo;So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much;
&plquo;He is a great observer; and he looks
&plquo;Quite through the deeds of men. He loves no plays,
&plquo;As thou dost, Antony; he hears no musick;
&plquo;Seldom he smiles; and smiles in such a sort,
&plquo;As if he mock'd himself, and scorn'd his spirit,
&plquo;That could be mov'd to smile at any thing.
&plquo;Such men as he be never at heart's ease,
&plquo;Whilst they behold a greater than themselves;
&plquo;And therefore are they very dangerous.
&plquo;I rather tell thee what is to be fear'd,
&plquo;Than what I fear; for always I am Cæsar.&prquo;
Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf,
And tell me truly, what thou think'st of him. [Exeunt Cæsar and his Train. SCENE V. Manent Brutus and Cassius: Casca, to them.

Casca.
You pull'd me by the cloak; would you speak with me?

Bru.
Ay, Casca, tell us what hath chanc'd to day,
That Cæsar looks so sad.

Casca.
Why, you were with him, were you not?

Bru.
I should not then ask Casca what had chanc'd.

Casca.

Why, there was a crown offer'd him; and being offer'd him, he put it by with the back of his hand thus, and then the people fell a shouting.

Bru.

What was the second noise for?

Casca.

Why, for that too.

Cas.

They shouted thrice: what was the last cry for?

Casca.

Why, for that too.

Bru.

Was the crown offer'd him thrice?

Casca.

Ay, marry, was't, and he put it by thrice, every time gentler than other; and at every putting by, mine honest neighbours shouted.

Cas.

Who offer'd him the crown?

Casca.

Why, Antony.

Bru.

Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca.

Casca.

I can as well be hang'd, as tell the manner of it: it was meer foolery, I did not mark it. I saw Mark Antony offer him a crown; yet 'twas not a crown neither, 'twas one of these coronets; and, as I told you, he put it by once; but for all that, to my thinking he would fain have had it. Then he offer'd it to him again: then he put it by again; but, to my thinking, he was very loth to lay his fingers off it. And then he offer'd it the third time; he put it the third time by; and still as he refus'd it, the rabblement houted, and clap'd their chopt hands, and threw up their sweaty night-caps, and utter'd such a deal of stinking breath, because Cæsar refus'd the crown, that it had almost choaked Cæsar; for he swooned, and fell down at it: and for mine own part, I durst not laugh, for fear of opening my lips, and receiving the bad air.

Cas.

But, soft, I pray you; what, did Cæsar swoon?

Casca.

He fell down in the market-place, and foam'd at mouth, and was speechless.

Bru.
'Tis very like; he hath the falling Sickness.

Cas.
No, Cæsar hath it not; but you and I,
And honest Casca, we have the falling-sickness.

Casca.

I know not what you mean by that; but, I am sure, Cæsar fell down: If the tag-rag people did not clap him, and hiss him, according as he pleas'd, and displeas'd them, as they used to do the Players in the Theatre, I am no true man.

Bru.

What said he, when he came unto himself?

Casca.

Marry, before he fell down, when he perceiv'd the common herd was glad he refus'd the Crown, he pluckt me ope his doublet, and offer'd them his throat to cut: An' I had been a man of any occupation, if I would not have taken him at a word, I would I might go to hell among the rogues; and so he fell. When he came to himself again, he said, “If he had done, or said any thing amiss, he desir'd their Worships to think it was his infirmity.” Three or four wenches where I stood, cry'd, “alas, good soul!”—and forgave him with all their hearts: but there's no heed to be taken of them; if Cæsar had stabb'd their mothers, they would have done no less.

Bru.

And after that, he came, thus sad, away?

Casca.

Ay.

Cas.

Did Cicero say any thing?

Casca.

Ay, he spoke Greek.

Cas.

To what effect?

Casca.

Nay, an' I tell you that, I'll ne'er look you i' th' face again. But those, that understood him, smil'd at one another, and shook their heads; but for mine own part, it was Greek to me. I could tell you more news too: Marullus and Flavius, for pulling scarfs off Cæsar's Images, are put to silence. Fare you well. There was more foolery yet, if I could remember it.

Cas.

Will you sup with me to night, Casca?

Casca.

No, I am promis'd forth.

Cas.

Will you dine with me to morrow?

Casca.

Ay, if I be alive, and your mind hold, and your dinner be worth the eating.

Cas.
Good, I will expect you.

Casca.
Do so: farewel Both. [Exit.

Bru.
What a blunt fellow is this grown to be?
He was quick mettle, when he went to school.

Cas.
So is he now, in execution
Of any bold or noble enterprize,
However he puts on this tardy form:
This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit,
Which gives men stomach to digest his words
With better appetite.

Bru.
And so it is: for this time I will leave you.
To morrow, if you please to speak with me,
I will come home to you; or, if you will,
Come home to me, and I will wait for you.

Cas.
I will do so; till then, think of the world. [Exit Brutus.
Well, Brutus, thou art noble; yet, I see,
Thy honourable Metal may be wrought
From what it is dispos'd; therefore 'tis meet,
That noble minds keep ever with their likes:
For who so firm, that cannot be seduc'd?
Cæsar doth bear me hard; but he loves Brutus.
^{7 note}

And, after this, let Cæsar seat him sure;
For we will shake him, or worse days endure. [Exit. SCENE VI. Thunder and lightning. Enter Casca, his sword drawn; and Cicero, meeting him.

Cic.
Good even, Casca; brought you Cæsar home?
Why are you breathless, and why stare you so?

Casca.
Are not you mov'd, when all the sway of earth
Shakes like a thing unfirm? O Cicero!
I have seen tempests, when the scolding winds
Have riv'd the knotty oaks; and I have seen
Th' ambitious ocean swell, and rage, and foam,
To be exalted with the threatning clouds:
But never till to night, never till now,
Did I go through a tempest dropping fire.
Either there is a civil strife in heav'n;
Or else the world, too saucy with the Gods,
Incenses them to send destruction.

Cic.
Why, saw you any thing more wonderful?

Casca.
A common slave, you know him well by sight,
Held up his left hand, which did flame and burn,
Like twenty torches join'd; and yet his hand,
Not sensible of fire, remain'd unscorch'd.
Besides, (I ha' not since put up my sword)
Against the Capitol I met a lion,
Who glar'd upon me, and went surly by,
Without annoying me. And there were drawn
Upon a heap a hundred ghastly women,
Transformed with their fear; who swore, they saw
Men, all in fire, walk up and down the streets.
And yesterday, the bird of night did sit,
Ev'n at noon-day, upon the market-place,
Houting and shrieking. When these Prodigies

Do so conjointly meet, let not men say,
“These are their reasons, they are natural:”
For, I believe, they are portentous things
Unto the Climate, that they point upon.

Cic.
Indeed, it is a strange-disposed time:
But men may construe things after their fashion,
Clean from the purpose of the things themselves.
Comes Cæsar to the Capitol to morrow?

Casca.
He doth: for he did bid Antonius
Send word to you, he would be there to morrow.

Cic.
Good night then, Casca; this disturbed sky
Is not to walk in.

Casca.
Farewel, Cicero. [Exit Cicero. SCENE VII. Enter Cassius.

Cas.
Who's there?

Casca.
A Roman.

Cas.
Casca, by your voice.

Casca.
Your ear is good. Cassius, what night is this?

Cas.
A very pleasing night to honest men.

Casca.
Who ever knew the heaven's menace so?

Cas.
Those, that have known the earth so full of faults.
For my part, I have walk'd about the streets,
Submitting me unto the perillous night;
And thus unbraced, Casca, as you see,
Have bar'd my bosom to the thunder-stone:
And when the cross blue lightning seem'd to open
The breast of heaven, I did present my self
Ev'n in the aim and very flash of it.

Casca.
But wherefore did you so much tempt the heav'ns?
It is the part of men to fear and tremble,
When the most mighty Gods, by tokens, send
Such dreadful heralds to astonish us.

Cas.
You are dull, Casca; and those sparks of life,
That should be in a Roman, you do want,
Or else you use not; you look pale, and gaze,
And put on fear, and cast your self in wonder,
To see the strange impatience of the heav'ns:
But if you would consider the true cause,
Why all these fires, why all these gliding ghosts,
Why birds and beasts, from quality and kind,
Why old men, fools, ^{8 note}and children calculate;
Why all these things change, from their ordinance,
Their natures and pre-formed faculties
To monstrous quality; why, you shall find,
That heaven has infus'd them with these spirits,
To make them instruments of fear and warning
Unto some monstrous state.
Now could I, Casca, name to thee a man
Most like this dreadful night;
That thunders, lightens, opens Graves, and roars
As doth the lion in the Capitol;
A man no mightier than thy self, or me,
In personal action; yet prodigious grown,
And fearful, as these strange eruptions are.

Casca.
'Tis Cæsar that you mean; is it not, Cassius?

Cas.
Let it be who it is: for Romans now
Have thewes and limbs like to their ancestors;
But, woe the while! our fathers' minds are dead,
And we are govern'd with our mothers' spirits:
Our yoke and suff'rance shew us womanish.

Casca.
Indeed, they say, the Senators to morrow
Mean to establish Cæsar as a King:
And he shall wear his Crown by sea and land,
In every place, save here in Italy.

&plquo;Cas.
&plquo;I know, where I will wear this dagger then:
&plquo;Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius.
&plquo;Therein, ye Gods, you make the weak most strong;
&plquo;Therein, ye Gods, you tyrants do defeat;
&plquo;Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass,
&plquo;Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron,
&plquo;Can be retentive to the strength of spirit:
&plquo;But life, being weary of these worldly bars,
&plquo;Never lacks power to dismiss itself.
&plquo;If I know this; know all the world besides,
&plquo;That part of tyranny, that I do bear,
&plquo;I can shake off at pleasure.&prquo;

Casca.
So can I:
So every bondman in his own hand bears
The power to cancel his captivity.

Cas.
And why should Cæsar be a tyrant then?
Poor man! I know, he would not be a wolf,
But that he sees, the Romans are but sheep;
He were no lion, were not Romans hinds.
Those that with haste will make a mighty fire,
Begin it with weak straws. What trash is Rome?
What rubbish, and what offal? when it serves
For the base matter to illuminate
So vile a thing as Cæsar? But, oh, grief!
Where hast thou led me? I, perhaps, speak this
Before a willing bondman: then I know,
My answer must be made. But I am arm'd,
And dangers are to me indifferent.

Casca.
You speak to Casca, and to such a man,
That is no flearing tell-tale. Hold my hand:
Be factious for redress of all these griefs,
And I will set this foot of mine as far,
As who goes farthest.

Cas.
There's a bargain made.
Now know you, Casca, I have mov'd already
Some certain of the noblest-minded Romans,
To undergo, with me, an enterprize

Of honourable dang'rous consequence;
And I do know, by this they stay for me
In Pompey's Porch. For now, this fearful night,
There is no stir, or walking in the streets;
^{9 note}

Casca.
Stand close a while, for here comes one in haste.

Cas.
'Tis Cinna, I do know him by his gate;
He is a friend. Cinna, where haste you so?

Cin.
To find out you: who's that, Metellus Cimber?

Cas.
No, it is Casca, one incorporate
To our attempts. Am I not staid for, Cinna?

Cin.
I'm glad on't. What a fearful night is this?
There's two or three of us have seen strange sights.

Cas.
Am I not staid for? tell me.

Cin.
Yes, you are.
O Cassius! could you win the noble Brutus
To our party—

Cas.
Be you content. Good Cinua, take this paper;
And look you lay it in the Prætor's chair,
Where Brutus may but find it; and throw this
In at his window; set this up with wax
Upon old Brutus' Statue: all this done,
Repair to Pompey's porch, where you shall find us.
Is Decius Brutus, and Trebonius there?

Cin.
All, but Metellus Cimber, and he's gone
To seek you at your house. Well, I will hie,
And so bestow these papers, as you bade me.

Cas.
That done, repair to Pompey's Theatre. [Exit Cinna,
Come, Casca, you and I will, yet, ere day,
See Brutus at his house; three parts of him
Is ours already, and the man entire
Upon the next encounter yields him ours.

Casca.
O, he sits high in all the people's hearts:
And that, which would appear offence in us,
His countenance, like richest alchymy,
Will change to virtue and to worthiness.

Cas.
Him, and his worth, and our great need of him,
You have right well conceited; let us go,
For it is after mid-night; and, ere day,
We will awake him, and be sure of him. [Exeunt.

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