BRUTUS

Alas, good Cassius, do not think of him.

If he love Caesar, all that he can do

Is to himself: take thought, and die for Caesar.

And that were much he should, for he is given

To sports, to wildness, and much company.

TREBONIUS

There is no fear in him. Let him not die;

For he will live, and laugh at this hereafter.

Clock strikes

BRUTUS

Peace, count the clock.

CASSIUS The clock hath stricken three.

TREBONIUS

’Tis time to part.

CASSIUS But it is doubtful yet

Whether Caesar will come forth today or no;

For he is superstitious grown of late,

Quite from the main opinion he held once

Of fantasy, of dreams and ceremonies.

It may be these apparent prodigies,

The unaccustomed terror of this night,

And the persuasion of his augurers,

May hold him from the Capitol today.

DECIUS

Never fear that. If he be so resolved

I can o’ersway him; for he loves to hear

That unicorns may be betrayed 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.

CASSIUS

Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch him.

BRUTUS

By the eighth hour. Is that the uttermost?

CINNA

Be that the uttermost, and fail not then.

METELLUS

Caius Ligarius doth bear Caesar hard,

Who rated him for speaking well of Pompey.

I wonder none of you have thought of him.

BRUTUS

Now good Metellus, go along by him.

He loves me well, and I have given him reasons.

Send him but hither, and I’ll fashion him.

CASSIUS

The morning comes upon’s. We’ll leave you, Brutus.

And, friends, disperse yourselves; but all remember

What you have said, and show yourselves true Romans.

BRUTUS

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 all but Brutus

Boy, Lucius!—Fast asleep? It is no matter.

Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber.

Thou hast no figures nor no fantasies

Which busy care draws in the brains of men;

Therefore thou sleep’st so sound.

Enter Portia

PORTIA Brutus, my lord.

BRUTUS

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.

PORTIA

Nor for yours neither. You’ve ungently, Brutus,

Stole from my bed; and yesternight at supper

You suddenly arose, and walked about

Musing and sighing, with your arms across;

And when I asked you what the matter was,

You stared upon me with ungentle looks.

I urged you further; then you scratched your head,

And too impatiently stamped with your foot.

Yet I insisted; yet you answered 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 seemed 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 prevailed on your condition,

I should not know you Brutus. Dear my lord,

Make me acquainted with your cause of grief.

BRUTUS

I am not well in health, and that is all.

PORTIA

Brutus is wise, and were he not in health

He would embrace the means to come by it.

BRUTUS

Why, so I do. Good Portia, go to bed.

PORTIA

Is Brutus sick? And is it physical

To walk unbracèd and suck up the humours

Of the dank 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 unpurgèd air

To add unto his sickness? No, my Brutus,

You have some sick offence within your mind,

Which by the right and virtue of my place

I ought to know of. (Kneeling) 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 tonight

Have had resort to you—for here have been

Some six or seven, who did hide their faces

Even from darkness.

BRUTUS Kneel not, gentle Portia.

PORTIA ⌈rising⌉

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