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 given
To sports, to wildness, and much company.

[Clock strikes.

Treb. There is no fear in him; let him not die,
For he will live, and laugh at this hereafter.
Bru. Peace! count the clock.

Cas.

Treb. 'Tis time to part.

The clock hath stricken three.

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 fantasy, 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'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.

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 hard',
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 given him reasons;
Send him but hither, and I'll fashion him.

Cas. The morning comes upon's: we'll leave you, Brutus.—

7 Caius Ligarius doth bear Cæsar HARD,] See p. 308, where this expression has already occurred. The folio, 1632, only, has here hatred for "hard," but hatred is amended to "hard" by the old annotator upon that edition.

8

go along by him :] i. e. By his house; or, perhaps, where you know he is to be met with.

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 untir'd 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 heavy honey-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.

Por.

Enter PORTIA.

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 your's neither. You have ungently, Brutus, Stole 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 star'd upon me with ungentle looks.

I urg'd you farther; 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 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

9 Enjoy the HEAVY HONEY-DEW of slumber :] This is the emendation in the corr. fo. 1632 of a line which has always been printed "Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber:" the words "honey" and "heavy" became transposed, and the hyphen was put in the wrong place: the compound is "honey-dew" and not honey-heavy. We can only smile at editors who may persevere in repeating such a palpable absurdity, in spite of the admitted excellence of the alteration.

VOL. V.

Y

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 wholesome 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 virtue 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, 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
Even from darkness.

[Kneeling.

Bru.

Kneel not, gentle Portia.

[Raising her.

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 yourself

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.

1

Bru. You are my true and honourable wife;

and upon my knees

I CHARM YOU,] Pope read charge for "charm," but perhaps needlessly, especially as no change is noted in the corr. fo. 1632. At the same time "charm has here somewhat of a forced application in the sense of enchant, unless we could understand it as invoke. The two stage-directions, "Kneeling" and "Raising her," are from the corr. fo. 1632: they are hardly superfluous.

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 myself a voluntary wound

Here, in the thigh: can I bear that with patience,
And not my husband's secrets?

Bru.

Oh ye gods!

[Knocking within.

Render me worthy of this noble wife.

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 brows2.

Leave me with haste.

Enter LUCIUS and LIGARIUS.

[Exit PORTIA.

Lucius, who is 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?

Lig. Vouchsafe good morrow from a feeble tongue.
Bru. Oh, 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,

2 All the CHARACTERY of my sad brows.] i. e. All that is written, as it were in characters, on my sad brows.

3 I am not sick, &c.] Plutarch relates this incident thus, as Sir T. North renders it: "And therefore in his hearte he (Ligarius) was alway his (Cæsar's) mortall enemie, and was besides verie familiar with Brutus, who went to see him, beinge sicke in his bedde, and sayed unto him: O Ligarius, in what a time art thou sicke? Ligarius, risinge uppe in his bedde, and taking him by the right hande, sayed unto him: Brutus, sayed he, if thou has any great enterprise in hande, worthie of thy selfe, I am whole." "Life of Brutus," edit. 1579, p. 1059.

Had you a healthful ear to hear of it.
Lig. By all the gods that Romans bow before,
I here discard my sickness. Soul of Rome!

[Throwing away his bandage.

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.
Lig. 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.

Lig.

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.

Bru.

Follow me, then.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The Same. A Room in CAESAR'S Palace.

Thunder and lightning. Enter CESAR, in his nightgown.

Cæs. Nor heaven, nor earth, have been at peace to-night: Thrice hath Calphurnia in her sleep cried out, "Help, ho! They murder Cæsar!"-Who's within?

Serv. My lord.

Enter a Servant.

Cæs. Go bid the priests do present sacrifice,

And bring me their opinions of success.

Serv. I will, my lord.

Enter CALPHURNIA.

[Exit.

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 threaten'd me,