Not hew him as a Carkafs fit for Hounds;
And let our Hearts, as fubtle Masters do,
Stir up their Servants to an act of Rage,
And after feem to chide them.
Our purpofe neceffary, and not envious:
Which fo appearing to the common Eyes,
We fhall be call'd Purgers, not Murderers.
And for Mark Antony, think not of him;
For he can do no more than Cafar's Arm,
When Cafar's Head is off.
For in the ingrafted Love he bears to Cafar-
Bru. Alas, good Caffius, do not think of him:
If he love Cafar, all that he can do
Is to himself, take thought, and die for Cafar.
And that were much he fhould; 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.
Caf. The Clock hath ftricken three.
Treb. 'Tis time to part.
Caf. But it is doubtful yet,
Whether Cafar will come forth to Day, or no?
For he is Superftitious grown of late,
Quite from the main Opinion he held once,
Of Fantafie, of Dreams, and Ceremonies:
It may be, thefe apparent Prodigies,
The unaccustom'd terror of this Night,
And the perfuafion of his Augurers,
May hold him from the Capitol to Day.
Dec. Never fear that; if he be fo refolv'd,
I can o'er-fway him; for he loves to hear,
That Unicorns may be betray'd with Trees,
And Bears with Glaffes, Elephants with Holes,
Lions with Toils, and Men with Flatterers.
But, when I tell him, he hates Flatterers,
He fays, 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.
VOL. V.
Caf. Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch him.
Bru. By the eighth hour, is that the uttermoft?
Cin. Be that the uttermoft, and fail not then.
Met. Caius Ligarius doth bear Cafar hatred,
Who rated him for fpeaking 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.
Caf. The Morning comes upon's; we'll leave you, Brutus,
And Friends difperfe your felves; but all remember,
What you have faid, and fhew your felves 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 fo good Morrow to you every one.
Boy! Lucius! faft afleep? It is no matter,
Enjoy the Hony-heavy-dew of Slumber:
Thou haft no Figures, nor no Fantafies,
Which bufie Care draws in the Brains of Men;
Therefore thou fleep'ft fo found.
Bru. Portia, what mean you? Wherefore rife 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 fuddenly arofe, and walk'd about,
Mufing, and fighing, with your Arms a-cross :
And when I ask'd you what the matter was,
You ftar'd upon me with ungentle Looks.
I urg'd you further, then you fcratch'd your Head,
And too impatiently ftamp'd with your Foot:
Yet I infifted, yet you afwer'd not,
But with an angry wafture of your Hand
Gave fign for me to leave you So I did,
Fearing to ftrengthen that Impatience,
Which feem'd too much inkindled; and withal,
Hoping it was but an effect of Humour,
Which fometime hath his Hour with every Man.
It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor fleep;
And could it work fo 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 caule of Grief.
Bru. I am not well in Health, and that is all.
Por. Brutus is wife, and were he not in Health,
He would embrace the means to come by it.
Bru. Why fo I do: Good Portia, go to Bed.
Por. Is Brutus fick? And is it Phyfical
To walk unbraced, and fuck up the Humours
Of the dank Morning? What, is Brutus fick?
And will he steal out of his wholfom Bed,
To dare the vile Contagion of the Night?
And tempt the Rheumy and unpurged Air,
To add unto his Sicknefs? No, my Brutus,
You have fome fick 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 felf, your half;
Why you are heavy, and what Men, to Night,
Have had refort to you; for here have been
Some fix or feven, who did hide their Faces
Even from darkness.
Bru. Kneel not, gentle Portia.
Por. I fhould not need, if you were gentle Brutus.
Within the Bond of Marriage, tell me, Brutus,
Is it excepted, I fhould know no Secrets
That appertain to you? Am I your self,
But as it were in fort, or Limitation?
To keep with you at Meals, Comfort your Bed,
And talk to you fometimes? 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
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 ftronger than my Sex,
Being fo father'd, and fo husbanded?
Tell me your Counfels, I will not disclose them:
I have made strong proof of my Conftancy,
Giving my felf a voluntary Wound
Here, in the Thigh: Can I bear that with patience,
And not my Husband's Secrets?
Render me worthy of this Noble Wife.
Hark, hark, one knocks: Portia, go in a while,
And, by and by, thy Bofom fhall partake
The Secrets of my Heart.
All my Engagements I will conftrue to thee,
All the Charactery of my fad Brows:
Enter Lucius and Ligarius.
Lucius, who's that knocks?
Luc. Here is a fick Manthat would speak with you.
Bru. Caius Ligarius, that Metellus ipake of.
Boy, ftand afide. Caius Ligarius! how?
Cai. Vouchfafe good Morrow from a feeble Tongue.
Bru. O what a time have you chofe out, brave Caius,
To wear a Kerchief? Would you were not fick.
Cai. I am not fick, 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 difcard my Sicknefs. Soul of Rome,
Brave Son, deriv'd from honourable Loins,
Thou like an Exorcift, haft conjur❜d up
My mortified Spirit. Now bid me run,
And I will ftrive with things impoffible,
Yea get the better of them. What's to do?
Bru. A piece of work, that will make fick Men whole.
Cai. But are not fome whole that we muft make fick?
Bru. That must we also. What it is, my Caius,
I fhall 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 fufficeth
Thunder and Lightning. Enter Julius Cæfar in his Night
Caf. Nor Heav'n, nor Earth, have been at Peace to Night: Thrice hath Calphurnia in her Sleep cry'd out; Help, ho; they murder Cafar. Who's within?
Caf. Go, bid the Priefts do prefent Sacrifice, And bring me their Opinions of Succefs.
Cal. What mean you, Cafar? Think you to walk forth? You shall not ftir out of your Houfe to Day.
Caf. Cafar fhall forth; the things that threatned me,
Ne'er lookt but on my Back: When they shall see
The Face of Cafar, they are vanished.
Cal. Cafar, I never ftood on Ceremonies,
Yet now they fright me: There is one within,
Befides the things that we have heard and feen,
Recounts moft horrid fights feen 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 noife of Battel hurried in the Air,
Horfes did neigh, and dying Men did groan,
And Ghofts did fhriek and fqueal about the Streets.
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