We fhall be call'd Purgers, not murtherers.
And for Mark Antony, think not of him;
For he can do no more than Cæfar's arm,
When Cafar's head is off.

Caf. Yet I do fear him;

For in th' ingrafted love he bears to Cefar

Bru. Alas, good Caffius, do not think of him:
If he love Cæfar, all that he can do

Is to himself, take thought, and die for Cæfar:
And that were much, he fhould; for he is giv'n
To fports, to wildness, and much company.

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.
Caf. The clock hath ftricken three.
Treb. 'Tis time to part.

Caf. But it is doubtful yet,

If Cefar will come forth to day, or no:
For he is fuperftitious 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.

[Clock ftrikes.

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.
Leave me to work:

For I can give his humour the true bent;
And I will bring him to the Capitol.

Caf. Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch him.
Bru. By the eighth hour, is that the uttermost ?
Cin. Be that the uttermoft, and fail not then.
Met. Caius Ligarius doth bear Cæfar hard,

Whe

Who rated him for fpeaking well of Pompey;
I wonder, none of you have thought of him.
Bru. Now, good Metellus, go along to 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 yourselves; but all remember
What you have faid, and fhew 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 fpirits, and formal constancy;
And fo, good morrow to you every one.

Manet Brutus.

Boy! Lucius! faft afleep? it is no matter,
Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of Slumber :
Thou haft no figures, nor no fantafies,
Which bufie care draws in the brains of men;
Therefore thou fleep'st so found.

Enter Porcia.

Por. Brutus, my lord!

[Exeunt

Bru. Porcia, 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, Bratus, Stole from my bed: and, yefternight at fupper,

You fuddenly arofe and walk'd about,
Mufing and fighing, with your arms a-crofs:
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 anfwer'd not;

But with an angry wafture of your hand,
Gave fign for me to leave you: fo I did,
Fearing to ftrengthen that impatience,

Which feem'd too much inkindled; and, withal,

B 3

Hoping

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 fhould not know you, Brutus. Dear my lord,
Make me acquainted with your caufe 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 Porcia, 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 fleal out of his wholfom bed,
To dare the vile contagion of the night?
And tempt the rheumy and unpurged air,
To add unto his ficknefs? no, my Brutus,
You have fome fick 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, yourfelf, 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 Porcia.

Per. I fhould not need, if you were gentle Brutur. Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus, Is it excepted, I should know no fecrets

That appertain to you? am I yourself,

But, as it were, in fort or limitation ?

To keep with you at meals, confort your bed, (8)

And

And talk to you sometimes? dwell I but in the fuburbs Of your good pleasure? if it be no more,

Porcia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife.

Bru. You are my true and honourable wife;

As dear to me, as are the ruddy drops

That vifit my fad heart.

Por. If this were true, then fhould I know this fe

cret.

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 fex,
Being fo father'd, and fo husbanded ?.
Tell me your counfels, I will not disclose them:
I have made ftrong 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 fecrets?

Bru. O ye Gods!

Render me worthy of this noble wife.

Hark, hark, one knocks: Parcia, go in a while;

And, by and by, thy bofom fhall partake

The fecrets of my heart.

All my engagements I will conftrue to thee,

All the charactery of my fad brows.

Leave me with hafte.

Enter Lucius and Ligarius.

Lucius, who's there that knocks?

[Knock.

[Exit Porcia,

Luc. Here is a fick man, that would fpeak with you. Bru. Caius Ligarius, that Metellus fpake of.

Boy, ftand aside. Caius Ligarius! how?

Cai. Vouchfafe good morrow from a feeble tongue. Bru. O, what a time have you chofe out, brave

Caius,

This is but an odd Phrafe, and gives as odd an Idea. The Word, I have fubftituted, feems much more proper; and is one of our Poet's own Ufage upon the like Occafions; which makes me fufpect, he employ'd it here.

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 the Romans bow before,
I here difcard my fickness. Soul of Rome!
Brave fon, deriv'd from honourable loins!
Thou, like an Exorcift, haft conjur'd up
My mortified fpirit.
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 must make

fick?

Bru. That we must 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,
That Brutus leads me on.

Bru. Follow me then.

[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to Cæfar's Palace.

Thunder and Lightning. Enter Julius Cæfar.

Caf. NOR

OR heav'n, nor earth, have been at peace to night;

Thrice hath Calphurnia in her fleep cry'd out,

Help, ho! they murder Cafar." Who's within ?
Enter a Servant.

Ser. My lord?

Caf. Go bid the priests do prefent facrifice,

And bring me their opinions of fuccefs.

Ser. I will, my lord.

Enter Calphurnia.

[Exit.

Cal. What mean you, Cafar? think you to walk

forth?