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Doing himself offence; 'whilst we, lying still,
Cas. Hear me, good brother.
Bru. Under your pardon.--You must note beside,
Cas. Then, with your will, go on;
Bru. The deep of night is crept upon our talk,
Cas. No more. Good night; Early to-morrow will we rise, and hence. Bru. Lucius, my gown. (Erit Lucius.] Farewell,
good Messala :---
Cas. O my dear brother !
Bru. Every thing is well.
[Ereunt Cas. Tit. and Mes.
Re-enter Lucius, with the gown. Give me the gown. Where is thy instrument?
Luc. Here in the tent.
Bru. What, thou speak’st drowsily? Poor knave, I blame thee not; thou art o'er-watch’d. Call Claudius, and some other of my men; I'll have them sleep on cushions in my tent.
Luc. Varro, and Claudius !
Enter VARRO and CLAUDIUS.
Bru. I pray you, sirs, lie in my tent, and sleep;
Var. So please you, we will stand, and watch your
pleasure. Bru. I will not have it so: lie down, good sirs; It may be, I shall otherwise bethink me. Look, Lucius, here's the book I sought for so; I put it in the pocket of my gown. [Servants lie down.
Luc. I was sure, your lordship did not give it me.
Bru. Bear with me, good boy, I am much forgetful. Canst thou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile, And touch thy instrument a strain or two?
Luc. Ay, my lord, an it please you.
Bru. It does, my boy:
Luc. It is my duty, sir.
Bru. I should not urge thy duty past thy might; I know, young bloods look for a time of rest.
Luc. I have slept, my lord, already.
Bru. It is well done; and thou shalt sleep again ; I will not hold thee long: if I do live, I will be good to thee.
[Music and a Song. This is a sleepy tune :-O murd'rous slumber! Lay'st thou thy leaden mace upon my boy, That plays thee music ?--Gentle knave, good night; I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee. If thou dost nod, thou break'st thy instrument; I'll take it from thee; and, good boy, good night. Let me see, let me see ;-Is not the leaf turn'd down, Where I left reading ? Here it is, I think.
[He sits down.
Enter the Ghost of Cæsar.
I think, it is the weakness of mine eyes,
Ghost. Thy evil spirit, Brutus.
Luc. The strings, my lord, are false.
Bru. He thinks, he still is at his instrument.---
Luc. My lord !
Bru. Sleep again, Lucius.---Sirrah, Claudius !
Var. My lord.