615Enter Brutus in his orchard. What, Lucius, ho!
2.1.2617I cannot, by the progress of the stars,
2.1.3618Give guess how near to day-- Lucius, I say!
2.1.4619I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly.
2.1.5620When, Lucius, when? Awake, I say! What, Lucius!
Called you, my lord?
Get me a taper in my study, Lucius.
2.1.8624When it is lighted, come and call me here.
I will, my Lord.
It must be by his death, and for my part,
2.1.11627I know no personal cause to spurn at him,
2.1.12628But for the general. He would be crowned.
2.1.13629How that might change his nature, there's the question.
2.1.14630It is the bright day that brings forth the adder,
2.1.15631And that craves wary walking. Crown him that,
2.1.16632And then I grant we put a sting in him
2.1.17633That at his will he may do danger with.
2.1.18634Th'abuse of greatness is when it disjoins
2.1.19635Remorse from power, and to speak truth of Caesar,
2.1.20636I have not known when his affections swayed
2.1.21637More than his reason. But 'tis a common proof
2.1.22638That lowliness is young ambition's ladder,
2.1.23639Whereto the climber upward turns his face,
2.1.24640But when he once attains the upmost round,
2.1.25641He then unto the ladder turns his back,
2.1.26642Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees
2.1.27643By which he did ascend. So Caesar may.
2.1.28644Then lest he may, prevent. And since the quarrel
2.1.29645Will bear no color for the thing he is,
2.1.30646Fashion it thus: that what he is, augmented,
2.1.31647Would run to these and these extremities;
2.1.32648And therefore think him as a serpent's egg,
2.1.33649Which hatched would, as his kind, grow mischievous,
The taper burneth in your closet, sir.
2.1.36653Searching the window for a flint, I found
2.1.37654This paper, thus sealed up, and I am sure
2.1.38655It did not lie there when I went to bed.
Get you to bed again; it is not day.
2.1.40658Is not tomorrow, boy, the first of March?
I know not, sir.
Look in the calender, and bring me word.
I will, sir.
The exhalations, whizzing in the air,
2.1.45663Give so much light that I may read by them.
"Brutus, thou sleep'st. Awake, and see thyself.
2.1.47666Shall Rome, etc. Speak, strike, redress!"
2.1.49668Such instigations have been often dropped
Thus must I piece it out:
2.1.52671Shall Rome stand under one man's awe? What Rome?
2.1.53672My ancestors did from the streets of Rome
2.1.54673The Tarquin drive, when he was called a king.
"Speak, strike, redress!"
Am I entreated
2.1.56675To speak and strike? O Rome, I make thee promise,
2.1.57676If the redress will follow, thou receivest
2.1.58677Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus.
Sir, March is wasted fifteen days.
'Tis good. Go to the gate, somebody knocks:
2.1.61682Since Cassius first did whet me against Caesar,
2.1.63684Between the acting of a dreadful thing
2.1.64685And the first motion, all the interim is
2.1.65686Like a phantasma or a hideous dream:
2.1.66687The genius and the mortal instruments
2.1.67688Are then in council, and the state of man,
2.1.68689Like to a little kingdom, suffers then
Sir, 'tis your brother Cassius at the door,
Who doth desire to see you. Is he alone?
No, sir. There are more with him.
No, sir. There are more with him. Do you know them?
No, sir. Their hats are plucked about their ears,
2.1.74698And half their faces buried in their cloaks,
2.1.75699That by no means I may discover them
By any mark of favor. Let 'em enter.
2.1.79703Sham'st thou to show thy dangerous brow by night,
2.1.80704When evils are most free? O then, by day
2.1.81705Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough
2.1.82706To mask thy monstrous visage? Seek none, conspiracy!
2.1.84708For if thou put thy native semblance on,
2.1.86.1711Enter the Conspirators, Cassius, Casca, Decius, 712Cinna, Metellus, and Trebonius. I think we are too bold upon your rest.
2.1.88714Good morrow, Brutus. Do we trouble you?
I have been up this hour, awake all night.
2.1.90716Know I these men that come along with you?
Yes, every man of them, and no man here
2.1.92718But honors you, and every one doth wish
2.1.93719You had but that opinion of yourself
2.1.94720Which every noble Roman bears of you.
This is Trebonius. He is welcome hither.
This, Decius Brutus.
This, Decius Brutus. He is welcome too.
This, Casca; this, Cinna; and this, Metellus
726Cimber.
They are all welcome.
2.1.99728What watchful cares do interpose themselves
Shall I entreat a word?
Here lies the east. Doth not the day break
732here?
No.
O pardon, sir, it doth; and yon gray lines
2.1.105735That fret the clouds are messengers of day.
You shall confess that you are both deceived.
2.1.107737Here, as I point my sword, the sun arises,
2.1.108738Which is a great way growing on the south,
2.1.109739Weighing the youthful season of the year.
2.1.110740Some two months hence, up higher toward the north
2.1.111741He first presents his fire, and the high east
Give me your hands all over, one by one.
And let us swear our resolution.
No, not an oath. If not the face of men,
2.1.116746The sufferance of our souls, the time's abuse--
2.1.117747If these be motives weak, break off betimes,
2.1.120750Till each man drop by lottery. But if these,
2.1.122752To kindle cowards and to steel with valor
2.1.123753The melting spirits of women, then, countrymen,
2.1.126756Than secret Romans that have spoke the word
2.1.127757And will not palter? And what other oath,
2.1.129759That this shall be, or we will fall for it.
2.1.130760Swear priests and cowards, and men cautelous,
2.1.131761Old feeble carrions and such suffering souls
2.1.132762That welcome wrongs. Unto bad causes swear
2.1.133763Such creatures as men doubt, but do not stain
2.1.135765Nor th'insuppressive mettle of our spirits,
2.1.136766To think that or our cause or our performance
2.1.137767Did need an oath, when every drop of blood
2.1.138768That every Roman bears--and nobly bears--
2.1.141771Of any promise that hath passed from him.
But what of Cicero? Shall we sound him?
2.1.143773I think he will stand very strong with us.
Let us not leave him out.
Let us not leave him out. No, by no means.
O let us have him, for his silver hairs
2.1.147778And buy men's voices to commend our deeds.
2.1.148779It shall be said his judgment ruled our hands.
2.1.149780Our youths and wildness shall no whit appear,
Oh, name him not; let us not break with him,
Then leave him out. Indeed, he is not fit.
Shall no man else be touched but only Caesar?
Decius well urged. I think it is not meet
2.1.158790Should outlive Caesar. We shall find of him
2.1.159791A shrewd contriver. And you know, his means,
2.1.160792If he improve them, may well stretch so far
Our course will seem too bloody, Caius Cassius,
2.1.164796To cut the head off and then hack the limbs,
2.1.165797Like wrath in death, and envy afterwards;
2.1.167799Let's be sacrificers, but not butchers, Caius.
2.1.168800We all stand up against the spirit of Caesar,
2.1.169801And in the spirit of men there is no blood.
2.1.170802Oh, that we then could come by Caesar's spirit,
2.1.172804Caesar must bleed for it. And, gentle friends,
2.1.173805Let's kill him boldly but not wrathfully;
2.1.174806Let's carve him as a dish fit for the gods,
2.1.175807Not hew him as a carcass fit for hounds.
2.1.176808And let our hearts, as subtle masters do,
2.1.177809Stir up their servants to an act of rage
2.1.178810And after seem to chide 'em. This shall make
2.1.181813We shall be called purgers, not murderers.
2.1.183815For he can do no more than Caesar's arm,
When Caesar's head is off. Yet I fear him,
2.1.185818For in the engrafted love he bears to Caesar--
Alas, good Cassius, do not think of him.
2.1.188821Is to himself: take thought, and die for Caesar.
2.1.189822And that were much he should, for he is given
2.1.190823To sports, to wildness, and much company.
There is no fear in him. Let him not die,
2.1.192825For he will live, and laugh at this hereafter.
Peace! Count the clock.
Peace! Count the clock. The clock hath stricken three.
'Tis time to part.
'Tis time to part. But it is doubtful yet
2.1.195831Whether Caesar will come forth today or no.
2.1.197833Quite from the main opinion he held once
Never fear that. If he be so resolved
2.1.204840I can o'ersway him. For he loves to hear
2.1.205841That unicorns may be betrayed with trees,
2.1.206842And bears with glasses; elephants, with holes;
2.1.207843Lions, with toils; and men, with flatterers.
2.1.208844But when I tell him he hates flatterers,
2.1.209845He says he does, being then most flatterèd.
Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch him.
By the eighth hour. Is that the uttermost?
Be that the uttermost, and fail not then.
Caius Ligarius doth bear Caesar hard,
2.1.217853Who rated him for speaking well of Pompey.
2.1.218854I wonder none of you have thought of him.
Now, good Metellus, go along by him.
2.1.220856He loves me well, and I have given him reasons.
2.1.221857Send him but hither, and I'll fashion him.
The morning comes upon's.
859We'll leave you, Brutus.
2.1.223860And friends, disperse yourselves, but all remember
2.1.224861What you have said, and show yourselves true Romans.
Good gentlemen, look fresh and merrily.
2.1.228865With untired spirits and formal constancy.
2.1.230868Boy! Lucius! Fast asleep? It is no matter.
2.1.233871Which busy care draws in the brains of men.
Therefore thou sleep'st so sound. Brutus, my Lord.
Portia! What mean you? Wherefore rise you now?
2.1.236876It is not for your health thus to commit
2.1.237877Your weak condition to the raw cold morning.
Nor for yours neither. You've ungently, Brutus,
2.1.239879Stole from my bed, and yesternight at supper
2.1.241881Musing and sighing, with your arms across,
2.1.242882And when I asked you what the matter was,
2.1.243883You stared upon me, with ungentle looks.
2.1.244884I urged you further; then you scratched your head
2.1.245885And too impatiently stamped with your foot.
2.1.248888Gave sign for me to leave you. So I did,
2.1.250890Which seemed too much enkindled, and withal
2.1.252892Which sometime hath his hour with every man.
2.1.253893It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep;
2.1.254894And could it work so much upon your shape
2.1.255895As it hath much prevailed on your condition,
2.1.256896I should not know you Brutus. Dear my Lord,
2.1.257897Make me acquainted with your cause of grief.
I am not well in health, and that is all.
Brutus is wise, and were he not in health,
2.1.260900He would embrace the means to come by it.
Why so I do. Good Portia, go to bed.
Is Brutus sick? And is it physical
2.1.264904Of the dank morning? What, is Brutus sick,
2.1.265905And will he steal out of his wholesome bed
2.1.266906To dare the vile contagion of the night,
2.1.268908To add unto his sickness? No, my Brutus.
2.1.269909You have some sick offense within your mind,
2.1.270910Which by the right and virtue of my place
2.1.272912I charm you, by my once-commended beauty,
2.1.273913By all your vows of love, and that great vow
2.1.275915That you unfold to me, your self, your half,
2.1.277917Have had resort to you. For here have been
2.1.278918Some six or seven who did hide their faces
Even from darkness. Kneel not, gentle Portia.
I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus.
2.1.281922Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus,
2.1.282923Is it excepted, I should know no secrets
2.1.285926To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed,
2.1.286927And talk to you sometimes? Dwell I but in the suburbs
2.1.287928Of your good pleasure? If it be no more,
You are my true and honorable wife,
If this were true, then should I know this secret.
2.1.299940Tell me your counsels; I will not disclose 'em.
2.1.300941I have made strong proof of my constancy,
2.1.302943Here, in the thigh. Can I bear that with patience
And not my husband's secrets? O ye gods!
Knock.
2.1.304947Hark, hark, one knocks! Portia go in awhile,
2.1.307950All my engagements I will construe to thee,
Leave me with haste. 954Lucius, who's that knocks.
Here is a sick man that would speak with you.
Caius Ligarius, that Metellus spake of.
Vouchsafe good morrow from a feeble tongue.
O what a time have you chose out, brave Caius,
2.1.315960To wear a kerchief. Would you were not sick!.
I am not sick, if Brutus have in hand
Such an exploit have I in hand Ligarius,
By all the gods that Romans bow before,
2.1.321966I here discard my sickness. Soul of Rome,
2.1.322967Brave son, derived from honorable loins,
2.1.325970And I will strive with things impossible,
2.1.326971Yea, get the better of them. What's to do?
A piece of work
973that will make sick men whole.
But are not some whole, that we must make sick?
That must we also. What it is my Caius,
To whom it must be done. Set on your foot,
2.1.332979And with a heart new-fired, I follow you
Follow me, then.