But bear it as our Roman actors do, [Exeunt all but BRUTUS. Boy! Lucius!-Fast asleep? It is no matter; Thou hast no figures, nor no fantasies, Which busy care draws in the brains of men ; 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 yours 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 : I urg'd you further; then you scratch'd your head, But, with an angry wafture of your hand, 5 your mind. on your condition,] On your temper; the disposition of I should not know you, Brutus. Dear my lord, Bru. I am not well in health, and that is all. Bru. Why, so I do :-Good Portia, go to bed. Bru. Kneel not, gentle Portia. 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 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. Bru. You are my true and honourable wife; As dear to me, as are the ruddy drops That visit my sad heart. VOL. VII. D Por. If this were true, then should I know this secret. I grant, I am a woman; but, withal, I grant, I am a woman; but, withal, Tell me your counsels, I will not disclose them: Giving myself a voluntary wound Here, in the thigh: Can I bear that with patience, Bru. O ye gods, Render me worthy of this noble wife! [Knocking within. 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 brows: Leave me with haste. Enter LUCIUS and LIGARIUS. [Exit PORTIA. Lucius, who's 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. O, 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, 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! Brave son, deriv'd from honourable loins! Thou, like an exorcist, hast conjur'd up 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. Set on your foot; Lig. Thunder and Lightning. Enter CESAR, in his Night gown. Cæs. Nor heaven, nor earth, have been at peace to night: Thrice hath Calphurnia in her sleep cried out, 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. Thou, like an exorcist,] Here, and in all other places where the word occurs in Shakspeare, to exorcise means to raise spirits, not to lay them; and perhaps he is singular in his acceptation of it. Enter CALPHURNIA. 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, Ne'er look'd but on my back; when they shall see Cal. Cæsar, I never stood on ceremonies', And graves have yawn'd, and yielded up their dead: The noise of battle hurtled in the air, Horses did neigh†, and dying men did groan; And I do fear them. What can be avoided, Cæs. Are to the world in general, as to Cæsar. Cal. When beggars die, there are no comets seen; The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes. Cæs. Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, 7 Cæsar, I never stood on ceremonies,] i. e. I never paid a ceremonious or superstitious regard to prodigies or omens. The noise of battle hurtled in the air,] To hurtle is to clash, or move with violence and noise. |