Let not our looks put on our purposes; Exeunt all but BRUTUS. Boy! Lucius!-Fast asleep? It is no matter; Por. Enter PORTIA. Brutus, my lord! Bru. Portia, what mean you? Wherefore rise you now? It is not for your health, thus to commit Stole from my bed: And yesternight, at supper, Musing, and sighing, with your arms across: Which seem'd too much enkindled; and, withal, Which sometime hath his hour with every man. 4 Let not our looks-] Let not our faces put on, that is, wear or show our designs. And, could it work so much upon your shape, Bru. I am not well in health, and that is all. Bru. Why, so I do:-Good Portia, go to bed. Por. Is Brutus sick? and is it physical To walk unbraced, and suck up the humours Of the dank morning? What, is Brutus sick; And will he steal out of his wholesome bed, To dare the vile contagion of the night? And tempt the rheumy and unpurged air To add unto his sickness? No, my Brutus; You have some sick 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, yourself, your half, Why you are heavy; and what men to-night Have had resort to you: for here have been Some six or seven, who did hide their faces Even from darkness. Bru. Kneel not, gentle Portia. Por. I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus. To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed, 5 suburbs on your condition,] On your temper; the disposition of your mind. Of your good pleasure? If it be no more, Bru. You are my true and honourable wife; That visit my sad heart. Por. If this were true, then should I know this secret. I grant, I am a woman; but, withal, Tell me your counsels, I will not disclose them: 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. [Exit PORTIA. Lucius, who is that, knocks? Enter LUCIUS and LIGARIUS. 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! Bru. Such an exploit have I in hand, Ligarius, 6 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 My mortified spirit. Now bid me run, And I will strive with things iinpossible; Yea, get the better of them. What's to do? Bru. A piece of work, that will make sick men whole. Lig. But are not some whole, that we must make sick? What it is, my Caius, are going Set on your foot; you, Lig. Cæs. Nor heaven, nor earth, have been at peace to-night: 6 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. Thrice hath Calphurnia in her sleep cried out, Serv. My lord? Enter a Servant. Cas. Go bid the priests do present sacrifice, Enter CALPHURNIA. [Exit. Cal. What mean you, Cæsar? Think you to walk forth? You shall not stir out of your house to-day. Cas. Cæsar shall forth: The things that threaten'd me, Ne'er look'd but on my back; when they shall see. The face of Cæsar, they are vanished. 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,8 And I do fear them. Cæs. What can be avoided, 7 Cæsar, I never stood on ceremonies,] i. e. I never paid a remonious or superstitious regard to prodigies or omens. 8 The noise of battle hurtled in the air,] To hurtle is to clash, or move with violence and noise. |