Bru. Give me your hands all over, one by one.
Caf. And let us fwear our refolution.
Bru. No, not an oath: if that the Fate of men,
The fufferance of our fouls, the time's abuse,-
If these be motives weak, break off betimes;
And every man hence to his idle bed:
So let high-fighted tyranny range on,
'Till each man drop by lottery. But if thefe,
As I am fure they do, bear fire enough
To kindle cowards, and to fteel with valour
The melting fpirits of women; then, countrymen,
What need we any spur, but our own caufe,
To prick us to redrefs? what other bond,
Than fecret Romans, that have spoke the word,
And will not palter? and what other oath,
Than honefty to honefly engag'd,
That this fhall be, or we will fall for it?
Swear priests, and cowards, and men cautelous.
Old feeble carrions, and fuch fuffering fouls
That welcome wrongs: unto bad causes, swear
Such creatures as men doubt; but do not flain
The even virtue of our enterprize,
Nor th' infuppreffive mettle of our spirits ;
To think, that or our caufe, or our performance,
Did need an oath: When ev'ry drop of blood,
That ev'ry Roman bears, and nobly bears,
Is guilty of a feveral baftardy,
If he doth break the fmalleft particle
Of any promife that hath paft from him.
Caf. But what of Cicero fhall we found him?
I think, he will ftand very firong with us.
Cafca. Let us not leave him out.
Cin. No, by no means.
Met. O let us have him, for his filver hairs
Will purchase us a good. opinion,
And buy men's voices to'commend our deeds.
It fhall be faid, his Judgment rul'd our hands;
Our youths and wildnels fhall no whit appear,
But all be buried in his gravity.
Bru. O, name him not : let us not break with him; For he will never follow any thing,
That other men begin.
Caf. Then leave him out.
Cafca. Indeed, he is not fit.
Dec. Shall no man elfe be touch'd, but only Cæfar? Caf. Decius, well urg'd; I think, it is not meet, Mark Antony, fo well belov'd of Cæfar,
Should out-live Cafar: we fhall find of him
A fhrewd contriver. And you know, his means,
If he improve them, may well ftretch fo far,
As to annoy us all which to prevent,
Let Antony and Cæfar fall together.
Bru. Our courfe will feem too bloody, Caius Caffius,
To cut the head off, and then hack the limbs;
Like wrath in death, and envy afterwards:
For Antony is but a limb of Cæfar.
Let us be facrificers, but not butchers, Gaius;
We all ftand up against the fpirit of Cæfar,
* And in the spirit of man there is no blood;
O, that we then could come by Cæfar's fpirit,
And not difmember Cæfar! but alas!
Cæfar muft bleed for it- And, gentle friends,
Let's kill him boldly, but not wrathfully;
Let's carve him as a difh fit for the Gods,
Not hew him as a carcass fit for hounds.
And let our hearts, as fubtle masters do,
Stir up their fervants to an act of rage,
And after feem to chide them. This fhall make
Our purpofe neceffary, and not envious:
Which, fo appearing to the common eyes,
We fhall be call'd Purgers, not murderers.
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 Cafar
Bru. Alas, good Caffius, do not think of him: If he love Cafar, 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 wildnefs, and much company.
Treb. There is no fear in him; let him not die ; For he will live, and laugh at this hereafter. [ Clock Strikes.
Bru. Peace, count the clock.
Caf. The clock hath ftricken three.
Treb. 'Tis time to part.
Caf. But it is doubtful yet,
If Cæfar will come forth to day, or no:
For he is fuperftitious grown of late,
Quite from the main opinion he held once
Of fantafy, of dreams, and ceremonies:
It may be, these apparent prodigies,
The unaccuftom'd terror of this night,
And the perfuafion of his augurers,
May hold him from the Capitol to-day.
Dec. Never fear that; if he be fo refolv'd,
I can o'er sway 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 moft 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 uttermoft?
Cin. Be that the uttermoft, and fail not then.
Met. Caius Ligarius doth bear Cafar hard,
Who rated him for speaking 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 reafons;
Send him but hither, and I'll fashion him.
Caf. The morning comes upon's; we'll leave you,
And, friends! disperse yourselves; but all remember
What you have faid, and shew 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 conftancy;
And fo, good-morrow to you every one.
Boy! Lucius! faft afleep? it is no matter,
Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of Slumber :
Thou haft no figures, nor no fantasies,
Which bufy care draws in the brains of men;
Therefore thou fleep'ft fo found.
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, Brutus,
Stole from my bed: and, yefternight at fupper,
You fuddenly arofe and walk'd about,
Mufing and fighing, with your arms a-cross :
And, when I afk'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: so I did,
VOL. VIII.
Fearing to frengthen that impatience,
Which feem'd too much inkindled; and, withal,
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 should not know you, Brutus. Dear my lord,
Make me acquainted with your cause 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 fteal out of his wholesome bed,
To dare the vile contagion of the night?
And tempt the rheumy and unpurged air,
To add unto his fick nefs? 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, yourself, 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.
Por. I fhould not need, if you were gentle Brutus. Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus, Is it excepted, I fhould know no fecrets That appertain to you? am I yourself, But, as it were, in fort or limitation?
To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed,
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