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Yet I do fear him:
For in the ingrafted love he bears to Cæsar,
Bru. Alas, good Cassius, do not think of him:
Is to himself; take thought,' and die for Cæsar:
Treb. There is no fear in him; let him not die; For he will live, and laugh at this hereafter.
Bru. Peace, count the clock.
The clock hath stricken three.
Treb. 'Tis time to part.
For I can give his humour the true bent;
Cas. Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch him.
Who rated him for speaking well of Pompey;
Bru. Now, good Metellus, go along by him:
Cas. The morning comes upon us: We'll leave
And, friends, disperse yourselves but all remember
With untir'd spirits, and formal constancy :
[Exeunt all but BRUTUS.
Boy! Lucius!-Fast asleep? It is no matter;
Brutus, my lord!
Bru. Portia, what mean you? Wherefore rise you 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,
Stole from my bed: And yesternight, at supper,
wear, or show our designs.
A double negative-in frequent use with Shakspeare, and other old authors.
[J. CÆS. 25]
Yet I insisted, yet' you answer'd not;
Which seem'd too much enkindled; and, withal,
Which sometime hath his hour with every man.
Bru. I am not well in health, and that is all. Por. Brutus is wise, and, were he not in health, He would embrace the means to come by it.
Bru. Why, so I de:-Good Portia, go to bed.
Kneel not, gentle Portia. Por. I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus.
Still I insisted, still, &c.
on your disposition.
[J. Cæs. 26]
Within the bond of marriage, tell me Brutus,
To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed,
And talk to you sometimes? Dwell I but in the 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.
Por. If this were true, then should I know this
I grant, I am a woman: but, withal,
A woman that lord Brutus took to wife:
grant, I am a woman; but, withal,
A woman well reputed; Cato's daughter.
Tell me your counsels, I will not disclose them:
Here, in the thigh: Can I bear that with patience,
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 engagenients I will construe to thee,
All the charactery' of my sad brows:
Leave me with haste.
Lucius, who is that, knocks?
Enter Lucius and LIGARIUs.
Luc. Here is a sick man, that would speak with
[J. CAS. 27]
All that is charactered on, &c.
Bru. Caius Ligarius, that Metellus spake of.-
Lig. Vouchsafe good morrow from a feeble tongue.
To wear a kerchief? 'Would you were not sick!
Bru. Such an exploit have I in hand, Ligarius,
Lig. By all the gods that Romans bow before,
Bru. A piece of work, that will make sick men whole.
Lig. But are not some whole, that we must make
Bru. That must we also. I shall unfold to thee, as we To whom it must be done.
What it is, my Caius, are going,
Set on your
Follow me then. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.—The same. A room in Cæsar's palace.
Thunder and lightning. Enter Cæsar in his
Cas. Nor heaven, nor earth, have been at peace to-night:
Thrice hath Calphurnia in her sleep cried out, Help, ho! They murder Cæsar! Who's within? [J. CAS. 28]