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That this shall be, or we will fall for it?
Swear priests, and cowards, and men cautelous,
Nor the unsuppressive mettle of our spirits,
If he do break the smallest particle
Cas. But what of Cicero? Shall we sound him?
I think, he will stand very strong with us.
Casca. Let us not leave him out.
Cin. No, by no means.
Met. O let us have him; for his silver hairs
And buy men's voices to commend our deeds:
Bru. O, name him not; let us not break with him; For he will never follow any thing
That other men begin.
Cas. Then leave him out.
Casca. Indeed, he is not fit.
Dec. Shall no man else be touch'd but only Cæsar? Cas. Decius, well urg'd:-I think it is not meet,
Mark Antony, so well belov'd of Cæsar,
A shrewd contriver; and, you know, his means,
Let Antony, and Cæsar, fall together.
Bru. Our course will seem too bloody, Caius Cassius,
To cut the head off, and then hack the limbs ;
Let us be sacrificers, but no butchers, Caius.
Cas. Yet I do fear him:
For in the ingrafted love he bears to Cæsar,
Bru. Alas, good Cassius, do not think of him: If he love Cæsar, all that he can do
Is to himself; take thought, and die for Cæsar:
And that were much he should; for he is given
Treb. There is no more in him; let him not die ; For he will live, and laugh at this hereafter.
Bru. Peace, count the clock.
Cas. The clock hath stricken three.
Treb. 'Tis time to part.
Cas. But it is doubtful yet,
Whe'r Cæsar will come forth to-day, or no :
Dec. Never fear that: If he be so resolv'd,
For I can give his humour the true bent;
Cas. Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch him.
I wonder, none of you have thought of him.
Cas. The morning comes upon us : We'll leave you,
And, friends, disperse yourselves: but all remember What you have said, and show yourselves true Ro
Bru. Good gentlemen, look fresh and merrily;
[Exeunt all but BRUTUS. Boy! Lucius!-Fast asleep? It is no matter; Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber : Thou hast no figures, nor no fantasies, Which busy care draws in the brains of men; Therefore thou sleep'st so sound.
Por. 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,
And when I ask'd you what the matter was,
I urg'd you further; then you scratch'd your head,
But with an angry wafture of your hand,
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 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