Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius:
Therein, ye gods, you make the weak most strong;

Therein, ye gods, you tyrants do defeat:

Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass,
Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron,
Can be retentive to the strength of spirit;
But life, being weary of these worldly bars,
Never lacks power to dismiss itself.

If I know this, know all the world besides,
That part of tyranny, that I do bear,

So can I:

I can shake off at pleasure.

Casca.

So every bondman in his own hand bears
The power to cancel his captivity.

Cas. And why should Cæsar be a tyrant then?

Poor man! I know, he would not be a wolf,
But that he sees the Romans are but sheep:
He were no lion, were not Romans hinds*.
Those that with haste will make a mighty fire,
Begin it with weak straws: What trash is Rome,
What rubbish, and what offal, when it serves
For the base matter to illuminate

So vile a thing as Cæsar?

Where hast thou led me?

But, O, grief!

I, perhaps, speak this

Before a willing bondman: then I know

My answer must be made: But I am arm'd,

And dangers are to me indifferent.

Casca. You speak to Casca; and to such a mau,

That is no fleering tell-tale. Holdt my hand:
Be factious for redress of all these griefs;

And I will set this foot of mine as far,

As who goes farthest.

Cas.

There's a bargain made.

Now know you, Casca, I have mov'd already
Some certain of the noblest-minded Romans,
To undergo, with me, an enterprise

Of honourable-dangerous consequence;
And I do know, by this, they stay for me

• Deer.

† Here's my hand.

‡ Active.

In Pompey's porch: for now, this fearful night,
There is no stir, or walking in the streets;

And the complexion of the element

Is favour'd, like the work we have in hand,
Most bloody, fiery, and most terrible.

Enter Cinna.

Casca. Stand close awhile, for here comes one in haste.

Cas. 'Tis Cinua, I do know him by his gait †;

He is a friend. Cinna, where haste you so ?

Cin. To find out you: Who's that? Metellus
Cimber?

Cas. No, it is Casca; one incorporate
To our attempts. Am I not staid for, Cinna?

Cin. I am glad on't. What a fearful night is this?
There's two or three of us have seen strange sights.
Cas. Am I not staid for, Cinna? Tell me.
Cin.

You are. O, Cassius, if you could but win
The noble Brutus to our party-

Yes,

Cas. Be you content: Good Cinna, take this

paper,

And look you lay it in the prætor's chair,
Where Brutus may but find it; and throw this
In at his window: set this up with wax
Upon old Brutus' statue: all this done,
Repair to Pompey's porch, where you shall find us.
Is Decius Brutus, and Trebonius, there?

Cin. All but Metellus Cimber; and he's gone
To seek you at your house. Well, I will hie,
And so bestow these papers as you bade me.

Cas. That done, repair to Pompey's theatre.

[Exit Cinna.

Come, Casca, you and I will, yet, ere day,
See Brutus at his house: three parts of hin
Is ours already and the man entire,
Upon the next encounter, yields him ours.

• Resembles.

† Air of walking.

Casca. O, he sits high, in all the people's hearts:

And that, which would appear offence in us,

His countenance, like richest alchymy,

Will change to virtue, and to worthiness.

Cas. Him, and his worth, and our great need of

him,

You have right well conceited. Let us go,

For it is after midnight; and, ere day,

We will awake him, and be sure of him. [Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I. The same. Brutus's orchard.

Enter Brutus.

Bru. What, Lucius! ho!

I cannot, by the progress of the stars,

Give guess how near to day.-Lucius, I say!-
I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly.-

When, Lucius, when? Awake, I say: What, Lu

cius!

Enter Lucius.

Luc. Call'd you, my lord?

Bru. Get me a taper in my study, Lucius:

[Exit..

When it is lighted, come and call me here.
Luc. I will, my lord.
Bru. It must be by his death: and, for my part,
I know no personal cause to spurn at him,
But for the general. He would be crown'd:-

How that might change his nature, there's the ques

tion.

It is the bright day, that brings forth the adder; And that craves wary walking. Crown him?-That;

• An exclamation of impatience.

And then, I grant, we put a sting in him,
That at his will he may do danger with.
The abuse of greatness is, when it disjoins
Remorse from power: And, to speak truth of

Cæsar,

I have not known when his affections sway'd
More than his reason. But'tis a common proof t,
That lowliness is young ambition's ladder,
Whereto the climber-upward turns his face:
But when he once attains the upmost round,
He then unto the ladder turns his back,
Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees ‡
By which he did ascend: So Cæsar may;
Then, lest he may, prevent. And, since the quarrel
Will bear no colour for the thing he is,
Fashion it thus; that what he is, augmented,
Would run to these, and these extremities:
And therefore think him as a serpent's egg,
Which, hatch'd, would, as his kind ý, grow mischie-

vous;

And kill him in the shell.

Re-enter Lucius.

Luc. The taper burneth in your closet, sir. Searching the window for a flint, I found This paper, thus seal'd up; and, I am sure, It did not lie there, when I went to bed.

Bru. Get you to bed again, it is not day. Is not to-morrow, boy, the ides of March? Luc. I know not, sir.

Bru. Look in the calendar, and bring me word. Luc. I will, sir.

[Exit.

Bru. The exhalations, whizzing in the air, Give so much light, that I may read by them.

[Opens the letter, and reads.

Brutus, thou sleep'st; awake, and see thyself.

* Pity, tenderness,
‡ Low steps.

† Experience.
Nature.

Shall Rome, &c. Speak, strike, redress!
Brutus, thou sleep'st; awake.-

Such instigations have been often dropp'd

Where I have took them up.

Shall Rome, &c. Thus, must I piece it out;

Shall Rome stand under one man's awe? What!

Rome?

My ancestors did from the streets of Rome

The Tarquin drive, when he was call'd a king.

Speak, strike, redress!-Am I entreated then

To speak, and strike? O Rome! I make thee pro

mise,

If the redress will follow, thou receivest
Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus.

Re-enter Lucius,

Luc. Sir, March is wasted fourteen days.

[Knocks within.

Bru. 'Tis good. Go to the gate; somebody [Exit Lucius.

knocks.

Since Cassius first did whet me against Cæsar,
I have not slept.

Between the acting of a dreadful thing

And the first motion, all the interim is
Like a phantasma*, or a hideous dream:
The genius, and the mortal instruments,
Are then in council; and the state of man,
Like to a little kingdom, suffers then

The nature of an insurrection.

Re-enter Lucius.

Luc. Sir, 'tis your brother Cassius at the door,

Who doth desire to see you.

Bru.

Is he alone?

Luc. No, sir, there are more with him.

Bru.

Do you know them?

* Visionary.