William Shakespeare Julius Caesar Act Ii

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Act IIScene IRome. Brutus’s orchardEnter BrutusBrutusWhat, 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, Lucius!Enter LuciusLuciusCall’d you, my lord?BrutusGet me a taper in my study, Lucius: When it is lighted, come and call me here.LuciusI will, my lord.ExitBrutusIt 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 question. It is the bright day that brings forth the adder; And that craves wary walking. Crown him?—that;— 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 Caesar, I have not known when his affections sway’d More than his reason. But ’tis a common proof, 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 Caesar 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, grow mischievous, And kill him in the shell.Re-enter LuciusLuciusThe 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.Gives him the letterBrutusGet you to bed again; it is not day. Is not to-morrow, boy, the ides of March?LuciusI know not, sir.BrutusLook in the calendar, and bring me word.LuciusI will, sir.ExitBrutusThe 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. 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 To speak and strike? O Rome, I make thee promise: If the redress will follow, thou receivest Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus!Re-enter LuciusLuciusSir, March is wasted fourteen days.Knocking withinBrutus’Tis good. Go to the gate; somebody knocks.Exit LuciusSince Cassius first did whet me against Caesar, 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 LuciusLuciusSir, ’tis your brother Cassius at the door, Who doth desire to see you.BrutusIs he alone?LuciusNo, sir, there are moe with him.BrutusDo you know them?LuciusNo, sir; their hats are pluck’d about their ears, And half their faces buried in their cloaks, That by no means I may discover them By any mark of favour.BrutusLet ’em enter.Exit LuciusThey are the faction. O conspiracy, Shamest thou to show thy dangerous brow by night, When evils are most free? O, then by day Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough To mask thy monstrous visage? Seek none, conspiracy; Hide it in smiles and affability: For if thou path, thy native semblance on, Not Erebus itself were dim enough To hide thee from prevention.Enter the conspirators, Cassius, Casca, Decius Brutus, Cinna, Metellus Cimber, and TreboniusCassiusI think we are too bold upon your rest: Good morrow, Brutus; do we trouble you?BrutusI have been up this hour, awake all night. Know I these men that come along with you?CassiusYes, every man of them, and no man here But honours you; and every one doth wish You had but that opinion of yourself Which every noble Roman bears of you. This is Trebonius.BrutusHe is welcome hither.CassiusThis, Decius Brutus.BrutusHe is welcome too.CassiusThis, Casca; this, Cinna; and this, Metellus Cimber.BrutusThey are all welcome. What watchful cares do interpose themselves Betwixt your eyes and night?CassiusShall I entreat a word?Brutus and Cassius whisperDecius BrutusHere lies the east: doth not the day break here?CascaNo.CinnaO, pardon, sir, it doth; and yon gray lines That fret the clouds are messengers of day.CascaYou shall confess that you are both deceived. Here, as I point my sword, the sun arises, Which is a great way growing on the south, Weighing the youthful season of the year. Some two months hence up higher toward the north He first presents his fire; and the high east Stands, as the Capitol, directly here.BrutusGive me your hands all over, one by one.CassiusAnd let us swear our resolution.BrutusNo, not an oath: if not the face of men, The sufferance of our souls, the time’s abuse,— If these be motives weak, break off betimes, And every man hence to his idle bed; So let high-sighted tyranny range on, Till each man drop by lottery. But if these, As I am sure they do, bear fire enough To kindle cowards and to steel with valour The melting spirits of women, then, countrymen, What need we any spur but our own cause, To prick us to redress? what other bond Than secret Romans, that have spoke the word, And will not palter? and what other oath Than honesty to honesty engaged, That this shall be, or we will fall for it? Swear priests and cowards and men cautelous, Old feeble carrions and such suffering souls That welcome wrongs; unto bad causes swear Such creatures as men doubt; but do not stain The even virtue of our enterprise, Nor the insuppressive mettle of our spirits, To think that or our cause or our performance Did need an oath; when every drop of blood That every Roman bears, and nobly bears, Is guilty of a several bastardy, If he do break the smallest particle Of any promise that hath pass’d from him.CassiusBut what of Cicero? shall we sound him? I think he will stand very strong with us.CascaLet us not leave him out.CinnaNo, by no means.Metellus CimberO, let us have him, for his silver hairs Will purchase us a good opinion And buy men’s voices to commend our deeds: It shall be said, his judgment ruled our hands; Our youths and wildness shall no whit appear, But all be buried in his gravity.BrutusO, name him not: let us not break with him; For he will never follow any thing That other men begin.CassiusThen leave him out.CascaIndeed he is not fit.Decius BrutusShall no man else be touch’d but only Caesar?CassiusDecius, well urged: I think it is not meet, Mark Antony, so well beloved of Caesar, Should outlive Caesar: we shall find of him A shrewd contriver; and, you know, his means, If he improve them, may well stretch so far As to annoy us all: which to prevent, Let Antony and Caesar fall together.BrutusOur course will seem too bloody, Caius Cassius, To cut the head off and then hack the limbs, Like wrath in death and envy afterwards; For Antony is but a limb of Caesar: Let us be sacrificers, but not butchers, Caius. We all stand up against the spirit of Caesar; And in the spirit of men there is no blood: O, that we then could come by Caesar’s spirit, And not dismember Caesar! But, alas, Caesar must bleed for it! And, gentle friends, Let’s kill him boldly, but not wrathfully; Let’s carve him as a dish fit for the gods, Not hew him as a carcass fit for hounds: And let our hearts, as subtle masters do, Stir up their servants to an act of rage, And after seem to chide ’em. This shall make Our purpose necessary and not envious: Which so appearing to the common eyes, We shall be call’d purgers, not murderers. And for Mark Antony, think not of him; For he can do no more than Caesar’s arm When Caesar’s head is off.CassiusYet I fear him; For in the ingrafted love he bears to Caesar—BrutusAlas, good Cassius, do not think of him: If he love Caesar, all that he can do Is to himself, take thought and die for Caesar: And that were much he should; for he is given To sports, to wildness and much company.TreboniusThere is no fear in him; let him not die; For he will live, and laugh at this hereafter.Clock strikesBrutusPeace! count the clock.CassiusThe clock hath stricken three.Trebonius’Tis time to part.CassiusBut it is doubtful yet, Whether Caesar will come forth to-day, or no; For he is superstitious grown of late, Quite from the main opinion he held once Of fantasy, of dreams and ceremonies: It may be, these apparent prodigies, The unaccustom’d terror of this night, And the persuasion of his augurers, May hold him from the Capitol to-day.Decius BrutusNever fear that: if he be so resolved, I can o’ersway him; for he loves to hear That unicorns may be betray’d with trees, And bears with glasses, elephants with holes, Lions with toils and men with flatterers; But when I tell him he hates flatterers, He says he does, being then most flattered. Let me work; For I can give his humour the true bent, And I will bring him to the Capitol.CassiusNay, we will all of us be there to fetch him.BrutusBy the eighth hour: is that the uttermost?CinnaBe that the uttermost, and fail not then.Metellus CimberCaius Ligarius doth bear Caesar hard, Who rated him for speaking well of Pompey: I wonder none of you have thought of him.BrutusNow, good Metellus, go along by him: He loves me well, and I have given him reasons; Send him but hither, and I’ll fashion him.CassiusThe morning comes upon ’s: we’ll leave you, Brutus. And, friends, disperse yourselves; but all remember What you have said, and show yourselves true Romans.BrutusGood gentlemen, look fresh and merrily; Let not our looks put on our purposes, But bear it as our Roman actors do, With untired spirits and formal constancy: And so good morrow to you every one.Exeunt all but BrutusBoy! 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.Enter PortiaPortiaBrutus, my lord!BrutusPortia, what mean you? wherefore rise you now? It is not for your health thus to commit Your weak condition to the raw cold morning.PortiaNor for yours neither. You’ve ungently, Brutus, Stole from my bed: and yesternight, at supper, You suddenly arose, and walk’d about, Musing and sighing, with your arms across, And when I ask’d you what the matter was, You stared upon me with ungentle looks; I urged you further; then you scratch’d your head, And too impatiently stamp’d with your foot; Yet I insisted, yet you answer’d not, But, with an angry wafture of your hand, Gave sign for me to leave you: so I did; Fearing to strengthen that impatience Which seem’d too much enkindled, and withal Hoping it was but an effect of humour, Which sometime hath his hour with every man. It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep, And could it work so 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.BrutusI am not well in health, and that is all.PortiaBrutus is wise, and, were he not in health, He would embrace the means to come by it.BrutusWhy, so I do. Good Portia, go to bed.PortiaIs 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 to resort to you: for here have been Some six or seven, who did hide their faces Even from darkness.BrutusKneel not, gentle Portia.PortiaI should not need, if you were gentle Brutus. Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus, Is it excepted I should know no secrets That appertain to you? Am I yourself But, as it were, in sort or limitation, To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed, And talk to you sometimes? Dwell I but in the suburbs Of your good pleasure? If it be no more, Portia is Brutus’ harlot, not his wife.BrutusYou are my true and honourable wife, As dear to me as are the ruddy drops That visit my sad heartPortiaIf this were true, then should I know this secret. I grant I am a woman; but withal A woman that Lord Brutus took to wife: I grant I am a woman; but withal A woman well-reputed, Cato’s daughter. Think you I am no stronger than my sex, Being so father’d and so husbanded? Tell me your counsels, I will not disclose ’em: I have made strong proof of my constancy, Giving myself a voluntary wound Here, in the thigh: can I bear that with patience. And not my husband’s secrets?BrutusO ye gods, Render me worthy of this noble wife!Knocking withinHark, hark! one knocks: Portia, go in awhile; 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 PortiaLucius, who’s that knocks?Re-enter Lucius with LigariusLuciusHe is a sick man that would speak with you.BrutusCaius Ligarius, that Metellus spake of. Boy, stand aside. Caius Ligarius! how?LigariusVouchsafe good morrow from a feeble tongue.BrutusO, what a time have you chose out, brave Caius, To wear a kerchief! Would you were not sick!LigariusI am not sick, if Brutus have in hand Any exploit worthy the name of honour.BrutusSuch an exploit have I in hand, Ligarius, Had you a healthful ear to hear of it.LigariusBy all the gods that Romans bow before, I here discard my sickness! Soul of Rome! Brave son, derived from honourable loins! Thou, like an exorcist, hast conjured up My mortified spirit. Now bid me run, And I will strive with things impossible; Yea, get the better of them. What’s to do?BrutusA piece of work that will make sick men whole.LigariusBut are not some whole that we must make sick?BrutusThat must we also. What it is, my Caius, I shall unfold to thee, as we are going To whom it must be done.LigariusSet on your foot, And with a heart new-fired I follow you, To do I know not what: but it sufficeth That Brutus leads me on.BrutusFollow me, then.Exeunt

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William Shakespeare: Julius Caesar, Act III

• William Shakespeare: Julius Caesar, Act III

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