Send him but hither, and I'll fashion him. Caf. The morning comes upon's; we'll leave you, And, friends! disperse your selves; but all remember [Exeunt. Boy! Lucias! faft afleep? it is no matter, Enter Porcia. Por. Brutus, my lord! 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. Stole from my bed; and, yefternight at fupper, Mufing and fighing, with your arms a-cross: Which feem'd too much inkindled; and, withal, Which fometime hath his hour with every man. It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor fleep; I charm you, by my once-commended beauty, (13) That you Bru. Kneel not, gentle Porcia. Per. 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 your felf, But, as it were, in fort or limitation? To keep with you at meals, confort your bed, (14) And (13) I charge you.] Thus Mr. Pope has corrected, in both his Editions; but I have reitor'd the Reading of the Old Books, I charm you, i. e. I conjure you by the Magick of, &c. (14) comfort your Bed, And talk to you fometimes? dwell I but in the fuburbs Of your good pleafure? if it be no more, Porcia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife. Bru. You are my true and honourable wife; As dear to me, as are the ruddy drops That vifit my fad heart. Por. If this were true, then should I know this fe cret. I grant, I am a woman; but withal, A woman that lord Brutus took to wife : Tell me your counfels, I will not disclose them: Here, in the thigh: can I bear that with patience, Bru. O ye Gods! Render me worthy of this noble wife. Hark, hark, one knocks: Porcia, go in a while; The fecrets of my heart. All my engagements I will conftrue to thee, Leave me with hafte. [Knock. [Exit Portia. This is but an odd Phrase, and gives as odd an Idea. The Word, I have fubftituted, feems much more proper; and is one of our Poet's own Ufage; which makes me fufpect, he employ'd it here. So in his Comedy of Errors; And, afterwards, confort you till Bed-time: And fo in his Poem, call'd Venus and Adonis ; Who bids them fill confort with ugly Night; And fo afterwards, again, in the fifth Act of this Play. And, in Midfummer Night's Dream; And muft for aye confort with black brow'd Night. Enter Enter Lucius and Ligarius. Lucius, who's there that knocks? Luc. Here is a fick man, that would fpeak with you. Bru. Caius Ligarius, that Metellus spake of. Boy, ftand aside. Caius Ligarius! how? Cai. Vouchfafe good morrow from a feeble tongue. Bru. O,what a time have you chofe out, brave Caius, To wear a kerchief? would, you were not fick! Cai. I am not fick, if Brutus have in hand Any exploit worthy the name of honour. Bru. Such an exploit have I in hand, Ligarius, Had you an healthful ear to hear of it. Cai. By all the Gods the Romans bow before, I here difcard my fickness. Soul of Rome! Brave fon, deriv'd from honourable loins! Thou, like an Exorcift, haft conjur'd up My mortified fpirit. Now bid me run, And I will ftrive with things impoffible; Yea, get the better of them. What's to do? Bru. A piece of work, that will make fick men whole. Cai. But are not some whole, that we must make fick? Bru. That muft we alfo. What it is, my Caius, I fhall unfold to thee, as we are going, To whom it must be done. Cai. Set on your foot, And with a heart new-fir'd I follow you, Bru. Follow me then. Caf. [Exeunt. SCENE changes to Cæfar's Palace. Thunder and Lightning. Enter Julius Cæfar. NOR OR heav'n, nor earth, have been at peace Thrice hath Calphurnia in her fleep cry'd out, Enter Ser. My lord? Enter a Servant, Caf. Go bid the priests do prefent facrifice, And bring me their opinions of fuccefs. Ser. I will, my lord. Enter Calphurnia. [Exit Cal. What mean you, Cafar? think you to walk forth? You shall not ftir out of your house to day. Caf. Cæfar fhall forth; the things, that threatned me, Cal. Cæfar, I never ftood on ceremonies, And Graves have yawn'd, and yielded up their dead; The noise of battle hurtled in the air; Caf. What can be avoided, Whofe end is purpos'd by the mighty Gods? Cal. When Beggars die, there are no comets feen; The heav'ns themselves blaze forth the death of Princes, Caf. Cowards die many times before their deaths, The valiant never tafte of death but once : Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, It seems to me moft ftrange, that men fhould fear: Will come, when it will come. Enter |