And after feem to chide & 'em. This fhall make For in the ingrafted love he bears to Cafar- Is to himself; take thought, and die for Cæsar: k To fports, to wildness, and much company. Treb. There is no fear in him; let him not die; For he will live, and laugh at this hereafter. [Clock ftrikes. Bru. Peace, count the clock. Caf. The clock hath stricken three, Treb. 'Tis time to part. Caf. But it is doubtful yet, Whether Cafar will come forth to-day, or no: For he is fuperftitious grown of late, Quite from the main opinion he held once And the perfuafion of his augurers, For I can give his humour the true bent; Caf. Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch him. १ Met. Caius Ligarius doth bear Cæfar ↑ hard, Who rated him for speaking well of Pompey; I wonder none of you have thought of him. Bru. Now, good Metellus, go along to him: He loves me well; and I have given him reasons. Send him but hither, and I'll fashion him. Caf. The morning comes upon's; we'll leave you, Brutus, And, friends, difperfe yourselves: but all remember What you have faid, and fhew yourselves true Ramans, Bru. Good gentlemen, look freth and merrily; Let not our looks put on our purposes; P. alters this to, Leave me to work'; followed by the after-editors, except J. and C. The three first fo's, eight, The three last fo's, R. P. H. and G. batred for bard. The fo's and R. by for to. *C. up ́n us for ufen 's, But But bear it, as our Roman actors do, [Exeunt all but Brutus. Boy, Lucius! Fast asleep? It is no matter, SCENE III. Enter Portia. Por. Brutus, my lord. Bru. Portia, what mean you? wherefore rise you now? It is not for your health, thus to commit Your weak condition to the raw cold morning. Por. Nor for yours neither. You 've ungently, Brutus, "Stole from my bed: And yesternight at fupper, W You fuddenly arose, and walk'd about, Mufing, and fighing, with your arms across: The fo's, Y'bave for You've. "J. Stol'n. w The two firft fo's, fodainly. Yet Yet I infifted; yet you anfwer'd not; But, with an angry wafture of your hand, Bru. Why fo I do. Por. Is Brutus fick; Good Portia, go to bed. To walk unbraced, and fuck up the humours Of the dank morning? What, is Brutus fick; And tempt the rheumy and unpurged air To add unto his fick nefs? No, my Brutus; a I charm you, by my once commended beauty, × The fo's, wafter for wafture. y The three last fo's and R.'s octavo, dark for dank. The firft f. bit for bis. P. and H. charge for charm. Which Which did incorporate and make us one, Some fix or feven, who did hide their faces Bru. Kneel not, gentle Portia. [ Raifing her. Por. I fhould not need, if you were gentle Brutus. Is it excepted, I should know no fecrets To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed, e And talk to you sometimes? Dwell I but in the fuburbs Of your good pleafure? 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 vifit my fad heart. Por. If this were true, then fhould I know this fecret. I grant I am a woman; but withal, A woman that lord Brutus took to wife: I grant I am a woman; but withal, Tell me your counfels, I will not disclose f 'em : |