SCENE II.

The same. A publick Place.

Enter, in Procession, with Musick, CÆSAR; AnTONY, for the course; CALPHURNIA, PORTIA, DECIUS, CICERO, BRUTUS, CASSIUS, and CASCA, a great Croud following; among them a Sooth

sayer.

Caes. Calphurnia,—

Casca.

Peace, ho! Cæsar speaks.

Cæs.

Cal. Here, my lord.

[Musick ceases. Calphurnia,

Cæs. Stand you directly in Antonius' way,
When he doth run his course.-Antonius.
Ant. Cæsar, my lord.

Caes. Forget not, in your speed, Antonius,
To touch Calphurnia: for our elders say,
The barren, touched in this holy chase,
Shake off their steril curse.

Ant.
I shall remember:
When Cæsar says, Do this, it is perform'd.
Cæs. Set on; and leave no ceremony out.

Sooth. Cæsar.

Caes. Ha! Who calls?

[Musick.

Casca. Bid every noise be still:-Peace yet again. [Musick ceases.

This person was not Decius, but Decimus Brutus. The poet (as Voltaire has done since) confounds the characters of Marcus and Decimus. Decimus Brutus was the most cherished by Cæsar of all his friends, while Marcus kept aloof, and declined so large a share of his favours and honours, as the other had constantly accepted.

Caes. Who is it in the press, that calls on me?
I hear a tongue, shriller than all the musick,
Cry, Cæsar: Speak; Cæsar is turn'd to hear.
Sooth. Beware the ides of March.

Cæs.

What man is that!

Bru. A soothsayer, bids you beware the ides of
March.

Cas. Set him before me, let me see his face.
Cas. Fellow, come from the throng: Look upon
Cæsar.

Cæs. What say'st thou to me now? Speak once

again.

Sooth. Beware the ides of March.

Cæs. He is a dreamer; let us leave him ;-pass.
[Sennet. Exeunt all but BRU. and CAS.
Cas. Will you go see the order of the course?
Bru. Not I.

Cas. I pray you, do.

Bru. I am not gamesome: I do lack some part Of that quick spirit that is in Antony.

Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires;
I'll leave you.

Cas. Brutus, I do observe you now of late:
I have not from your eyes that gentleness,
And show of love, as I was wont to have:
You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand
Over your friend that loves you.

Bru.

Cassius, Be not deceiv'd: If I have veil'd my look, I turn the trouble of my countenance Merely upon myself. Vexed I am,

✦ Sennet.] I have been informed that sennet is derived from senneste, an antiquated French tune formerly used in the army; but the Dictionaries which I have consulted exhibit no such word. It may be a corruption from sonata, Ital. STEEVENS.

5 strange a hand-] Strange, is alien, unfamiliar, such as might become a stranger,

Of late, with passions of some difference,"
Conceptions only proper to myself,

Which give some soil, perhaps, to my behaviours:
But let not therefore my good friends be griev'd;
(Among which number, Cassius, be you one;)
Nor construe any further my neglect,

Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war,
Forgets the shows of love to other men.

Cas. Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your
passion;7

By means whereof, this breast of mine hath buried
Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations.
Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face?
Bru. No, Cassius: for the eye sees not itself,
But by reflection, by some other things.
Cas. 'Tis just:

And it is very much lamented, Brutus,
That you have no such mirrors, as will turn
Your hidden worthiness into your eye,

That you might see your shadow. I have heard,
Where many of the best respect in Rome,
(Except immortal Cæsar,) speaking of Brutus,
And groaning underneath this age's yoke,
Have wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes.

Bru. Into what dangers would you lead me,
Cassius,

That you would have me seek into myself

For that which is not in me?

Cas. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepar❜d to hear:

And, since know you

you cannot see yourself So well as by reflection, I, your glass,

Will modestly discover to yourself

That of yourself which you yet know not of.

· passions of some difference,] With a fluctuation of discordant opinions and desires.

your passion;] i. e. the nature of the feelings from you are now suffering.

8

And be not jealous of me, gentle Brutus:
Were I a common laugher, or did use
To stale with ordinary oaths my love
To every new protester; if you know
That I do fawn on men, and hug them hard,
And after scandal them; or if you know
That I profess myself in banqueting
To all the rout, then hold me dangerous.

[Flourish, and Shout.

Bru. What means this shouting? I do fear, the

people

Choose Cæsar for their king.

Cas.
Ay, do you fear it?
Then must I think you would not have it so.
Bru. I would not, Cassius; yet I love him well:
But wherefore do you hold me here so long?
What is it that you would impart to me?
If it be aught toward the general good,
Set honour in one eye, and death i' the other,
And I will look on both indifferently:
For, let the gods so speed me, as I love
The name of honour more than I fear death.

Cas. I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus,
As well as I do know your outward favour.
Well, honour is the subject of my story.-
I cannot tell, what you and other men
Think of this life; but, for my single self,
I had as lief not be, as live to be
In awe of such a thing as I myself.
I was born free as Cæsar; so were you:
We both have fed as well; and we can both
Endure the winter's cold, as well as he.
For once, upon a raw and gusty day,
The troubled Tyber chafing with her shores,

8 To stale with ordinary oaths my love, &c.] To invite every new protester to my affection by the stale or allurement of customary oaths,

Cæsar said to me, Dar'st thou, Cassius, now
Leap in with me into this angry flood,
And swim to yonder point?-Upon the word,
Accouter'd as I was, I plunged in,

And bade him follow: so, indeed, he did.
The torrent roar'd; and we did buffet it
With lusty sinews; throwing it aside
And stemming it with hearts of controversy.
But ere we could arrive the point propos'd,
Cæsar cry'd, Help me, Cassius, or I sink.
I, as Æneas, our great ancestor,

Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder
The old Anchises bear, so, from the waves of Tyber
Did I the tired Cæsar: And this man

Is now become a god; and Cassius is

A wretched creature, and must bend his body,
If Cæsar carelessly but nod on him.

He had a fever when he was in Spain,

And, when the fit was on him, I did mark
How he did shake: 'tis true, this god did shake:
His coward lips did from their colour fly;

And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the world,
Did lose his lustre: I did hear him groan:

Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans
Mark him, and write his speeches in their books,
Alas! it cried, Give me some drink, Titinius,
As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me,
A man of such a feeble temper9 should
So get the start of the majestick world,
And bear the palm alone.

Bru. Another general shout!

[Shout. Flourish.

I do believe, that these applauses are

For some new honours that are heap'd on Cæsar. Cas. Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world,

feeble temper-] i. e. temperament, constitution.