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Let not our looks put on our purposes;
[Exeunt all but BRUTUS.
' Brutus, my lord! Bru. Portia, what mean you? Wherefore rise
You suddenly arose, and walk'd about,
Do I insisted, ye wafture of your did:
4 Let not our looks-] Let not our faces put on, that is, wear or show our designs.
And, could it work so much upon your shape,
Bru. I am not well in health, and that is all.
Por. Brutus is wise, and, were he not in health, He would embrace the means to come by it.
Bru. Why, so I do:-Good Portia, go to bed.
Por. Is Brutus sick ? and is it physical
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,
Kneel not, gentle Portia.
That you are bort to you
On your condition,] On your temper; the disposition of your mind.
Of your good pleasure? If it be no more,
Bru. You are my true and honourable wife;
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 them: 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 ? Bru.
Oye gods, Render me worthy of this noble wife!
[Knocking within. Hark, hark! one knocks: Portia, go in a while; 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 Portia. Enter Lucius and LIGARIUS.
Lucius, who is that, knocks? Luc. Here is a sick man, that would speak with
The secretgagements my sad bron
Bru. Caius Ligarius, that Metellus spake of. . Boy, stand aside.-Caius Ligarius! how?
Lig. Vouchsafe good morrow from a feeble tongue. Bru. O, what a time have you chose out, brave
My mortified spitiwith things iin perhat's to do?
To wear a kerchief? Would you were not sick!
Lig. I ain not sick, if Brutus have in hand Any exploit worthy the name of honour.'
Bru. Such an exploit have I in hand, Ligarius, Had you a healthful ear to hear of it.
Lig. By all the gods that Roinans bow before, I here discard my sickness. Soul of Rome! Brave son, deriv'd from honourable loins! Thou, like an exorcist, hast conjur'd up My mortified spirit. Now bid me run, And I will strive with things iinpossible; Yea, get the better of them. What's to do? · Bru. A piece of work, that will make sick men
whole. Lig. But are not some whole, that we must make
Set on your foot;
Follow me then.
[Exeunt. SCENE II. The same. A Room in Cæsar's Palace.
Thunder and Lightning. Enter CÆSAR, in his
Night-gown. Cæs. Nor heaven, nor earth, have been at peace - to-night: . .
- 6 Thou, like an exorcist,] Here, and in all other places where the word occurs in Shakspeare, to exorcise means to raise spirits, not to lay them; and perhaps he is singular in his acceptation of it.
Thrice hath Calphurnia in her sleep cried out,
Enter a Servant.
Cæs. Go bid the priests do present sacrifice,
forth? You shall not stir out of your house to-day.
Cæs. Cæsar shall forth: The things that threat
... en'd me, Ne'er look'd but on my back; when they shall see. The face of Cæsar, they are vanished.
Cal. Cæsar, I never stood on ceremonies, Yet now they fright me. There is one within, Besides the things that we have heard and seen, Recounts most horrid sights seen by the watch, . A lioness hath whelped in the streets; And graves have yawn’d, and yielded up their dead: Fierce fiery warriors fight upon the clouds, In ranks, and squadrons, and right form of war, Which drizzled blood upon the Capitol: The noise of battle hurtled in the air, Horses did neigh, and dying men did groan; And ghosts did shriek, and squeal about the streets. O Cæsar! these things are beyond all use, And I do fear them. Cæs.
. What can be avoided,
7 Cæsar, I never stood on ceremonies,] i. e. I never paid a ceremonious or superstitious regard to prodigies or omens..
8 The noise of battle hurtled in the air,] To hurtle is to clash, or move with violence and noise.