Now, Metellus: - What, Tre I have an hour's talk in store for you; And we, like friends, will straightway go together. Bru. That every like is not the same, O Čaesar, The heart of Brutus yearus to think upon! SCENE III. [Exeunt. The same. A street near the Capitol. Enter ARTEMIDORUS reading a paper. Art. Caesar, beware of Brutus; take heed of Cassius; come not near Casca; have an eye to Cinna; trust not Trebonius; mark well Metellus Cimber; Decius Brutus loves thee not; thou hast wrong'd Caius Ligarius. There is but one mind in all these men, and it is bent against Caesar. If thou be'st not immortal, look about you: Security gives way to conspiracy. The mighty Gods defend thee! Thy lover, Artemidorus. Here will I stand, till Caesar pass along, And as a suitor will I give him this. My heart laments, that virtue cannot live Out of the teeth of emulation. If thou read this, O Caesar, thou may'st live; If not, the fates with traitors do contrive. [Exit. SCENE IV. The same. Another part of the same street, before the house of Brutus. Enter PORTIA, and Lucius. Por. I pr'ythee, boy, run to the senate-house Stay not to answer me, but get thee gone: Why dost thou stay? Luc. To know my errand, Madam, Por. I would have had thee there, and here again, Set a huge mountain 'tween my heart and tongue! Art thou here yet? Luc. Madam, what should I do? Run to the Capitol, and nothing else? And so return to you, and nothing else? Por. Yes, bring me ward, boy, if thy lord look well, For he went sickly forth: And take good note, Luc. 1 hear none, Madam. Por. Pr'ythee, listen well: I heard a bustling rumour, like a fray, Enter Soothsayer, Por. Come hither, fellow; Which way hast thou been? Sooth. At mine own house, good Lady. Por. What is't o'clock? Sooth. About the ninth hour, Lady. Sooth. Madam, not yet; I go to take my stand, Por. Thou hast some suit to Caesar, hast thou not? Sooth. That I have, Lady: if it will please To be so good to Caesar, as to hear me, Por. Why, know'st thou any harm's intended Sooth. None that I know will be, much that Good morrow to you. Here the street is narrow: The throng that follows Caesar at the heels, Of senators, of praetors, Will crowd a feeble man I'll get me to a place more void, and there [Exit. Ah me! how weak a thing The heart of woman is! O Brutus! - The heavens speed thee in thine enterprize! And bring me word what he doth say to thee. ACT III. SCENE I The same. The Capitol; the Senate sitting. A crowd of people in the street leading to the Caes. The ides of March are come. Art. Hail, Caesar! Read this schedule. suit for mine's a That touches Caesar nearer: Read it, great Caesar, Caes. What touches us ourself, shall be last serv'd. Art. Delay not, Caesar; read it instantly. Pub. Sirah, give place. Cas. What, urge you your petitions in the street? Come to the Capitol. Caesar enters the Capitol, the rest following. All the Senators rise. Pop. I wish, your enterprize to-day may thrive, Cas. What enterprize, Popilius? Pep. Fare you well. [Advances to Caesar. Bru. What said Popilius Lena? Cas. He wish'd, to-day our enterprize might A thrive. I fear, our purpose is discover'd. Bru. Look, how he makes to Caesar: Mark Cas. Casca, be sudden, for we fear prevention. Bru. Cassius, be constant: Popilius Lena speaks not of our purposes; For, look, he smiles, and Caesar doth not change. Cas. Trebonius knows his time; for, look you, Brutus, He draws Mark Antony out of the way, [Exeunt ANTONY and TREBONIUS. CAESAR and the Senators take their seats. Dec. Where is Metellus Cimber? Let him go, And presently prefer his suit to Caesar. Bru. He is address'd: press near, and second Cin. 'Casca, you are the first that rears your hand. Caes. Are we all ready? what is now amiss, Metellus Cimber throws before thy seat Caes. I must prevent thee, Cimber. [Kneeling. These couchings, and these lowly courtesies, Might fire the blood of ordinary men; And turn pre-ordinance, and first degree, Into the law of children. Be not fond, To think that Caesar bears such rebel blood, That will be thaw'd from the true quality With that which melteth fools; I mean, sweet words, Low-crooked curt'sies, and base spaniel fawning. |