A common slave⁠—you know him well by sight⁠— Held up his left hand, which did flame and burn Like twenty torches join’d, and yet his hand, Not sensible of fire, remain’d unscorch’d. Besides⁠—I ha’ not since put up my sword⁠— Against the Capitol I met a lion, Who glared upon me, and went surly by, Without annoying me: and there were drawn Upon a heap a hundred ghastly women, Transformed with their fear; who swore they saw Men all in fire walk up and down the streets. And yesterday the bird of night did sit Even at noon-day upon the market-place, Hooting and shrieking. When these prodigies Do so conjointly meet, let not men say “These are their reasons; they are natural;” For, I believe, they are portentous things Unto the climate that they point upon.

Indeed, it is a strange-disposed time: But men may construe things after their fashion, Clean from the purpose of the things themselves. Come Caesar to the Capitol to-morrow?