Rome. Brutus’s orchard.
What, Lucius, ho! I cannot, by the progress of the stars, Give guess how near to day. Lucius, I say! I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly. When, Lucius, when? awake, I say! what, Lucius!
Get me a taper in my study, Lucius: When it is lighted, come and call me here.