The exhalations whizzing in the air Give so much light that I may read by them. Opens the letter and reads. āBrutus, thou sleepāst: awake, and see thyself. Shall Rome, etc. Speak, strike, redress! Brutus, thou sleepāst: awake!ā Such instigations have been often droppād Where I have took them up. āShall Rome, etc. ā Thus must I piece it out: Shall Rome stand under one manās awe? What, Rome? My ancestors did from the streets of Rome The Tarquin drive, when he was callād a king. āSpeak, strike, redress!ā Am I entreated To speak and strike? O Rome, I make thee promise: If the redress will follow, thou receivest Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus!
No, sir; their hats are pluckād about their ears, And half their faces buried in their cloaks, That by no means I may discover them By any mark of favour.
I have been up this hour, awake all night. Know I these men that come along with you?
You shall confess that you are both deceived. Here, as I point my sword, the sun arises, Which is a great way growing on the south, Weighing the youthful season of the year. Some two months hence up higher toward the north He first presents his fire; and the high east Stands, as the Capitol, directly here.
No, not an oath: if not the face of men, The sufferance of our souls, the timeās abuseā ā If these be motives weak, break off betimes, And every man hence to his idle bed; So let high-sighted tyranny range on, Till each man drop by lottery. But if these, As I am sure they do, bear fire enough To kindle cowards and to steel with valour The melting spirits of women, then, countrymen, What need we any spur but our own cause, To prick us to redress? what other bond Than secret Romans, that have spoke the word, And will not palter? and what other oath Than honesty to honesty engaged, That this shall be, or we will fall for it? Swear priests and cowards and men cautelous, Old feeble carrions and such suffering souls That welcome wrongs; unto bad causes swear Such creatures as men doubt; but do not stain The even virtue of our enterprise, Nor the insuppressive mettle of our spirits, To think that or our cause or our performance Did need an oath; when every drop of blood That every Roman bears, and nobly bears,
Decius, well urged: I think it is not meet, Mark Antony, so well beloved of Caesar, Should outlive Caesar: we shall find of him A shrewd contriver; and, you know, his means, If he improve them, may well stretch so far As to annoy us all: which to prevent, Let Antony and Caesar fall together.
But it is doubtful yet, Whether Caesar will come forth to-day, or no; For he is superstitious grown of late, Quite from the main opinion he held once Of fantasy, of dreams and ceremonies: It may be, these apparent prodigies, The unaccustomād terror of this night, And the persuasion of his augurers, May hold him from the Capitol to-day.
Portia, what mean you? wherefore rise you now? It is not for your health thus to commit Your weak condition to the raw cold morning.
I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus. Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus, Is it excepted I should know no secrets That appertain to you? Am I yourself But, as it were, in sort or limitation, To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed, And talk to you sometimes? Dwell I but in the suburbs Of your good pleasure? If it be no more, Portia is Brutusā harlot, not his wife.