Complete Plays, The

by William Shakespeare

  The Tarquin drive, when he was call’d a king.

  ‘speak, strike, redress!’ 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!

  Re-enter Lucius

  Lucius

  Sir, March is wasted fourteen days.

  Knocking within

  Brutus

  ’Tis good. Go to the gate; somebody knocks.

  Exit Lucius

  Since Cassius first did whet me against Caesar,

  I have not slept.

  Between the acting of a dreadful thing

  And the first motion, all the interim is

  Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream:

  The Genius and the mortal instruments

  Are then in council; and the state of man,

  Like to a little kingdom, suffers then

  The nature of an insurrection.

  Re-enter Lucius

  Lucius

  Sir, ’tis your brother Cassius at the door,

  Who doth desire to see you.

  Brutus

  Is he alone?

  Lucius

  No, sir, there are moe with him.

  Brutus

  Do you know them?

  Lucius

  No, sir; their hats are pluck’d about their ears,

  And half their faces buried in their cloaks,

  That by no means I may discover them

  By any mark of favour.

  Brutus

  Let ’em enter.

  Exit Lucius

  They are the faction. O conspiracy,

  Shamest thou to show thy dangerous brow by night,

  When evils are most free? O, then by day

  Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough

  To mask thy monstrous visage? Seek none, conspiracy;

  Hide it in smiles and affability:

  For if thou path, thy native semblance on,

  Not Erebus itself were dim enough

  To hide thee from prevention.

  Enter the conspirators, Cassius, Casca, Decius Brutus, Cinna, Metellus Cimber, and Trebonius

  Cassius

  I think we are too bold upon your rest:

  Good morrow, Brutus; do we trouble you?

  Brutus

  I have been up this hour, awake all night.

  Know I these men that come along with you?

  Cassius

  Yes, every man of them, and no man here

  But honours you; and every one doth wish

  You had but that opinion of yourself

  Which every noble Roman bears of you.

  This is Trebonius.

  Brutus

  He is welcome hither.

  Cassius

  This, Decius Brutus.

  Brutus

  He is welcome too.

  Cassius

  This, Casca; this, Cinna; and this, Metellus Cimber.

  Brutus

  They are all welcome.

  What watchful cares do interpose themselves

  Betwixt your eyes and night?

  Cassius

  Shall I entreat a word?

  Brutus and Cassius whisper

  Decius Brutus

  Here lies the east: doth not the day break here?

  Casca

  No.

  Cinna

  O, pardon, sir, it doth; and yon gray lines

  That fret the clouds are messengers of day.

  Casca

  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.

  Brutus

  Give me your hands all over, one by one.

  Cassius

  And let us swear our resolution.

  Brutus

  No, not an oath: if not the face of men,

  The sufferance of our souls, the time’s abuse,—

  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,

  Is guilty of a several bastardy,

  If he do break the smallest particle

  Of any promise that hath pass’d from him.

  Cassius

  But what of Cicero? shall we sound him?

  I think he will stand very strong with us.

  Casca

  Let us not leave him out.

  Cinna

  No, by no means.

  Metellus Cimber

  O, let us have him, for his silver hairs

  Will purchase us a good opinion

  And buy men’s voices to commend our deeds:

  It shall be said, his judgment ruled our hands;

  Our youths and wildness shall no whit appear,

  But all be buried in his gravity.

  Brutus

  O, name him not: let us not break with him;

  For he will never follow any thing

  That other men begin.

  Cassius

  Then leave him out.

  Casca

  Indeed he is not fit.

  Decius Brutus

  Shall no man else be touch’d but only Caesar?

  Cassius

  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.

  Brutus

  Our course will seem too bloody, Caius Cassius,

  To cut the head off and then hack the limbs,

  Like wrath in death and envy afterwards;

  For Antony is but a limb of Caesar:

  Let us be sacrificers, but not butchers, Caius.

  We all stand up against the spirit of Caesar;

  And in the spirit of men there is no blood:

  O, that we then could come by Caesar’s spirit,

  And not dismember Caesar! But, alas,

  Caesar must bleed for it! And, gentle friends,

  Let’s kill him boldly, but not wrathfully;

  Let’s carve him as a dish fit for the gods,

  Not hew him as a carcass fit for hounds:

  And let our hearts, as subtle masters do,

  Stir up their servants to an act of rage,

  And after seem to chide ’em. This shall make

  Our purpose necessary and not envious:

  Which so appearing to the common eyes,

  We shall be call’d purger
s, not murderers.

  And for Mark Antony, think not of him;

  For he can do no more than Caesar’s arm

  When Caesar’s head is off.

  Cassius

  Yet I fear him;

  For in the ingrafted love he bears to Caesar —

  Brutus

  Alas, good Cassius, do not think of him:

  If he love Caesar, all that he can do

  Is to himself, take thought and die for Caesar:

  And that were much he should; for he is given

  To sports, to wildness and much company.

  Trebonius

  There is no fear in him; let him not die;

  For he will live, and laugh at this hereafter.

  Clock strikes

  Brutus

  Peace! count the clock.

  Cassius

  The clock hath stricken three.

  Trebonius

  ’Tis time to part.

  Cassius

  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 unaccustom’d terror of this night,

  And the persuasion of his augurers,

  May hold him from the Capitol to-day.

  Decius Brutus

  Never fear that: if he be so resolved,

  I can o’ersway him; for he loves to hear

  That unicorns may be betray’d with trees,

  And bears with glasses, elephants with holes,

  Lions with toils and men with flatterers;

  But when I tell him he hates flatterers,

  He says he does, being then most flattered.

  Let me work;

  For I can give his humour the true bent,

  And I will bring him to the Capitol.

  Cassius

  Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch him.

  Brutus

  By the eighth hour: is that the uttermost?

  Cinna

  Be that the uttermost, and fail not then.

  Metellus Cimber

  Caius Ligarius doth bear Caesar hard,

  Who rated him for speaking well of Pompey:

  I wonder none of you have thought of him.

  Brutus

  Now, good Metellus, go along by him:

  He loves me well, and I have given him reasons;

  Send him but hither, and I’ll fashion him.

  Cassius

  The morning comes upon ’s: we’ll leave you, Brutus.

  And, friends, disperse yourselves; but all remember

  What you have said, and show yourselves true Romans.

  Brutus

  Good gentlemen, look fresh and merrily;

  Let not our looks put on our purposes,

  But bear it as our Roman actors do,

  With untired spirits and formal constancy:

  And so good morrow to you every one.

  Exeunt all but Brutus

  Boy! Lucius! Fast asleep? It is no matter;

  Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber:

  Thou hast no figures nor no fantasies,

  Which busy care draws in the brains of men;

  Therefore thou sleep’st so sound.

  Enter Portia

  Portia

  Brutus, my lord!

  Brutus

  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.

  Portia

  Nor for yours neither. You’ve ungently, Brutus,

  Stole from my bed: and yesternight, at supper,

  You suddenly arose, and walk’d about,

  Musing and sighing, with your arms across,

  And when I ask’d you what the matter was,

  You stared upon me with ungentle looks;

  I urged you further; then you scratch’d your head,

  And too impatiently stamp’d with your foot;

  Yet I insisted, yet you answer’d not,

  But, with an angry wafture of your hand,

  Gave sign for me to leave you: so I did;

  Fearing to strengthen that impatience

  Which seem’d too much enkindled, and withal

  Hoping it was but an effect of humour,

  Which sometime hath his hour with every man.

  It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep,

  And could it work so much upon your shape

  As it hath much prevail’d on your condition,

  I should not know you, Brutus. Dear my lord,

  Make me acquainted with your cause of grief.

  Brutus

  I am not well in health, and that is all.

  Portia

  Brutus is wise, and, were he not in health,

  He would embrace the means to come by it.

  Brutus

  Why, so I do. Good Portia, go to bed.

  Portia

  Is Brutus sick? and is it physical

  To walk unbraced and suck up the humours

  Of the dank morning? What, is Brutus sick,

  And will he steal out of his wholesome bed,

  To dare the vile contagion of the night

  And tempt the rheumy and unpurged air

  To add unto his sickness? No, my Brutus;

  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,

  I charm you, by my once-commended beauty,

  By all your vows of love and that great vow

  Which did incorporate and make us one,

  That you unfold to me, yourself, your half,

  Why you are heavy, and what men to-night

  Have had to resort to you: for here have been

  Some six or seven, who did hide their faces

  Even from darkness.

  Brutus

  Kneel not, gentle Portia.

  Portia

  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 Brutus’ harlot, not his wife.

  Brutus

  You are my true and honourable wife,

  As dear to me as are the ruddy drops

  That visit my sad heart

  Portia

  If this were true, then should I know this 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 ’em:

  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?

  Brutus

  O ye gods,

  Render me worthy of this noble wife!

  Knocking within

  Hark, hark! one knocks: Portia, go in awhile;

  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

  Lucius, who’s that knocks?

  Re-enter Lucius with Ligarius

&nbs
p; Lucius

  He is a sick man that would speak with you.

  Brutus

  Caius Ligarius, that Metellus spake of.

  Boy, stand aside. Caius Ligarius! how?

  Ligarius

  Vouchsafe good morrow from a feeble tongue.

  Brutus

  O, what a time have you chose out, brave Caius,

  To wear a kerchief! Would you were not sick!

  Ligarius

  I am not sick, if Brutus have in hand

  Any exploit worthy the name of honour.

  Brutus

  Such an exploit have I in hand, Ligarius,

  Had you a healthful ear to hear of it.

  Ligarius

  By all the gods that Romans bow before,

  I here discard my sickness! Soul of Rome!

  Brave son, derived from honourable loins!

  Thou, like an exorcist, hast conjured up

  My mortified spirit. Now bid me run,

  And I will strive with things impossible;

  Yea, get the better of them. What’s to do?

  Brutus

  A piece of work that will make sick men whole.

  Ligarius

  But are not some whole that we must make sick?

  Brutus

  That must we also. What it is, my Caius,

  I shall unfold to thee, as we are going

  To whom it must be done.

  Ligarius

  Set on your foot,

  And with a heart new-fired I follow you,

  To do I know not what: but it sufficeth

  That Brutus leads me on.

  Brutus

  Follow me, then.

  Exeunt

  SCENE II. CAESAR’S HOUSE.

  Thunder and lightning. Enter Caesar, in his night-gown

  Caesar

  Nor heaven nor earth have been at peace to-night:

  Thrice hath Calpurnia in her sleep cried out,

  ‘Help, ho! they murder Caesar!’ Who’s within?

  Enter a Servant

  Servant

  My lord?

  Caesar

  Go bid the priests do present sacrifice

  And bring me their opinions of success.

  Servant

  I will, my lord.

  Exit

  Enter Calpurnia

  Calpurnia

  What mean you, Caesar? think you to walk forth?

  You shall not stir out of your house to-day.

  Caesar

  Caesar shall forth: the things that threaten’d me

  Ne’er look’d but on my back; when they shall see

  The face of Caesar, they are vanished.

  Calpurnia

  Caesar, 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 fought 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,