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 purgers, 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 ingrated 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 today 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 today.
  DECIUS. 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 humor 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 utter most?
  CINNA. Be that the uttermost, and fail not then.
  METELLUS. 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. have 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 waiter 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 humor,
    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 humors
    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 offense 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 tonight
    Have had 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 honorable 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