READ STUDY GUIDE: Act II, scene i |
|
Act II, Scene i:
Rome. BRUTUS'S orchard.
Rome. BRUTUS'S orchard.
| [Enter Brutus.] |
| BRUTUS: |
| 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! |
| [Enter Lucius.] |
| LUCIUS: |
| Call'd you, my lord? |
| BRUTUS: |
| Get me a taper in my study, Lucius: |
| When it is lighted, come and call me here. |
| LUCIUS: |
| I will, my lord. |
| [Exit.] |
| BRUTUS: |
| It must be by his death: and, for my part, |
| I know no personal cause to spurn at him, |
| But for the general. He would be crown'd: |
| How that might change his nature, there's the question: |
| It is the bright day that brings forth the adder; |
| And that craves wary walking. Crown him?—that: |
| And then, I grant, we put a sting in him, |
| That at his will he may do danger with. |
| Th' abuse of greatness is, when it disjoins |
| Remorse from power; and, to speak truth of Caesar, |
| I have not known when his affections sway'd |
| More than his reason. But 'tis a common proof, |
| That lowliness is young ambition's ladder, |
| Whereto the climber-upward turns his face; |
| But, when he once attains the upmost round, |
| He then unto the ladder turns his back, |
| Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees |
| By which he did ascend: so Caesar may; |
| Then, lest he may, prevent. And, since the quarrel |
| Will bear no color for the thing he is, |
| Fashion it thus,—that what he is, augmented, |
| Would run to these and these extremities: |
| And therefore think him as a serpent's egg |
| Which hatch'd, would, as his kind grow mischievous; |
| And kill him in the shell. |
| [Re-enter Lucius.] |
| LUCIUS: |
| The taper burneth in your closet, sir. |
| Searching the window for a flint I found |
| This paper thus seal'd up, and I am sure |
| It did not lie there when I went to bed. |
| BRUTUS: |
| Get you to bed again; it is not day. |
| Is not tomorrow, boy, the Ides of March? |
| LUCIUS: |
| I know not, sir. |
| BRUTUS: |
| Look in the calendar, and bring me word. |
| LUCIUS: |
| I will, sir. |
| [Exit.] |
| BRUTUS: |
| The exhalations, whizzing in the air |
| Give so much light that I may read by them.— |
| [Opens the letter and reads.] |
| "Brutus, thou sleep'st: awake and see thyself. |
| Shall Rome, &c. Speak, strike, redress—! |
| Brutus, thou sleep'st: awake!—" |
| Such instigations have been often dropp'd |
| Where I have took them up. |
| "Shall Rome, & c." Thus must I piece it out: |
| Shall Rome stand under one man's awe? What, Rome? |
| My ancestors did from the streets of Rome |
| The Tarquin drive, when he was call'd a king.— |
| "Speak, strike, redress!"—Am I entreated, then, |
| 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 fifteen 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 more 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 favor. |
| 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 pass, thy native semblance on, |
| Not Erebus itself were dim enough |
| To hide thee from prevention. |
| [Enter Cassius, Casca, Decius, 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 honors 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 apart.] |
| DECIUS: |
| Here lies the east: doth not the day break here? |
| CASCA: |
| No. |
| CINNA: |
| O, pardon, sir, it doth, and yon grey 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 th' 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: |
| 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: |
| 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 mark |
| 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 do fear him; |
| For in th' 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 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 to-day. |
| 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 uttermost? |
| 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 reason; |
| 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 offense within your mind, |
| Which, by the right and virtue of my place, |
| I ought to know of: and, upon my knees, |
| I charge 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 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 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.] |
| LUCIUS: |
| Here 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 honorable 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.] |
|
|
||||
|
