Run to your houfes, fall upon your knees,
Pray to the gods to intermit the plague
That needs must light on this ingratitude.

Flav. Go, go, good countrymen, and, for this fault, Affemble all the poor men of your fort;

Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears

Into the channel, till the lowest stream

Do kifs the most exalted fhores of all. [Exeunt Citizens.
See, whe'r their bafeft metal be not mov'd;
They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltinefs.
Go you down that way towards the Capitol ;
This way will I Difrobe the images,

If you do find them deck'd with ceremonies.
Mar. May we do fo?

You know, it is the feast of Lupercal.
Flav. It is no matter; let no images
Be hung with Cæfar's trophies. I'll about,
And drive away the vulgar from the streets:
So do you too, where you perceive them thick.
Thefe growing feathers pluck'd from Cæfar's wing,
Will make him fly an ordinary pitch;

Who elfe would foar above the view of men,
And keep us all in fervile fearfulness.

SCENE II.

The fame. A publick Place.

[Exeunt.

Enter, in proceffion, with mufick, CESAR; ANTONY, for the course; CALPHURNIA, PORTIA, DECIUS, CICERO, BRUTUS, CASSIUS, and CASCA, a great crowd following; among them a Soothsayer.

Caf. Calphurnia,—

Cafea.

Peace, ho! Cæfar fpeaks. [Mufick ceafes.
B 2

Caf.

Caf.

Cal. Here, my lord.

Calphurnia,

Caf. Stand you directly in Antonius' way, When he doth run his course.-Antonius.

Ant. Cæfar, my lord.

Caf. Forget not, in your speed, Antonius, To touch Calphurnia: for our elders fay, The barren, touched in this holy chase, Shake off their steril curfe.

I fhall remember:

Ant.
When Cæfar fays, Do this, it is perform'd.
Caf. Set on; and leave no ceremony out.
Sooth. Cæfar.

Caf. Ha! Who calls?

[Mufick

Cafca. Lid every noise be ftill:-Peace yet again. [Mufick ceafes.

Caf. Who is it in the prefs, that calls on me? I hear a tongue, fhriller than all the mufick, Cry, Cæfar: Speak; Cæfar is turn'd to hear. Sooth. Beware the ides of March. Caf. Bru. A foothfayer, bids you beware the ides of March. Caf. Set him before me, let me fee his face.

What man is that?

Caf. Fellow, come from the throng: Look upon Cæfar. Caf. What fay'st thou to me now? Speak once again. Sooth. Beware the ides of March.

Caf. He is a dreamer; let us leave him ;-pass.

[Sennet. Exeunt all but BRUTUS and CASSIUS. Caf. Will you go fee the order of the course? Bru. Not I.

Caf. I pray you, do.

Bru. I am not gamesome: I do lack fome part Of that quick fpirit that is in Antony.

Let

Let me not hinder, Caffius, your defires!

I'll leave you.

Caf. Brutus, I do obferve you now of late :
I have not from your eyes that gentleness,
And show of love, as I was wont to have:
You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand
Over your friend that loves you.

Be not deceiv'd: If I have veil'd my look,
I turn the trouble of my countenance
Merely upon myself.· Vexed I am,

Of late, with paffions of fome difference,
Conceptions only proper to myself,

Which give fome foil, perhaps, to my behaviours:
But let not therefore my good friends be griev'd;
(Among which number, Caffius, be you one ;)
Nor conftrue any further my neglect,

Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war,

Forgets the fhows of love to other men.

Caf. Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your paffion; By means whereof, this breast of mine hath buried

Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations.

Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face?
Bru. No, Caffius: for the eye fees not itself,
But by reflection, by fome other things.

Cof. 'Tis juft:

And it is very much lamented, Brutus,

That you have no fuch mirrors, as will turn
Your hidden worthiness into your eye,

That you might fee your fhadow. I have heard,
Where many of the best refpect in Rome,
(Except immortal Cæfar,) fpeaking of Brutus,
And groaning underneath this age's yoke,
Have wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes.

Bru. Into what dangers would you lead me, Caffius, That you would have me feek into myself

For that which is not in me?

Caf. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepar'd to hear:
And, fince you know you cannot fee yourself
So well as by reflection, I, your glass,
Will modeftly discover to yourself

That of yourself which you yet know not of.
And be not jealous of me, gentle Brutus :
Were I a common laugher, or did ufe
To ftale with ordinary oaths my love
To every new protester; if you know
That I do fawn on men, and hug them hard,
And after fcandal them; or if you know
That I profefs myfelf in banqueting

To all the rout, then hold me dangerous.

[Flourish, and bout. Bru. What means this houting? I do fear, the people Choose Cæfar for their king.

Caf.

Ay, do you fear it?

Then must I think you would not have it so.

Bru. I would not, Caffius; yet I love him well :

But wherefore do you hold me here fo long?

What is it that you would impart to me?

If it be aught toward the general good,

Set honour in one eye, and death i' the other,
And I will look on both indifferently:

For, let the gods so speed me, as I love
The name of honour more than I fear death.
Caf. I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus,
As well as I do know your outward favour.
Well, honour is the fubject of my story.-
I cannot tell, what you and other men
Think of this life; but, for my fingle felf,

I had as lief not be, as live to be

In awe of fuch a thing as I myself.

I was born free as Cæfar; fo were you:

We both have fed as well; and we can both
Endure the winter's cold, as well as he.
For once, upon a raw and gusty day,
The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores,
Cæfar faid to me, Dar'ft thou, Caffius, now
Leap in with me into this angry flood,
And fwim to yonder point ?-Upon the word,
Accouter'd as I was, I plunged in,

And bade him follow: fo, indeed, he did.
The torrent roar'd; and we did buffet it
With lufty finews; throwing it afide
And stemming it with hearts of controversy.
But ere we could arrive the point propos'd,
Cæfar cry'd, Help me, Caffius, or I fink.

Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder
The old Anchifes bear, fo, from the waves of Tiber
Did I the tired Cæfar: And this man

Is

now

become a god; and Caffius is

A wretched creature, and must bend his body,

If Cæfar carelessly but nod on him.

He had a fever when he was in Spain,

And, when the fit was on him, I did mark

How he did shake: 'tis true, this god did shake :
His coward lips did from their colour fly;

And that fame eye, whofe bend doth awe the world,
Did lofe his luftre: I did hear him groan:
Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans
Mark him, and write his fpeeches in their books,
Alas! it cry'd, Give me fome drink, Titinius,
As a fick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me,