Most like this dreadful night,

That thunders, lightens, opens graves, and roars
As doth the lion in the Capitol,

A man no mightier than thyself or me

In personal action, yet prodigious grown

And fearful, as these strange eruptions are.

Casca. "Tis Cæsar that you mean; is it not, Cassius?

Cas. Let it be who it is: for Romans now Have thews and limbs like to their ancestors; But, woe the while! our fathers' minds are dead, And we are govern'd with our mothers' spirits; Our yoke and sufferance show us womanish.

Casca. Indeed, they say the senators to-morrow Mean to establish Cæsar as a king;

And he shall wear his crown by sea and land,
In every place, save here in Italy.

Cas. I know where I will wear this dagger then;
Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius:
Therein, ye gods, you make the weak most strong;
Therein, ye gods, you tyrants do defeat:
Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass,
Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron,
Can be retentive to the strength of spirit;
But life, being weary of these worldly bars,
Never lacks power to dismiss itself.

If I know this, know all the world besides,
That part of tyranny that I do bear

I can shake off at pleasure.

Casca.

So can I:

[Thunder still.

So every bondman in his own hand bears
The power to cancel his captivity.

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Cas. And why should Cæsar be a tyrant then?
Poor man! I know he would not be a wolf,
But that he sees the Romans are but sheep:
He were no lion, were not Romans hinds.
Those that with haste will make a mighty fire
Begin it with weak straws: what trash is Rome,
What rubbish and what offal, when it serves
For the base matter to illuminate

So vile a thing as Cæsar!

Where hast thou led me?

Before a willing bondman;

But, O grief,

I perhaps speak this
then I know

My answer must be made. But I am arm'd,
And dangers are to me indifferent.

Casca. You speak to Casca, and to such a man
That is no fleering tell-tale. Hold, my hand:
Be factious for redress of all these griefs,

And I will set this foot of mine as far

As who goes farthest.

Cas.

There's a bargain made.

Now know you, Casca, I have moved already
Some certain of the noble-minded Romans
To undergo with me an enterprise

Of honourable-dangerous consequence;
And I do know, by this, they stay for me
In Pompey's porch: for now, this fearful night,
There is no stir or walking in the streets;
And the complexion of the element

In favour's like the work we have in hand,
Most bloody, fiery, and most terrible.

Casca. Stand close awhile, for here comes one

in haste.

Cas. 'Tis Cinna; I do know him by his gait; He is a friend.

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Enter CINNA

Cinna, where haste you so?

Cin. To find out you. Who's that? Metellus Cimber?

Cas. No, it is Casca; one incorporate

To our attempts. Am I not stay'd for, Cinna?
Cin. I am glad on't. What a fearful night is
this!

There's two or three of us have seen strange sights.
Cas. Am I not stay'd for? tell me.
Cin.

O Cassius, if you could

But win the noble Brutus to our party

Yes, you are.

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Cas. Be you content: good Cinna, take this

paper,

And look you lay it in the prætor's chair,

Where Brutus may but find it; and throw this
In at his window; set this up with wax

Upon old Brutus' statue: all this done,

Repair to Pompey's porch, where you shall find us. Is Decius Brutus and Trebonius there?

Cin. All but Metellus Cimber; and he's gone To seek you at your house. Well, I will hie, And so bestow these papers as you bade me. Cas. That done, repair to Pompey's theatre. [Exit Cinna.

Come, Casca, you and I will yet ere day

See Brutus at his house: three parts of him

Is ours already, and the man entire

Upon the next encounter yields him ours.

Casca. O, he sits high in all the people's hearts:

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And that which would appear offence in us,
His countenance, like richest alchemy,

Will change to virtue and to worthiness.

Cas. Him and his worth and our great need of him

You have right well conceited. Let us go,

For it is after midnight; and ere day
We will awake him and be sure of him.

[Exeunt.

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ACT II

SCENE I- Rome. Brutus' orchard

Enter BRUTUS

Bru. 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

Luc. Call'd you, my lord?,

Bru. Get me a taper in my study, Lucius:

When it is lighted, come and call me here.

Luc. I will, my lord.

[Exit.

Bru. 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;

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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.
The abuse of greatness is, when it disjoins
Remorse from power: and, to speak truth of Cæsar,
I have not known when his affections sway'd
More than his reason. But 't is 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 Cæsar may.

Then, lest he may, prevent. And, since the quarrel
Will bear no colour 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 mischiev

ous,

And kill him in the shell.

Re-enter LUCIUS

Luc. 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.

[Gives him the letter.

Bru. Get you to bed again; it is not day. Is not to-morrow, boy, the ides of March?

Luc. I know not, sir.

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