The Same. A Street. |
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Thunder and lightning. Enter, from opposite sides, CASCA, with his sword drawn, and CICERO. |
Cic. Good even, Casca: brought you Cæsar home? |
Why are you breathless? and why stare you so? |
Casca. Are not you mov'd, when all the sway of earth |
Shakes like a thing unfirm? O Cicero! |
I have seen tempests, when the scolding winds |
Have riv'd the knotty oaks; and I have seen |
The ambitious ocean swell and rage and foam, |
To be exalted with the threat'ning clouds: |
But never till to-night, never till now, |
Did I go through a tempest dropping fire. |
Either there is a civil strife in heaven, |
Or else the world, too saucy with the gods, |
Incenses them to send destruction. |
Cic. Why, saw you any thing more wonderful? |
Casca. A common slave—you know him well by sight— |
Held up his left hand, which did flame and burn |
Like twenty torches join'd; and yet his hand, |
Not sensible of fire, remain'd unscorch'd. |
Besides,—I have not since put up my sword,— |
Against the Capitol I met a lion, |
Who glar'd upon me, and went surly by, |
Without annoying me; and there were drawn |
Upon a heap a hundred ghastly women, |
Transformed with their fear, who swore they saw |
Men all in fire walk up and down the streets. |
And yesterday the bird of night did sit, |
Even at noon-day, upon the market-place, |
Hooting and shrieking. When these prodigies |
Do so conjointly meet, let not men say |
'These are their reasons, they are natural;' |
For, I believe, they are portentous things |
Unto the climate that they point upon. |
Cic. Indeed, it is a strange-disposed time: |
But men may construe things after their fashion, |
Clean from the purpose of the things themselves. |
Comes Cæsar to the Capitol to-morrow? |
Casca. He doth; for he did bid Antonius |
Send word to you he would be there to-morrow. |
Cic. Good-night then, Casca: this disturbed sky |
Is not to walk in. |
Casca. Farewell, Cicero. [Exit CICERO. |
|
Enter CASSIUS. |
Cas. Who's there? |
Casca. A Roman. |
Cas. Casca, by your voice. |
Casca. Your ear is good. Cassius, what night is this! |
Cas. A very pleasing night to honest men. |
Casca. Who ever knew the heavens menace so? |
Cas. Those that have known the earth so full of faults. |
For my part, I have walk'd about the streets, |
Submitting me unto the perilous night, |
And, thus unbraced, Casca, as you see, |
Have bar'd my bosom to the thunder-stone; |
And, when the cross blue lightning seem'd to open |
The breast of heaven, I did present myself |
Even in the aim and very flash of it. |
Casca. But wherefore did you so much tempt the heavens? |
It is the part of men to fear and tremble |
When the most mighty gods by tokens send |
Such dreadful heralds to astonish us. |
Cas. You are dull, Casca, and those sparks of life |
That should be in a Roman you do want, |
Or else you use not. You look pale, and gaze, |
And put on fear, and cast yourself in wonder, |
To see the strange impatience of the heavens; |
But if you would consider the true cause |
Why all these fires, why all these gliding ghosts, |
Why birds and beasts, from quality and kind; |
Why old men, fools, and children calculate; |
Why all these things change from their ordinance, |
Their natures, and pre-formed faculties, |
To monstrous quality, why, you shall find |
That heaven hath infus'd them with these spirits |
To make them instruments of fear and warning |
Unto some monstrous state. |
Now could I, Casca, name to thee a man |
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 those 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. [Thunder still. |
Casca. So can I: |
So every bondman in his own hand bears |
The power to cancel his captivity. |
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! But, O grief! |
Where hast thou led me? I, perhaps, speak this |
Before a willing bondman; 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 furthest. |
Cas. There's a bargain made. |
Now know you, Casca, I have mov'd already |
Some certain of the noblest-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. |
|
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. Yes, you are. |
O Cassius! if you could |
But win the noble Brutus to our party— |
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: |
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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