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Dec. Never fear that: if he be so resolv'd,
I can o'ersway him : * for he loves to hear,
s 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 fatterers,
He says, he does ; being then most fattered.
Let me work:
For I can give his humour the true bent;
And I will bring him to the Capitol.

Caf. Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch him.
Bru. By the eighth hour. Is that the uttermost?
Cin. Be that the uttermoft, and fail not then.

Met. Caius Ligarius doth bear Cæsar hard, Who rated him for speaking well of Pompey : I wonder, none of you have thought of him.

Bru. Now, good Metellus, go along to him: He loves me well; and I have given him reasons ; Send him but hither, and I'll fashion him. Caf. The morning comes upon us.

We'll leave you, Brutus: 4-For be loves to hear, &c.] It was finely imagined by the poet, to make Cæsar delight in this sort of conversation. The author of St. Evremond's life tells us, that the great prince of Conde tock much pleasure in remarking on the foible and ridicule of characters.

WARBURTON. s That unicorns may be betray'd by trees,

And bears with glasfis, elephants with boles. Unicorns are said to have been taken by one, who running behind a tree, eluded the violent push the animal was making at him, so that his horn spent its force on the trunk, and stuck fast, detaining the beast till he was dispatched by the hunter. Bears are reported to have been surprised by means of a mirror, which they would gaze on, affording their pursuers an opportunity of taking the furer aim. This circumstance, I think, is mentioned by Claudian. Elephants were seduced into pitfalls, lighily covered with hurdles and turf, on which a proper bait to tempt them, was exposed.



D 2

And, friends! disperse yourselves : but all remember What you have said, and thew yourselves true Ro


Bru. Good gentlemen, look fresh and merrily;
• Let not our looks put on our purposes ;
But bear it, as our Roman actors do,
With untir'd spirits, and formal constancy.
And so, good-morrow to you every one.

Manet Brutus.
Boy! Lucius !_Faft alleep? It is no matter.
Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of Number :
Thou hast no figures, nor no fantasies,
Which busy care draws in the brains of men ;
Therefore thou sleep'st so found.

Enter Portia. Por. Brutus, my lord ! Bru. 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.
Por. Nor for yours neither. You have ungently,

Stoln from my bed : And, yesternight at supper,
You suddenly arose, and walk'd about,
Musing and lighing, with your arms a-cross :
And, when I ask'd you what the matter was,
You star'd upon me with ungentle looks:
I urg'd you further; then you stratch'd your head,
And too impatiently stamp'd with your foot :
Yet I inlifted, 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,

6 Let not our looks ] Let not our faces put on, that is, wear or show our designs.


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 Deep;
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 canic of grief.

Bru. I am not weil in health, and that is all.

Por. Brutus is wife, and were he not in health, He would embrace the means to come by it.

Bru. Why, so I do:-Good Portia, go to bed.

Por. Is Brutus sick ? and is it physical
To walk unbraced, and suck up the humours
Of the dank morning? what, is Brutus fick;
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 offence 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 to-night
Have had resort to you : for here have been
Some six or seven, who did hide their faces
Even from darkness.

Bru. Kneel not, gentle Portia.
Por. I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus.
Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus,
Is it excepted, I should know no fecrets
That appertain to you? Am I yourselt,
But, as it were, in fort, or limitation;


D 3

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.

Bru. You are my true and honourable wife; As dear to me, as are the ruddy drops That visit my sad heart. Por. 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,

? To keep with you at m als, &c.

“I being, O Brutus, (sayed Me) the daughter of Cato, was ma“ ried vnto thee, not to be thy beddefellowe and companion in “ bedde and at borde onelie, like a harlot: but to be partaker " also with thee, of thy good and euill fortune, Nowe for thy, "selfe, I can finde no cause of faulte in thee touchinge our matche; “ but for my parte, howe may I Mowe my duetie towardes thee, • and howe muche I woulde doe for thy sake, if I can not con“ ftantlie beare a secret mischaunce or griefe with thee, which re“ quireth secrecy and fidelity? I confeffe, that a womans wit “ commonly is too weake to keepe a secret safely: but yet, Bru“ tus, good education, and the companie of vertuous men, haue some power to reforme the defect of nature. And for my selfe, “ I haue this benefit moreouer: that I am the daughter of Cato, “ and wife of Brutus. This notwithstanding, I did not trust to “ any of these things before : vntill that now I haue found by “ experience, that no paine nor griefe whatsoeuer can ouercome

With those wordes she sewed him her wounde on her thigh, and tolde him what she had done to proue her selfe.”

Sir Tbo. Norih's Translat. of Plutarch. STBEVENS. -Comf rt your bed,] “ is but an odd phrase, and gives as odd “ an idea," says Mr. Theobald. He therefore substitutes, confort. But this good old word, how.ver disused through modern reñine. ment, was not so discarded by Shakespeare. Henry VIII. as we read in Cavendish's life of Wolfey, in commendation of queen Katharine, in public said, “ She hath beene to me a true obe“ dient wife, and as comfortable as I could with.” UPTON,

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A We

. 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 them :
I have made strong proof of my conftancy,
Giving myself a voluntary wound
Here, in the thigh: can I bear that with patience,
And not my husband's secrets ?

Bru. O ye Gods,
Render me worthy of this noble wife !

Hark, hark! one knocks: Portia, go in a while;
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 hafte.

[Exit Portia. Enter Lucius and Ligarius. Lucius, who is that knocks? Luc. Here is a sick man, that would speak with

you. Bru. Caius Ligarius, that Metellus spake of. Boy, stand aside. Caius Ligarius! how?

Cai. Vouchsafe good-morrow from a feeble tongue.

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A woman well-refuted; Cato's daughter.] This false pointing should be corrected thus,

A woman well reput d Caro's daughter, i. e. worthy of my birth, and the relation I bear to Cato. This indeed was a good reason why she should be intrusted with the secret. But the false pointing, which gives a sense only imply. ing that she was a woman of a good character, and that she was Cato's daughter, gives no good reason: for the might be Cato's daughter, and yet not inherit his firmness; and the might be a woman well-reputed, and yet not the best at a secret. But if the was well-reputed Caro's daughter, that is, worthy of her birth, The could neither want her father's love to her country, nor his relolution to engage in its deliverance.




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