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The Tragedy of Julius Caesar

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Act II, Scene 4

Another part of the same street, before the house of BRUTUS.



  • Portia. I prithee, boy, run to the senate-house;
    Stay not to answer me, but get thee gone:
    Why dost thou stay? 1140
  • Lucius. To know my errand, madam.
  • Portia. I would have had thee there, and here again,
    Ere I can tell thee what thou shouldst do there.
    O constancy, be strong upon my side,
    Set a huge mountain 'tween my heart and tongue! 1145
    I have a man's mind, but a woman's might.
    How hard it is for women to keep counsel!
    Art thou here yet?
  • Lucius. Madam, what should I do?
    Run to the Capitol, and nothing else? 1150
    And so return to you, and nothing else?
  • Portia. Yes, bring me word, boy, if thy lord look well,
    For he went sickly forth: and take good note
    What Caesar doth, what suitors press to him.
    Hark, boy! what noise is that? 1155
  • Portia. Prithee, listen well;
    I heard a bustling rumour, like a fray,
    And the wind brings it from the Capitol.
  • Lucius. Sooth, madam, I hear nothing. 1160

Enter the Soothsayer

  • Portia. Come hither, fellow: which way hast thou been?
  • Portia. Is Caesar yet gone to the Capitol?
  • Soothsayer. Madam, not yet: I go to take my stand,
    To see him pass on to the Capitol.
  • Portia. Thou hast some suit to Caesar, hast thou not?
  • Soothsayer. That I have, lady: if it will please Caesar 1170
    To be so good to Caesar as to hear me,
    I shall beseech him to befriend himself.
  • Portia. Why, know'st thou any harm's intended towards him?
  • Soothsayer. None that I know will be, much that I fear may chance.
    Good morrow to you. Here the street is narrow: 1175
    The throng that follows Caesar at the heels,
    Of senators, of praetors, common suitors,
    Will crowd a feeble man almost to death:
    I'll get me to a place more void, and there
    Speak to great Caesar as he comes along. 1180


  • Portia. I must go in. Ay me, how weak a thing
    The heart of woman is! O Brutus,
    The heavens speed thee in thine enterprise!
    Sure, the boy heard me: Brutus hath a suit 1185
    That Caesar will not grant. O, I grow faint.
    Run, Lucius, and commend me to my lord;
    Say I am merry: come to me again,
    And bring me word what he doth say to thee.

Exeunt severally