Act II, Scene 4

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

Enter PORTIA and LUCIUS

• 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

• Lucius. I hear none, madam.

• 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?

• Soothsayer. At mine own house, good lady.

• Portia. What is't o'clock?

• Soothsayer. About the ninth hour, lady. 1165

• 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

Exit

• 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