The Tragedy of Julius Caesar. Уильям Шекспир

II. A public place

      Flourish. Enter Caesar; Antony, for the course; Calpurnia, Portia, Decius, Cicero, Brutus, Cassius, and Casca; a great crowd follows, among them a Soothsayer.

        CAESAR. Calpurnia!

        CASCA. Peace, ho! Caesar speaks.

                                                         Music ceases.

        CAESAR. Calpurnia!

        CALPURNIA. Here, my lord.

        CAESAR. Stand you directly in Antonio's way,

          When he doth run his course. Antonio!

        ANTONY. Caesar, my lord?

        CAESAR. Forget not in your speed, Antonio,

          To touch Calpurnia, for our elders say

          The barren, touched in this holy chase,

          Shake off their sterile curse.

        ANTONY. I shall remember.

          When Caesar says "Do this," it is perform'd.

        CAESAR. Set on, and leave no ceremony out. Flourish.

        SOOTHSAYER. Caesar!

        CAESAR. Ha! Who calls?

        CASCA. Bid every noise be still. Peace yet again!

        CAESAR. Who is it in the press that calls on me?

          I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music,

          Cry "Caesar." Speak, Caesar is turn'd to hear.

        SOOTHSAYER. Beware the ides of March.

        CAESAR. What man is that?

        BRUTUS. A soothsayer you beware the ides of March.

        CAESAR. Set him before me let me see his face.

        CASSIUS. Fellow, come from the throng; look upon Caesar.

        CAESAR. What say'st thou to me now? Speak once again.

        SOOTHSAYER. Beware the ides of March.

        CAESAR. He is a dreamer; let us leave him. Pass.

                            Sennet. Exeunt all but Brutus and Cassius.

        CASSIUS. Will you go see the order of the course?

        BRUTUS. Not I.

        CASSIUS. I pray you, do.

        BRUTUS. I am not gamesome; I do lack some part

          Of that quick spirit that is in Antony.

          Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires;

          I'll leave you.

        CASSIUS. Brutus, I do observe you now of late;

          I have not from your eyes that gentleness

          And show of love as I was wont to have;

          You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand

          Over your friend that loves you.

        BRUTUS. Cassius,

          Be not deceived; if I have veil'd my look,

          I turn the trouble of my countenance

          Merely upon myself. Vexed I am

          Of late with passions of some difference,

          Conceptions only proper to myself,

          Which give some soil perhaps to my behaviors;

          But let not therefore my good friends be grieved-

          Among which number, Cassius, be you one-

          Nor construe any further my neglect

          Than that poor Brutus with himself at war

          Forgets the shows of love to other men.

        CASSIUS. Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion,

          By means whereof this breast of mine hath buried

          Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations.

          Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face?

        BRUTUS. No, Cassius, for the eye sees not itself

          But by reflection, by some other things.

        CASSIUS. 'Tis just,

          And it is very much lamented, Brutus,

          That you have no such mirrors as will turn

          Your hidden worthiness into your eye

          That you might see your shadow. I have heard

          Where many of the best respect in Rome,

          Except immortal Caesar, speaking of Brutus

          And groaning underneath this age's yoke,

          Have wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes.

        BRUTUS. Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius,

          That you would have me seek into myself

          For that which is not in me?

        CASSIUS. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepared to hear,

          And since you know you cannot see yourself

          So well as by reflection, I your glass

          Will modestly discover to yourself

          That of yourself which you yet know not of.

          And be not jealous on me, gentle Brutus;

          Were I a common laugher, or did use

          To stale with ordinary oaths my love

          To every new protester, if you know

          That I do fawn on men and hug them hard

          And after scandal them, or if you know

          That I profess myself in banqueting

          To all the rout, then hold me dangerous.

                                                   Flourish and shout.

        BRUTUS. What means this shouting? I do fear the people

          Choose Caesar for their king.

        CASSIUS. Ay, do you fear it?

          Then must I think you would not have it so.

        BRUTUS. I would not, Cassius, yet I love him well.

          But wherefore do you hold me here so long?

          What is it that you would impart to me?

          If it be aught toward the general good,

          Set honor in one eye and death i' the other

          And I will look on both indifferently.

          For let the gods so speed me as I love

          The name of honor more than I fear death.

        CASSIUS. I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus,

          As well as I do know your outward favor.

          Well, honor is the subject of my story.

          I cannot tell what you and other men

          Think of this life, but, for my single self,

          I