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Full speech
Brutus, my Lord. Nor for yours neither. you have ungently Brutus Stole from my bed: and yesternight at Supper You suddenly arose, and walked about, Musing, and sighing, with your arms across: And when I asked you what the matter was, You stared upon me, with ungentle looks. I urged you further, then you scratched your head, And too impatiently stamped with your foot: Yet I insisted, yet you answered not, But with and angry wafter of your hand Gave sign for me to leave you: So I did, Fearing to strengthen that impatience Which seemed too much enkindled; and withal, Hoping it was but and effect of Humour, Which sometime hath his hour with every man. It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep; And could it work so much upon your shape. As it hath much prevailed on your Cond cion, I should not know you Brutus. Dear my Lord, Make me acquainted with your cause of grief. Brutus is wise, and were he not in health, He would embrace the means to come by it. Is Brutus sick? And is it Physical To walk unbraced, and suck up the humours Of the danke Morning? What, is Brutus sick? And will he steal out of his wholesome bed To dare the vile contagion of the Night? And tempt the Rhewmy, and unpurged Air, To add unto hit 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, your self; 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. I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus. Within though Bound of Marriage, tell me Brutus, Is it excepted, I should know no Secrets That appertain to you? Am I your Self, But as it were in sort, or limitation? To keep with you at Meals, comfort your Bed, And talk to you sometime? Dwell I but in the Suburbs Of your good pleasure? If it be no more, Portia is Brutus Harlot, not his Wife. 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, A Woman well reputed: Cato is Daughter. Think you, I am no stronger then my Sex Being so Fathered, and so Husbanded? Tell me your Counsels, I will not disclose they: I have made strong proof of my Constancy, Giving my self a voluntary wound Here, in the Thigh: Can I bear that with patience, And not my Husbands Secrets? I prithee Boy, run to the Senate-house, Stay not to answer me, but get thee gone. Why dost thou stay? I would have had thee there and here again Ere I can tell thee what thou shouldst do there: Oh Constancy, be strong upon my side, Set a huge Mountain between my Heart and Tongue: I have a men mind, but a woman's might: How hard it is for women to keep counsel. Art thou here yet? Yes, bring me word Boy, if thy Lord look well, For he went sickly forth: and take good note What Caesar does, what Suitors press to him. Hark Boy, what noise is that? Prithee listen well: I herd a bustling Rumor Like a Fray, And the wind brings it from the Capitol. Come hither Fellow, which way hast thou been? What is't a clock? Is Caesar yet gone to the Capitol? Thou hast some suit to Caesar, hast thou not? Why knowest thou any harm's intended to wards him? I must go in: Aye me! How weak a thing The heart of woman is? Oh Brutus, The Heavens speed thee in thine enterprise. Sure the Boy herd me Brutus hath a suit That Caesar will not grant. Oh, 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 does say to thee.
Plot summary
Plot — Julius Caesar
Caesar returns to Rome triumphant over Pompey. He is warned to beware the Ides of March, and later offered the crown, which he refuses. Meanwhile Cassius sounds out Brutus’ attitude to Caesar’s ambition, and determines to screw him up to conspiracy. Supernatural portents disturb the night before the Ides of March. Brutus convinces himself that Caesar must be assassinated to prevent him establishing himself as a monarch. The conspirators meet at his house, and Brutus insists on limiting the scope of the plot. Cicero is not to be taken into their confidence, Mark Antony is to be spared, and only Caesar murdered. After the conspirators have left, Portia forces Brutus to take her into his confidence. The portents and Calpurnia’s anxiety persuade Caesar to stay at home, but Decius convinces him to go to the Senate as arranged. Artemidorus tries to give him a letter warning against the conspirators, but he refuses to read it. He is stabbed to death, and confusion ensues. Against Cassius’ wishes, Brutus agrees that Antony may speak at Caesar’s funeral. Brutus’ speech justifying the assassination temporarily convinces the mob, but Antony’s rhetoric, and a bequest in Caesar’s will, turns them against the conspirators. Brutus and Cassius flee Rome. In the riots that follow, the conspirators’ houses are burned and Cinna the poet killed, mistaken for the conspirator of the same name. Antony, Octavius, and Lepidus seize power, draw up a death list, and make preparations for war with Brutus and Cassius. Portia commits suicide. Brutus and Cassius quarrel, but reconcile themselves as friends. They determine to give battle at Philippi rather than waiting for Antony and Octavius to come to them at Sardis. Brutus is visited by Caesar’s ghost, which tells him that they will meet again at Philippi. The two armies face off at Philippi, and Cassius, mistakenly thinking that his side is beaten, commits suicide. Once the day really is lost, Brutus has difficulty in finding a friend willing to help him do the same; finally Strato holds his sword while he runs on it and dies. Antony and Octavius, victorious, pay him tribute and promise him an honourable burial.