Act 2 - Scene 1
Rome. BRUTUS's orchard.
What, Lucius, ho!
I cannot, by the progress of the stars,
Give guess how near to day. Lucius, I say!
it were my fault to sleep so soundly.
When, Lucius, when? awake, I say! what, Lucius!
Call'd you, my lord?
Get me a taper in my study, Lucius:
When it is lighted, come and call me here.
I will, my lord.
It must be by his death: and for my part,
I know no personal cause to spurn at him,
But for the general.
He would be crown'd:
How that might change his nature, there's the question.
It is the bright day that
brings forth the adder;
And that craves wary walking. Crown him?that;
And then, I grant, we put a sting
That at his will he may do danger with.
The abuse of greatness is, when it disjoins
power: and, to speak truth of Caesar,
I have not known when his affections sway'd
More than his reason.
But 'tis a common proof,
That lowliness is young ambition's ladder,
Whereto the climber-upward turns his
But when he once attains the upmost round.
He then unto the ladder turns his back,
Looks in the
clouds, scorning the base degrees
By which he did ascend. So Caesar may.
Then, lest he may, prevent.
And, since the quarrel
Will bear no colour for the thing he is,
Fashion it thus; that what he is, augmented,
run to these and these extremities:
And therefore think him as a serpent's egg
Which, hatch'd, would, as
his kind, grow mischievous,
And kill him in the shell.
The taper burneth in your closet, sir.
Searching the window for a flint, I found
This paper, thus seal'd up; and,
I am sure,
It did not lie there when I went to bed.
Gives him the letter
Get you to bed again; it is not day.
Is not to-morrow, boy, the ides of March?
I know not, sir.
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