Document:  All > Shakespeare > Tragedies > Julius Caesar > Act II, scene IV

	[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?

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!
	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?
	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?

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.

	[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.

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
	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:
	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.


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
	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]


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