Brut. What Lucius, hoe? I cannot, by the progresse of the Starres, Giue guesse how neere to day- Lucius, I say? I would it were my fault to sleepe so soundly. When Lucius, when? awake, I say: what Lucius? Enter Lucius. Luc. Call'd you, my Lord? Brut. Get me a Tapor in my Study, Lucius: When it is lighted, come and call me here Luc. I will, my Lord. Enter. Brut. It must be by his death: and for my part, I know no personall cause, to spurne at him, But for the generall. 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 craues warie walking: Crowne him that, And then I graunt we put a Sting in him, That at his will he may doe danger with. Th' abuse of Greatnesse, is, when it dis-ioynes Remorse from Power: And to speake truth of Caesar, I haue not knowne, when his Affections sway'd More then his Reason. But 'tis a common proofe, That Lowlynesse is young Ambitions Ladder, Whereto the Climber vpward turnes his Face: But when he once attaines the vpmost Round, He then vnto the Ladder turnes his Backe, Lookes in the Clouds, scorning the base degrees By which he did ascend: so Caesar may; Then least he may, preuent. And since the Quarrell Will beare no colour, for the thing he is, Fashion it thus; that what he is, augmented, Would runne to these, and these extremities: And therefore thinke him as a Serpents egge, Which hatch'd, would as his kinde grow mischieuous; And kill him in the shell. Enter Lucius. Luc. The Taper burneth in your Closet, Sir: Searching the Window for a Flint, I found This Paper, thus seal'd vp, and I am sure It did not lye there when I went to Bed. Giues him the Letter. Brut. Get you to Bed againe, it is not day: Is not to morrow (Boy) the first of March? Luc. I know not, Sir Brut. Looke in the Calender, and bring me word Luc. I will, Sir. Enter. Brut. The exhalations, whizzing in the ayre, Giue so much light, that I may reade by them. Opens the Letter, and reades. Brutus thou sleep'st; awake, and see thy selfe: Shall Rome, &c. speake, strike, redresse. Brutus, thou sleep'st: awake. Such instigations haue beene often dropt, Where I haue tooke them vp: Shall Rome, &c. Thus must I piece it out: Shall Rome stand vnder one mans awe? What Rome? My Ancestors did from the streetes of Rome The Tarquin driue, when he was call'd a King. Speake, strike, redresse. Am I entreated To speake, and strike? O Rome, I make thee promise, If the redresse will follow, thou receiuest Thy full Petition at the hand of Brutus. Enter Lucius. Luc. Sir, March is wasted fifteene dayes. Knocke within.