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Boy! Lucius!—Fast asleep? It is no matter.
Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber.
Thou hast no figures nor no fantasies,
240Which busy care draws in the brains of men.
Therefore thou sleep’st so sound.
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Boy! Lucius! Fast asleep? Well, enjoy the sweetness of deep sleep.
Your brain isn’t stuffed with the strange shapes and
fantasies that come to men who are overwhelmed by worries.
That’s why you sleep so soundly.
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Enter PORTIA
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PORTIA enters.
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PORTIA Brutus,
my lord.
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PORTIA Brutus, my lord.
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BRUTUS Portia, what mean you? Wherefore rise you now?
It is not for your health thus to commit
Your weak condition to the raw, cold morning.
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BRUTUS Portia, what are you doing awake? It isn’t good for your
health to expose your weak body to the raw, cold morning.
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PORTIA
245Nor for yours neither. Y' 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,
250You 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 an angry wafture of your hand
255Gave 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 an effect of humor,
Which sometime hath his hour with every man.
260It 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 condition,
I should not know you, Brutus. Dear my lord,
Make me acquainted with your cause of grief.
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PORTIA It’s not good for your health, either. You rudely snuck
out of bed. And last night at dinner, you got up abruptly and paced
back and forth with your arms crossed, brooding and sighing, and
when I asked you what was the matter, you gave me a dirty look. I
asked you again, and you scratched your head and stamped your foot
impatiently. I still insisted on knowing what the matter was, but
you wouldn’t answer me, instead giving me an angry wave of
your hand and telling me to leave you alone. So I left, afraid of
further provoking anger that was already inflamed but still hoping
this was merely moodiness, which everyone is affected by once in
awhile. Your strange mood won’t let you eat or talk or
sleep. If it had changed your outward appearance as much as it has
affected you on the inside, I wouldn’t even be able to
recognize you, Brutus. My dear lord, tell me what’s
bothering you.
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