Julius Caesar

by: William Shakespeare

Original Text

Modern Text

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.
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.
PORTIA enters.
     Brutus, my lord.
Brutus, my lord.
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.
Portia, what are you doing awake? It isn’t good for your health to expose your weak body to the raw, cold morning.
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.
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.