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Julius Caesar
Act 2 Scene 1
Portia – Davis Bosley
Portia – Y’ have ungently, Brutus,
Stole from my Bed. And yesternight at Supper
You suddenly arose, and walk’d about,
Musing, and Sighing, with your Arms a-cross;
And when I ask’d you what the matter was,
You star’d upon me with ungentle Looks.
I urg’d you further, then you scratch’d your Head,
And too impatiently stamp’d with your Foot;
Yet I insisted, yet you answer’d not,
But with an angry wafter of your Hand
Gave sign for me to leave you. So I did,
Fearing to strengthen that Impatience
Which seem’d too much enkindled, and withal
Hoping it was but an effect of Humour,
Which sometime hath his Hour with every Man.
It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep;
And could it work so much upon your Shape
As it hath much prevail’d on your Condition,
I should not know you Brutus. Dear my Lord,
Make me acquainted with your cause of Grief.
Brutus – I am not well in Health, and that is all.
Portia – Brutus is wise, and were he not in Health
He would embrace the Means to come by it.
Brutus – Why so I do: good Portia, go to Bed.
Portia – Is Brutus sick? And is it Physical
To walk unbraced and suck up the Humours
Of the dank morning? What, is Brutus sick?
And will he steal out of his wholesome Bed
To dare the vile Contagion of the Night?
And tempt the rheumy and unpurged Air
To add unto his Sickness? No, my Brutus,
You have some Sick Offence within your Mind,
Which by the Right and Virtue of my Place
I ought to know of. And upon my Knees,
I charm you, by my once commended Beauty,
By all your vows of Love, and that great Vow
Which did incorporate and make us One,
That you unfold to me your Self, your Half,
Why you are Heavy, and what men tonight
Have had resort to you: for here have been
Some six or seven who did hide their Faces
Even from Darkness.
Brutus: Kneel not, gentle Portia.
Portia – I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus.
Within the bond of Marriage, tell me, Brutus,
Is it excepted, I should know no Secrets
That appertain to you? Am I your Self
But as it were in Sort, or Limitation?
To keep with you at Meals, comfort your Bed,
And talk to you sometimes? Dwell I but in the Suburbs
Of your good Pleasure? If it be no more,
Portia is Brutus’ Harlot, not his Wife.