University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

PORTIA, BRUTUS
BRUTUS.
Who call'd thee hither Portia?

PORTIA.
Rome's kind Gods.

BRUTUS.
In Haste they summon'd, and, in Haste they left thee.
Was it, because they saw Calphurnia with thee?
And shun Society with Cæsar's Friends?

PORTIA.
Ne're may the Gods forsake the Friends of Cæsar,
Since Brutus more than all Men, such, by Gratitude,
Merits Protection from the Powers, who love it.—
Does Cassius move in Grots?

BRUTUS.
Why ask'st thou that?

PORTIA.
Romans, who meditate the Death of Cæsar,
And owe him not their Lives, may mean no Murder.

BRUTUS.
Torbilius is a Traitor:—Rome is bought,
And all those guardian Gods, who lov'd her Liberty.
Forsake her, and support the Cause of Cæsar.

PORTIA.
Rome bought?—and Traitors?—If I watch thy Look:
Rage, and Despair, have dim'd thy Eyes with Anguish,
If I regard thy Language,—Death dwells, there,
And, like a Groan, at Midnight, frights my Fancy.
Stay I would ask.

BRUTUS.
Ask nothing;—'tis a Time
For Action:—keep thy Words for idler moments

[is going.
PORTIA.
(Holding him.)
Hark! tis thy Fate, that calls the.

BRUTUS.
I have heard it:
Why woud'st thou thus restrain me?—thoughtless Portia!
Be wiser.—All the Lives of Rome's best Friends
Demand me! Theirs the Fate, that calls!—Away:—
Honour, and Oaths, and Death, and Glory—call me.

PORTIA.
(Still holding him.)
By Heaven! you go not, till you first relieve me,
From this dark Torment, which your Words implant:
I'll know, what Friends? what Oaths?

BRUTUS.
Loosen thy Hold:
Nay, if thou stay'st me, my unwilling Strength
Must break ungently from this ill-tim'd Rashness.

(Forces himself away)
PORTIA.
(With a Dagger)
Turn, Brutus! turn,—regard this silent Pleader?
If thou woud'st wish to spare the Breast of Portia,
Dread the determin'd Hand of Cato's Daughter.

BRUTUS.
What wou'd thy Madness hint? what means that dagger.

PORTIA.
(Pointing a Dagger to her Breast.)
Stir, not a Step.—Thy first vain Start to seize me,
Plunges Deliverance to my rescued Heart,
Which unconfiding Brutus loves to torture.

BRUTUS.
What would thy Soul-distracting Purpose frame?

PORTIA.
The bloody Secret, thou conceal'st from Portia,
Thou shar'st, with every vulgar Friend of Rome.

BRUTUS.
(Suspended, and amaz'd.)
Why woud'st thou bid me license future Scorn,
To haunt my hated Name?—Make me not faithless,
Lest Songs teach Times to come my Hearts fond weakness;
That, to a Woman's Tongue, resign'd a Secret,
Which sunk the World's last Hope;—and gave up Rome.

PORTIA.
Where sleeps the Spirit of thy stern Forefather?
Whose awful Firmness, sculptur'd into Life,
Frowning thro' Stone, disclaims degenerate Rome!
Teach him, some God! that Cato call'd Me Daughter.
Brutus believes me light, like vulgar Woman!
Oh!—'twas for this, the sorrowing Shade resought me;
Hinted Futurity, through mystic Night,
And shew'd me, Brutus wou'd be Mine—no more.
Find, in that dreadful Warning, how He judg'd:
Feel, what he thought of his own Portia's Daring.
Trusting the Fortitude, he gave—He knew,
That Cato's Daughter could not dread to hear
The worst, that Cato's Spirit dar'd to tell.

BRUTUS.
Generous, I know thou art;—But thou art Woman:
Secrets of State, and Blood, o'erload your Minds.

PORTIA.
Tis the false Reasoning of a Sex, that wrongs us:
Why shou'd a Secret's weight o'erload the Heart
Of Portia—yet, disturb not that of Brutus?
All, thou can'st wish me, thou shalt find, I am:
All, thou can'st suffer, thou shalt feel, I dare.
Poorly, perhaps, thou think'st, the Fear of Wounds,
And Pain, and Sword's, and threat'ning Death, might shake me!
—Judge,—by this willing Blow—
(Strikes the Dagger into her Left Arm, which Brutus, advancing swiftly, snatches from her.)
—off—off—by Heaven
Thy Failure had transferr'd it to my Heart.
Learn, from this bleeding Proof, that,—when I shrink
from Thoughts of Death, I fear not for my own.

BRUTUS.
What has thy Pride's ill-grounded Rashness done!
Oh! let me Mend that error of thy Hand:—
Bind up th' ungentle Wound, and call Aid to thee.

PORTIA.
Never!—tho' Death divide us!—Never—never
Shall Portia veil this Mark, how Brutus lov'd her;
Till, to Redeem her Life, he trusts her Vertue.

BRUTUS.
Perish the Pride of such a dear-bought Fame,
As costs my widow'd Heart the Life of Portia!
—Read that dire List.
(Gives her the Roll.)
Till my Return conceal it:
And weigh those mighty Names, against One Cæsar.

PORTIA
[Permitting Brutus to bind her Arm with his Handkerchief.)
Must Cæsar die?

BRUTUS.
—Twas sworn.

PORTIA.
—Did Brutus swear.

BRUTUS.
He did:—A dreadful Oath!—ask what, hereafter.
Bound to the Gods, those angry Souls of Rome.
Submitting to my Hand, the public Vengeance,
Kill Cæsar, instant,—or permit his Life,
As Brutus warrants, or with-holds, the Blow.

PORTIA.
Then, Cæsar cannot die.—He pardoned Brutus.

BRUTUS.
Oh! I cou'd tell thee Wonders!—But the Help,
I fly to send thee.—and their forfeit Lives,
Whose Rashness I must warn, permit no more.
Portia, farewell:—If e're we meet again,
I will complain, of thy impatient Ardor,
And thou shalt justify the Heart of Brutus.

[Exit hastily