of my sad brows: Leave me with haste. Lucius, who's that knocks? He is a sick man that would speak with you. Caius Ligarius, that Metellus spake of. Boy, stand aside. Caius Ligarius! how? Vouchsafe good morrow from a feeble tongue. O, what a time have you chose out, brave Caius, To wear a kerchief! Would you were not sick! I am not sick, if Brutus have in hand Any exploit worthy the name of honour. Such an exploit have I in hand, Ligarius, Had you a healthful ear to hear of it. By all the gods that Romans bow before, I here discard my sickness! Soul of Rome! Brave son, derived from honourable loins! Thou, like an exorcist, hast conjured up My mortified spirit. Now bid me run, And I will strive with things impossible; Yea, get the better of them. What's to do? A piece of work that will make sick men whole. But are not some whole that we must make sick? That must we also. What it is, my Caius, I shall unfold to thee, as we are going To whom it must be done. Set on your foot, And with a heart new-fired I follow you, To do I know not what: but it sufficeth That Brutus leads me on. Follow me, then. Nor heaven nor earth have been at peace to-night: Thrice hath Calpurnia in her sleep cried out, 'Help, ho! they murder Caesar!' Who's within? My lord? Go bid the priests do present sacrifice And bring me their opinions of success. I will, my lord. What mean you, Caesar? think you to walk forth? You shall not stir out of your house to-day. Caesar shall forth: the things that threaten'd me Ne'er look'd but on my back; when they shall see The face of Caesar, they are vanished. Caesar, I never stood on ceremonies, Yet now they fright me. There is one within, Besides the things that we have heard and seen, Recounts most horrid sights seen by the watch. A lioness hath whelped in the streets; And graves have yawn'd, and yielded up their dead; Fierce fiery warriors fought upon the clouds, In ranks and squadrons and right form of war, Which drizzled blood upon the Capitol; The noise of battle hurtled in the air, Horses did neigh, and dying men did groan, And ghosts did shriek and squeal about the streets. O Caesar! these things are beyond all use, And I do fear them. What can be avoided Whose end is purposed by the mighty gods? Yet Caesar