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d touch his instrument a strain or two. But better give it all--it's not long: Lucius: Ay, my lord, an't please you. Brutus: It does, my boy: I trouble thee too much, but thou art willing. Lucius: It is my duty, sir. Brutus: I should not urge thy duty past thy might; I know young bloods look for a time of rest. Lucius: I have slept, my lord, already. Brutus: It was well done; and thou shalt sleep again; I will not hold thee long: if I do live, I will be good to thee. (Music, and a song.) This is a sleepy tune. O murderous slumber, Lay'st thou thy leaden mace upon my boy That plays thee music? Gentle knave, good-night; I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee: If thou dost nod, thou break'st thy instrument; I'll take it from thee; and, good boy, good-night. Let me see, let me see; is not the leaf turn'd down Where I left reading? Here it is, I think. (He sits down.) A man for all time! How natural it all reads! You must remember that he is a tired man after a long, strenuous day such as none of us ever know. The fate of Rome and his--a much smaller matter--are hanging on the balance, and tomorrow will decide; but he is so mind-dulled and shoulder-weary under the tremendous burden of great things and of many griefs that he is almost apathetic; and over all is the cloud of a loss that he has not yet had time to realize. He is self-hypnotized, so to speak, and his mind mercifully dulled for the moment on the Sea of Fatalism. Enter GHOST of CAESAR Brutus: How ill this taper burns! Ha! who comes here? I think it is the weakness of mine eyes That shapes this monstrous apparition. It comes upon me. Art thou any thing? Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil That makest my blood cold, and my hair to stare? Speak to me what thou art! His very "scare," or rather his cold blood and staring hair are as things apart, to be analysed and explained quickly and put aside. Ghost: Thy evil spirit, Brutus. That was frank enough, anyway. Brutus: Why comest thou? Ghost: To tell thee thou shalt see me at Philippi. Bru
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