Читать книгу The Tragedy of Julius Caesar - Уильям Шекспир, William Szekspir, the Simon Studio - Страница 5

  BRUTUS. What, Lucius, ho!

    I cannot, by the progress of the stars,

    Give guess how near to day. Lucius, I say!

    I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly.

    When, Lucius, when? Awake, I say! What, Lucius!

  LUCIUS. Call'd you, my lord?

  BRUTUS. Get me a taper in my study, Lucius.

    When it is lighted, come and call me here.

  LUCIUS. I will, my lord. Exit.

  BRUTUS. It must be by his death, and, for my part,

    I know no personal cause to spurn at him,

    But for the general. He would be crown'd:

    How that might change his nature, there's the question.

    It is the bright day that brings forth the adder

    And that craves wary walking. Crown him that,

    And then, I grant, we put a sting in him

    That at his will he may do danger with.

    The abuse of greatness is when it disjoins

    Remorse from power, and, to speak truth of Caesar,

    I have not known when his affections sway'd

    More than his reason. But 'tis a common proof

    That lowliness is young ambition's ladder,

    Whereto the climber-upward turns his face;

    But when he once attains the upmost round,

    He then unto the ladder turns his back,

    Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees

    By which he did ascend. So Caesar may;

    Then, lest he may, prevent. And, since the quarrel

    Will bear no color for the thing he is,

    Fashion it thus, that what he is, augmented,

    Would run to these and these extremities;

    And therefore think him as a serpent's egg

    Which hatch'd would as his kind grow mischievous,

    And kill him in the shell.

  LUCIUS. The taper burneth in your closet, sir.

    Searching the window for a flint I found

    This paper thus seal'd up, and I am sure

    It did not lie there when I went to bed.

                                           Gives him the letter.

  BRUTUS. Get you to bed again, it is not day.

    Is not tomorrow, boy, the ides of March?

  LUCIUS. I know not, sir.

  BRUTUS. Look in the calendar and bring me word.

  LUCIUS. I will, sir. Exit.

  BRUTUS. The exhalations whizzing in the air

    Give so much light that I may read by them.

                                     Opens the letter and reads.

    "Brutus, thou sleep'st: awake and see thyself!

    Shall Rome, etc. Speak, strike, redress!"

    "Brutus, thou sleep'st: awake!"

    Such instigations have been often dropp'd

    Where I have took them up.

    "Shall Rome, etc." Thus must I piece it out.

    Shall Rome stand under one man's awe? What, Rome?

    My ancestors did from the streets of Rome

    The Tarquin drive, when he was call'd a king.

    "Speak, strike, redress!" Am I entreated

    To speak and strike? O Rome, I make thee promise,

    If the redress will follow, thou receivest

    Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus!