Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Luc. Luc.
Luc. Call'd you, my Lord?
Brut. Brut.
Brut. Get me a Tapor in my Study, Lucius:
Brut. When it is lighted, come and call me here.
Luc. I will, my Lord.
Luc. Exit.
Brut. It must be by his death: and for my part,
Brut. I know no personall cause, to spurne at him,
Brut. But for the generall. He would be crown'd:
Brut. How that might change his nature, there's the question?
Brut. It is the bright day, that brings forth the Adder,
Brut. And that craues warie walking: Crowne him that,
Brut. And then I graunt we put a Sting in him,
Brut. That at his will he may doe danger with.
Brut. Th'abuse of Greatnesse, is, when it dis‑ioynes
Brut. Remorse from Power: And to speake truth of Cæsar,
Brut. I haue not knowne, when his Affections sway'd