Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Por. Brutus, my Lord.
Bru. Bru.
Bru. Portia: What meane you? wherfore rise you now?
Bru. It is not for your health, thus to commit
Bru. Your weake condition, to the raw cold morning.
Por. Por.
Por. Nor for yours neither. Y'haue vngently Brutus
Por. Stole from my bed: and yesternight at Supper
Por. You sodainly arose, and walk'd about,
Por. Musing, and sighing, with your armes a‑crosse
Por. And when I ask'd you what the matter was,
Por. You star'd vpon me, with vngentle lookes.
Por. I vrg'd you further, then you scratch'd your head,
Por. And too impatiently stampt with your foote:
Por. Yet I insisted, yet you answer'd not,
Por. But with an angry wafter of your hand
Por. Gaue signe for me to leaue you: So I did,
Por. Fearing to strengthen that impatience
Por. Which seem'd too much inkindled; and withall,
Por. Hoping it was but an effect of Humor,