Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Bru. Enioy the hony‑heauy‑Dew of Slumber:
Bru. Thou hast no Figures, nor no Fantasies,
Bru. Which
Bru. The Tragedie of Iulius Cæsar.
Bru. Which busie care drawes, in the braines of men;
Bru. Therefore thou sleep'st so sound.
Bru. Enter Portia.
Por. Por.
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. 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.