Ian

It is not for your health thus to commit Your weak condition to the raw cold morning. || Stole from my bed; and yesternight at supper You suddenly arose and walk'd about, (250) Musing and sighing, with your arms across; And when I ask'd you what the matter was, You stared upon me with ungentle looks. I urged you further; then you scratch'd your head, And too impatiently stamp'd with your foot. (255)  Yet I insisted, yet you answer'd not, But with an angry [|wafture] of your hand Gave sign for me to leave you. So I did, Fearing to strengthen that impatience Which seem'd too much [|enkindled,] and [|withal] (260) Hoping it was but an effect of humor, Which sometime hath his hour with every man. It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep, And, could it work so much upon your shape As it hath much prevail'd on your [|condition,] (265) I should not know you, Brutus. Dear my lord, Make me acquainted with your cause of grief. || He would embrace the means to come by it. (270) || To walk unbraced and suck up the humors Of the dank morning? What, is Brutus sick, And will he steal out of his wholesome bed (275) To dare the vile contagion of the night And tempt the rheumy and [|unpurged] air To add unto his sickness? No, my Brutus, You have some sick offense within your mind, Which by the right and virtue of my place (280) I ought to know of; and, upon my knees, I charm you, by my once commended beauty, By all your vows of love and that great vow Which did incorporate and make us one, That you unfold to me, yourself, your half, (285) Why you are heavy, and what men tonight Have had resort to you; for here have been Some six or seven, who did hide their faces Even from darkness. || Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus, Is it excepted I should know no secrets That appertain to you? Am I yourself But, as it were, in sort or limitation, (295) To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed, And talk to you sometimes? Dwell I but in the suburbs Of your good pleasure? If it be no more, Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife. || As dear to me as are the ruddy drops That visit my sad heart. ||
 * < // Enter Portia. // ||
 * ** PORTIA: ** Brutus, my lord! ||
 * ** BRUTUS: ** Portia, what mean you? Wherefore rise you now? (245)
 * ** PORTIA: ** Nor for yours neither. Y'have [|ungently,] Brutus,
 * ** BRUTUS: ** I am not well in health, and that is all. ||
 * ** PORTIA: ** Brutus is wise, and, were he not in health,
 * ** BRUTUS: ** Why, so I do. Good Portia, go to bed. ||
 * ** PORTIA: ** Is Brutus sick, and is it [|physical]
 * ** BRUTUS: ** Kneel not, gentle Portia. (290)  ||
 * ** PORTIA: ** I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus.
 * ** PORTIA: ** I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus.
 * ** BRUTUS: ** You are my true and honorable wife, (300)