Brutus: Bear with me, good boy, I am much forgetful, etc.
He asks Lucius if he can hold up his heavy eyes and touch his
instrument a strain or two. But better give it all--it's not long:
Lucius: Ay, my lord, an't please you.
Brutus: It does, my boy:
I trouble thee too much, but thou art willing.
Lucius: It is my duty, sir.
Brutus: I should not urge thy duty past thy might;
I know young bloods look for a time of rest.
Lucius: I have slept, my lord, already.
Brutus: It was well done; and thou shalt sleep again;
I will not hold thee long: if I do live,
I will be good to thee. (Music, and a song.)
This is a sleepy tune. O murderous slumber,
Lay'st thou thy leaden mace upon my boy
That plays thee music? Gentle knave, good-night;
I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee:
If thou dost nod, thou break'st thy instrument;
I'll take it from thee; and, good boy, good-night.
Let me see, let me see; is not the leaf turn'd down
Where I left reading? Here it is, I think.
(He sits down.)
A man for all time! How natural it all reads! You must remember that
he is a tired man after a long, strenuous day such as none of us ever
know. The fate of Rome and his--a much smaller matter--are hanging on
the balance, and tomorrow will decide; but he is so mind-dulled and
shoulder-weary under the tremendous burden of great things and of many
griefs that he is almost apathetic; and over all is the cloud of a
loss that he has not yet had time to realize.
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