The Tragedy of Julius Caesar

In plain English

Please, boy, run to the Senate House. Don't stay to answer me, just go. Why are you still standing there?

What’s happening

Portia is in a state of desperate anxiety, knowing that Brutus and the conspirators are plotting against Caesar at this very moment. She sends the servant Lucius to the Capitol but is too frantic to clearly explain why, fearing that any delay could be catastrophic. Her urgent, clipped commands reveal a woman near breaking point, struggling to keep her knowledge hidden.

Playing the moment

Play the rising panic. The short, urgent sentences should accelerate — Portia is barely holding herself together. Each line should feel like it's fighting against the impulse to say too much. The final question 'Why dost thou stay?' can land as a near-cry of frustration, perhaps startling herself with her own intensity. Some actresses physically push or gesture the boy away on 'get thee gone.' The challenge is showing anxiety without overexplaining — she knows the plot but cannot speak it.

In plain English

To find out what my errand is, ma'am.

What’s happening

Portia has just sent Lucius running to the Senate House but told him not to wait for an explanation. He pauses, confused — she's given him a destination but no purpose. His practical need to understand his task conflicts with her urgent command to leave immediately.

Playing the moment

Play the genuine bewilderment of a servant caught between contradictory orders. The line should feel like a reasonable question from someone who wants to do his job well — not impudence. A beat of hesitation before he turns to go.

In plain English

I want you to go there and come back before I even have time to tell you what to do. Give me strength to stay steady; put a mountain between my feelings and my words. I think like a man but am weak like a woman. It's so hard for women to keep secrets! Are you still standing here?

What’s happening

Portia is in agony, knowing her husband Brutus is part of the conspiracy to kill Caesar but unable to tell anyone. She sends the servant Lucius on an errand but cannot explain why — she's desperate for news from the Senate. This is one of Shakespeare's rare explorations of female interiority under political stress.

Playing the moment

The speech should build in urgency and self-reproach. Lines 1104-1105 are rapid, impatient — she's talking as much to herself as to Lucius. Lines 1106-1107 are an apostrophe, almost a prayer, and can be delivered upward or inward. Line 1108 is the emotional crux — she knows the secret but feels powerless. The pause after 'counsel!' allows a beat of self-awareness before she snaps back to 'Art thou here yet?' — frustrated that he hasn't already left. Some actors play the 'woman's might' line with anger at her society; others play it as genuine anguish at her own frailty.

In plain English

Madam, what do you want me to do? Just run to the Capitol and nothing else? And then come back to you, and nothing else?

What’s happening

Portia is frantic with anxiety about the conspiracy against Caesar and has sent Lucius to the Capitol without clearly explaining why. Lucius is confused by her vague, urgent commands and wants clarification before he runs off. His practical questions contrast with Portia's inner turmoil, highlighting how her fear has made her communication scattered and incoherent.

Playing the moment

Play Lucius as genuinely bewildered but not impatient — he's a servant trying to do right by a mistress who isn't making sense. The repeated 'nothing else?' should build slightly with each iteration, not in anger but in increasing puzzlement. Keep the pace brisk; Portia's urgency has infected the scene and Lucius should feel that pressure even while asking for clarification.

In plain English

Yes, bring me word, boy, if your master looks well, because he left home feeling sick. And pay close attention to what Caesar does and what petitioners crowd around him. Listen, boy—what was that noise?

What’s happening

Portia is frantically sending Lucius to the Senate House but cannot explicitly reveal what she knows about the assassination plot. She is desperate for news of Brutus yet must disguise her anxiety as wifely concern for his health. Her final question erupts from her hyper-vigilant state—she is jumping at sounds, terrified that the murder is already underway.

Worth knowing

Portia's claim that Brutus 'went sickly forth' may be genuine (Brutus has been sleepless and distracted) or may be her cover story for sending Lucius to check on him. Her inability to keep 'counsel' (secret) reflects Renaissance beliefs about female frailty, which Shakespeare gives her as self-criticism—though her distress actually stems from bearing an unbearable burden alone.

Playing the moment

The speech should build in urgency. The first three lines are rapid, distracted instructions—Portia is barely tracking her own words, grasping at excuses to send Lucius. 'For he went sickly forth' can feel like a lie she's telling herself as much as Lucius. Then 'Hark, boy' should be a sudden, sharp interruption—she's genuinely startled, possibly clutching at Lucius. Some actresses play Portia as on the verge of collapse throughout this scene; others play her as fighting desperately to maintain composure. The danger is overplaying the hysteria; her fear is more affecting when she's struggling to contain it.

What’s happening

Portia, frantic with anxiety about Brutus and the conspiracy, asks Lucius to listen for sounds from the Capitol. Lucius, a young servant boy, hears nothing and reports honestly. His calm, grounded response contrasts sharply with Portia's spiraling agitation.

Playing the moment

Play the simplicity. Lucius is a boy, unburdened by Portia's secret knowledge — he genuinely hears nothing. Deliver the line plainly, without urgency, as a straightforward answer. The contrast between his calm and Portia's mounting panic is what gives the scene its charge. Don't oversell it; let Portia's hysteria swirl around his stillness.

In plain English

Please, listen carefully. I heard a confused noise like a fight or riot, and the wind is carrying the sound from the Capitol.

What’s happening

Portia is in a state of extreme anxiety, waiting for news from the Capitol where Caesar is being assassinated at this very moment. She knows Brutus's plan but must keep it secret, which is destroying her. She is desperate for information and projecting her internal turmoil onto her surroundings — possibly hearing something real, possibly imagining it.

Playing the moment

The key tension here is whether Portia actually hears something or is hallucinating from stress. Many actors play this as projection of internal panic — she WANTS to hear something, needs to hear something. The short, urgent phrases suggest fractured composure. Volume should be hushed but intense, as if straining to catch a distant sound. Some productions have her gripping Lucius's arm or physically turning toward the Capitol. The contrast with Lucius's calm 'I hear nothing' should heighten the audience's sense of her unraveling.

In plain English

Truly, madam, I don't hear anything.

What’s happening

Portia is frantically listening for sounds from the Capitol, desperate for news of Brutus and the conspiracy. Lucius, a young servant boy, is confused by his mistress's agitation and honestly reports silence. His simple, grounding response heightens the dramatic tension by contrasting Portia's hyper-vigilant anxiety with the stillness around them.

Playing the moment

Play the simplicity and honesty of a boy who doesn't understand why his mistress is so on edge. Resist the urge to add drama; the line's power lies in its ordinariness against Portia's growing panic. A calm, slightly puzzled energy works best here.

In plain English

Come here, man. Which way did you come from?

What’s happening

Portia is frantically trying to gather intelligence about what is happening at the Capitol. She has sent Lucius and now seizes on the arrival of the Soothsayer, desperate for any news. She is barely holding herself together — the word 'fellow' suggests she doesn't register who this person is at first, only that he might have information.

Playing the moment

Play the urgency barely contained beneath forced composure. Portia is unraveling — she knows Brutus is involved in something dangerous but doesn't know the outcome. The command 'Come hither' should be sharp, almost grabbing; the question that follows is rapid, breathless. She is interrogating a stranger on the street because she cannot wait for Lucius to return. Don't play this calmly — the controlled exterior is thin and cracking.

What’s happening

Portia has been frantically asking the Soothsayer where he's been — likely because she's on edge about Caesar's fate and her husband Brutus's involvement in the conspiracy. The Soothsayer gives a simple, calm answer, which may strike Portia as oddly detached given what is about to happen. He doesn't yet know she is desperate for information about Caesar's movements.

Playing the moment

Keep this line simple and direct — the Soothsayer is answering a mundane question. But consider whether to play him as genuinely unremarkable or as someone who knows more than he lets on. The contrast between his calm and Portia's growing hysteria can be played effectively. He may glance at her curiously, sensing her agitation.

In plain English

What time is it?

What’s happening

Portia is in a state of barely controlled panic, desperate for news from the Capitol where she knows the conspiracy against Caesar is unfolding. She has already imagined hearing tumult, and now seizes on the Soothsayer to extract any information she can. The abrupt question reflects her agitation — she cannot settle, cannot wait, cannot stop herself from probing.

Playing the moment

Deliver this as a clipped, urgent interruption — Portia's mind is racing and she barely registers the Soothsayer's previous answer before firing off the next question. The voice should be tight, slightly breathless, with the pitch elevated by anxiety. Avoid playing it calm or casually curious; she is a woman frantically trying to piece together what is happening at the Capitol in real time. Physical restlessness — pacing, fidgeting, gripping — suits the moment.

What’s happening

Portia is frantically trying to learn whether Caesar has gone to the Capitol yet, desperate for any news that might reveal whether the conspiracy she suspects is unfolding. The Soothsayer, who previously warned Caesar about the Ides of March, is headed to the Capitol himself. His simple answer here sustains the scene's anxious tension — Portia is fishing for information, and this neutral response keeps her in suspense.

Worth knowing

The 'ninth hour' corresponds to roughly 9 a.m. by Roman timekeeping (counting from approximately 6 a.m. sunrise). This temporal specificity grounds the scene in the urgent hours before the assassination.

Playing the moment

Keep this line simple and direct — the Soothsayer is a plain man answering a straightforward question. Resist the temptation to load it with foreboding; the dramatic tension comes from Portia's anxiety, not from the Soothsayer's awareness. A neutral, matter-of-fact delivery throws Portia's desperation into sharper relief.

What’s happening

Portia is in agony of suspense, waiting for news of whether Caesar has reached the Capitol — where she knows the conspiracy may strike. She has already sent Lucius to the Senate house and is now desperately pumping the Soothsayer for information. This question is a probe, asked with barely contained anxiety.

Playing the moment

Play the urgency beneath the surface. Portia is trying to sound casual but failing — the question should come too quickly, interrupting or pressing on the Soothsayer's previous answer. Keep volume restrained but energy high; the tension is in the pace. Consider a physical tell — wringing hands, a step toward him — that betrays the composure she's attempting.

In plain English

No, madam, he hasn't gone yet. I'm going to take my place along the route to watch him pass by on his way to the Capitol.

What’s happening

The Soothsayer is heading to the route Caesar will take, hoping to warn him again — his earlier warning ('Beware the Ides of March') apparently went unheeded. Portia is frantic with anxiety, pumping him for information. This brief exchange builds dramatic tension; we know the assassination is imminent, and the Soothsayer's presence reminds us the danger has been foretold. He is polite but focused on his mission.

Playing the moment

Keep this simple and direct — the Soothsayer is a man of few words with a specific purpose. A calm, measured delivery contrasts effectively with Portia's barely contained panic. Don't play him as mysterious or theatrical; his ordinariness makes his prophetic role more striking. The weight is in what he doesn't say here, and in his later lines about wanting Caesar to 'befriend himself.'

In plain English

You have some request to make to Caesar, don't you?

What’s happening

Portia is frantically trying to gather intelligence about what threatens Caesar. She has already sent Lucius to the Senate and now latches onto the Soothsayer, probing for any information about danger to her husband Brutus or to Caesar. The question is both genuine inquiry and a desperate fishing expedition — she is looking for confirmation of fears she cannot yet name.

Worth knowing

A "suit" in Shakespeare's English means a petition or formal request, not clothing. Portia is asking whether the Soothsayer has business to bring before Caesar.

Playing the moment

Play this with barely contained anxiety beneath a veneer of casual inquiry. Portia is trying not to reveal how desperate she is for information. The tag question ("hast thou not?") should feel like pressing — she needs him to engage so she can extract more intelligence. Keep the voice relatively controlled but let the urgency leak through in pacing and physical intensity.

In plain English

Yes, I have a request. If Caesar will be kind enough to hear me out, I'll urge him to look out for his own safety.

What’s happening

The Soothsayer previously warned Caesar about the Ides of March. Now, sensing danger, he hopes to warn Caesar again. Portia is fishing for information, already frantic with anxiety about the conspiracy she half-knows her husband Brutus is involved in. The Soothsayer is being cautious — he has a 'suit' (request) but phrases it carefully, aware that speaking against Caesar's safety could be dangerous.

Playing the moment

Play the irony. The Soothsayer is ostensibly requesting something from Caesar, but his real intent is to warn him — 'befriend himself' carries dramatic weight the audience should feel. The repetition of 'Caesar' is worth noting: it sounds deferential but also reveals the Soothsayer's fixation. Keep the tone guarded with Portia; he doesn't know how much he can say. A slight pause before 'befriend himself' can land the double meaning.

In plain English

Do you know if someone is planning to hurt him?

What’s happening

Portia has already learned from Brutus that there is a dangerous plot afoot, though he would not tell her the details. She is frantically fishing for information from the Soothsayer, trying to confirm what she already suspects without revealing what she knows. Her anxiety is barely contained beneath a veneer of casual inquiry.

Playing the moment

Portia is barely holding it together. The question should land with an intensity that betrays her — she knows more than she's letting on. Play the subtext: she's not really asking if harm is intended, she's seeking confirmation of what Brutus has already hinted at. Consider a moment of hesitation before the line, as if she's deciding whether to risk asking so directly. The word 'harm' can carry real weight, almost a flinch.

In plain English

No harm that I know will actually happen, though I fear what might. Good morning to you. The street is narrow here, and the crowd following Caesar—senators, magistrates, and ordinary petitioners—will trample a frail man like me. I'll find a less crowded spot and speak to Caesar as he passes.

What’s happening

The Soothsayer is deflectting Portia's direct question about whether Caesar is in danger. He knows something—the same warning he gave at the Feast of Lupercal—but he's being cautious, perhaps not wanting to alarm her further or perhaps genuinely uncertain how events will unfold. He quickly pivots to a practical excuse about the crowd, but his furtiveness suggests he knows more than he's saying. Portia is clearly distressed and fishing for information, and the Soothsayer's evasiveness should heighten the tension.

Playing the moment

The first line should carry a hint of suppressed urgency or weight—he's not being fully honest with Portia. Then shift into a more casual, dismissive register for 'Good morrow to you' as he creates distance. The contrast between these two registers is key: the Soothsayer is hiding something. His excuse about the crowd is genuine practicality but also a convenient way to escape further questioning. He should seem eager to move on, but with an underlying gravity that suggests he takes his own warning seriously. Pace should quicken as he transitions from the loaded opening to his exit strategy.

In plain English

I have to go inside. Oh, how weak women's hearts are! Brutus, I pray heaven helps you in what you're doing! The servant boy definitely heard me. I need to cover—I'll claim Brutus has a request that Caesar won't grant. Oh, I'm about to collapse. Run to my husband, Lucius, give him my regards. Tell him I'm doing fine. Come back and tell me what he says to you.

What’s happening

Portia is alone after the Soothsayer exits, overcome with anxiety about Brutus's conspiracy against Caesar. She knows too much and is terrified her earlier outburst may have revealed the plot to Lucius, the servant boy. She is physically and emotionally at breaking point—desperately trying to maintain composure while fighting the urge to collapse or scream. She sends Lucius to Brutus both to convey a false front ('I am merry') and to get intelligence about what's happening.

Playing the moment

This speech is a portrait of a woman wrestling herself into submission before her own body betrays her. Portia is sophisticated—she's the only woman in the play who knows about the conspiracy—but she's been told to stay inside and keep quiet. The scene is built on a famous paradox: a Stoic philosopher's wife, celebrated in antiquity for proving her trustworthiness by wounding her own thigh, is now frantically trying to contain the very distress that makes her human. Directors generally choose between two approaches: the contained woman battling to stay composed (tension in the restraint), or the openly unraveling one (tension in watching someone become unglued). Both work. The line 'Say I am merry' is the crux—she's literally constructing a lie about her emotional state, which means the performer must show us the real terror beneath it. Modern audiences may note the gender politics Shakespeare has built in: the conspirators trust only each other, and even Cato's daughter must be shut away.