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Brutus, my lord.
It is not for your health thus to commit your weak condition to the cold morning.
Portia! What mean you?
Nor for yours neither.
Y'have ungently, Brutus, Stole from my bed. You suddenly arose and walk'd about. Musing and sighing with your arms across.
And when I ask'd you what the matter was, you star'd upon me with ungentle looks. Yet I insisted, yet you answer'd not,
I am not well in health, and that is all.
He doesn't trust me...
Brutus is wise, and were he not in health He wouldnembrace the means to come by it.
If I stab myself, I'll show him that I'm strong, and that he can trust me.
O ye gods, Render me worthy of this noble wife!
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