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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Asia: Vols. XXI–XXIII. 1876–79.

Asia Minor: Sardis (Sart)

The Ghost of Cæsar

By William Shakespeare (1564–1616)

(From Julius Cæsar)

Re-enter LUCIUS, with the Gown.
BRUTUS.Give me the gown. Where is thy instrument?

LUCIUS.Here in the tent.

BRU.What! thou speak’st drowsily?

Poor knave, I blame thee not; thou art o’erwatch’d.

Call Claudius and some other of my men;

I ’ll have them sleep on cushions in my tent.

LUC.Varro, and Claudius!

VAR.Calls my lord?

BRU.I pray you, sirs, lie in my tent, and sleep:

It may be, I shall raise you by and by

On business to my brother Cassius.

VAR.So please you, we will stand, and watch your pleasure.

BRU.I will not have it so; lie down, good sirs:

It may be, I shall otherwise bethink me.

Look, Lucius, here ’s the book I sought for so:

I put it in the pocket of my gown.(Servants lie down.)

LUC.I was sure, your lordship did not give it me.

BRU.Bear with me, good boy, I am much forgetful.

Canst thou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile,

And touch thy instrument a strain or two?

LUC.Ay, my lord, an ’t please you.

BRU.It does, my boy.

I trouble thee too much, but thou art willing.

LUC.It is my duty, sir.

BRU.I should not urge thy duty past thy might:

I know, young bloods look for a time of rest.

LUC.I have slept, my lord, already.

BRU.It is 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.(Sits down.)

Enter the Ghost of CÆSAR.
How ill this taper burns! Ha! who comes here?

I think it is the weakness of mine eyes,

That shapes this monstrous apparition.

It comes upon me.—Art thou any thing?

Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil,

That mak’st my blood cold, and my hair to stare?

Speak to me what thou art.

GHOST.Thy evil spirit, Brutus.

BRU.Why com’st thou?

GHOST.To tell thee thou shalt see me at Philippi.

BRU.Well; then I shall see thee again?

GHOST.Ay, at Philippi.(Vanishes.)

BRU.Why, I will see thee at Philippi, then.

Now I have taken heart, thou vanishest:

Ill spirit, I would hold more talk with thee.