From “Julius Cæsar,” Act II. Sc. 1.
Enter PORTIA.
PORTIA.— Brutus, my lord!
BRUTUS.—Portia, what mean you? Wherefore rise you now?
It is not for your health thus to commit
Your weak condition to the raw cold morning.
PORTIA.—Nor for yours neither. You ’ve ungently, Brutus,
Stole from my bed; and yesternight, at supper,...
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From “The Merchant of Venice,” Act III. Sc. 2.
FAIR Portia’s counterfeit? What demi-god
Hath come so near creation? Move these eyes?
Or whether, riding on the balls of mine,
Seem they in motion? Here are severed lips,
Parted with sugar breath; so sweet a bar
Should sunder such sweet friends. Here in her hairs
The painter plays the spider;...