I cannot, by the progress of the stars,
Give guess how near the day.—Lucius, I say!—
I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly.—
When, Lucius, when? Awake, I say! What, Lucius!
Lucius. Call’d you, my lord?
Brutus. Get me a taper in my study, Lucius:
When it is lighted, come and call me here.
Lucius. I will, my lord.
—Shakespeare.