Enter Lucius.
LUCIUS.
Sir, March is wasted fifteen days.
[Knock within.]
BRUTUS.
’Tis good. Go to the gate, somebody knocks.
[Exit Lucius.]
Since Cassius first did whet me against Caesar,
I have not slept.
Between the acting of a dreadful thing
And the first motion, all the interim is
Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream:
The genius and the mortal instruments
Are then in council; and the state of man,
Like to a little kingdom, suffers then
The nature of an insurrection.
Enter Lucius.
LUCIUS.
Sir, ’tis your brother Cassius at the door,
Who doth desire to see you.
BRUTUS.
Is he alone?
LUCIUS.
No, sir, there are moe with him.