PORTIA.
Yes, bring me word, boy, if thy lord look well,
For he went sickly forth: and take good note
What Caesar doth, what suitors press to him.
Hark, boy, what noise is that?
LUCIUS.
I hear none, madam.
PORTIA.
Pr’ythee, listen well.
I heard a bustling rumour, like a fray,
And the wind brings it from the Capitol.
LUCIUS.
Sooth, madam, I hear nothing.
Enter the Soothsayer.
PORTIA.
Come hither, fellow:
Which way hast thou been?
SOOTHSAYER.
At mine own house, good lady.
PORTIA.
What is’t o’clock?
SOOTHSAYER.
About the ninth hour, lady.
PORTIA.
Is Caesar yet gone to the Capitol?