Casca. No.
Cinna. O, pardon, sir, it doth; and yon gray lines
That fret[55] the clouds are messengers of day.
105Casca. You shall confess that you are both deceiv'd.
Here, as I point my sword, the sun arises,
Which is a great way growing on[56] the south,
Weighing[57] the youthful season of the year.
Some two months hence up higher toward the north
110He first presents his fire, and the high[58] east
Stands, as the Capitol, directly here.