Read the excerpt from act 2, scene 1, of The Tragedy of Julius Caesar.[PORTIA.] You’ve ungently, Brutus,Stole from my bed; and yesternight at supperYou suddenly arose, and walked about Musing and sighing, with your arms across,And when I asked you what the matter was,You stared upon me with ungentle looks.I urged you further; then you scratched your head,And too impatiently stamped with your foot. Yet I insisted, yet you answered not,But with an angry wafture of your handGave sign for me to leave you. So I did,Fearing to strengthen that impatienceWhich seemed too much enkindled, and withal Hoping it was but an effect of humour,Which sometime hath his hour with every man.It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep,And could it work so much upon your shapeAs it hath much prevailed on your condition,I should not know you Brutus. Dear my lord,Make me acquainted with your cause of grief.BRUTUS. I am not well in health, and that is all.PORTIA. Brutus is wise, and, were he not in health,He would embrace the means to come by it. . . . You have some sick offence within your mindWhich by the right and virtue of my place, I ought to know of. And upon my knees,I charm you by my once-commended beauty, By all your vows of love, and that great vowWhich did incorporate and make us one,That you unfold to me, your self, your half, Why you are heavy, and what men tonightHave had resort to you—for here have beenSome six or seven, who did hide their facesEven from darkness.BRUTUS. Kneel not, gentle Portia. . . . You are my true and honourable wife, As dear to me as are the ruddy dropsThat visit my sad heart.