Portia, There?

Pray tell him I died because I swallowed coal,
I pray you, tell him not the truth,
For the truth is a thorn in the minds of men,
Which pricks their sanity, deflecting purpose.
Hear me out, and tell him thus,
That did walls have ears, I would have wailed in them,
Every word that I wished to pour in his ears.
That Caesar he did love, yet what did he do,
To fate such as he did fate, were it right?
Brutus runs today, and he does fear light,
And those that were friends over the night turned against,
Were it worthy of a friend to stab,
How he did behind his back?
Today I will die because I swallow heat,
But I’ve died a thousand times in the hundred days that have passed,
Swallowed my pride, my happiness, my love.
And who does he fear, but a child Octavius,
Does he not fear the child in him,
Whence he committed what he did, did he not fear that?
Who once looked upon it as a deed of justice,
Today flees from here to there, forgetting himself.
He is without me. I am within him.
Tell him I love him, and that I was sad because of issues,
Which do not press, which do not concern him.
And bid him my goodbyes.


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