Stole from my bed. And yesternight at supper,
You suddenly arose and walked about.
Musing and sighing with your arms across,
And when I asked you what the matter was,
You looked 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 hand,
gave sign for me to leave you, so I did.
Fearing to strengthen that impatience,
which seem'd too much enkindled, and withal
Hoping it was but an effect of humor,
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 shape,
As it hath much prevail'd on your condition,
I would not know you, Brutus, Dear my lord,
Make me acquainted with your cause of grief.
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