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I should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong, · Who, you all know, are honorable men. I will not do them wrong; I rather choose To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you, Than I will wrong such honorable men. But here's a parchment, with the seal of Cæsar ; I found it in his closet: 'tis his will. Let but the commons hear this testament, (Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read,) And they would go and kiss dead Cæsar's wounds, And dip their napkins in his sacred blood ; Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, And, dying, mention it within their wills, Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy, Unto their issue. If
you have tears, prepare to shed them now. You all do know this mantle : I remember The first time ever Cæsar put it on; 'Twas on a summer's evening in his tent; That day he overcame the Nervii : Look! In this place ran Cassius' dagger through :See, what a rent the envious Casca made ! Through this, the well-beloved Brutus stabbed; And, as he plucked his cursed steel away, Mark how the blood of Cæsar followed it! This was the most unkindest cut of all ; For, when the noble Cæsar saw him stab, Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms, Quite vanquished him. Then burst his mighty heart; And, in his mantle muffling up his face, Even at the base of Pompey's statua, Which all the while ran blood, great Cæsar fell. O what a fall was there, my countrymen! Then I, and you, and all of us, fell down; Whilst bloody treason flourished over us. O, now you weep; and I perceive you feel
The dint of pity: these are gracious drops.
Kind souls! What, weep you when you but behold
Our Cæsar's vesture wounded ? Look ye here!
Here is himself, marred, as you see, by traitors.
Good friends! sweet friends! let me not stir you up
To such a sudden flood of mutiny!
They that have done this deed are honorable !
What private griefs they have, alas ! I know not,
That made them do it. They are wise and honorable,
And will, no doubt, with reason answer you.
I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts !
I am no orator, as Brutus is;
But, as you know me all, a plain, blunt man,
That love my friend ; and that they know full well,
That gave me public leave to speak of him.
For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth,
Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech,
To stir men's blood. I only speak right on:
I tell you that which you yourselves do know;
Show you sweet Cæsar's wounds, poor, poor, dumb mouths,
And bid them speak for me. But were I Brutus,
And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony
Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue
In every wound of Cæsar, that should move
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.
Cassius instigating Brutus to join the Conspiracy against Cæsar.
I CANNOT tell what you and other men
Think of this life; but for my single self,
I had as lief not be, as live to be
In awe of such a thing as I myself.
I was born free as Cæsar ; so were you :
We both have fed as well, and we can both
Endure the winter's cold as well as he;
For once, upon a raw and gusty day,
The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores,
Cæsar said to me, “Darest thou, Cassius, now
Leap in with me into this angry flood,
And swim to yonder point?” — Upon the word,
Accoutred as I was, I plunged in,
And bade him follow : so, indeed, he did.
The torrent roared, and we did buffet it
With lusty sinews, throwing it aside,
And stemming it with hearts of controversy.
But ere we could arrive the point proposed,
Cæsar cried, “ Help me, Cassius, or I sink!”
I, as Æneas, our great ancestor,
Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder
The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tiber
Did I the tired Cæsar : and this man
Is now become a god; and Cassius is
A wretched creature, and must bend his body
If Cæsar carelessly but nod on him.
He had a fever when he was in Spain,
And, when the fit was on him, I did mark
How he did shake: 'tis true, this god did shake;
His coward lips did from their color fly;
And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the world,
Did lose its lustre: I did hear him groan :
Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans
Mark him, and write his speeches in their books,
Alas! it cried, “Give me some drink, Titinius!”
As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me,
A man of such a feeble temper should
So get the start of the majestic world,
And bear the palm alone,
Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world
Like a Colossus, and we petty men
Walk under his huge legs, and peep about
To find ourselves dishonorable graves.
Men at some time are masters of their fates :
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, -
But in ourselves, that we are underlings. .
Brutus and Cæsar : What should be in that Cæsar ?
Why should that name be sounded more than yours ?
Write them together; yours is as fair a name :
Sound them ; it doth become the mouth as well :
Weigh them; it is as heavy: conjure with them;
Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Cæsar.
Now, in the names of all the gods at once,
Upon what meat does this our Cæsar feed,
That he has grown so great ? Age, thou art shamed !
Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods !
When went there by an age, since the great flood,
But it was famed with more than with one man?
When could they say, till now, that talked of Rome,
That her wide walls encompassed but one man ?
O, you and I have heard our fathers say,
There was a Brutus once, that would have brooked
The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome,
As easily as a king !
Most potent, grave, and reverend seigniors,
My very noble and approved good masters!
That I have taken away this old man's daughter,
It is most true; true, I have married her ;
The very head and front of my offending
Hath this extent, no more.
Rude am I in speech,
And little blessed with the set phrase of peace;
For, since these arms of mine had seven years' pith,
Till now, some nine moons wasted, they have used
Their dearest action in the tented field;
And little of this great world can I speak,
More than pertains to feats of broil and battle ;
And therefore little shall I grace my cause
In speaking of myself. Yet, by your patience,
I will a round, unvarnished tale deliver
my whole course of love; what drugs, what charms, What conjuration, and what mighty magic, (For such proceedings I am charged withal,). I won his daughter with.
Her father loved me; oft invited me; Still questioned me the story of my life, From year to year; the battles, sieges, fortunes That I have passed. I ran it through, even from my boyish days To the very moment that he bade me tell it; Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances, Of moving accidents by flood and field; Of hair-breadth 'scapes i’ the imminent deadly breach; Of being taken by the insolent foe, And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence, And with it all my travel's history; Wherein of antres vast, and deserts wild, Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven, It was my hint to speak. These things to hear Would Desdemona seriously incline; But still the house affairs would draw her thence, Which ever as she could with haste despatch, She'd come again, and with a greedy ear Devour up my discourse; which I observing, Took once a pliant hour and found good means