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He was quick mettle when he went to school. This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit, Which gives men stomach to digest his words With better appetite. For this time I will leave you: To-morrow, if you please to speak with me, I will come home to you; or, if you will, Come home to me, and I will wait for you.

Thunder and lightning. Why are you breathless? O Cicero, I have seen tempests, when the scolding winds Have rived the knotty oaks, and I have seen The ambitious ocean swell and rage and foam, To be exalted with the threatening clouds: But never till to-night, never till now, Did I go through a tempest dropping fire.

Either there is a civil strife in heaven, Or else the world, too saucy with the gods, Incenses them to send destruction. And yesterday the bird of night did sit Even at noon-day upon the market-place, Hooting and shrieking. Come Caesar to the Capitol to-morrow? Cassius, what night is this! It is the part of men to fear and tremble, When the most mighty gods by tokens send Such dreadful heralds to astonish us.

You look pale and gaze And put on fear and cast yourself in wonder, To see the strange impatience of the heavens: But if you would consider the true cause Why all these fires, why all these gliding ghosts, Why birds and beasts from quality and kind, Why old men fool and children calculate, Why all these things change from their ordinance Their natures and preformed faculties To monstrous quality,—why, you shall find That heaven hath infused them with these spirits, To make them instruments of fear and warning Unto some monstrous state.

Now could I, Casca, name to thee a man Most like this dreadful night, That thunders, lightens, opens graves, and roars As doth the lion in the Capitol, A man no mightier than thyself or me In personal action, yet prodigious grown And fearful, as these strange eruptions are. CASSIUS I know where I will wear this dagger then; Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius: Therein, ye gods, you make the weak most strong; Therein, ye gods, you tyrants do defeat: Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass, Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron, Can be retentive to the strength of spirit; But life, being weary of these worldly bars, Never lacks power to dismiss itself.

If I know this, know all the world besides, That part of tyranny that I do bear I can shake off at pleasure. Poor man! I know he would not be a wolf, But that he sees the Romans are but sheep: He were no lion, were not Romans hinds. Those that with haste will make a mighty fire Begin it with weak straws: what trash is Rome, What rubbish and what offal, when it serves For the base matter to illuminate So vile a thing as Caesar! But, O grief, Where hast thou led me? I perhaps speak this Before a willing bondman; then I know My answer must be made.

Hold, my hand: Be factious for redress of all these griefs, And I will set this foot of mine as far As who goes farthest. Metellus Cimber? What a fearful night is this! Is Decius Brutus and Trebonius there? Well, I will hie, And so bestow these papers as you bade me. Let us go, For it is after midnight; and ere day We will awake him and be sure of him. I cannot, by the progress of the stars, Give guess how near to day.

Lucius, I say! I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly. When, Lucius, when? It is the bright day that brings forth the adder; And that craves wary walking. Crown him? He then unto the ladder turns his back, Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees By which he did ascend.

So Caesar may. Then, lest he may, prevent. Is not to-morrow, boy, the ides of March? Speak, strike, redress! What, Rome? O Rome, I make thee promise: If the redress will follow, thou receivest Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus! Go to the gate; somebody knocks. Between the acting of a dreadful thing And the first motion, all the interim is Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream: The Genius and the mortal instruments Are then in council; and the state of man, Like to a little kingdom, suffers then The nature of an insurrection.

O conspiracy, Shamest thou to show thy dangerous brow by night, When evils are most free? O, then by day Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough To mask thy monstrous visage? Seek none, conspiracy; Hide it in smiles and affability: For if thou path, thy native semblance on, Not Erebus itself were dim enough To hide thee from prevention.

Know I these men that come along with you? This is Trebonius. What watchful cares do interpose themselves Betwixt your eyes and night?

Here, as I point my sword, the sun arises, Which is a great way growing on the south, Weighing the youthful season of the year. Some two months hence up higher toward the north He first presents his fire; and the high east Stands, as the Capitol, directly here.

But if these, As I am sure they do, bear fire enough To kindle cowards and to steel with valour The melting spirits of women, then, countrymen, What need we any spur but our own cause, To prick us to redress? I think he will stand very strong with us.

But, alas, Caesar must bleed for it! And, friends, disperse yourselves; but all remember What you have said, and show yourselves true Romans. BRUTUS Good gentlemen, look fresh and merrily; Let not our looks put on our purposes, But bear it as our Roman actors do, With untired spirits and formal constancy: And so good morrow to you every one. Fast asleep? It is not for your health thus to commit Your weak condition to the raw cold morning.

Dear my lord, Make me acquainted with your cause of grief. Good Portia, go to bed. What, is Brutus sick, And will he steal out of his wholesome bed, To dare the vile contagion of the night And tempt the rheumy and unpurged air To add unto his sickness?

No, my Brutus; You have some sick offence within your mind, Which, 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 vow Which did incorporate and make us one, That you unfold to me, yourself, your half, Why you are heavy, and what men to-night Have had to resort to you: for here have been Some six or seven, who did hide their faces Even from darkness.

Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus, Is it excepted I should know no secrets That appertain to you? Am I yourself But, as it were, in sort or limitation, To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed, And talk to you sometimes? Dwell I but in the suburbs Of your good pleasure? Knocking within Hark, hark!

All my engagements I will construe to thee, All the charactery of my sad brows: Leave me with haste. Boy, stand aside. Caius Ligarius! Would you were not sick! Soul of Rome! Brave son, derived from honourable loins! Thou, like an exorcist, hast conjured up My mortified spirit. Now bid me run, And I will strive with things impossible; Yea, get the better of them. What it is, my Caius, I shall unfold to thee, as we are going To whom it must be done.

Enter a Servant Servant My lord? Servant I will, my lord. You shall not stir out of your house to-day. There is one within, Besides the things that we have heard and seen, Recounts most horrid sights seen by the watch. O Caesar! Yet Caesar shall go forth; for these predictions Are to the world in general as to Caesar. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard. It seems to me most strange that men should fear; Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come when it will come.

Re-enter Servant What say the augurers? Servant They would not have you to stir forth to-day. Plucking the entrails of an offering forth, They could not find a heart within the beast. Do not go forth to-day: call it my fear That keeps you in the house, and not your own.

Decius, go tell them Caesar will not come. If you shall send them word you will not come, Their minds may change. Pardon me, Caesar; for my dear dear love To our proceeding bids me tell you this; And reason to my love is liable. I am ashamed I did yield to them. Give me my robe, for I will go.

Good morrow, Casca. Good morrow, Antony. Now, Cinna: now, Metellus: what, Trebonius! There is but one mind in all these men, and it is bent against Caesar. If thou beest not immortal, look about you: security gives way to conspiracy. The mighty gods defend thee! My heart laments that virtue cannot live Out of the teeth of emulation.

If thou read this, O Caesar, thou mayst live; If not, the Fates with traitors do contrive. How hard it is for women to keep counsel!

Art thou here yet? Run to the Capitol, and nothing else? And so return to you, and nothing else? Hark, boy! Soothsayer At mine own house, good lady. Soothsayer About the ninth hour, lady. Soothsayer Madam, not yet: I go to take my stand, To see him pass on to the Capitol. Soothsayer That I have, lady: if it will please Caesar To be so good to Caesar as to hear me, I shall beseech him to befriend himself.

Soothsayer None that I know will be, much that I fear may chance. Good morrow to you. Ay me, how weak a thing The heart of woman is! O Brutus, The heavens speed thee in thine enterprise! Sure, the boy heard me: Brutus hath a suit That Caesar will not grant.

O, I grow faint. Run, Lucius, and commend me to my lord; Say I am merry: come to me again, And bring me word what he doth say to thee.

Exeunt severally. Soothsayer Ay, Caesar; but not gone. Come to the Capitol. I fear our purpose is discovered. Brutus, what shall be done? If this be known, Cassius or Caesar never shall turn back, For I will slay myself. He draws Mark Antony out of the way. Let him go, And presently prefer his suit to Caesar. What is now amiss That Caesar and his senate must redress?

These couchings and these lowly courtesies Might fire the blood of ordinary men, And turn pre-ordinance and first decree Into the law of children. Thy brother by decree is banished: If thou dost bend and pray and fawn for him, I spurn thee like a cur out of my way. Know, Caesar doth not wrong, nor without cause Will he be satisfied. Then fall, Caesar. Tyranny is dead! Run hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets. Publius, good cheer; There is no harm intended to your person, Nor to no Roman else: so tell them, Publius.

How many ages hence Shall this our lofty scene be acted over In states unborn and accents yet unknown! If Brutus will vouchsafe that Antony May safely come to him, and be resolved How Caesar hath deserved to lie in death, Mark Antony shall not love Caesar dead So well as Brutus living; but will follow The fortunes and affairs of noble Brutus Thorough the hazards of this untrod state With all true faith. So says my master Antony. Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils, Shrunk to this little measure?

Fare thee well. I do beseech ye, if you bear me hard, Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and smoke, Fulfil your pleasure. Live a thousand years, I shall not find myself so apt to die: No place will please me so, no mean of death, As here by Caesar, and by you cut off, The choice and master spirits of this age. Though now we must appear bloody and cruel, As, by our hands and this our present act, You see we do, yet see you but our hands And this the bleeding business they have done: Our hearts you see not; they are pitiful; And pity to the general wrong of Rome— As fire drives out fire, so pity pity— Hath done this deed on Caesar.

Gentlemen all,—alas, what shall I say? My credit now stands on such slippery ground, That one of two bad ways you must conceit me, Either a coward or a flatterer.

Had I as many eyes as thou hast wounds, Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood, It would become me better than to close In terms of friendship with thine enemies. Pardon me, Julius! O world, thou wast the forest to this hart; And this, indeed, O world, the heart of thee. How like a deer, strucken by many princes, Dost thou here lie! Friends am I with you all and love you all, Upon this hope, that you shall give me reasons Why and wherein Caesar was dangerous.

It shall advantage more than do us wrong. I do desire no more. Thou art the ruins of the noblest man That ever lived in the tide of times. Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood! Enter a Servant You serve Octavius Caesar, do you not? Servant I do, Mark Antony. Servant He did receive his letters, and is coming; And bid me say to you by word of mouth— O Caesar!

Passion, I see, is catching; for mine eyes, Seeing those beads of sorrow stand in thine, Began to water. Is thy master coming? Servant He lies to-night within seven leagues of Rome. Yet, stay awhile; Thou shalt not back till I have borne this corse Into the market-place: there shall I try In my oration, how the people take The cruel issue of these bloody men; According to the which, thou shalt discourse To young Octavius of the state of things. Lend me your hand.

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