Julius Caesar

Caesar, now be still, I kill’d not thee with half so good a will.

Free from the bondage you are in, Messala; The conquerors can but make a fire of him; For Brutus only overcame himself, And no man else hath honor by his death.

His life was gentle, and the elements So mix’d in him that Nature might stand up And say to all the world, “This was a man!”

Sit thee down, Clitus; slaying is the word, It is a deed in fashion. Hark thee, Clitus.

So fare you well at once, for Brutus’ tongue Hath almost ended his live’s history. Night hangs upon mine eyes, my bones would rest, That have but labor’d to attain this hour.

This is not Brutus, friend, but, I assure you, A prize no less in worth. Keep this man safe, Give him all kindness;

Thou seest the world, Volumnius, how it goes; Our enemies have beat us to the pit. Low alarums. It is more worthy to leap in ourselves Than tarry till they push us.

Within my tent his bones tonight shall lie, Most like a soldier, ordered honorably. So call the field to rest, and let’s away, To part the glories of this happy day.

Come down, behold no more. O, coward that I am, to live so long, To see my best friend ta’en before my face!

No, this was he, Messala, But Cassius is no more. O setting sun, As in thy red rays thou dost sink tonight, So in his red blood Cassius’ day is set!

This day I breathed first: time is come round, And where I did begin, there shall I end; My life is run his compass. Sirrah, what news?

’Tis three a’ clock, and, Romans, yet ere night We shall try fortune in a second fight.

Why didst thou send me forth, brave Cassius? Did I not meet thy friends? And did not they Put on my brows this wreath of victory, And bid me give it thee? Didst thou not hear their shouts?

Come, come, the cause. If arguing make us sweat, The proof of it will turn to redder drops. Look, I draw a sword against conspirators;

The gods today stand friendly, that we may, Lovers in peace, lead on our days to age! But since the affairs of men rests still incertain, Let’s reason with the worst that may befall.

This morning are they fled away and gone, And in their steads do ravens, crows, and kites Fly o’er our heads, and downward look on us As we were sickly prey. Their shadows seem A canopy most fatal, under which Our army lies, ready to give up the ghost.

Why now blow wind, swell billow, and swim bark! The storm is up, and all is on the hazard.

BRU. Now as you are a Roman tell me true. MES. Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell: For certain she is dead, and by strange manner.

Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself Are much condemn’d to have an itching palm, To sell and mart your offices for gold To undeservers.

The deep of night is crept upon our talk, And nature must obey necessity, Which we will niggard with a little rest.

We, at the height, are ready to decline. There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;

Your master, Pindarus, In his own change, or by ill officers, Hath given me some worthy cause to wish Things done undone;

And though we lay these honors on this man To ease ourselves of divers sland’rous loads, He shall but bear them as the ass bears gold, To groan and sweat under the business, Either led or driven, as we point the way;

I dreamt tonight that I did feast with Caesar, And things unluckily charge my fantasy. I have no will to wander forth of doors, Yet something leads me forth.

This is a slight unmeritable man, Meet to be sent on errands; is it fit, The threefold world divided, he should stand One of the three to share it?

we must straight make head; Therefore let our alliance be combin’d, Our best friends made, our means stretch’d, And let us presently go sit in council, How covert matters may be best disclos’d, And open perils surest answered.

Moreover, he hath left you all his walks, His private arbors and new-planted orchards, On this side Tiber; he hath left them you, And to your heirs for ever-common pleasures, To walk abroad and recreate yourselves. Here was a Caesar! When comes such another?

Now let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot, Take thou what course thou wilt!

O judgment! Thou art fled to brutish beasts, And men have lost their reason. Bear with me, My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, And I must pause till it come back to me.

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.

Cowards die many times before their deaths, The valiant never taste of death but once.

Fates, we will know your pleasures. That we shall die, we know, ’tis but the time, And drawing days out, that men stand upon.

Go bid the priests do present sacrifice, And bring me their opinions of success.

Good friends, go in, and taste some wine with me, And we, like friends, will straightway go together.

How many times shall Caesar bleed in sport, That now on Pompey’s basis lies along No worthier than the dust!

I know not, gentlemen, what you intend, Who else must be let blood, who else is rank; If I myself, there is no hour so fit As Caesar’s death’s hour, nor no instrument Of half that worth as those your swords, made rich With the most noble blood of all this world.

My credit now stands on such slippery ground That one of two bad ways you must conceit me, Either a coward or a flatterer.

O constancy, be strong upon my side, Set a huge mountain ’tween my heart and tongue! I have a man’s mind, but a woman’s might. How hard it is for women to keep counsel!—

Stoop then, and wash. How many ages hence Shall this our lofty scene be acted over In states unborn and accents yet unknown!

The skies are painted with unnumb’red sparks, They are all fire, and every one doth shine; But there’s but one in all doth hold his place.

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.

Thy heart is big; get thee apart and weep. Passion, I see, is catching, for mine eyes, Seeing those beads of sorrow stand in thine, Began to water.

But if these (As I am sure they do) bear fire enough To kindle cowards, and to steel with valor The melting spirits of women, then, countrymen, What need we any spur but our own cause To prick us to redress?

Caesar must bleed for it! And, gentle friends, Let’s kill him boldly, but not wrathfully; Let’s carve him as a dish fit for the gods, Not hew him as a carcass fit for hounds;

Good gentlemen, look fresh and merrily; Let not our looks put on our purposes, But bear it as our Roman actors do, With untir’d spirits and formal constancy.

He says he does, being then most flattered. Let me work; For I can give his humor the true bent, And I will bring him to the Capitol.

LIG. I am not sick, if Brutus have in hand Any exploit worthy the name of honor. BRU. Such an exploit have I in hand, Ligarius, Had you a healthful ear to hear of it.

Set on your foot, And with a heart new-fir’d I follow you, To do I know not what; but it sufficeth That Brutus leads me on.

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.

Thou, like an exorcist, hast conjur’d up My mortified spirit. Now bid me run, And I will strive with things impossible,