caesar speech

:

: Gentle Romans. Gentle Romans, hear me. Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears! I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. The evil that men do lives after them. The good is oft interred with their bones. So let it be with Caesar. The noble Caesar was ambitious. If it were so, it was a grievous fault, and grievously hath Caesar answered it.

I thrice presented him a kingly crown -- which he did thrice refuse! Was this ambition?

: Methinks there is much reason in his saying.

: If thou consider rightly of the matter, Caesar has had great wrong.

: Has he, masters? I fear there will a worse come in his place.

: Marked ye his words? He would not take the crown. Therefore 'tis certain he was not ambitious.

: If it be found so, some will dear abide it.

: There's not a nobler man in Rome than Antony.

: Now mark him. He begins again to speak.

: Poor soul. His eyes are red as fire with weeping.

: But yesterday the word of Caesar might have stood against the world. Now lies he there and none so poor to do him reverence. Oh masters, if I were disposed to stir your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, 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 the parchment with the seal of Caesar. 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 Caesar'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.

: We'll hear the will. Read it, Mark Antony.

: We will hear Caesar's will.

The will, the will! We will hear Caesar's will.

: Have patience, gentle friends. I must not read it. It is not meet you know how Caesar loved you. You are not wood; you are not stones, but men; and, being men, hearing the will of Caesar, it will inflame you; it will make you mad. 'Tis good you know not that you are his heirs. For, if you should, oh, what would come of it!

: Read the will; we'll hear it, Antony. You shall read us the will, Caesar's will.

: Will you be patient? Will you stay awhile? I have o'ershot myself to tell you of it. I fear I wrong the honorable men whose daggers have stabbed Caesar.

: They were traitors! "Honorable men."

: Traitor! Murderers!

: You will compel me, then, to read the will? Then make a ring around the corpse of Caesar, and let me show you him that made the will. Shall I descend, and will you give me leave?

: Come down.

: Descend.

: You shall have leave.

: If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. You all do know this mantle. I remember the first time ever Caesar put it on. 'Twas on a summer's evening in his tent, that day he overcame the . Look, in this place ran Cassius' dagger through. See what a rent the envious made. Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabbed, and as he plucked his cursed steel away, mark how the blood of Caesar followed it, as rushing out of doors, to be resolved if Brutus so unkindly knocked, or no. For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel. Judge, oh ye gods, how dearly Caesar loved him. This was the most unkindest cut of all. For when the noble Caesar 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 statue, which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell. Oh, what a fall was there, my countrymen. Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, whilst bloody treason flourished over us.

: Oh, noble Caesar!

: Oh, most bloody sight!

: Traitors. Villains.

: We will be revenged!

: Let not a traitor live!

: Stay, countrymen! 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 reasons 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 loved 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 Caesar'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 Caesar that should move the stones of Rome to rise in mutiny.

: Mutiny!

: Yet hear me, countrymen. Yet hear me speak. Why, friends, you go to do you know not what. Wherein hath Caesar thus deserved your loves? Alas, you know not.  I must tell you then, you've forgot the will I told you of. Here is the will, and under Caesar's seal. To every Roman citizen he gives, to every several man, seventy-five drachmas.

• •

What man is that?

A soothsayer bids you beware the ides of March.

Will you go see the order of the course?

Not I.

I pray you, do.

I am not gamesome: I do lack some part
Of that quick spirit that is in Antony.
Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires;
I'll leave you.

Brutus, I do observe you now of late:
I have not from your eyes that gentleness
And show of love as I was wont to have:
You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand
Over your friend that loves you.

Cassius,
Be not deceived: if I have veil'd my look,
I turn the trouble of my countenance
Merely upon myself. Vexed I am
Of late with passions of some difference,
Conceptions only proper to myself,
Which give some soil perhaps to my behaviors;
But let not therefore my good friends be grieved—
Among which number, Cassius, be you one—
Nor construe any further my neglect,
Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war,
Forgets the shows of love to other men.

Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion;
By means whereof this breast of mine hath buried
Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations.
Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face?

No, Cassius; for the eye sees not itself,
But by reflection, by some other things.

'Tis just:
And it is very much lamented, Brutus,
That you have no such mirrors as will turn
Your hidden worthiness into your eye,
That you might see your shadow. I have heard,
Where many of the best respect in Rome,
Except immortal Caesar, speaking of Brutus
And groaning underneath this age's yoke,
Have wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes.

Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius,
That you would have me seek into myself
For that which is not in me?

Flourish, and shout

What means this shouting? I do fear, the people
Choose Caesar for their king.

Ay, do you fear it?
Then must I think you would not have it so.

I would not, Cassius; yet I love him well.
But wherefore do you hold me here so long?
What is it that you would impart to me?
If it be aught toward the general good,
Set honour in one eye and death i' the other,
And I will look on both indifferently,
For let the gods so speed me as I love
The name of honour more than I fear death.

Shout. Flourish

Another general shout!
I do believe that these applauses are
For some new honours that are heap'd on Caesar.

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 dishonourable 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 Caesar: what should be in that 'Caesar'?
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 'em,
Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Caesar.
Now, in the names of all the gods at once,
Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed,
That he is 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 talk'd of Rome,
That her wide walls encompass'd but one man?
Now is it Rome indeed and room enough,
When there is in it but one only man.
O, you and I have heard our fathers say,
There was a Brutus once that would have brook'd
The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome
As easily as a king.

That you do love me, I am nothing jealous;
What you would work me to, I have some aim:
How I have thought of this and of these times,
I shall recount hereafter; for this present,
I would not, so with love I might entreat you,
Be any further moved. What you have said
I will consider; what you have to say
I will with patience hear, and find a time
Both meet to hear and answer such high things.
Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this:
Brutus had rather be a villager
Than to repute himself a son of Rome
Under these hard conditions as this time
Is like to lay upon us.

I am glad that my weak words
Have struck but thus much show of fire from Brutus.

The games are done and Caesar is returning.

Re-enter CAESAR and his Train

I will do so. But, look you, Cassius,
The angry spot doth glow on Caesar's brow,
And all the rest look like a chidden train:
Calpurnia's cheek is pale; and Cicero
Looks with such ferret and such fiery eyes
As we have seen him in the Capitol,
Being cross'd in conference by some senators.

You pull'd me by the cloak; would you speak with me?

Ay, Casca; tell us what hath chanced to-day,
That Caesar looks so sad.

Why, you were with him, were you not?

I should not then ask Casca what had chanced.

Why, there was a crown offered him: and being
offered him, he put it by with the back of his hand,
thus; and then the people fell a-shouting.

What was the second noise for?

Why, for that too.

Was the crown offered him thrice?

Why, Antony.

Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca.

He fell down in the market-place, and foamed at
mouth, and was speechless.

'Tis very like: he hath the failing sickness.

I know not what you mean by that; but, I am sure,
Caesar fell down. If the tag-rag people did not
clap him and hiss him, according as he pleased and
displeased them, as they use to do the players in
the theatre, I am no true man.

What said he when he came unto himself?

Marry, before he fell down, when he perceived the
common herd was glad he refused the crown, he
plucked me ope his doublet and offered them his
throat to cut. An I had been a man of any
occupation, if I would not have taken him at a word,
I would I might go to hell among the rogues. And so
he fell. When he came to himself again, he said,
If he had done or said any thing amiss, he desired
their worships to think it was his infirmity. Three
or four wenches, where I stood, cried 'Alas, good
soul!' and forgave him with all their hearts: but
there's no heed to be taken of them; if Caesar had
stabbed their mothers, they would have done no less.

And after that, he came, thus sad, away?

Exit

What a blunt fellow is this grown to be!
He was quick mettle when he went to school.

So is he now in execution
Of any bold or noble enterprise,
However he puts on this tardy form.
This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit,
Which gives men stomach to digest his words
With better appetite.

And so it is. 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.

Enter BRUTUS

What, Lucius, ho!
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? awake, I say! what, Lucius!

Call'd you, my lord?

Get me a taper in my study, Lucius:
When it is lighted, come and call me here.

Exit

It must be by his death: and for my part,
I know no personal cause to spurn at him,
But for the general. He would be crown'd:
How that might change his nature, there's the question.
It is the bright day that brings forth the adder;
And that craves wary walking. Crown him?—that;—
And then, I grant, we put a sting in him,
That at his will he may do danger with.
The abuse of greatness is, when it disjoins
Remorse from power: and, to speak truth of Caesar,
I have not known when his affections sway'd
More than his reason. But 'tis a common proof,
That lowliness is young ambition's ladder,
Whereto the climber-upward turns his face;
But when he once attains the upmost round.
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. And, since the quarrel
Will bear no colour for the thing he is,
Fashion it thus; that what he is, augmented,
Would run to these and these extremities:
And therefore think him as a serpent's egg
Which, hatch'd, would, as his kind, grow mischievous,
And kill him in the shell.

Gives him the letter

Get you to bed again; it is not day.
Is not to-morrow, boy, the ides of March?

I know not, sir.

Look in the calendar, and bring me word.

Exit

The exhalations whizzing in the air
Give so much light that I may read by them.

'Brutus, thou sleep'st: awake, and see thyself.
Shall Rome, &c. Speak, strike, redress!
Brutus, thou sleep'st: awake!'
Such instigations have been often dropp'd
Where I have took them up.
'Shall Rome, &c.' Thus must I piece it out:
Shall Rome stand under one man's awe? What, Rome?
My ancestors did from the streets of Rome
The Tarquin drive, when he was call'd a king.
'Speak, strike, redress!' Am I entreated
To speak and strike? O Rome, I make thee promise:
If the redress will follow, thou receivest
Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus!

Knocking within

'Tis good. Go to the gate; somebody knocks.

Since Cassius first did whet me against Caesar,
I have not slept.
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.

Sir, 'tis your brother Cassius at the door,
Who doth desire to see you.

Is he alone?

No, sir, there are moe with him.

Do you know them?

No, sir; their hats are pluck'd about their ears,
And half their faces buried in their cloaks,
That by no means I may discover them
By any mark of favour.

Let 'em enter.

They are the faction. 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.

I think we are too bold upon your rest:
Good morrow, Brutus; do we trouble you?

I have been up this hour, awake all night.
Know I these men that come along with you?

Yes, every man of them, and no man here
But honours you; and every one doth wish
You had but that opinion of yourself
Which every noble Roman bears of you.
This is Trebonius.

He is welcome hither.

This, Decius Brutus.

He is welcome too.

This, Casca; this, Cinna; and this, Metellus Cimber.

They are all welcome.
What watchful cares do interpose themselves
Betwixt your eyes and night?

You shall confess that you are both deceived.
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.

Give me your hands all over, one by one.

And let us swear our resolution.

No, not an oath: if not the face of men,
The sufferance of our souls, the time's abuse,—
If these be motives weak, break off betimes,
And every man hence to his idle bed;
So let high-sighted tyranny range on,
Till each man drop by lottery. 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? what other bond
Than secret Romans, that have spoke the word,
And will not palter? and what other oath
Than honesty to honesty engaged,
That this shall be, or we will fall for it?
Swear priests and cowards and men cautelous,
Old feeble carrions and such suffering souls
That welcome wrongs; unto bad causes swear
Such creatures as men doubt; but do not stain
The even virtue of our enterprise,
Nor the insuppressive mettle of our spirits,
To think that or our cause or our performance
Did need an oath; when every drop of blood
That every Roman bears, and nobly bears,
Is guilty of a several bastardy,
If he do break the smallest particle
Of any promise that hath pass'd from him.

O, let us have him, for his silver hairs
Will purchase us a good opinion
And buy men's voices to commend our deeds:
It shall be said, his judgment ruled our hands;
Our youths and wildness shall no whit appear,
But all be buried in his gravity.

O, name him not: let us not break with him;
For he will never follow any thing
That other men begin.

Decius, well urged: I think it is not meet,
Mark Antony, so well beloved of Caesar,
Should outlive Caesar: we shall find of him
A shrewd contriver; and, you know, his means,
If he improve them, may well stretch so far
As to annoy us all: which to prevent,
Let Antony and Caesar fall together.

Our course will seem too bloody, Caius Cassius,
To cut the head off and then hack the limbs,
Like wrath in death and envy afterwards;
For Antony is but a limb of Caesar:
Let us be sacrificers, but not butchers, Caius.
We all stand up against the spirit of Caesar;
And in the spirit of men there is no blood:
O, that we then could come by Caesar's spirit,
And not dismember Caesar! But, alas,
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:
And let our hearts, as subtle masters do,
Stir up their servants to an act of rage,
And after seem to chide 'em. This shall make
Our purpose necessary and not envious:
Which so appearing to the common eyes,
We shall be call'd purgers, not murderers.
And for Mark Antony, think not of him;
For he can do no more than Caesar's arm
When Caesar's head is off.

Yet I fear him;
For in the ingrafted love he bears to Caesar—

Alas, good Cassius, do not think of him:
If he love Caesar, all that he can do
Is to himself, take thought and die for Caesar:
And that were much he should; for he is given
To sports, to wildness and much company.

Clock strikes

Peace! count the clock.

Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch him.

By the eighth hour: is that the uttermost?

Caius Ligarius doth bear Caesar hard,
Who rated him for speaking well of Pompey:
I wonder none of you have thought of him.

Now, good Metellus, go along by him:
He loves me well, and I have given him reasons;
Send him but hither, and I'll fashion him.

The morning comes upon 's: we'll leave you, Brutus.
And, friends, disperse yourselves; but all remember
What you have said, and show yourselves true Romans.

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.

Boy! Lucius! Fast asleep? It is no matter;
Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber:
Thou hast no figures nor no fantasies,
Which busy care draws in the brains of men;
Therefore thou sleep'st so sound.

Brutus, my lord!

Portia, what mean you? wherefore rise you now?
It is not for your health thus to commit
Your weak condition to the raw cold morning.

Nor for yours neither. You've ungently, Brutus,
Stole from my bed: and yesternight, at supper,
You suddenly arose, and walk'd about,
Musing and sighing, with your arms across,
And when I ask'd you what the matter was,
You stared upon me with ungentle looks;
I urged you further; then you scratch'd your head,
And too impatiently stamp'd with your foot;
Yet I insisted, yet you answer'd 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 humour,
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 should not know you, Brutus. Dear my lord,
Make me acquainted with your cause of grief.

I am not well in health, and that is all.

Brutus is wise, and, were he not in health,
He would embrace the means to come by it.

Why, so I do. Good Portia, go to bed.

Is Brutus sick? and is it physical
To walk unbraced and suck up the humours
Of the dank morning? 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.

Kneel not, gentle Portia.

I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus.
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? If it be no more,
Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife.

You are my true and honourable wife,
As dear to me as are the ruddy drops
That visit my sad heart

If this were true, then should I know this secret.
I grant I am a woman; but withal
A woman that Lord Brutus took to wife:
I grant I am a woman; but withal
A woman well-reputed, Cato's daughter.
Think you I am no stronger than my sex,
Being so father'd and so husbanded?
Tell me your counsels, I will not disclose 'em:
I have made strong proof of my constancy,
Giving myself a voluntary wound
Here, in the thigh: can I bear that with patience.
And not my husband's secrets?

O ye gods,
Render me worthy of this noble wife!

Hark, hark! one knocks: Portia, go in awhile;
And by and by thy bosom shall partake
The secrets of my heart.
All my engagements I will construe to thee,
All the charactery of my sad brows:
Leave me with haste.

Lucius, who's that knocks?

He is a sick man that would speak with you.

Caius Ligarius, that Metellus spake of.
Boy, stand aside. Caius Ligarius! how?

Vouchsafe good morrow from a feeble tongue.

O, what a time have you chose out, brave Caius,
To wear a kerchief! Would you were not sick!

I am not sick, if Brutus have in hand
Any exploit worthy the name of honour.

Such an exploit have I in hand, Ligarius,
Had you a healthful ear to hear of it.

By all the gods that Romans bow before,
I here discard my sickness! 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's to do?

A piece of work that will make sick men whole.

But are not some whole that we must make sick?

That must we also. What it is, my Caius,
I shall unfold to thee, as we are going
To whom it must be done.

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

Follow me, then.

Welcome, Publius.
What, Brutus, are you stirr'd so early too?
Good morrow, Casca. Caius Ligarius,
Caesar was ne'er so much your enemy
As that same ague which hath made you lean.
What is 't o'clock?

Caesar, 'tis strucken eight.

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

That every like is not the same, O Caesar,
The heart of Brutus yearns to think upon!

Advances to CAESAR

What said Popilius Lena?

He wish'd to-day our enterprise might thrive.
I fear our purpose is discovered.

Look, how he makes to Caesar; mark him.

Casca, be sudden, for we fear prevention.
Brutus, what shall be done? If this be known,
Cassius or Caesar never shall turn back,
For I will slay myself.

Cassius, be constant:
Popilius Lena speaks not of our purposes;
For, look, he smiles, and Caesar doth not change.

Where is Metellus Cimber? Let him go,
And presently prefer his suit to Caesar.

He is address'd: press near and second him.

Is there no voice more worthy than my own
To sound more sweetly in great Caesar's ear
For the repealing of my banish'd brother?

I kiss thy hand, but not in flattery, Caesar;
Desiring thee that Publius Cimber may
Have an immediate freedom of repeal.

Some to the common pulpits, and cry out
'Liberty, freedom, and enfranchisement!'

People and senators, be not affrighted;
Fly not; stand stiff: ambition's debt is paid.

And Cassius too.

Where's Publius?

Stand fast together, lest some friend of Caesar's
Should chance—

Talk not of standing. Publius, good cheer;
There is no harm intended to your person,
Nor to no Roman else: so tell them, Publius.

And leave us, Publius; lest that the people,
Rushing on us, should do your age some mischief.

Do so: and let no man abide this deed,
But we the doers.

Fled to his house amazed:
Men, wives and children stare, cry out and run
As it were doomsday.

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

Why, he that cuts off twenty years of life
Cuts off so many years of fearing death.

Grant that, and then is death a benefit:
So are we Caesar's friends, that have abridged
His time of fearing death. Stoop, Romans, stoop,
And let us bathe our hands in Caesar's blood
Up to the elbows, and besmear our swords:
Then walk we forth, even to the market-place,
And, waving our red weapons o'er our heads,
Let's all cry 'Peace, freedom and liberty!'

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

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

Enter a Servant

Soft! who comes here? A friend of Antony's.

Thus, Brutus, did my master bid me kneel:
Thus did Mark Antony bid me fall down;
And, being prostrate, thus he bade me say:
Brutus is noble, wise, valiant, and honest;
Caesar was mighty, bold, royal, and loving:
Say I love Brutus, and I honour him;
Say I fear'd Caesar, honour'd him and loved him.
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.

Thy master is a wise and valiant Roman;
I never thought him worse.
Tell him, so please him come unto this place,
He shall be satisfied; and, by my honour,
Depart untouch'd.

Exit

I know that we shall have him well to friend.

I wish we may: but yet have I a mind
That fears him much; and my misgiving still
Falls shrewdly to the purpose.

But here comes Antony.

Welcome, Mark Antony.

O mighty Caesar! dost thou lie so low?
Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils,
Shrunk to this little measure? Fare thee well.
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 hour, nor no instrument
Of half that worth as those your swords, made rich
With the most noble blood of all this world.
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.

O Antony, beg not your death of us.
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. For your part,
To you our swords have leaden points, Mark Antony:
Our arms, in strength of malice, and our hearts
Of brothers' temper, do receive you in
With all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence.

Your voice shall be as strong as any man's
In the disposing of new dignities.

Only be patient till we have appeased
The multitude, beside themselves with fear,
And then we will deliver you the cause,
Why I, that did love Caesar when I struck him,
Have thus proceeded.

Therefore I took your hands, but was, indeed,
Sway'd from the point, by looking down on Caesar.
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.

Or else were this a savage spectacle:
Our reasons are so full of good regard
That were you, Antony, the son of Caesar,
You should be satisfied.

That's all I seek:
And am moreover suitor that I may
Produce his body to the market-place;
And in the pulpit, as becomes a friend,
Speak in the order of his funeral.

You shall, Mark Antony.

Brutus, a word with you.

You know not what you do: do not consent
That Antony speak in his funeral:
Know you how much the people may be moved
By that which he will utter?

By your pardon;
I will myself into the pulpit first,
And show the reason of our Caesar's death:
What Antony shall speak, I will protest
He speaks by leave and by permission,
And that we are contented Caesar shall
Have all true rites and lawful ceremonies.
It shall advantage more than do us wrong.

I know not what may fall; I like it not.

Mark Antony, here, take you Caesar's body.
You shall not in your funeral speech blame us,
But speak all good you can devise of Caesar,
And say you do't by our permission;
Else shall you not have any hand at all
About his funeral: and you shall speak
In the same pulpit whereto I am going,
After my speech is ended.

Be it so.
I do desire no more.

Prepare the body then, and follow us.

We will be satisfied; let us be satisfied.

Then follow me, and give me audience, friends.
Cassius, go you into the other street,
And part the numbers.
Those that will hear me speak, let 'em stay here;
Those that will follow Cassius, go with him;
And public reasons shall be rendered
Of Caesar's death.

The noble Brutus is ascended: silence!

Be patient till the last.
Romans, countrymen, and lovers! hear me for my
cause, and be silent, that you may hear: believe me
for mine honour, and have respect to mine honour, that
you may believe: censure me in your wisdom, and
awake your senses, that you may the better judge.
If there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of
Caesar's, to him I say, that Brutus' love to Caesar
was no less than his. If then that friend demand
why Brutus rose against Caesar, this is my answer:
—Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved
Rome more. Had you rather Caesar were living and
die all slaves, than that Caesar were dead, to live
all free men? As Caesar loved me, I weep for him;
as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was
valiant, I honour him: but, as he was ambitious, I
slew him. There is tears for his love; joy for his
fortune; honour for his valour; and death for his
ambition. Who is here so base that would be a
bondman? If any, speak; for him have I offended.
Who is here so rude that would not be a Roman? If
any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is here so
vile that will not love his country? If any, speak;
for him have I offended. I pause for a reply.

None, Brutus, none.

Then none have I offended. I have done no more to
Caesar than you shall do to Brutus. The question of
his death is enrolled in the Capitol; his glory not
extenuated, wherein he was worthy, nor his offences
enforced, for which he suffered death.

Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony: who,
though he had no hand in his death, shall receive
the benefit of his dying, a place in the
commonwealth; as which of you shall not? With this
I depart,—that, as I slew my best lover for the
good of Rome, I have the same dagger for myself,
when it shall please my country to need my death.

We'll bring him to his house
With shouts and clamours.

My countrymen,—

Peace, ho!

Good countrymen, let me depart alone,
And, for my sake, stay here with Antony:
Do grace to Caesar's corpse, and grace his speech
Tending to Caesar's glories; which Mark Antony,
By our permission, is allow'd to make.
I do entreat you, not a man depart,
Save I alone, till Antony have spoke.

Drum. Enter BRUTUS, LUCILIUS, LUCIUS, and Soldiers; Tintinius and PINDARUS meeting them

Stand, ho!

Give the word, ho! and stand.

What now, Lucilius! is Cassius near?

He is at hand; and Pindarus is come
To do you salutation from his master.

He greets me well. Your master, Pindarus,
In his own change, or by ill officers,
Hath given me some worthy cause to wish
Things done, undone: but, if he be at hand,
I shall be satisfied.

I do not doubt
But that my noble master will appear
Such as he is, full of regard and honour.

He is not doubted. A word, Lucilius;
How he received you, let me be resolved.

With courtesy and with respect enough;
But not with such familiar instances,
Nor with such free and friendly conference,
As he hath used of old.

Thou hast described
A hot friend cooling: ever note, Lucilius,
When love begins to sicken and decay,
It useth an enforced ceremony.
There are no tricks in plain and simple faith;
But hollow men, like horses hot at hand,
Make gallant show and promise of their mettle;
But when they should endure the bloody spur,
They fall their crests, and, like deceitful jades,
Sink in the trial. Comes his army on?

They mean this night in Sardis to be quarter'd;
The greater part, the horse in general,
Are come with Cassius.

Hark! he is arrived.

March gently on to meet him.

Stand, ho!

Stand, ho! Speak the word along.

Most noble brother, you have done me wrong.

Judge me, you gods! wrong I mine enemies?
And, if not so, how should I wrong a brother?

Brutus, this sober form of yours hides wrongs;
And when you do them—

Cassius, be content.
Speak your griefs softly: I do know you well.
Before the eyes of both our armies here,
Which should perceive nothing but love from us,
Let us not wrangle: bid them move away;
Then in my tent, Cassius, enlarge your griefs,
And I will give you audience.

Pindarus,
Bid our commanders lead their charges off
A little from this ground.

Lucilius, do you the like; and let no man
Come to our tent till we have done our conference.
Let Lucius and Tintinius guard our door.

That you have wrong'd me doth appear in this:
You have condemn'd and noted Lucius Pella
For taking bribes here of the Sardians;
Wherein my letters, praying on his side,
Because I knew the man, were slighted off.

You wronged yourself to write in such a case.

In such a time as this it is not meet
That every nice offence should bear his comment.

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.

I an itching palm!
You know that you are Brutus that speak this,
Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last.

The name of Cassius honours this corruption,
And chastisement doth therefore hide his head.

Chastisement!

Remember March, the ides of March remember:
Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake?
What villain touch'd his body, that did stab,
And not for justice? What, shall one of us
That struck the foremost man of all this world
But for supporting robbers, shall we now
Contaminate our fingers with base bribes,
And sell the mighty space of our large honours
For so much trash as may be grasped thus?
I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon,
Than such a Roman.

Brutus, bay not me;
I'll not endure it: you forget yourself,
To hedge me in; I am a soldier, I,
Older in practise, abler than yourself
To make conditions.

Go to; you are not, Cassius.

I am.

I say you are not.

Urge me no more, I shall forget myself;
Have mind upon your health, tempt me no further.

Away, slight man!

Is't possible?

Hear me, for I will speak.
Must I give way and room to your rash choler?
Shall I be frighted when a madman stares?

O ye gods, ye gods! must I endure all this?

All this! ay, more: fret till your proud heart break;
Go show your slaves how choleric you are,
And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge?
Must I observe you? must I stand and crouch
Under your testy humour? By the gods
You shall digest the venom of your spleen,
Though it do split you; for, from this day forth,
I'll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter,
When you are waspish.

Is it come to this?

You say you are a better soldier:
Let it appear so; make your vaunting true,
And it shall please me well: for mine own part,
I shall be glad to learn of noble men.

You wrong me every way; you wrong me, Brutus;
I said, an elder soldier, not a better:
Did I say 'better'?

If you did, I care not.

When Caesar lived, he durst not thus have moved me.

Peace, peace! you durst not so have tempted him.

I durst not!

No.

What, durst not tempt him!

For your life you durst not!

Do not presume too much upon my love;
I may do that I shall be sorry for.

You have done that you should be sorry for.
There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats,
For I am arm'd so strong in honesty
That they pass by me as the idle wind,
Which I respect not. I did send to you
For certain sums of gold, which you denied me:
For I can raise no money by vile means:
By heaven, I had rather coin my heart,
And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring
From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash
By any indirection: I did send
To you for gold to pay my legions,
Which you denied me: was that done like Cassius?
Should I have answer'd Caius Cassius so?
When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous,
To lock such rascal counters from his friends,
Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts;
Dash him to pieces!

I denied you not.

You did.

I did not: he was but a fool that brought
My answer back. Brutus hath rived my heart:
A friend should bear his friend's infirmities,
But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.

I do not, till you practise them on me.

You love me not.

I do not like your faults.

A friendly eye could never see such faults.

A flatterer's would not, though they do appear
As huge as high Olympus.

Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come,
Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius,
For Cassius is aweary of the world;
Hated by one he loves; braved by his brother;
Cheque'd like a bondman; all his faults observed,
Set in a note-book, learn'd, and conn'd by rote,
To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep
My spirit from mine eyes! There is my dagger,
And here my naked breast; within, a heart
Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold:
If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth;
I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart:
Strike, as thou didst at Caesar; for, I know,
When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him better
Than ever thou lovedst Cassius.

Sheathe your dagger:
Be angry when you will, it shall have scope;
Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour.
O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb
That carries anger as the flint bears fire;
Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark,
And straight is cold again.

Hath Cassius lived
To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus,
When grief, and blood ill-temper'd, vexeth him?

When I spoke that, I was ill-temper'd too.

Do you confess so much? Give me your hand.

And my heart too.

O Brutus!

What's the matter?

Have not you love enough to bear with me,
When that rash humour which my mother gave me
Makes me forgetful?

Yes, Cassius; and, from henceforth,
When you are over-earnest with your Brutus,
He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so.

Ha, ha! how vilely doth this cynic rhyme!

Get you hence, sirrah; saucy fellow, hence!

Bear with him, Brutus; 'tis his fashion.

I'll know his humour, when he knows his time:
What should the wars do with these jigging fools?
Companion, hence!

Exit Poet

Lucilius and Tintinius, bid the commanders
Prepare to lodge their companies to-night.

Exeunt LUCILIUS and Tintinius

Lucius, a bowl of wine!

I did not think you could have been so angry.

O Cassius, I am sick of many griefs.

Of your philosophy you make no use,
If you give place to accidental evils.

No man bears sorrow better. Portia is dead.

Ha! Portia!

She is dead.

How 'scaped I killing when I cross'd you so?
O insupportable and touching loss!
Upon what sickness?

Impatient of my absence,
And grief that young Octavius with Mark Antony
Have made themselves so strong:—for with her death
That tidings came;—with this she fell distract,
And, her attendants absent, swallow'd fire.

And died so?

Even so.

Re-enter LUCIUS, with wine and taper

Speak no more of her. Give me a bowl of wine.
In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius.

My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge.
Fill, Lucius, till the wine o'erswell the cup;
I cannot drink too much of Brutus' love.

Come in, Tintinius!


Welcome, good Messala.
Now sit we close about this taper here,
And call in question our necessities.

Portia, art thou gone?

No more, I pray you.
Messala, I have here received letters,
That young Octavius and Mark Antony
Come down upon us with a mighty power,
Bending their expedition toward Philippi.

Myself have letters of the selfsame tenor.

With what addition?

That by proscription and bills of outlawry,
Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus,
Have put to death an hundred senators.

Therein our letters do not well agree;
Mine speak of seventy senators that died
By their proscriptions, Cicero being one.

Cicero is dead,
And by that order of proscription.
Had you your letters from your wife, my lord?

No, Messala.

Nor nothing in your letters writ of her?

Nothing, Messala.

That, methinks, is strange.

Why ask you? hear you aught of her in yours?

No, my lord.

Now, as you are a Roman, tell me true.

Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell:
For certain she is dead, and by strange manner.

Why, farewell, Portia. We must die, Messala:
With meditating that she must die once,
I have the patience to endure it now.

I have as much of this in art as you,
But yet my nature could not bear it so.

Well, to our work alive. What do you think
Of marching to Philippi presently?

I do not think it good.

Your reason?

This it is:
'Tis better that the enemy seek us:
So shall he waste his means, weary his soldiers,
Doing himself offence; whilst we, lying still,
Are full of rest, defense, and nimbleness.

Good reasons must, of force, give place to better.
The people 'twixt Philippi and this ground
Do stand but in a forced affection;
For they have grudged us contribution:
The enemy, marching along by them,
By them shall make a fuller number up,
Come on refresh'd, new-added, and encouraged;
From which advantage shall we cut him off,
If at Philippi we do face him there,
These people at our back.

Hear me, good brother.

Under your pardon. You must note beside,
That we have tried the utmost of our friends,
Our legions are brim-full, our cause is ripe:
The enemy increaseth every day;
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;
Omitted, all the voyage of their life
Is bound in shallows and in miseries.
On such a full sea are we now afloat;
And we must take the current when it serves,
Or lose our ventures.

Then, with your will, go on;
We'll along ourselves, and meet them at Philippi.

The deep of night is crept upon our talk,
And nature must obey necessity;
Which we will niggard with a little rest.
There is no more to say?

No more. Good night:
Early to-morrow will we rise, and hence.

Lucius!

My gown.

Farewell, good Messala:
Good night, Tintinius. Noble, noble Cassius,
Good night, and good repose.

O my dear brother!
This was an ill beginning of the night:
Never come such division 'tween our souls!
Let it not, Brutus.

Every thing is well.

Good night, my lord.

Good night, good brother.

Good night, Lord Brutus.

Farewell, every one.


Give me the gown. Where is thy instrument?

Here in the tent.

What, thou speak'st drowsily?
Poor knave, I blame thee not; thou art o'er-watch'd.
Call Claudius and some other of my men:
I'll have them sleep on cushions in my tent.

Calls my lord?

I pray you, sirs, lie in my tent and sleep;
It may be I shall raise you by and by
On business to my brother Cassius.

So please you, we will stand and watch your pleasure.

I will not have it so: lie down, good sirs;
It may be I shall otherwise bethink me.
Look, Lucius, here's the book I sought for so;
I put it in the pocket of my gown.

I was sure your lordship did not give it me.

Bear with me, good boy, I am much forgetful.
Canst thou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile,
And touch thy instrument a strain or two?

Ay, my lord, an't please you.

It does, my boy:
I trouble thee too much, but thou art willing.

It is my duty, sir.

I should not urge thy duty past thy might;
I know young bloods look for a time of rest.

I have slept, my lord, already.

It was well done; and thou shalt sleep again;
I will not hold thee long: if I do live,
I will be good to thee.

This is a sleepy tune. O murderous slumber,
Lay'st thou thy leaden mace upon my boy,
That plays thee music? Gentle knave, good night;
I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee:
If thou dost nod, thou break'st thy instrument;
I'll take it from thee; and, good boy, good night.
Let me see, let me see; is not the leaf turn'd down
Where I left reading? Here it is, I think.

How ill this taper burns! Ha! who comes here?
I think it is the weakness of mine eyes
That shapes this monstrous apparition.
It comes upon me. Art thou any thing?
Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil,
That makest my blood cold and my hair to stare?
Speak to me what thou art.

Thy evil spirit, Brutus.

Why comest thou?

To tell thee thou shalt see me at Philippi.

Well; then I shall see thee again?

Ay, at Philippi.

Why, I will see thee at Philippi, then.

Now I have taken heart thou vanishest:
Ill spirit, I would hold more talk with thee.
Boy, Lucius! Varro! Claudius! Sirs, awake! Claudius!

The strings, my lord, are false.

He thinks he still is at his instrument.
Lucius, awake!

My lord?

Didst thou dream, Lucius, that thou so criedst out?

My lord, I do not know that I did cry.

Yes, that thou didst: didst thou see any thing?

Nothing, my lord.

Sleep again, Lucius. Sirrah Claudius!

Fellow thou, awake!

My lord?

Why did you so cry out, sirs, in your sleep?

Did we, my lord?

Ay: saw you any thing?

Nor I, my lord.

Go and commend me to my brother Cassius;
Bid him set on his powers betimes before,
And we will follow.

I do not cross you; but I will do so.

They stand, and would have parley.

Stir not until the signal.

Words before blows: is it so, countrymen?

Not that we love words better, as you do.

Good words are better than bad strokes, Octavius.

Not stingless too.

O, yes, and soundless too;
For you have stol'n their buzzing, Antony,
And very wisely threat before you sting.

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;
When think you that the sword goes up again?
Never, till Caesar's three and thirty wounds
Be well avenged; or till another Caesar
Have added slaughter to the sword of traitors.

Caesar, thou canst not die by traitors' hands,
Unless thou bring'st them with thee.

So I hope;
I was not born to die on Brutus' sword.

O, if thou wert the noblest of thy strain,
Young man, thou couldst not die more honourable.

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

Ho, Lucilius! hark, a word with you.

I but believe it partly;
For I am fresh of spirit and resolved
To meet all perils very constantly.

Even so, Lucilius.

Now, most noble Brutus,
The gods to-day stand friendly, that we may,
Lovers in peace, lead on our days to age!
But since the affairs of men rest still incertain,
Let's reason with the worst that may befall.
If we do lose this battle, then is this
The very last time we shall speak together:
What are you then determined to do?

Even by the rule of that philosophy
By which I did blame Cato for the death
Which he did give himself, I know not how,
But I do find it cowardly and vile,
For fear of what might fall, so to prevent
The time of life: arming myself with patience
To stay the providence of some high powers
That govern us below.

Then, if we lose this battle,
You are contented to be led in triumph
Thorough the streets of Rome?

No, Cassius, no: think not, thou noble Roman,
That ever Brutus will go bound to Rome;
He bears too great a mind. But this same day
Must end that work the ides of March begun;
And whether we shall meet again I know not.
Therefore our everlasting farewell take:
For ever, and for ever, farewell, Cassius!
If we do meet again, why, we shall smile;
If not, why then, this parting was well made.

For ever, and for ever, farewell, Brutus!
If we do meet again, we'll smile indeed;
If not, 'tis true this parting was well made.

Why, then, lead on. O, that a man might know
The end of this day's business ere it come!
But it sufficeth that the day will end,
And then the end is known. Come, ho! away!

Alarum. Enter BRUTUS and MESSALA

Ride, ride, Messala, ride, and give these bills
Unto the legions on the other side.

Let them set on at once; for I perceive
But cold demeanor in Octavius' wing,
And sudden push gives them the overthrow.
Ride, ride, Messala: let them all come down.

Hie you, Messala,
And I will seek for Pindarus the while.

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?
Alas, thou hast misconstrued every thing!
But, hold thee, take this garland on thy brow;
Thy Brutus bid me give it thee, and I
Will do his bidding. Brutus, come apace,
And see how I regarded Caius Cassius.
By your leave, gods:—this is a Roman's part
Come, Cassius' sword, and find Tintinius' heart.

Where, where, Messala, doth his body lie?

Lo, yonder, and Tintinius mourning it.

Tintinius' face is upward.

He is slain.

O Julius Caesar, thou art mighty yet!
Thy spirit walks abroad and turns our swords
In our own proper entrails.

Brave Tintinius!
Look, whether he have not crown'd dead Cassius!

Are yet two Romans living such as these?
The last of all the Romans, fare thee well!
It is impossible that ever Rome
Should breed thy fellow. Friends, I owe more tears
To this dead man than you shall see me pay.
I shall find time, Cassius, I shall find time.
Come, therefore, and to Thasos send his body:
His funerals shall not be in our camp,
Lest it discomfort us. Lucilius, come;
And come, young Cato; let us to the field.
Labeo and Flavius, set our battles on:
'Tis three o'clock; and, Romans, yet ere night
We shall try fortune in a second fight.

Yet, countrymen, O, yet hold up your heads!

What bastard doth not? Who will go with me?
I will proclaim my name about the field:
I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho!
A foe to tyrants, and my country's friend;
I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho!

And I am Brutus, Marcus Brutus, I;
Brutus, my country's friend; know me for Brutus!

Come, poor remains of friends, rest on this rock.

Statilius show'd the torch-light, but, my lord,
He came not back: he is or ta'en or slain.

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

What, I, my lord? No, not for all the world.

Peace then! no words.

I'll rather kill myself.

Hark thee, Dardanius.

Now is that noble vessel full of grief,
That it runs over even at his eyes.

Come hither, good Volumnius; list a word.

What says my lord?

Why, this, Volumnius:
The ghost of Caesar hath appear'd to me
Two several times by night; at Sardis once,
And, this last night, here in Philippi fields:
I know my hour is come.

Not so, my lord.

Nay, I am sure it is, Volumnius.
Thou seest the world, Volumnius, how it goes;
Our enemies have beat us to the pit:

It is more worthy to leap in ourselves,
Than tarry till they push us. Good Volumnius,
Thou know'st that we two went to school together:
Even for that our love of old, I prithee,
Hold thou my sword-hilts, whilst I run on it.

Fly, fly, my lord; there is no tarrying here.

Farewell to you; and you; and you, Volumnius.
Strato, thou hast been all this while asleep;
Farewell to thee too, Strato. Countrymen,
My heart doth joy that yet in all my life
I found no man but he was true to me.
I shall have glory by this losing day
More than Octavius and Mark Antony
By this vile conquest shall attain unto.
So fare you well at once; for Brutus' tongue
Hath almost ended his life's history:
Night hangs upon mine eyes; my bones would rest,
That have but labour'd to attain this hour.

Fly, my lord, fly.

Hence! I will follow.

I prithee, Strato, stay thou by thy lord:
Thou art a fellow of a good respect;
Thy life hath had some smatch of honour in it:
Hold then my sword, and turn away thy face,
While I do run upon it. Wilt thou, Strato?

Give me your hand first. Fare you well, my lord.

Farewell, good Strato.

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