 Julius Caesar, by William Shakespeare. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Dramatis Personae. Julius Caesar. Read by Kim Stish. Octavius. Read by Glenn Simonson. Mark Antony. Read by Barry Eads. Lepidus and Cicero, a senator. Read by David Lawrence. Publius and poet. Read by Nathan Miller. Papylius. First commoner. Read by Andrew. Marcus Brutus. Read by Denny Sayer. Cassius. Read by Chris Sanner. Casca. A conspirator against Caesar. Read by M.B. Trebonius and soldier one. Read by Mark Smith. Legaries and second soldier. Read by Om123. Desius Brutus. Read by Colinda. Metellus Climer. And Dardanius, read by Chris Caron. Sinner, conspirator against Caesar. Yankato, friend to Brutus. Second commoner. Claudius, servant to Brutus. And messenger, read by Zonia. Flavius. Read by Mark Penfold. Morellus. Read by Ariel Lipshaw. Artemidorus. Read by Aspergene. Soothsayer. Read by Avaii. Sinner the poet. Read by Eli. Lucilius. Friend to Brutus. Read by Christian. Masala. Read by Ariel Lipshaw. Tatenius. Read by Chris Sellars. Volumnius and servant. Read by Laurie Ann Walden. Varro. And third soldier. Read by Lucy Perry. Clitus. Read by Mark Penfold. Stratos, servant to Brutus. Read by Philippa. Ushus. Read by Greg Vestal. Pindaris. Read by Nathan Miller. Calpurnia. Read by Miriam Esther Goldman. Horsha. Read by Abigail Bartels. First citizen. Read by Bologna Times. Second citizen. Read by Mark Parr. Third citizen. Read by David Cole. Fourth citizen. Read by Wimper Princess. Stage Directions. Read by Elizabeth Klett. End of Dramatis Personae for Julius Caesar. Act I of Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare. Act I. Scene I. Rome. A Street. Enter Flavius, Morullus, and certain commoners. Hence! Home, you idle creatures! Get you home! Is this a holiday? What? Are you not being mechanical? You ought to not walk upon a labouring day without the sign of your profession. Speak! What trade art thou? Why, sir, a carpeter. Where is thy leather apron and thy rule? What does thou with thy best apparel on? You, sir, what trade are you? Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, as he would say, a cobbler. But what trade art thou answer me directly? Sir, that I hope I may use with a safe conscience, which is indeed, sir, a mender of bad souls. What trade, thou knave, thou naughty knave, what trade? Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me, yet if you be out, sir, I can mend you. What means thou by that? Mend me, thou saucy fellow? Why, sir, cobble you. Thou art a cobbler, art thou? Truly, sir, all that I live by is with thee all. I meddle with no trademan's matters, no women's matters, but with all. I am indeed, sir, a surgeon to old shoes, when they are in great danger I recover them, as proper men as ever tried upon each leather have gone upon my handiwork. But wherefore art not in thy shop today? Why dost thou lead these men about the streets? Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get myself into more work. But indeed, sir, we make holiday, to see Caesar and to rejoice in his triumph. Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he home? What tributaries follow him to Rome to grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels? You blocks! You stones! You worse than senseless things! Oh, you hard hearts! You cruel men of Rome knew you not Pompey? Many a time an oft have you climbed up to walls and battlements? To towers and windows, yea, to chimney tops! Your infants in your arms and there have sat the live long day, with patient expectation to see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome. And when you saw his chariot but appear, have you not made an universal shout that Tybur trembled underneath her banks to hear the replication of your sounds made in her concave shores? And do you now put on your best attire? And do you now cull out a holiday? And do you now strew flowers in his way that comes in triumph over Pompey's blood? Be gone! Run to your houses, fall upon your knees, pray to the gods to intermit the plague that needs must light on this ingratitude! Go, go, good countrymen, and for this fault assemble all the poor men of your sort. Draw them to Tybur banks and weep your tears into the channel till the lowest stream do kiss the most exalted shores of all. Exiant all the commoners. See whether their basest metal be not moved. They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness. Go you down that way towards the capital. This way will I disrobe the images if you do find them decked with ceremonies. May we do so. You know it is the Feast of Lupercow. It is no matter. Let no images be hung with Caesar's trophies. I'll about and drive away the vulgar from the streets. So do you too, where you perceive them thick. These growing feathers plucked from Caesar's wing will make him fly an ordinary pitch. Who else would soar above the view of men and keep us all in servile fearfulness? Exiant. Scene two. A public place. Flourish. Enter Caesar. Antony for the course. Calpurnia. Portia. Deceus Brutus. Cicero. Brutus. Cassius. And Casca. A great crowd following. Among them a soothsayer. Calpurnia. Peace! Ho! Caesar speaks. Calpurnia. Here, my lord. Send you directly in Antonius's way when he doth run his course. Antonius. Caesar, my lord. Forget not in your speed, Antonius, to touch Calpurnia. For our elders say the baron, touched in this holy chase, shake off their sterile curse. I shall remember. When Caesar says do this, it is performed. Set on and leave no ceremony out. Flourish. Caesar. Ha! Who calls? Bid every noise, be still, peace yet again. Who is it in the press that calls on me? I hear a tongue shriller than all the music. Cry, Caesar. Speak. Caesar is turned to here. Beware the eyes of March. What man is that? A soothsayer bid you beware the eyes of March. Set him before me. Let me see his face. Fellow, come from the throne. Look upon, Caesar. What sayest thou to me now? Speak once again. Beware the eyes of March. He is a dreamer. Let us leave him. Pass. Senate. Excient all except Brutus and Cassius. 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 Anthony. 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 want to have. You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand over your friend that loves you. Cassius, be not deceived. If I have veiled my look. I turned the trouble of my countenance merely upon myself. A 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. Or construe any further mind 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 have 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 his age's yoke, have wished 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? Therefore, good Brutus, be prepared to hear. And, since you know you cannot see yourself so well as by reflection, I, your glass, will modestly discover to yourself that of yourself which you yet know not of. And be not jealous on me, gentle Brutus, were I a common laffer, or did you used to stale with ordinary oaths my love to every new protester. If you know that I do phone on men and hug them hard and after, scoundrel them, or if you know that I profess myself in banqueting to all the rout, then hold me dangerous. Flourish and shout. What means all this shouting? I do fear. The people choose Caesar for their king. I do you fear it. That 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 ought toward the general good, set honor in one eye and death in the other, and I will look on both, indifferently. For let the God so speed me, as I love the name of honor, more than I fear death. I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus. As well as I do know your outward favor. Well, honor is the subject of my story. I cannot tell what you and other men think of this life, but for my single self I had his life not be as lived to be in all of such a thing as I myself. I was born free as Caesar, 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 Tyber-shaving at her shores, Caesar said to me, Darius 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, Caesar cried, Help me, Cassius, or I sink! I, as a neus, our great ancestor, did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder the old Anchesis bear, so from the waves of Tyber did I the tired Caesar. And this man is now become a god, and Cassius is a wretched creature, and must bend his body, if Caesar 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. It is true this god did shake. His coward lips did from their colour fly, and that same eye whose bend doth all the world did lose his lustre. I did hear him groan, eye, and that tongue of his bade the Romans mark him and write his speeches in their books. Alas, it cried, Give me some drink to Tinius! 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. Shout. Flourish. Another general shout. I do believe that these applause are for some new honours that are heaped on Caesar. Why, man, doth he 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 them. Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Caesar. Now in the names of all the gods at once upon what meat that this our Caesar feed that he has grown so great. Age thou art shamed. Rome thou hath lost the breed of noble bloods. When went there by an age since the great flood, but it was famed with more than one man? When could they say till now that talked of Rome, that her wide walls encompassed but one man? Now is it Rome indeed and room enough when there is in it but one only man? Oh, 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. That you do love me? I am nothing, Jealous. What you would work with me 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 this much show of fire from Brutus. The games are done and Caesar is returning. As they pass by plucked Cascar by the sleeve and he will after his sour fashion tell you what hath proceeded worthy note to-day. 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 capital being crossed in conference by some senators. Casca will tell us what the matter is. Antonius. Caesar. Let me have men about me that are fat, sleek-headed men and such as sleep, O knights. Yand Cassius has a lean and hungry look he thinks too much. Such men are dangerous. Fear him not, Caesar, he's not dangerous. He is a noble Roman and well-given. Would he were fatter, but I fear him not. Yet if my name were liable to fear I do not know the man I should avoid so soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much. He is a great observer and he looks quite through the deeds of men. He loves no plays as thou dost, Anthony. He hears no music seldom, he smiles, and smiles in such a sort as if he mocked himself and scorned his spirit that could be moved to smile at anything. Such men as he be never at heart's ease whilst they behold a greater than themselves, and therefore are they very dangerous. I rather tell thee what is to be feared than what I fear, for always I am Caesar. Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf, and tell me truly what thou thinkst of him. Senate. Exiant Caesar and all his train, but Casca. You pulled me by the cloak, would you speak with me? Aye, Casca, tell us what hath chanced today, 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. They shouted thrice. What was the last cry for? Why, for that too. Was the crown offered him thrice? Aye, Mary wasst, and he put it by thrice. Every time gentler than other, and at every putting by, my honest neighbors shouted. Who offered him the crown? Why, Anthony. Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca. I can as well be hanged as tell the manner of it. It was mere foolery, I did not mark it. I saw Mark Anthony offer him a crown. Yet, it was not a crown, neither, it was one of these coronets. And, as I told you, he put it by once. But, for all that, to my thinking he would feign have had it. Then he offered it to him again, then he put it by again. But, to my thinking, he was very low to lay his fingers off it. And then he offered it the third time. He put it the third time by. And, still as he refused it, the rabblemen hooted and clapped their chapped hands threw up their sweaty nightcaps and uttered such a deal of stinking breath because Caesar refused the crown that it had almost choked Caesar. For he swooned it and fell down at it. And, for my own part, I durst not laugh, for fear of opening my lips and receiving the bad air. But, soft, I pray, what did Caesar swooned? He fell down in the marketplace and foamed at mouth and was speechless. Tis very like he hath the falling sickness. No, Caesar hath it not, but you and I, and Honest Casca, we have the falling 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 used to do the players in the theatre, I am no true man. What said he when he came unto himself? Mary, before he fell down, when he perceived the common herd was glad he refused the crown, he plucked me opus doublet and offered them his throat to cut. And 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 anything 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. I. Did Cicero say anything? I, he spoke Greek. To what effect? Then I tell you that, I'll never look you in the face again. But those that understood him smiled at one another and shook their heads. But for my own part it was Greek to me. I could tell you more news, too. Morales and Flavius, for pulling scarfs off Caesar's images, are put to silence. Fare you well, there was more foolery yet, if I could remember it. Will you sup with me tonight, Casca? No, I'm promised forth. Will you dine with me tomorrow? I, if I be alive, and your mind hold, and your dinner worth eating. Good. I will expect you. Do so. Fare well, both. Exit. What a blunt fellow is this grown to be. He was quick metal when he went to school. So is he now in execution of any bold and noble enterprise. However he puts on this tardy form, this rudeness is a source 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. Tomorrow, 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. I will do so. Till then, think of the world. Exit, Brutus. Well, Brutus, thou art noble. Yet I see thy honourable metal may be wrought from that it is disposed. Therefore it is a meat that noble minds keep ever with their likes, for whoso firm that cannot be seduced. Caesar doth bear me hard, but he loves Brutus. If I were Brutus now, and he were Cassius, he should not humour me. For I will this night in several hands, in it his windows throw, as if they came from several citizens, writings all tending to the great opinion that Rome holds of his name. Wherein, obscurely, Caesar's ambitions I'll be glanced at. And after this let Caesar seat him sure, for we will shake him, or worse days endure. Exit. Scene three. The same, a street. Thunder and lightning. Enter from opposite sides, Casca with his sword drawn, and Cicero. Good evening, Casca. Brought you Caesar home? Why are you breathless? And why stare you so? Are you not moved when all the sway of earth shakes like a thing un-firm? Oh, Cicero, I have seen tempests when the scolding winds have arrived the naughty oaks, and I have seen the ambitious ocean swell and rage and foam to be exalted with the threatening clouds, but never till tonight, 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. Why, saw you anything more wonderful? A common slave, you know him well by sight, held up his left hand which did flame and burn like twenty torches joined, and yet his hand, not sensible of fire, remained unscorched. Besides, I have not since put up my sword. Against the capital, I met a lion who glared upon me and went surly by without annoying me, and there were drawn upon a heap a hundred ghastly women transformed with their fear who swore they saw men all in fire walk up and down the streets. And yesterday the bird of night did sit even at noon day upon the marketplace, hooting and shrieking. When these prodigies do so conjointly meet let not men say these are their reasons they are natural for I believe they are portentous things unto the climate that they point upon. Indeed, it is a strange disposed time, but men may construe things after their fashion, clean from the purpose of the things themselves. Come Caesar to the capital tomorrow? He doth, for he did bid Antonius send word to you he would be there tomorrow. Good night then, Casca, this disturbed sky is not to walk in. Farewell, Cicero. Exit Cicero. Enter Cassius. Who is there? A Roman. Casca, by your voice. Your ear is good. Cassius, what night is this? A very pleasing night to honest men. Who ever knew the heavens menace so? Those that have known the earth so full of faults. For my part I have walked about the streets submitting me unto the perilous night, and thus unbraced, Casca, as you see, have bared my bosom to the thunderstorm. And when the cross-blue lightning seemed to open the breast of heaven, I did present myself, even in the aim and very flash of it. But wherefore did you so much tempt the heavens? It is the part of men to fear and tremble when the most mighty gods by token send such dreadful heralds to astonish us. You a dull, Casca, and those sparks of life that should be in a Roman you do want, or else you use not. 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 performant faculties, to monstrous quality. Why, you shall find that heaven hath infused them with these spirits to make them instruments of fear and warning and to some monstrous state. Now could I, Casca, name to thee a man most like the dreadful night, that thunders, lightens, opens graves, and roars, as doth the lion in the capital, a man no mightier than thyself or me in personal action, yet prodigious grown and fearful as these strange eruptions are. Tis Caesar, that you mean, is it not, Cassius? Let it be who it is. For Romans now have thews and limbs like to their ancestors. But woe the while, our fathers' minds are dead, and we are governed with our mother's spirits. Our yoke and sufferance show us who are menish. Indeed, they say the senators tomorrow mean to establish Caesar as a king, and he shall wear his crown by sea and land in every place save here in Italy. I know where I will wear this dagger then. Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius. There in ye gods you make the weak most strong. There in 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. Thunder still. So can I. So every bondman in his own hand bears the power to cancel his captivity. And why should Caesar be a tyrant then? 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 awful! When it serves for base matter to illuminate so vile a thing as Caesar. But, oh grief, where hast thou led me? I perhaps speak this before a willing bondman. Then I know my answer must be made. But I am armed, and dangers are to me indifferent. You speak to Cascar, and to such a man that is no fearing tell-tale. 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. There's a bargain made. Now know, you Cascar, I have moved already some certain of the noblest-minded Romans to undergo with me an enterprise of honourable, dangerous consequence. And I do know, by this, they stay for me in Pompey's porch. For now, this fearful night, there is no stir or walking in the streets, and the complexion of the element in favours like the work we have in hand, most bloody, fiery, and most terrible. Stand close awhile, for here comes one in haste. Ticina! I do know him by his gate. He is a friend. Enter Cina. Cina, where haste you so? To find out you. Who's that, Metellus Simba? No, it is Cascar. One incorporate to our attempts. Am I not stayed for, Cina? I am glad on it. What a fearful night is this. There's two or three of us have seen strange sides. Am I not stayed for? Tell me. Yes, you are. O Cassius, if you could, but win the noble Brutus to a party. Be you content. Could Cina take this paper, and look you lay it in the Praetor's chair where Brutus may but find it, and throw this in at his window. Set this up with wax upon old Brutus's statue. All this done, repair to Pompey's porch where you shall find us. Is Dessius Brutus and Trebonius there? All but Metellus Simba, and he's gone to seek you at your house. Well, I will hide, and so bestow these papers as you bade me. That done, repair to Pompey's theatre. Exit, Cina. Come, Casca. You and I will yet ear day see Brutus is his house. Three parts of him is ours already, and the man entire upon the next encounter yields him ours. Oh, he sits high in all the people's hearts, and that which would appear offence in us. His countenance, like richest alchemy, will change to virtue, and to worthiness. Him and his worth, and our great need of him you have right well conceited. Let us go, for it is after midnight, and ere day we will awake him and be sure of him. Exit. End of Act I. Act II of Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare. Act II. Scene I. Rome. Brutus is orchard. Enter Brutus. What? Lucius? Ho! I cannot, by the progress of the stars, give guess how near today. Lucius! I say! I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly. When, Lucius? When, awake, I say! What, Lucius? Enter Lucius. Called you, my lord? Get me a taper in my study, Lucius. When it is lightened, come and call me here. I will, my lord. 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 crowned. How that might change his nature, there's the question. It is the bright day that brings forth the adder, and that craves weary 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 affection swayed more than his reason. But tis a common proof that lowliness is young ambition's latter, where to the climber upward turns his face, but when he once attains the utmost round, he then, unto the latter, 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 color 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 hatched wood as his kind grow mischievous, and kill him in the shell. I am sure it did not lie there when I went to bed. 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. I will, sir. Exit. The exhalations whizzing in the air give so much like that I may read by them. Thou sleepst. Awake and see thyself. Shall roam, etc. Speak, strike, redress. Brutus, thou sleepst. Awake. Such instigations have been often dropped, where I have took them up. Shall roam, etc. Thus I must peace it out. Shall roam stand under one man's awe? What, roam? My ancestors did from the streets of Rome the tarquin drive, when he was called a king. Speak, strike, redress. Am I entreated to speak and strike? Oh, roam, I make thee promise. If thee redress will follow, thou receivest thy full petition at the hand of Brutus. Re-enter, Lucius. Sir, March has wasted fourteen days. Knocking within. Tis good. Go to the gate. Somebody knocks. Exit, Lucius. Since Cassius first did wet 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. Re-enter, Lucius. Sir, Tis your brother Cassius at the door. Who doth desire to see you? Is he alone? No, sir, there are more with him. Do you know them? No, sir, their hats are plucked about their ears, and half their face is buried in their coats. That by no means I may discover them by any mark of favour. Let them enter. Exit, Lucius. 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? Seat 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. They are the conspirators. Cassius, Casca, Decius Brutus, Cina, Metellus Simber, and Trebonius. I think we are too bold upon your rest. Good morrow, Brutus, do we trouble you? I have been up this hour, a week, or night. No ideas, 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, Cina, and this, Metellus Simber. They are all welcome. What watchful cares do interpose themselves, betwixt your eyes and night? Shall I entreat a word? Brutus and Cassius whisper. Here lies the east, doth not the day break here? No. O pardon, sir, it does, and young grey lines that fret the clouds are messengers of day. You shall confess that you are both deceived. Here, as I point my sword, the solarisers, 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 capital 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 steal with valor 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 spoken the word and will not paltre? 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 cotylus, 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 metal of our spirits. To think that of 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 passed from him. But what if Cicero shall we sound him? I think he will stand very strong with us. Let us not leave him out. No, by no means. Oh, let us have him for his silver hairs will purchase us a good opinion and by men's voices to command our deeds. It shall be said by his judgment ruled our hands. Our youths and wildness shall no wit appear, but all be buried in his gravity. Oh, name him not. Let us not break with him, for he will never follow anything that other men begin. Then leave him out. Indeed, he is not fit. Shall no man else be touched but only Caesar? Yes, yes, well urged. I think it is not meat, Mark Antony, so ill-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, Mark Antony and Caesar fall together. Our course will seem too bloody, Caius Tessius. To cut the head off and then hack the limbs, like wrath and death and envy afterwards. For Antony is but a limb of Caesar. Let us be sacrifices, 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 hue 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 them. This shall make our purpose necessary, and not envious, which so appearing to the common eyes we shall be called 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 engrafted love he bears to Caesar. Alas, good Caius, do not think of him. If he loves Caesar all that he can do is to himself. Take thought and die for Caesar, and that where much he should, for he is given to sports, to wildness, and much company. There is no fear in him. Let him not die, for he will live, and laugh at this hereafter. Clock strikes. Peace. Count the clock. The clock hath stricken three. It is time to part. But it is doubtfully yet where the Caesar will come forth today or no, for he is superstitious grown of late, quite from the main opinion he held once of fantasy, of dreams, and ceremonies. It may be these apparent prodigies, the unaccustomed terror of this night, and the persuasion of his auguras may hold him from the capital today. Never fear that. If he be so resolved I can or sway him, for he loves to hear that unicorns may be betrayed with trees and bears with glasses, elephants with holes, lions with toils, and men with flatterers. But when I tell him he hates flatterers, 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 capital. Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch him. By the eighth hour. Is that the utter most? Be that the utter most, and fey not then. Psyus Legarius, doth bear Caesar hard, who raided him for speaking well of Pompey. Under 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 us. We will 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, everyone. Exiant, all but brutus. 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 sleepst so sound. Enter Portia. 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 un-gently, brutus, stole from my bed. And yesterday night, 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 stared upon me with un-gental 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 seemed too much incandled, and with all, hoping it was but an effect of humor, which some time 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 prevailed 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 mourning? What, is brutus sick, and will he steal out of his wholesome bed to dare the vile contagion of the night and tempt the roomy 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 tonight 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 expected 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's harlot, not his wife. You are my true and honorable 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 with all, a woman that Lord brutus took to wife. I grant I am a woman, but with all, a woman well reputed, Cato's daughter. Think you I am no stronger than my sex, being so fathered and so husbanded? Tell me your counsels, I will not disclose them. 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? Oh, ye gods, render me worthy of this noble wife. Knocking within. 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. Exit Portia. Lucius, who's that knocks? Re-enter Lucius with Ligarius. Here's a sick man that would speak with you. Caius Ligarius, that Mattelus spake of. Boy, stand aside. Caius Ligarius, how? Bouch of good morrow from a feeble tongue. Oh, what a time you have chose out, brave Caius, to wear a kerchief. Would you were not sick? I'm not sick. If Brutus have in hand any exploit, what is the name of honor? Such an exploit I have in hand, Ligarius, had you a healthful ear to hear of it. By all the gods that Romans bought before, I here discard my sickness. Soul of Rome. Braveson, there from honorable loins, thou like an exorcist, has conjured up my mortified spirit. Now bid me run, and I'll striper things impossible. Yeah, get the better of them. What is to do? A piece of work that will make sick men whole. But are not some whole that we must make sick? That must be 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, anointed heart, new fire, I follow you. To do I know not what, but it's a visit that Brutus leads me on. Follow me, then. Exceint. Scene two. Caesar's house. Thunder and lightning. Enter Caesar in his nightgown. Heaven or earth have been at peace tonight. Thrice had Calpurnia in her sleep, cried out, Help, oh, they murder Caesar! Who's within? Enter a servant. My lord. Go bid the priests do present sacrifice and bring me their opinions of success. I will, my lord. Exceint. Enter Calpurnia. What mean you, Caesar? Think you to walk forth? You shall not stir out of your house today. Caesar shall forth. The things that threatened me now looked but on my back. When they shall see the face of Caesar they are vanished. Caesar, I never stood on ceremonies, yet now they fright me. There is one within, besides the things that we have heard and seen, recounts most horrid sights seen by the watch. A lioness hath whelped in the streets and graves have yawned and yielded up their dead. Fierce fiery warriors fought upon the clouds in ranks and squadrons and right form of war which drizzled blood upon the capital. The noise of battle hurtled in the air, horses did neigh and dying men did groan and ghosts did shriek and squeal about the streets. Oh, Caesar, these things are beyond all use and I do fear them. What can be avoided whose end is purposed by the mighty gods? Yet Caesar shall go forth, for these predictions are to the world in general, as do Caesar. When beggars die there are no comets seen. The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes. Cowards die many times before their deaths. The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, it seems to me the 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? They would not have you stir forth to-day. Plucking the entrails of an offering forth, they could not find a heart within the beast. The gods do this in shame of cowardice. Caesar should be a beast without a heart if he should stay at home today for fear. No, Caesar shall not. Danger knows full well that Caesar is more dangerous than he. We are two lions littered in one day, and I, the elder, and more terrible. And Caesar shall go forth. Alas, my lord, your wisdom is consumed in confidence. Do not go forth today. Call it my fear that keeps you in the house, and not your own. We'll send Mark Antony to the Senate House, and he shall say you are not well to-day. Let me upon my knee prevail in this. Mark Antony shall say I am not well, and for thy humour I will stay at home. Enter Deceus Brutus. Here's Deceus Brutus. He shall tell them so. Caesar, all hail good morrowworthy Caesar. I come to fetch you to the Senate House. And you are come in very happy time to bear my greeting to the senators and tell them that I will not come to-day. Cannot is false, and that I dare not false her. I will not come to-day. Tell them so, Deceus. Say he is sick. Shall Caesar send a lie? Have I in conquest stretched my arms so far to be afraid to tell Greybeard the truth? Deceus, go tell them Caesar will not come. Most mighty Caesar, let me know some cause. Lest I be laughed at when I tell them so. The cause is in my will. I will not come. That is enough to satisfy the Senate. But for your private satisfaction, because I love you, I will let you know. Calpurnia here, my wife, stays me at home. She dreamt to-night. She saw my statue, which, like a fountain with and hundred spouts, did run pure blood. And many lusty Romans came smiling and did bathe their hands in it. And these does she apply for warnings, and portents, and evils imminent, and on her knee hath begged that I will stay at home to-day. This dream is all a misinterpreted. It was a vision fair and fortunate. Your statue spouting blood in many pipes, in which so many smiling Romans bathed, signifies that from you great Rome shall suck reviving blood, and that great men shall press for tinctures, stains, relics, and cognizance. This, by Calpurnia's dream, is signified. And this way have you well expounded it. I have, when you have heard what I can say, and know it now. The Senate have concluded to give this day a crown to mighty Caesar. If you shall send them word, you will not come, their minds may change. Besides, it were a mock apt to be rendered for someone to say, break up the Senate till another time when Caesar's wife shall meet with better dreams. If Caesar hide himself, shall they not whisper, lo, Caesar is afraid. Pardon me, Caesar, for my dear, dear love to our proceeding bids me tell you this, and reason to my love is liable. How foolish do your fears seem now, Calpurnia. I am ashamed I did yield to them. Give me my robe, for I will go. Enter Publius, Brutus, Ligarius, Metellus, Casca, Trebonius, and Sinna. And look where Publius has come to fetch me. Good-morrow, Caesar. Welcome, Publius. What, Brutus, are you stirred so early, too? Good-morrow, Casca? Chious Ligarius, Caesar was near so much your enemy as that same Agu which had made you lean. What is the o'clock? Caesar, tis struck in eight. I thank you for your pains and courtesy. Enter Antony. See, Antony, that revels long o' nights is notwithstanding up. Good-morrow, Antony. So to most noble Caesar. Bid them prepare within. I am to blame to be thus waited for. Now, Sinna, now Metellus, what? Trebonius, I have an hour's talk in store for you. Remember that you call on me today. Be near me, that I may remember you. Caesar, I will. Aside. And so near will I be, that your best friend shall wish I had been further. Good friends, go in and taste some wine with me, and we, like friends, will straightway go together. Aside. That every like is not the same. O Caesar, the heart of Brutus yearns to think upon. Exceint. Scene three. A street near the capital. Enter Artemidoris, reading a paper. Caesar, beware of Brutus. Take heed of Cassius. Come not near Cascar. Have an eye to Sinna. Trust not Trebonius. Mark well, Metellus, Simba. Desius Brutus loves thee not. Thou hast wronged Caus Ligarius. 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. Thy lover, Artemidoris. He will I stand till Caesar pass along, and as a suitor will I give him this. Mahatma means that Brutus 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. Exceint. Scene four. Another part of the same street, before the house of Brutus. Enter Portia and Lucius. I privy. Boy, run to the Senate House. Stay not to answer me, but get thee gone. Why dost thou stay? To know my errand, madam. I would have had thee there and here again, ere I can tell thee what thou shouldst do there. O constancy, be strong upon my side. Set a huge mountain between my heart and tongue. I have a man's mind, but a woman's might. How hard it is for a woman to keep counsel. Art thou here yet? Madam, what should I do? Run to the Capitol and nothing else, and so return to you and nothing else? Yes. Bring me word, boy, if thy lord look well, for he went sickly forth. And take good note what Caesar doth, what suitors press to him. Hark, boy! What noise is that? I hear none, madam. Prithee, listen well. I heard a bustling rumour, like a fray, and the wind brings it from the Capitol. Sooth, madam, I hear nothing. Enter the soothsayer. Come hither, fellow, which way hast thou been? At mine own house, good lady. What is still clock? About the ninth hour, lady. Is Caesar yet gone to the Capitol? Madam, not yet. I go to take my stand to see him pass on to the Capitol. Thou hast some suit to Caesar, hast thou not? 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. Why, knowest thou any harms intended toward him? None that I know will be, much that I fear my chance. Good morrow to you. Here the street is narrow. The throng that follows Caesar at the heels of senators, of praetors, common suitors will crowd a feeble man almost to death. I'll get me to a place more void and dare speak to great Caesar as he comes along. Accent. I must go in. I, me, how weak a thing the heart of woman is. Oh, Brutus, the heaven speed thee in thine enterprise. Sure, the boy heard me. Brutus had the suit that Caesar will not grant. Oh, 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. Exiant severly. End of Act II. Act III of Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare. Act III. Scene I. Rome, before the capital, the senate sitting above. A crowd of people, among them are Timidoris and the Soothsayer. Flourish. Enter Caesar, Brutus, Cassius, Cascar, Decius Brutus, Metellus Simber, Trebonius, Sina, Antony, Lepidus, Papillius, Publius, and others. To the Soothsayer. The aides of March are come. Aye, Caesar, but not gone. Hail, Caesar, read this schedule. Trebonius doth desire you to or read at your best leisure this, his humble suit. Oh, Caesar, read mine first, for mine's a suit that touches Caesar nearer. Read it, great Caesar. What touches us, ourself, shall be last served. Delay not, Caesar. Read it instantly. What is the fellow mad? Cira, give place. What? Urge your petitions in the street. Come to the capital. Caesar goes up to the senate house, the rest following. I wish your enterprise today may thrive. What enterprise, Publius? Fare you well. Advances to Caesar. What said Publius Nina? He wished today our enterprise might thrive. I fear our purpose is discovered. Look how he makes to Caesar. Mark him. Cascar, be sudden, for we fear prevention. Brutus, what shall be done, if this be known? Cassius will Caesar never shall turn back, for I will slay myself. Cassius, be constant. Publius Nina speaks not of our purposes, for look he smiles, and Caesar doth not change. Trebonius knows his time for look, you Brutus. He draws Mark Antony out of the way. Exiant Antony and Trebonius. Where is Metellus Simber? Let him go, and presently prefer his suit to Caesar. He is addressed, pressed near and second him. Cascar, you are the first that rears your hand. Are we all ready? What is now amiss that Caesar and his senate must redress? Most high, most mighty, and most pusient Caesar. Metellus Climber throws before thy seat, and humble heart. Kneeling. I must prevent thee, Simber. 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. Be not fond to think that Caesar bears such rebel blood that will be thawed from the true quality with that which melted fools. I mean sweet words, low, crooked courtesies, and base spaniel-fawning. 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. No, Caesar doth not wrong. Nor without cause will he be satisfied. Is there no voice more worthy than my own and sound more sweetly in great Caesar's ear for the repealing of my bandish brother? I kiss thy hand, but not in flattery, Caesar. Desiring thee that Publius Simber may have an immediate freedom of repeal. What, Brutus? Pardon, Caesar, Caesar, pardon, as those to thy foot ducathies fall to beg enfranchisement for Publius Simber. I could be well moved if I were as you. I could pray to move, prayers would move me, but I am constant as the northern star of whose true fixed and resting quality there is no fellow in the firmament. The skies are painted with unnumbered sparks, they are all fire and every one doth shine, but there's but one in all doth hold his place. So, in the world, tis furnished well with men, and men are flesh and blood and apprehensive. Yet in the number I do know but one that unassailable holds on his rank unshaked of motion, and that I am he, let me a little show it even in this, that I was constant Simber should be banished, and constant do remain to keep him so. Oh, Caesar! Hence wilt thou lift up Olympus. Great Caesar! Doth not Brutus bookless kneel. Speak hands for me! Ask a first, then the other conspirators, and Brutus stab Caesar. Et tu Brute, then fall Caesar. Dies. Liberty, freedom, Tyrone is dead, run hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets. Some to the common pulpits and try out liberty, freedom, and enfranchisement. People and senators, be not affrighted, fly not, stand stiff, ambition's debt is paid. Go to the pulpit, Brutus. And Cassius too. Where is Publius? Here, quite confounded with this mutiny. Stand fast together, lest some friend of Caesar's should chance. Cock 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 should do your rage some mischief. Do so, and let no man abide this deed, but we, the doers. Re-enter Trebonius. Where is Antony? 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 be smear our swords. Then walk we forth even to the marketplace and waving our red weapons or our heads. Let's all cry peace, freedom, and liberty. Stoop, then, and wash. How many ages hence shall this alofty seen be acted over in states unborn and accents yet unknown? Many times shall Caesar bleed in sport, that now on Pompey's basis lies along no worthier than the dust. So oft is that shall be, so often shall the knot of us be called the men that gave their country liberty. What, shall we forth? Aye, every man away. Brutus shall lead, and we will grace his heels with the most boldest and best hearts of Rome. 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 feared Caesar, honoured 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 through 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 pleads him, come unto this place. He shall be satisfied. And by my honour depart untouched. I'll fetch him presently. Exit. I know that we shall have him well to friend. I wish we may, but yet I have a mind that fears him much, and my misgiving still falls shrewdly to the purpose. Ah, but here comes Antony. Re-enter Antony. Welcome, Mark Antony. O mighty Caesar, thus 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, fulfill 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 and cruel as, by our hands and this hour of 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 led in 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 than the disposing of new dignities. Only be patient until 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. I doubt not of your wisdom. Let each man render me his bloody hand. First, Marcus Brutus, will I shake with you. Next, Caius Caches, do I take your hand. Now, Desius Brutus, yours. Now, yours, Metellus, yours, Sina, and my valent Casca, yours. Though last, not last in love, yours, good Trebonius. 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. That I did love thee, Caesar, oh, tis true. If then thy spirit look upon us now, shall it not grieve thee dearer than thy death, to see thy, thy Anthony making his peace, shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes, most noble in the presence of thy course? 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. Here it was thou bade, brave heart. Here didst thou fall, and here thy hunters stand, signed in thy spoil, and crimsoned in thy lithy. O world, thou wasst the forest to this heart, and this indeed, O world, the heart of thee. How, like a deer, struck by many princes, dothst thou here lie? My Anthony. Pardon me, Caius Cassius. The enemies of Caesar shall say this. Then, in a friend, it is cold modesty. I blame you not for praising Caesar so. But what compact mean you to have with us? Will you be pricked in number of our friends? Or shall we on, and not depend on you? Therefore I took your hands, but was indeed, swayed 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 this was a savage spectacle. Our reasons are so full of good regard that were you, Anthony, the son of Caesar, you should be satisfied. That's all I seek, and am more oversudur that I may produce his body to the marketplace. And in the pulpit, as becomes a friend, speak in the order of his funeral. You shall, Mark Anthony. Brutus, a word with you. A side to Brutus. You know not what you do. Not consent that Anthony 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 Anthony shall speak, I will protest he speaks by leave and by permission. And that we, our contented Caesar, shall have all true rights and lawful ceremonies. I shall advantage more than do us wrong. I know not what may fall. I like it not. Mark Anthony. 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 it by our permission. Else shall you not have any hand at all about his funeral. And you shall speak in the same pulpit where to I am going, after my speech is ended. Be it so. I do desire no more. Prepare the body, then, and follow us. Excellent all but Anthony. O pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth, that I am meek and gentle with these butchers. Thou art the ruins of the noblest man that ever lived in the tide of times. Go to the hand that shed this costly blood. Over thy wounds now I do prophecy. Which, like dumb mouths, do hope their ruby lips to beg the voice and utterance of my tongue. A curse shall light upon the limbs of men. Domestic fury and fierce civil strife shall cumber all the parts of Italy. Blood and destruction shall be so in use and dreadful objects so familiar that mothers shall but smile when they behold their infants quartered with the hands of war. All pity choked with custom of fell deeds and Caesar's spirit, ranging for revenge, with Ati by his side, come hot from hell, shall in these confines with a monarch's voice cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war. That disfoul deed shall smell above the earth with carrion men groaning for burial. Enter a servant. You serve Octavius Caesar, do you not? I do, Mark Antony. Caesar did right for him to come to Rome. He did receive his letters and his coming and bid me say to you by word of mouth, oh Caesar! Seeing the body. Thy heart is big, get thee apart and weep. Passion, I see, is catching. For mine eyes, seeing those beads of sorrow stand in nine, begin to water. Is thy master coming? He lies to-night within seven leagues of Rome. Post back with speed and tell him what hath chanced. Here is a morning Rome, a dangerous Rome, no Rome of safety for Octavius yet. High hence and tell him so. Yet stay awhile. Thou shalt not back till I have borne this course into the marketplace. There shall I try in my oration how the people take the cruel issue of these bloody men. According to the witch, thou shalt discourse to young Octavius of the state of things. Lend me your hand. Excient with Caesar's body. Scene two. The Forum. Enter Brutus and Cassius and a throng of citizens. 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 them stay here. Those that will follow Cassius, with him and public reasons shall be rendered of Caesar's death. I will hear Brutus speak. I will hear Cassius and compare their reasons when severally we hear them rendered. Exit Cassius with some of the citizens. Brutus goes into the pulpit. 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 my honor and have respect to my honor that you may believe. Sendsure me and 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's 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 honor him. But as he was ambitious, I slew him. There is tears for his love. Joy for his fortune. Honor for his valor. And death for his ambition. Who is here so base that would be a bondamen? 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 capital, his glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy, nor his offenses enforced, for which he suffered death. Enter Antony and others with Caesar's body. 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. Live, Brutus! Live, live! Bring him with triumph home unto his house. Give him a statue with his ancestors. Let him be Caesar. Caesar's better part shall be crowned in Brutus. He shall bring him to his house with shouts and clamors. My countrymen! Peace, silence, Brutus speaks. 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, for your permission, is allowed to make. I do entreat you, not a man depart. Save I alone, till Antony have spoke. Exit. Stay, ho! And let us hear Mark Antony. Let him go up into the public chair. We'll hear him, noble Antony, go up. For Brutus's sake, I am beholding to you. Goes into the pulpit. What does he say of Brutus? He says, for Brutus's sake, he finds himself beholding to us all. To her best he speak no harm of Brutus here. This Caesar was a tyrant. Nay, that's certain. We are blessed that Rome is rid of him. Peace, let us hear what Antony can say. You gentle Romans. Peace, ho! Let us hear him. 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 off interred with their bones. So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus hath told you Caesar was ambitious. If it were so, it was a grievous fault. And grievously hath Caesar answered it. Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest, for Brutus is an honorable man. So are they all, all honorable men. Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. He was my friend, faithful and just to me. But Brutus says he was ambitious. And Brutus is an honorable man. He hath brought many captives home to Rome, whose ransoms did the general coffers fill. Did this in Caesar seem ambitious? When that the poor hath cried, Caesar hath wept. Ambition should be made of sterner stuff. Yet Brutus says he was ambitious. And Brutus is an honorable man. You all did see that on the looper-cale, I thrice presented him a kingly crown, which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition? Yet Brutus says he was ambitious. And sure, he is an honorable man. I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke. But here I am to speak what I do know. You all did love him once, not without cause. What cause withholds you then to mourn for him? O judgment, thou art fled to Brutus's 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. Me thinks there is much reason in his sayings. 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, to certain, he was not ambitious. If it be found so, some will, dear, abide it. Poor soul, his eyes are as red as fire with weeping. There's not a nobler man in Rome than Antony. Now mark him. He begins again to speak. But yesterday the word of Caesar might have stood against the world. Now lies he there, and none so poor to do him reverence. O masters, if I were disposed to stir your hearts and minds at need and rage, I should do brutus wrong and cashish 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 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 from memory, and dying, mention it within their wills, be queething it, as a rich legacy unto their issue. We'll hear the will. Read it, Mark Antony. The will, the will, we will hear Caesar's will. Have patience, gentle friends. I must not read it. It is not me, you know, how Caesar loved you. You are not wood, you are not stones, but men. And, being men, bearing 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, all, what would come of it? Read the will. We'll hear it, Antony. He 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. I do fear it. They were traitors, honorable men. The will, the testament. They were villains, murderers. The will, read the will. You will compel me, then, to read the will. Then make a ring about 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. You shall have leave. Antony comes down. A ring. Stand round. Stand from the hearse. Stand from the body. Room for Antony, most noble Antony. Nay, press not so upon me. Stand far off. Stand back. Room. Bear back. 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. It was on a summer's evening in his tent. That day he overcame the nervii. Look, in this place ran Cassius's 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 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, O you gods, how dearly Caesar loved him. This was the most unkindest cut of all. For when the noble Caesar saw him stab, in gratitude, more strong than traders' 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 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, 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 Caesar's vesture wounded? Look you here. Here is himself, marred, as you see, with traders. Oh, pity is spectacle. Oh, noble Caesar. Oh, woeful day. Oh, traders, villains. Oh, most bloody sight. You will be revenged. Revenge about seek, burn, fire, kill, play, let not a trader live. Stay, countrymen. Peace there. Hear the noble Antony. We'll hear him. We'll follow him. We'll die with him. 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, and 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. We'll burn the house of Brutus. Away then, come, seek the conspirators. Yet hear me countrymen, yet hear me speak. Peace whole. Hear Antony, most noble Antony. Why friends, you go to do you know not what. Wherein has Caesar thus deserved your loves? Alas, you know not. I must tell you then, you have forgot the will I told you of. Most true. The will. Let's stay and hear the will. Here is the will, and under Caesar's seal. To every Roman citizen he gives, to every several man, 75 drachmas. Most noble Caesar will revenge his death. O royal Caesar. Hear me with patience. Peace whole. Moreover, he hath left you all his walks, his private arbors, and new planted orchards on this side of Tiber. He hath left them you, and to your heirs forever. Common pleasures to walk abroad and recreate yourselves. Here was a Caesar. When comes such another? Never, never. Come away, away. We'll burn his body in the holy place, and with the brand's fire the traitors' houses. Take up the body. Go, fetch fire. Pluck down benches. Pluck down forms, windows, anything. Exiant citizens with the body. Now let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot. Take thou what course thou wilt. Enter a servant. Ho now, fellow. Sir, Octavius is already come to Rome. Where is he? He and Lepidus are at Caesar's house. And thither will I straight to visit him. He comes upon a wish. Fortune is merry, and in this mood will give us anything. I heard him say, Brutus and Cassius are rid like madmen through the gates of Rome. Be like they had some notice of the people, how I had moved them. Bring me to Octavius. Exiant. Scene three. A street. Enter Sina, the poet. I dreamt tonight that I did feast with Caesar and things unlucky charged my fantasy. I have no will to find the force of those. Yet something leads me forth. Enter citizens. What is your name? Whither are you going? Where do you dwell? Are you a married man or a bachelor? Answer every man directly. I and briefly. I and wisely. I and truly you were best. What is my name? Whither am I going? Where do you dwell? Am I married or a bachelor? Then to answer every man directly and briefly, wisely and truly, wisely I say I am a bachelor. That's as much as to say they are fools that marry. You'll bear me a bang for that, I fear. Proceed directly. Directly, I am going to see Caesar's funeral. As a friend or an enemy? As a friend. That matter is answered directly. For your dwelling, briefly. Briefly dwell by the capital. Your name, sir. Truly. Truly. My name is Sina. Tear him to pieces. He's a conspirator. I'm Sina the poet. I'm Sina the poet. Tear him for his bad verses. Tear him for his bad verses. I'm not Sina the conspirator. It is no matter. His name's Sina. Plucked by his name out of his heart and turned him going. Tear him. Tear him. Cumbrand's hoe. Firebrand's. To Brutus. To Cassius. Burnall. Some to Decius. House. And some to Cascas. Some to Ligurius. Away go. Excellent. End of Act 3.