Cas.
Trebonius knows his time; for, look you, Brutus,
He draws Mark Antony out of his way.

Dec.
Where is Mettellus Cimber? let him go,
And presently prefer his suit to Cæsar.

Bru.
He is addrest; press near and second him.

Cin.
Casca, you are the first that rears your hand.

Cæs.
Are we all ready? what is now amiss,
That Cæsar and his senate must redress?

Met.
Most high, most mighty, and most puissant Cæsar,
Metellus Cimber throws before thy seat [Kneeling.
An humble heart.

Cæs.
I must prevent thee, Cimber;
These couching and these lowly courtesies
Might fire the blood of ordinary men,
And turn pre-ordinance and first decree
Into the lane of children. Be not fond,
To think that Cæsar bears such rebel blood,
That will be thaw'd from the true quality,
With that which melteth fools; I mean, sweet words;
Low crooked curtsies, 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.
Know, Cæsar doth not wrong, nor without cause,
Will he be satisfied.

Met.
Is there no voice more worthy than my own,
To sound more sweetly in great Cæsar's ear,
For the repealing of my banished brother?

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

Cæs.
What, Brutus!

Cas.
Pardon, Cæsar; Cæsar pardon;
As low as to thy foot doth Cassius fall,
To beg enfranchisement for Publius Cimber.

Cæs.
I could be well mov'd, if I were as you;
If I could pray to move, prayers would move me:
But I am constant as the northern star,
Of whose true fixt and resting quality,
There is no fellow in the firmament:
The skies are painted with unnumber'd 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 furnish'd 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,
Unshak'd of motion: and that one am I.
Let me a little shew it, even in this;
That I was constant Cimber should be banish'd,
And constant do remain to keep him so.

Cim.
O Cæsar—

Cæs.
Hence! wilt thou lift up Olympus?

Dec.
Great Cæsar—

Cæs.
Doth not Brutus bootless kneel?

Casca.
Speak hands for me. [They stab Cæsar.

Cæs.
Et tu, Brute?—then fall Cæsar!* ^note [Dies.

Bru.
Liberty! freedom! tyranny is dead—
Run hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets—

Cas.
Some to the common pulpits, and cry out,
Liberty, freedom, and enfranchisement.

Bru.
People and senators! be not affrighted;
Fly not, stand still. Ambition's debt is paid.
There is no harm intended to your persons,
Nor to no Roman else. [Exeunt all the senators.

Cas.
Leave us, Publius, lest that the people,
Rushing on us, should do your age some mischief.

Bru.
Do so; and let no man abide this deed,
But we the doers. Enter Trebonius.

Cas.
Where is Antony?

Tre.
Fled to his house, amaz'd.
Men, wives, and children stare, cry out, and run,
As it were doom's-day.

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

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

Bru.
Grant that, and then is death a benefit.
So are we Cæsar's friends, that have abridg'd
His time of fearing death. Stoop, Romans, stoop;
And let us bathe our hands in Cæsar's blood,
Then walk we forth, e'en to the market-place,
And, waving our red weapons o'er our heads,
Let's all cry peace! freedom! and liberty! Cas.† ^note
Stoop then, and wash—how many ages hence, [Dipping their swords in Cæsar's blood.
Shall this our lofty scene be acted o'er,
In states unborn, and accents yet unknown? Bru.
How many times shall Cæsar bleed in sport,
That now on Pompey's basis lies along,
No worthier than the dust? Cas.
So oft as that shall be,
So often shall the knot of us be called
The men that gave their country liberty.

Dec.
What, shall we forth?

Cas.
Ay, every man away.
Brutus shall lead, and we will grace his heels,
With the most boldest, and best hearts of Rome. Enter a Servant.

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

Ser.
Thus, Brutus, did my master bid me kneel;* ^note
Thus did Mark Antony bid me fall down; [Kneeling.
And, being prostrate, thus he bad me say.
Brutus is noble, wise, valiant, and honest;
Cæsar was mighty, royal, bold, and loving:
Say, I love Brutus, and I honour him;
Say, I fear'd Cæsar, honour'd him, and lov'd him.
If Brutus will vouchsafe that Antony

May safely come to him and be resolved
How Cæsar hath deserved to lie in death:
Mark Antony shall not love Cæsar 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 truth faith. So says my master Antony.

Bru.
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.

Serv.
I'll fetch him, presently. [Exit Servant.

Bru.
I know that we shall have him well to friend.

Cas.
I wish, we may: but yet have I a mind,
That fears him much. Enter Antony.* ^note

Bru.
But here he comes. Welcome, Mark Antony.

Ant.
O mighty Cæsar, dost thou lie so low?† ^note
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 Cæsar's death's-hour; nor no instrument
Of half that worth, as those your swords, made rich
With the most noble blood of all this world.
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 Cæsar, and by you cut off,
The choice and master-spirits of this age.

Bru.
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,
Our hearts you see not, they are pitiful;
And pity for the general wrong of Rome
Hath done this deed on Cæsar: for your part,
To you our swords have leaden points, Mark Antony;
And our hearts of brothers temper, do receive you in,
With all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence.

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

Bru.
Only be patient, 'till we have appeas'd
The multitude, beside themselves with fear;
And then we will deliver you the cause,
Why I, that did love Cæsar when I struck him,
Proceeded thus.

Ant.
I doubt not of your wisdom.
Let each man render me his bloody hand;* ^note
First, Marcus Brutus, will I shake with you;
Next, Caius Cassius, do I take your hand;
Now, Decius Brutus, yours; now yours, Metellus;
Yours, Cinna; and my valiant Casca, yours;
Though last, not least 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, Cæsar, oh, 'tis true:
If then thy spirit look upon us now,
Shall it not grieve thee, dearer than thy death,
To see thy Antony making his peace,
Shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes,
Most noble! in the presence of thy coarse?
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 wast thou bay'd, good hart:
Here didst thou fall, and here thy hunters stand,
Sign'd in thy spoil, and crimson'd in thy death.

Cas.
Mark Antony—

Ant.
Pardon me, Caius Cassius:
The enemies of Cæsar shall say this:
Then, in a friend, it is cold modesty.

Cas.
I blame you not for praising Cæsar so,
But what compact mean you to have with us?
Will you be prickt in number of our friends,
Or shall we on, and not depend on you?

Ant.
Therefore I took your hands; but was, indeed,
Sway'd from the point, by looking down on Cæsar.
Friends am I with you all, and love you all;
Upon this hope, that you shall give me reasons,
Why, and wherein Cæsar was dangerous.

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

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

Bru.
You shall, Mark Antony.

Cas.
Brutus, a word with you.—* ^note
You know not what you do; do not consent [Aside.
That Antony speak in his funeral:
Know you how much the people may be mov'd
By that which he will utter?

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

Cas.
I know not what may fall, I like it not.

Bru.
Mark Antony, here take you Cæsar's body:
You shall not in your funeral-speech blame us,
But speak all good you can devise, of Cæsar;
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.

Ant.
Be it so;
I do desire no more.

Bru.
Prepare the body then, and follow us. [Exeunt conspirators. Manet Antony.

Ant.† ^note
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.
Woe to the hand, that shed this costly blood!
Over thy wounds now do I prophesy,

(Which, like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips,
To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue)
A curse shall light upon the limbs of men;
Domestick 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 quarter'd by the hands of war,
All pity choak'd with custom of fell deeds;
And Cæsar's spirit, ranging for revenge,
With Ate by his side come hot from hell,
Shall in these confines, with a monarch's voice,
Cry havock, and let slip the dogs of war;
That this foul deed shall smell above the earth. Enter Octavius's servant.
You serve Octavius Cæsar, do you not?

Ser.
I do, Mark Antony.

Ant.
Cæsar did write for him to come to Rome.

Ser.
He did receive his letters, and is coming;
And bid me say to you by word of mouth—
O Cæsar! [Seeing the body.

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

Ser.
He lies to-night within seven leagues of Rome.

Ant.
Post back with speed, and tell him what hath chanc'd
Here is a mourning Rome, a dangerous Rome,
No Rome of safety for Octavius yet;
Hie hence, and tell him so. Yet stay, a while;
Thou shalt not back, 'till I have borne this coarse
Into the market-place; there shall I try,
In my oration, how the people take
The cruel issue of these bloody men;
According to the which, thou shalt discourse
To young Octavius of the state of things. [Exeunt with Cæsar's body.

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