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stage directions:
dumb show
Enter Flavius, Marullus, and certain Commoners,including a Carpenter and a Cobbler, over the stage.
All the Commoners exit.
They exit in different directions.
Enter Caesar, Antony for the course, Calphurnia, Portia,Decius, Cicero, Brutus, Cassius, Casca, a Soothsayer;after them Marullus and Flavius and Commoners.
The Soothsayer comes forward.
All but Brutus and Cassius exit.
Flourish and shout.
Shout. Flourish.
Enter Caesar and his train.
Caesar and his train exitbut Casca remains behind.
He exits.
Brutus exits.
He exits.
Thunder and lightning.
Enter Casca and Cicero.
Cicero exits.
Enter Cassius.
Thunder still.
They shake hands.
Enter Cinna.
, handing him papers
Cinna exits.
They exit.
Enter Brutus in his orchard.
Enter Lucius.
He exits.
Enter Lucius.
Gives him the letter.
He exits.
Opens the letter and reads.
Enter Lucius.
Knock within.
Lucius exits.
Enter Lucius.
Lucius exits.
Enter the conspirators, Cassius, Casca, Decius, Cinna,Metellus, and Trebonius.
Brutus and Cassius whisper.
, coming forward with Cassius
Clock strikes.
All but Brutus exit.
Enter Portia.
She kneels.
He lifts her up.
Portia exits.
Enter Lucius and Ligarius.
Lucius exits.
He takes off his kerchief.
They exit.
Thunder and lightning.
Enter Julius Caesar in hisnightgown.
Enter a Servant.
He exits.
Enter Calphurnia.
Enter a Servant.
She kneels.
He lifts her up.
Enter Decius.
Enter Brutus, Ligarius, Metellus, Casca, Trebonius,Cinna, and Publius.
Enter Antony.
, to Servant
Servant exits.
, aside
They exit.
Enter Artemidorus reading a paper.
He exits.
Enter Portia and Lucius.
Enter the Soothsayer.
He exits.
To Lucius.
They exit separately.
Enter Caesar, Antony, Lepidus; Brutus, Cassius,Casca, Decius, Metellus, Trebonius, Cinna; Publius,Popilius, Artemidorus, the Soothsayer, and otherSenators and Petitioners.
Caesar goes forward, the rest following.
, to Cassius
He walks away.
Trebonius and Antony exit.
, kneeling
, kneeling
, kneeling
, kneeling
, kneeling
As Casca strikes, the others rise up and stab Caesar.
He dies.
All but the Conspirators exit.
Enter Trebonius.
They smear their hands and swords with Caesar’s blood.
Enter a Servant.
, kneeling
Servant exits.
Enter Antony.
Aside to Brutus.
, aside to Cassius
, aside to Brutus
All but Antony exit.
Enter Octavius’ Servant.
They exit with Caesar’s body.
Enter Brutus and Cassius with the Plebeians.
Cassius exits with some of the Plebeians.
Brutus goes into the pulpit.
Enter Mark Antony and others with Caesar’s body.
He descends and exits.
He goes into the pulpit.
He weeps.
Antony descends.
Antony lifts Caesar’s cloak.
Plebeians exit with Caesar’s body.
Enter Servant.
They exit.
Enter Cinna the poet and after him the Plebeians.
All the Plebeians exit, carrying off Cinna.
Enter Antony, Octavius, and Lepidus.
Lepidus exits.
They exit.
Enter Brutus, Lucilius, Lucius, and the Army.Titinius and Pindarus meet them.
Brutus and Lucilius walk aside.
Low march within.
Enter Cassius and his powers.
All but Brutus and Cassius exit.
Offering his dagger to Brutus.
They clasp hands.
Enter a Poet followed by Lucilius, Titinius, and Lucius.
Poet exits.
Lucilius and Titinius exit.
Lucius exits.
Enter Lucius with wine and tapers.
He drinks.
He drinks.
Lucius exits.
Enter Titinius and Messala.
They sit.
They stand.
Enter Lucius.
Lucius exits.
Enter Lucius with the gown.
All but Brutus and Lucius exit.
Enter Varro and Claudius.
They lie down.
Music and a song.
Lucius then falls asleep.
He moves the instrument.
Enter the Ghost of Caesar.
Ghost exits.
To Varro.
They rise up.
They exit.
Enter Octavius, Antony, and their army.
Enter a Messenger.
Enter Brutus, Cassius, and their army includingLucilius, Titinius, and Messala.
, to his Officers
The Generals step forward.
He draws.
Octavius, Antony, and their army exit.
Lucilius and Messala stand forth.
Brutus and Lucilius step aside together.
Brutus returns to Cassius.
They exit.
Enter Brutus and Messala.
He hands Messala papers.
Loud alarum.
They exit.
Enter Cassius carrying a standard andTitinius.
Enter Pindarus.
He exits.
Pindarus goes up.
, above.
Pindarus comes down.
Pindarus stabs him.
He dies.
He exits.
Enter Titinius and Messala.
Messala exits.
Laying the garland on Cassius’ brow.
He dies on Cassius’ sword.
Enter Brutus, Messala, young Cato, Strato,Volumnius, and Lucilius, Labeo, and Flavius.
Low alarums.
They exit.
Enter Brutus, Messala, Cato, Lucilius, andFlavius.
Brutus, Messala, and Flavius exit.
Enter Soldiers
and fight.
Cato is killed.
, seizing Lucilius
Offering money.
Enter Antony.
They exit in different directions.
Enter Brutus, Dardanus, Clitus, Strato, and Volumnius.
He sits down.
He whispers to Clitus.
He whispers to Dardanus.
Dardanus and Clitus step aside.
Low alarums.
Alarum continues.
Alarum. Cry within Fly, fly, fly!
All exit but Brutus and Strato.
Brutus runs on his sword.
He dies.
Alarum. Retreat.
Enter Antony, Octavius, Messala,Lucilius, and the army.
They all exit.
Julius Caesar



Stand you directly in Antonius’ way
When he doth run his course.—Antonius.

Forget not in your speed, Antonius,
To touch Calphurnia, for our elders say
The barren, touchèd in this holy chase,
Shake off their sterile curse.

Set on and leave no ceremony out.

Ha! Who calls?

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 hear.

What man is that?

Set him before me. Let me see his face.

What sayst thou to me now? Speak once again.

He is a dreamer. Let us leave him. Pass.


Let me have men about me that are fat,
Sleek-headed men, and such as sleep a-nights.
Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look.
He thinks too much. Such men are dangerous.

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, Antony; 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
Whiles 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 think’st of him.

Nor heaven nor earth have been at peace tonight.
Thrice hath Calphurnia in her sleep cried out
Help ho, they murder Caesar!—Who’s within?

My lord.

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

I will, my lord.

Caesar shall forth. The things that threatened me
Ne’er looked but on my back. When they shall see
The face of Caesar, they are vanishèd.

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 to Caesar.

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 most strange that men should fear,
Seeing that death, a necessary end,
Will come when it will come.
What say the augurers?

They would not have you to stir forth today.
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.

Mark Antony shall say I am not well,
And for thy humor I will stay at home.
Here’s Decius Brutus; he shall tell them so.

And you are come in very happy time
To bear my greeting to the Senators
And tell them that I will not come today.
Cannot is false, and that I dare not, falser.
I will not come today. Tell them so, Decius.

Shall Caesar send a lie?
Have I in conquest stretched mine arm so far,
To be afeard to tell graybeards the truth?
Decius, go tell them Caesar will not come.

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.
Calphurnia here, my wife, stays me at home.
She dreamt tonight she saw my statue,
Which, like a fountain with an 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 today.

And this way have you well expounded it.

How foolish do your fears seem now, Calphurnia!
I am ashamèd I did yield to them.
Give me my robe, for I will go.
And look where Publius is come to fetch me.

Welcome, Publius.—
What, Brutus, are you stirred 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?

I thank you for your pains and courtesy.
See, Antony that revels long a-nights
Is notwithstanding up.—Good morrow, Antony.

Bid them prepare within.—
I am to blame to be thus waited for.
Now, Cinna.—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.

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

The ides of March are come.

What touches us ourself shall be last served.

What, is the fellow mad?

Are we all ready? What is now amiss
That Caesar and his Senate must redress?

I must prevent thee, Cimber.
These couchings and these lowly courtesies
Might fire the blood of ordinary men
And turn preordinance 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 melteth fools—I mean sweet
Low-crookèd curtsies, and base spaniel fawning.
Thy brother by decree is banishèd.
If thou dost bend and pray and fawn for him,
I spurn thee like a cur out of my way.
Know: Caesar doth not wrong, nor without cause
Will he be satisfied.

What, Brutus?

I could be well moved, 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 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 Cimber should be banished
And constant do remain to keep him so.

Hence. Wilt thou lift up Olympus?

Doth not Brutus bootless kneel?

Et tu, Brutè?—Then fall, Caesar.

Thy evil spirit, Brutus.

To tell thee thou shalt see me at Philippi.

Ay, at Philippi.

his wife

Here, my lord.

What mean you, Caesar? Think you to walk forth?
You shall not stir out of your house today.

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 whelpèd 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 Capitol.
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.
O Caesar, these things are beyond all use,
And I do fear them.

When beggars die there are no comets seen;
The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of

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 today.
Let me, upon my knee, prevail in this.

Say he is sick.

Servant to them

My lord.

I will, my lord.

They would not have you to stir forth today.
Plucking the entrails of an offering forth,
They could not find a heart within the beast.

Marcus Brutus

A soothsayer bids you beware the ides of March.

Not I.

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.

Be not deceived. If I have veiled my look,
I turn the trouble of my countenance
Merely upon myself. Vexèd 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.

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

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

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

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 honor in one eye and death i’ th’ other
And I will look on both indifferently;
For let the gods so speed me as I love
The name of honor more than I fear death.

Another general shout!
I do believe that these applauses are
For some new honors that are heaped on Caesar.

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.

The games are done, and Caesar is returning.

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.
Calphurnia’s cheek is pale, and Cicero
Looks with such ferret and such fiery eyes
As we have seen him in the Capitol,
Being crossed in conference by some senators.

Ay, Casca. Tell us what hath chanced today
That Caesar looks so sad.

I should not then ask Casca what had chanced.

What was the second noise for?

Was the crown offered him thrice?

Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca.

’Tis very like; he hath the falling sickness.

What said he when he came unto himself?

And, after that, he came thus sad away?

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

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.

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!

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

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
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.
Th’ abuse of greatness is when it disjoins
Remorse from power. And, to speak truth of Caesar,
I have not known when his affections swayed
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 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, would, as his kind, grow
And kill him in the shell.

Get you to bed again. It is not day.
Is not tomorrow, boy, the ides of March?

Look in the calendar, and bring me word.

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, etc. Speak, strike, redress!

Brutus, thou sleep’st. Awake.
Such instigations have been often dropped
Where I have took them up.
Shall Rome, etc. Thus must I piece it out:
Shall Rome stand under one man’s awe? What,
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? O Rome, I make thee promise,
If the redress will follow, thou receivest
Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus.

’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.

Is he alone?

Do you know

Let ’em enter.
They are the faction. O conspiracy,
Sham’st thou to show thy dang’rous 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,
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 have been up this hour, awake all night.
Know I these men that come along with you?

He is welcome hither.

He is welcome too.

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

Give me your hands all over, one by one.

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 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 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 th’ 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 passed from him.

O, name him not! Let us not break with him,
For he will never follow anything
That other men begin.

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’s 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 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.

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.

Peace, count the clock.

By the eighth hour, is that the uttermost?

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.

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.

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.

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

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

Kneel not, gentle Portia.

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

O you 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?

Caius Ligarius, that Metellus spoke of.—
Boy, stand aside.
Caius Ligarius, how?

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

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

A piece of work that will make sick men whole.

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

Follow me then.

Caesar, ’tis strucken eight.

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

What said Popilius Lena?

Look how he makes to Caesar. Mark him.

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

He is addressed. Press near and second him.

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

People and Senators, be not affrighted.
Fly not; stand still. Ambition’s debt is paid.

Where’s Publius?

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

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

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

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 marketplace,
And, waving our red weapons o’er our heads,
Let’s all cry Peace, freedom, and liberty!

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

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

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 honor,
Depart untouched.

I know that we shall have him well to friend.

But here comes Antony.—Welcome, Mark Antony!

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.

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.

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.

You shall, Mark Antony.

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.

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.

Prepare the body, then, and follow us.

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 renderèd
Of Caesar’s death.

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 honor, and have respect to mine honor
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
freemen? 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 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.

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 offenses 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.

My countrymen—

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 allowed to make.
I do entreat you, not a man depart,
Save I alone, till Antony have spoke.

Stand ho!

What now, Lucilius, is Cassius near?

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.

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

Thou hast described
A hot friend cooling. Ever note, Lucilius,
When love begins to sicken and decay
It useth an enforcèd 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?

Hark, he is arrived.
March gently on to meet him.

Stand ho! Speak the word along.

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

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.

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

You wronged yourself to write in such a case.

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

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

Remember March; the ides of March remember.
Did not great Julius bleed for justice’ sake?
What villain touched 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 honors
For so much trash as may be graspèd thus?
I had rather be a dog and bay the moon
Than such a Roman.

Go to! You are not, Cassius.

I say you are not.

Away, slight man!

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

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 humor? 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.

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.

If you did, I care not.

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


For your life you durst

You have done that you should be sorry for.
There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats,
For I am armed 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 answered 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!

You did.

I do not, till you practice them on me.

I do not like your faults.

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

Sheathe your
Be angry when you will, it shall have scope.
Do what you will, dishonor shall be humor.
O Cassius, you are yokèd with a lamb
That carries anger as the flint bears fire,
Who, much enforcèd, shows a hasty spark
And straight is cold again.

When I spoke that, I was ill-tempered too.

And my heart too.

What’s the matter?

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

Get you hence, sirrah! Saucy fellow, hence!

I’ll know his humor when he knows his time.
What should the wars do with these jigging fools?—
Companion, hence!

Lucilius and Titinius, bid the commanders
Prepare to lodge their companies tonight.

Lucius, a bowl of wine.

O Cassius, I am sick of many griefs.

No man bears sorrow better. Portia is dead.

She is dead.

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

Even so.

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

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

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

With what addition?

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

No, Messala.

Nothing, Messala.

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

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

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

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

Your reason?

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 refreshed, 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.

Under your pardon. You must note besides
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.

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.

My gown.
Farewell, good Messala.—
Good night, Titinius.—Noble, noble Cassius,
Good night and good repose.

Everything is well.

Good night, good brother.

Farewell, everyone.
Give me the gown. Where is thy instrument?

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

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.

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.

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?

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

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

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 murd’rous slumber,
Layest 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 turned 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 mak’st my blood cold and my hair to stare?
Speak to me what thou art.

Why com’st thou?

Well, then I shall see thee again?

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!

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

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

Yes, that thou didst. Didst thou see anything?

Sleep again, Lucius.—Sirrah Claudius!
Fellow thou, awake!

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

Ay. Saw you anything?

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

They stand and would have parley.

Words before blows; is it so, countrymen?

Good words are better than bad strokes, Octavius.

O yes, and soundless too,
For you have stolen their buzzing, Antony,
And very wisely threat before you sting.

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

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

Ho, Lucilius, hark, a word with you.

Even so, Lucilius.

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.

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.
Forever and forever farewell, Cassius.
If we do meet again, why we shall smile;
If not, why then 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!

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.

Where, where, Messala, doth his body lie?

Titinius’ face is upward.

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

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
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!

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

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

Peace, then, no words.

Hark thee, Dardanus.

Come hither, good Volumnius. List a word.

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

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.

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 labored to attain this hour.

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 honor in it.
Hold, then, my sword, and turn away thy face
While I do run upon it. Wilt thou, Strato?

Farewell, good Strato.
Caesar, now be still.
I killed not thee with half so good a will.

his wife

Brutus, my lord.

Nor for yours neither. You’ve ungently, Brutus,
Stole from my bed. And yesternight 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 ungentle 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 enkindled, and withal
Hoping it was but an effect of humor,
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 prevailed on your condition,
I should not know you Brutus. Dear my lord,
Make me acquainted with your cause of grief.

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

Is Brutus sick? And is it physical
To walk unbracèd and suck up the humors
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 unpurgèd air
To add unto his sickness? No, my Brutus,
You have some sick offense within your mind,
Which by the right and virtue of my place
I ought to know of. And upon my
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, your self, your half,
Why you are heavy, and what men tonight
Have had resort to you; for here have been
Some six or seven who did hide their faces
Even from darkness.

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 your self
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
Of your good pleasure? If it be no more,
Portia is Brutus’ harlot, not his wife.

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 fathered 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?

I prithee, boy, run to the Senate House.
Stay not to answer me, but get thee gone.
Why dost thou stay?

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 ’tween my heart and tongue.
I have a man’s mind but a woman’s might.
How hard it is for women to keep counsel!—
Art thou here yet?

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?

Prithee, listen well.
I heard a bustling rumor like a fray,
And the wind brings it from the Capitol.

Come hither, fellow. Which way hast thou been?

What is ’t o’clock?

Is Caesar yet gone to the Capitol?

Thou hast some suit to Caesar, hast thou not?

Why, know’st thou any harms intended towards

I must go in. Ay me, how weak a thing
The heart of woman is! O Brutus,
The heavens speed thee in thine enterprise!
Sure the boy heard me. Brutus hath a
That Caesar will not grant. O, I grow
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.

their servant

Called you, my lord?

I will, my lord.

The taper burneth in your closet, sir.
Searching the window for a flint, I found
This paper, thus sealed up, and I am sure
It did not lie there when I went to bed.

I know not, sir.

I will, sir.

Sir, March is wasted fifteen days.

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

No, sir. There are more with him.

No, sir. Their hats are plucked about their ears,
And half their faces buried in their cloaks,
That by no means I may discover them
By any mark of favor.

Here is a sick man that would speak with you.

To know my errand, madam.

Madam, what should I do?
Run to the Capitol, and nothing else?
And so return to you, and nothing else?

I hear none, madam.

Sooth, madam, I hear nothing.

Here in the tent.

Varro and Claudius.

I was sure your lordship did not give it me.

Ay, my lord, an ’t please you.

It is my duty, sir.

I have slept, my lord, already.

The strings, my lord, are false.

My lord?

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

Nothing, my lord.

patricians who, with Brutus, conspire against Caesar
Caius Cassius

Fellow, come from the throng.
Look upon Caesar.

Will you go see the order of the course?

I pray you, do.

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.

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?

’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 wished that noble Brutus had his eyes.

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 laughter, or did use
To stale with ordinary oaths my love
To every new protester; if you know
That I do fawn on men and hug them hard
And after scandal them, or if you know
That I profess myself in banqueting
To all the rout, then hold me dangerous.

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

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 as lief not be as live to be
In awe 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 Tiber chafing with her shores,
Caesar said to me Dar’st thou, Cassius, nowLeap in with me into this angry flood
And swim to yonder point?
Upon the word,
Accoutered as I was, I plungèd 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 Aeneas, our great ancestor,
Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder
The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tiber
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. ’Tis true, this god did shake.
His coward lips did from their color fly,
And that same eye whose bend doth awe the world
Did lose his luster. I did hear him groan.
Ay, and that tongue of his that bade the Romans
Mark him and write his speeches in their books,
Alas, it cried Give me some drink, Titinius
As a sick girl. You 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.

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 dishonorable 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
Why should that name be sounded more than
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 talked of Rome,
That her wide walks encompassed 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 brooked
Th’ eternal devil to keep his state in Rome
As easily as a king.

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

As they pass by, pluck Casca by the sleeve,
And he will, after his sour fashion, tell you
What hath proceeded worthy note today.

Casca will tell us what the matter is.

They shouted thrice. What was the last cry for?

Who offered him the crown?

But soft, I pray you. What, did Caesar swoon?

No, Caesar hath it not; but you and I
And honest Casca, we have the falling sickness.

Did Cicero say anything?

To what effect?

Will you sup with me tonight, Casca?

Will you dine with me tomorrow?

Good. I will expect you.

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.

I will do so. Till then, think of the world.
Well, Brutus, thou art noble. Yet I see
Thy honorable mettle may be wrought
From that it is disposed. Therefore it is meet
That noble minds keep ever with their likes;
For who so 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 humor me. I will this night
In several hands in at 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 ambition shall be glancèd at
And after this, let Caesar seat him sure,
For we will shake him, or worse days endure.

Who’s there?

Casca, by your voice.

A very pleasing night to honest men.

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 unbracèd, Casca, as you see,
Have bared my bosom to the thunder-stone;
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.

You are 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, fools, and children calculate,
Why all these things change from their ordinance,
Their natures, and preformèd faculties,
To monstrous quality—why, you shall find
That heaven hath infused them with these spirits
To make them instruments of fear and warning
Unto some monstrous state.
Now could I, Casca, name to thee a man
Most like this dreadful night,
That thunders, lightens, opens graves, and roars
As doth the lion in the Capitol;
A man no mightier than thyself or me
In personal action, yet prodigious grown,
And fearful, as these strange eruptions are.

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 mothers’ spirits.
Our yoke and sufferance show us womanish.

I know where I will wear this dagger then;
Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius.
Therein, you gods, you make the weak most strong;
Therein, you 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.

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 offal when it serves
For the base matter to illuminate
So vile a thing as Caesar! But, O grief,
Where hast thou led me? I perhaps speak this
Before a willing bondman; then, I know
My answer must be made. But I am armed,
And dangers are to me indifferent.

There’s a bargain made.
Now know you, Casca, I have moved already
Some certain of the noblest-minded Romans
To undergo with me an enterprise
Of honorable-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 favor ’s like the work we have in hand,
Most bloody, fiery, and most terrible.

’Tis Cinna; I do know him by his gait.
He is a friend.—Cinna, where haste you so?

No, it is Casca, one incorporate
To our attempts. Am I not stayed for, Cinna?

Am I not stayed for? Tell me.

Be you content. Good Cinna, 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’ statue. All this done,
Repair to Pompey’s Porch, where you shall find us.
Is Decius Brutus and Trebonius there?

That done, repair to Pompey’s Theater.
Come, Casca, you and I will yet ere day
See Brutus at his house. Three parts of him
Is ours already, and the man entire
Upon the next encounter yields him ours.

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.

I think we are too bold upon your rest.
Good morrow, Brutus. Do we trouble you?

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

This, Decius Brutus.

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

Shall I entreat a word?

And let us swear our resolution.

But what of Cicero? Shall we sound him?
I think he will stand very strong with us.

Then leave him out.

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.

Yet I fear him,
For in the engrafted love he bears to Caesar—

The clock hath stricken

But it is doubtful yet
Whether 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 augurers
May hold him from the Capitol today.

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

The morning comes upon ’s. We’ll leave you,
And, friends, disperse yourselves, but all remember
What you have said, and show yourselves true

What, urge you your petitions in the street?
Come to the Capitol.

What enterprise, Popilius?

He wished today our enterprise might thrive.
I fear our purpose is discoverèd.

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.

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

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

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

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

Where is Antony?

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

So oft as that shall be,
So often shall the knot of us be called
The men that gave their country liberty.

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

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

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

Mark Antony—

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?

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?

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

Stand ho!

Most noble brother, you have done me wrong.

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

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

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

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

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


Brutus, bait not me.
I’ll not endure it. You forget yourself
To hedge me in. I am a soldier, I,
Older in practice, abler than yourself
To make conditions.

I am.

Urge me no more. I shall forget myself.
Have mind upon your health. Tempt me no farther.

Is ’t possible?

O you gods, you gods, must I endure all this?

Is it come to this?

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

When Caesar lived he durst not thus have moved

I durst not?

What? Durst not tempt him?

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

I denied you not.

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.

You love me not.

A friendly eye could never see such faults.

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,
Checked like a bondman, all his faults observed,
Set in a notebook, learned and conned 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 Pluto’s 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
Than ever thou lovedst Cassius.

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

Do you confess so much? Give me your hand.

O Brutus!

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

How now, what’s the matter?

Ha, ha, how vilely doth this cynic rhyme!

Bear with him, Brutus. ’Tis his fashion.

Away, away, be gone!

And come yourselves, and bring Messala with you
Immediately to us.

I did not think you could have been so angry.

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

Ha? Portia?

How ’scaped I killing when I crossed you so?
O insupportable and touching loss!
Upon what sickness?

And died so?

O you immortal gods!

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.

Portia, art thou gone?

Cicero one?

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

I do not think it good.

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

Hear me, good brother—

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

No more. Good night.
Early tomorrow will we rise and hence.

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

Good night, my lord.

Stand fast, Titinius. We must out and talk.

The posture of your blows are yet unknown,
But, for your words, they rob the Hybla bees
And leave them honeyless.

Flatterers?—Now, Brutus, thank yourself!
This tongue had not offended so today
If Cassius might have ruled.

A peevish schoolboy, worthless of such honor,
Joined with a masker and a reveler!

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


This is my birthday, as this very day
Was Cassius born. Give me thy hand, Messala.
Be thou my witness that against my will
(As Pompey was) am I compelled to set
Upon one battle all our liberties.
You know that I held Epicurus strong
And his opinion. Now I change my mind
And partly credit things that do presage.
Coming from Sardis, on our former ensign
Two mighty eagles fell, and there they perched,
Gorging and feeding from our soldiers’ hands,
Who to Philippi here consorted us.
This morning are they fled away and gone,
And in their steads do ravens, crows, and kites
Fly o’er our heads and downward look on us
As we were sickly prey. Their shadows seem
A canopy most fatal, under which
Our army lies, ready to give up the ghost.

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

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

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

Forever and forever farewell, Brutus.
If we do meet again, we’ll smile indeed;
If not, ’tis true this parting was well made.

O, look, Titinius, look, the villains fly!
Myself have to mine own turned enemy.
This ensign here of mine was turning back;
I slew the coward and did take it from him.

This hill is far enough.—Look, look, Titinius,
Are those my tents where I perceive the fire?

Titinius, if thou lovest me,
Mount thou my horse and hide thy spurs in him
Till he have brought thee up to yonder troops
And here again, that I may rest assured
Whether yond troops are friend or enemy.

Go, Pindarus, get higher on that hill.
My sight was ever thick. Regard Titinius
And tell me what thou not’st about the field.
This day I breathèd first. Time is come round,
And where I did begin, there shall I end;
My life is run his compass.—Sirrah, what news?

What news?

Come down, behold no more.—
O, coward that I am to live so long
To see my best friend ta’en before my face!
Come hither, sirrah.
In Parthia did I take thee prisoner,
And then I swore thee, saving of thy life,
That whatsoever I did bid thee do
Thou shouldst attempt it. Come now, keep thine
Now be a freeman, and with this good sword,
That ran through Caesar’s bowels, search this
Stand not to answer. Here, take thou the hilts,
And, when my face is covered, as ’tis now,
Guide thou the sword.
Caesar, thou art revenged
Even with the sword that killed thee.


Peace, ho! Caesar speaks.

Bid every noise be still. Peace, yet again!

You pulled me by the cloak. Would you speak
with me?

Why, you were with him, were you not?

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.

Why, for that too.

Why, for that too.

Ay, marry, was ’t, and he put it by thrice, every
time gentler than other; and at every putting-by,
mine honest neighbors shouted.

Why, Antony.

I can as well be hanged as tell the manner of it.
It was mere foolery; I did not mark it. I saw Mark
Antony offer him a crown (yet ’twas not a crown
neither; ’twas one of these coronets), and, as I told
you, he put it by once; but for all that, to my
thinking, he would fain have had it. Then he offered
it to him again; then he put it by again; but to my
thinking, he was very loath 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 rabblement
hooted and clapped their chopped hands and
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 and fell down at it. And for mine own part,
I durst not laugh for fear of opening my lips and
receiving the bad air.

He fell down in the marketplace and foamed at
mouth and was speechless.

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
theater, I am no true man.

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 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.


Ay, he spoke Greek.

Nay, an I tell you that, I’ll ne’er look you i’ th’
face again. But those that understood him smiled at
one another and shook their heads. But for mine
own part, it was Greek to me. I could tell you more
news too: Marullus and Flavius, for pulling scarves
off Caesar’s images, are put to silence. Fare you
well. There was more foolery yet, if I could remember

No, I am promised forth.

Ay, if I be alive, and your mind hold, and your
dinner worth the eating.

Do so. Farewell both.

Are not you moved, when all the sway of earth
Shakes like a thing unfirm? O Cicero,
I have seen tempests when the scolding winds
Have rived the knotty oaks, and I have seen
Th’ ambitious ocean swell and rage and foam
To be exalted with the threat’ning 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.

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 ha’ not since put up my sword),
Against the Capitol I met a lion,
Who glazed upon me and went surly by
Without annoying me. And there were drawn
Upon a heap a hundred ghastly women,
Transformèd 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 noonday 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.

He doth, for he did bid Antonius
Send word to you he would be there tomorrow.

Farewell, Cicero

A Roman.

Your ear is good. Cassius, what night is this!

Who ever knew the heavens menace so?

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 tokens send
Such dreadful heralds to astonish us.

’Tis Caesar that you mean, is it not, Cassius?

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.

So can I.
So every bondman in his own hand bears
The power to cancel his captivity.

You speak to Casca, and to such a man
That is no fleering telltale. 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.

Stand close awhile, for here comes one in haste.

O, he sits high in all the people’s hearts,
And that which would appear offense in us
His countenance, like richest alchemy,
Will change to virtue and to worthiness.


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
He first presents his fire, and the high east
Stands, as the Capitol, directly here.

Let us not leave him out.

Indeed, he is not fit.

Speak, hands, for me!

Go to the pulpit, Brutus.

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


To find out you. Who’s that? Metellus Cimber?

I am glad on ’t. What a fearful night is this!
There’s two or three of us have seen strange sights.

Yes, you are. O Cassius, if you could
But win the noble Brutus to our party—

All but Metellus Cimber, and he’s gone
To seek you at your house. Well, I will hie
And so bestow these papers as you bade me.

O pardon, sir, it doth; and yon gray lines
That fret the clouds are messengers of day.

No, by no means.

Be that the uttermost, and fail not then.

Casca, you are the first that rears your hand.

O Caesar—

Liberty! Freedom! Tyranny is dead!
Run hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets.

Here, quite confounded with this mutiny.

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

What is my name? Whither am I going? Where
do I dwell? Am I a married man or a bachelor?
Then to answer every man directly and briefly,
wisely and truly: wisely I say, I am a bachelor.

Directly, I am going to Caesar’s funeral.

As a friend.

Briefly, I dwell by the Capitol.

Truly, my name is Cinna.

I am Cinna the poet, I am Cinna the poet!

I am not Cinna the conspirator.

Decius Brutus

Here lies the east; doth not the day break here?

Shall no man else be touched, but only Caesar?

Never fear that. If he be so resolved,
I can o’ersway 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 flatterèd.
Let me work,
For I can give his humor the true bent,
And I will bring him to the Capitol.

Caesar, all hail! Good morrow, worthy Caesar.
I come to fetch you to the Senate House.

Most mighty Caesar, let me know some cause,
Lest I be laughed at when I tell them so.

This dream is all amiss interpreted.
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 Calphurnia’s dream is signified.

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 your proceeding bids me tell you this,
And reason to my love is liable.

Trebonius doth desire you to o’erread,
At your best leisure, this his humble suit.

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

Great Caesar—

And Cassius too.

What, shall we forth?

Caius Ligarius

Vouchsafe good morrow from a feeble tongue.

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

By all the gods that Romans bow before,
I here discard my sickness.
Soul of Rome,
Brave son derived from honorable loins,
Thou like an exorcist hast conjured up
My mortifièd spirit. Now bid me run,
And I will strive with things impossible,
Yea, get the better of them. What’s to do?

But are not some whole that we must make sick?

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.

Metellus Cimber

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.

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

Most high, most mighty, and most puissant Caesar,
Metellus Cimber throws before thy seat
An humble heart.

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

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


There is no fear in him. Let him not die,
For he will live and laugh at this hereafter.

’Tis time to part.

Caesar, I will. And so near will I be
That your best friends shall wish I had been further.

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


Good even, Casca. Brought you Caesar home?
Why are you breathless? And why stare you so?

Why, saw you anything more wonderful?

Indeed, it is a strange-disposèd time.
But men may construe things after their fashion,
Clean from the purpose of the things themselves.
Comes Caesar to the Capitol tomorrow?

Good night then, Casca. This disturbèd sky
Is not to walk in.


Good morrow, Caesar.

Sirrah, give place.

Popilius Lena

I wish your enterprise today may thrive.

Fare you well.


Hence! Home, you idle creatures, get you home!
Is this a holiday? What, know you not,
Being mechanical, you ought not walk
Upon a laboring day without the sign
Of your profession?—Speak, what trade art thou?

What trade, thou knave? Thou naughty knave, what

Thou art a cobbler, art thou?

But wherefore art not in thy shop today?
Why dost thou lead these men about the streets?

Go, go, good countrymen, and for this fault
Assemble all the poor men of your sort,
Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears
Into the channel, till the lowest stream
Do kiss the most exalted shores of all.
See whe’er their basest mettle be not moved.
They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness.
Go you down that way towards the Capitol.
This way will I. Disrobe the images
If you do find them decked with ceremonies.

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.


Where is thy leather apron and thy rule?
What dost thou with thy best apparel on?—
You, sir, what trade are you?

But what trade art thou? Answer me directly.

What mean’st thou by that? Mend me, thou saucy

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
O you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome,
Knew you not Pompey? Many a time and 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 livelong 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 Tiber 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.

May we do so?
You know it is the feast of Lupercal.

rulers of Rome in Acts 4 and 5
Mark Antony

Caesar, my lord.

I shall remember.
When Caesar says Do this, it is performed.


Fear him not, Caesar; he’s not dangerous.
He is a noble Roman, and well given.

So to most noble Caesar.

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 honor him;
Say, I feared Caesar, honored 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.

I’ll fetch him presently.

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’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 you, 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.

I doubt not of your wisdom.
Let each man render me his bloody hand.
First, Marcus Brutus, will I shake with you.—
Next, Caius Cassius, do I take your hand.—
Now, Decius Brutus, yours;—now yours,
Yours, Cinna;—and, my valiant Casca, yours;—
Though last, not least in love, yours, good
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, O, ’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 corpse?
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 bayed, brave
Here didst thou fall, and here thy hunters stand
Signed in thy spoil and crimsoned in thy Lethe.
O world, thou wast the forest to this hart,
And this indeed, O world, the heart of thee.
How like a deer strucken by many princes
Dost thou here lie!

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

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.

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

Be it so.
I do desire no more.

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 livèd 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;
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 Ate 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 this foul deed shall smell above the earth
With carrion men groaning for burial.
You serve Octavius Caesar, do you not?

Caesar did write for him to come to Rome.

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?

Post back with speed and tell him what hath
Here is a mourning Rome, a dangerous Rome,
No Rome of safety for Octavius yet.
Hie hence and tell him so.—Yet stay awhile;
Thou shalt not back till I have borne this corpse
Into the marketplace. There shall I try,
In my oration, how the people take
The cruel issue of these bloody men,
According to the which thou shalt discourse
To young Octavius of the state of things.
Lend me your hand.

For Brutus’ sake, I am beholding to you.

You gentle Romans—

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

But 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 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 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 for memory
And, dying, mention it within their wills,
Bequeathing it as a rich legacy
Unto their issue.

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, O, what would come of it?

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.

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?

Nay, press not so upon me. Stand far off.

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 Nervii.
Look, in this place ran Cassius’ dagger through.
See what a rent the envious Casca made.
Through this the well-belovèd Brutus stabbed,
And, as he plucked his cursèd 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,
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.
O, what a fall was there, my countrymen!
Then I and you and all of us fell down,
Whilst bloody treason flourished over us.
O, 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 traitors.

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 love 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
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 and 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 have 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.

Hear me with patience.

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

Now let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot;
Take thou what course thou wilt.
How now, fellow?

Where is he?

And thither will I straight to visit him.
He comes upon a wish. Fortune is merry
And in this mood will give us anything.

Belike they had some notice of the people
How I had moved them. Bring me to Octavius.

These many, then, shall die; their names are

He shall not live; look, with a spot I damn him.
But, Lepidus, go you to Caesar’s house;
Fetch the will hither, and we shall determine
How to cut off some charge in legacies.

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

Octavius, I have seen more days than you,
And, though we lay these honors on this man
To ease ourselves of diverse sland’rous loads,
He shall but bear them as the ass bears gold,
To groan and sweat under the business,
Either led or driven, as we point the way;
And having brought our treasure where we will,
Then take we down his load and turn him off
(Like to the empty ass) to shake his ears
And graze in commons.

So is my horse, Octavius, and for that
I do appoint him store of provender.
It is a creature that I teach to fight,
To wind, to stop, to run directly on,
His corporal motion governed by my spirit;
And, in some taste, is Lepidus but so.
He must be taught and trained and bid go forth—
A barren-spirited fellow, one that feeds
On objects, arts, and imitations
Which, out of use and staled by other men,
Begin his fashion. Do not talk of him
But as a property. And now, Octavius,
Listen great things. Brutus and Cassius
Are levying powers. We must straight make head.
Therefore let our alliance be combined,
Our best friends made, our means stretched;
And let us presently go sit in council
How covert matters may be best disclosed
And open perils surest answerèd.

Tut, I am in their bosoms, and I know
Wherefore they do it. They could be content
To visit other places, and come down
With fearful bravery, thinking by this face
To fasten in our thoughts that they have courage.
But ’tis not so.

Octavius, lead your battle softly on
Upon the left hand of the even field.

Why do you cross me in this exigent?

No, Caesar, we will answer on their charge.
Make forth. The Generals would have some words.

In your bad strokes, Brutus, you give good words.
Witness the hole you made in Caesar’s heart,
Crying Long live, hail, Caesar!

Not stingless too.

Villains, you did not so when your vile daggers
Hacked one another in the sides of Caesar.
You showed your teeth like apes and fawned like
And bowed like bondmen, kissing Caesar’s feet,
Whilst damnèd Casca, like a cur, behind
Struck Caesar on the neck. O you flatterers!

Old Cassius still.

Where is he?

This is not Brutus, friend, but I assure you,
A prize no less in worth. Keep this man safe.
Give him all kindness. I had rather have
Such men my friends than enemies. Go on,
And see whe’er Brutus be alive or dead,
And bring us word unto Octavius’ tent
How everything is chanced.

This was the noblest Roman of them all.
All the conspirators save only he
Did that they did in envy of great Caesar.
He only in a general honest thought
And common good to all made one of them.
His life was gentle and the elements
So mixed in him that nature might stand up
And say to all the world This was a man.


I do consent.

Upon condition Publius shall not live,
Who is your sister’s son, Mark Antony.

What, shall I find you here?


I do, Mark Antony.

He did receive his letters and is coming,
And bid me say to you by word of mouth—
O Caesar!

He lies tonight within seven leagues of Rome.

Sir, Octavius is already come to Rome.

He and Lepidus are at Caesar’s house.

I heard him say Brutus and Cassius
Are rid like madmen through the gates of Rome.

Your brother too must die. Consent you, Lepidus?

Prick him down, Antony.

Or here, or at the Capitol.

So you thought him
And took his voice who should be pricked to die
In our black sentence and proscription.

You may do your will,
But he’s a tried and valiant soldier.

Let us do so, for we are at the stake
And bayed about with many enemies,
And some that smile have in their hearts, I fear,
Millions of mischiefs.

Now, Antony, our hopes are answerèd.
You said the enemy would not come down
But keep the hills and upper regions.
It proves not so; their battles are at hand.
They mean to warn us at Philippi here,
Answering before we do demand of them.

Upon the right hand, I; keep thou the left.

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

Mark Antony, shall we give sign of battle?

Stir not until the signal.

Not that we love words better, as you do.

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.

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

Come, Antony, away!—
Defiance, traitors, hurl we in your teeth.
If you dare fight today, come to the field;
If not, when you have stomachs.

What man is that?

All that served Brutus, I will entertain them.—
Fellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me?

Do so, good Messala.

According to his virtue, let us use him
With all respect and rites of burial.
Within my tent his bones tonight shall lie,
Most like a soldier, ordered honorably.
So call the field to rest, and let’s away
To part the glories of this happy day.

Servant to Antony

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 honor him;
Say, I feared Caesar, honored 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.

I’ll fetch him presently.

Servant to Octavius

I do, Mark Antony.

He did receive his letters and is coming,
And bid me say to you by word of mouth—
O Caesar!

He lies tonight within seven leagues of Rome.

Sir, Octavius is already come to Rome.

He and Lepidus are at Caesar’s house.

I heard him say Brutus and Cassius
Are rid like madmen through the gates of Rome.

officers and soldiers in the armies of Brutus and Cassius

Give the word, ho, and stand!

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

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.

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

You shall not come to them.

My lord?

And I am Brutus, Marcus Brutus, I!
Brutus, my country’s friend! Know me for Brutus.
O young and noble Cato, art thou down?
Why, now thou diest as bravely as Titinius
And mayst be honored, being Cato’s son.

Only I yield to die.
There is so much that thou wilt kill me straight.
Kill Brutus and be honored in his death.

Safe, Antony, Brutus is safe enough.
I dare assure thee that no enemy
Shall ever take alive the noble Brutus.
The gods defend him from so great a shame!
When you do find him, or alive or dead,
He will be found like Brutus, like himself.

So Brutus should be found.—I thank thee, Brutus,
That thou hast proved Lucilius’ saying true.


Good night, Lord Brutus.

O Cassius, Brutus gave the word too early,
Who, having some advantage on Octavius,
Took it too eagerly. His soldiers fell to spoil,
Whilst we by Antony are all enclosed.

They are, my lord.

I will be here again even with a thought.

These tidings will well comfort Cassius.

All disconsolate,
With Pindarus his bondman, on this hill.

He lies not like the living. O my heart!

No, this was he, Messala,
But Cassius is no more. O setting sun,
As in thy red rays thou dost sink to night,
So in his red blood Cassius’ day is set.
The sun of Rome is set. Our day is gone;
Clouds, dews, and dangers come. Our deeds are
Mistrust of my success hath done this deed.

What, Pindarus! Where art thou, Pindarus?

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
Alas, thou hast misconstrued everything.
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 Titinius’ heart!


Myself have letters of the selfsame tenor.

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

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

Nor nothing in your letters writ of her?

That methinks is strange.

No, my lord.

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

Even so great men great losses should endure.

Good night, Lord Brutus.

What says my general?

Believe not so.

It is but change, Titinius, for Octavius
Is overthrown by noble Brutus’ power,
As Cassius’ legions are by Antony.

Where did you leave him?

Is not that he that lies upon the ground?

Is not that he?

Mistrust of good success hath done this deed.
O hateful error, melancholy’s child,
Why dost thou show to the apt thoughts of men
The things that are not? O error, soon conceived,
Thou never com’st unto a happy birth
But kill’st the mother that engendered thee!

Seek him, Titinius, whilst I go to meet
The noble Brutus, thrusting this report
Into his ears. I may say thrusting it,
For piercing steel and darts envenomèd
Shall be as welcome to the ears of Brutus
As tidings of this sight.

Lo, yonder, and Titinius mourning it.

My master’s man.—Strato, where is thy master?

How died my master, Strato?

Octavius, then take him to follow thee,
That did the latest service to my master.


Calls my lord?

So please you, we will stand and watch your

My lord?

Did we, my lord?

No, my lord, I saw nothing.

It shall be done, my lord.


My lord?

Did we, my lord?

Nor I, my lord.

It shall be done, my lord.

Young Cato

He is slain.

Brave Titinius!—
Look whe’er he have not crowned dead Cassius.

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!


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

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

Ay, if Messala will prefer me to you.

I held the sword, and he did run on it.


What says my lord?

Not so, my lord.

That’s not an office for a friend, my lord.


Shall I do such a deed?

O Clitus!

To kill him, Clitus. Look, he meditates.


Statilius showed the torchlight, but, my lord,
He came not back. He is or ta’en or slain.

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

I’ll rather kill myself.

O Dardanus!

What ill request did Brutus make to thee?

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

Fly, fly, my lord! There is no tarrying here.

Fly, my lord, fly!

A Carpenter

Why, sir, a carpenter.

A Cobbler

Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am
but, as you would say, a cobbler.

A trade, sir, that I hope I may use with a safe
conscience, which is indeed, sir, a mender of bad

Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me.
Yet if you be out, sir, I can mend you.

Why, sir, cobble you.

Truly, sir, all that I live by is with the
awl. I meddle with no tradesman’s matters nor
women’s matters, but withal I am indeed, sir, a
surgeon to old shoes: when they are in great danger,
I recover them. As proper men as ever trod upon
neat’s leather have gone upon my handiwork.

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

A Soothsayer


Beware the ides of March.

Beware the ides of March.

At mine own house, good lady.

About the ninth hour, lady.

Madam, not yet. I go to take my stand
To see him pass on to the Capitol.

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.

None that I know will be, much that I fear may
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 there
Speak to great Caesar as he comes along.

Ay, Caesar, but not gone.


Caesar, beware of Brutus, take heed of
Cassius, come not near Casca, have an eye to Cinna,
trust not Trebonius, mark well Metellus Cimber.
Decius Brutus loves thee not. Thou hast wronged
Caius 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,Artemidorus
Here will I stand till Caesar pass along,
And as a suitor will I give him this.
My heart laments that virtue cannot live
Out of the teeth of emulation.
If thou read this, O Caesar, thou mayest live;
If not, the Fates with traitors do contrive.

Hail, Caesar. Read this schedule.

O Caesar, read mine first, for mine’s a suit
That touches Caesar nearer. Read it, great Caesar.

Delay not, Caesar; read it instantly.

First, Second, Third, and Fourth Plebeians

We will be satisfied! Let us be satisfied!

None, Brutus, none.

Live, Brutus, live, live!

We’ll hear him.—Noble Antony, go up.

Peace, ho! Let us hear him.

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

You shall read us the will, Caesar’s will.

The will! The testament!

Come down.

Stand back! Room! Bear back!

Revenge! About! Seek! Burn! Fire! Kill!
Slay! Let not a traitor live!

We’ll mutiny.

Peace, ho! Hear Antony, most noble Antony!

Most true. The will! Let’s stay and hear the will.

Peace, ho!


I will hear Brutus speak.

Bring him with triumph home unto his house.

We’ll bring him to his house with shouts and

Peace, ho!

Stay, ho, and let us hear Mark Antony!

This Caesar was a tyrant.

Methinks there is much reason in his sayings.

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

Stand from the hearse. Stand from the body.

O piteous spectacle!

O most bloody sight!

Peace there! Hear the noble Antony.

We’ll burn the house of Brutus.

Never, never!—Come, away, away!
We’ll burn his body in the holy place
And with the brands fire the traitors’ houses.
Take up the body.

What is your name?

Ay, and briefly.

As a friend or an enemy?

Tear him to pieces! He’s a conspirator.


I will hear Cassius, and compare their reasons
When severally we hear them renderèd.

Give him a statue with his ancestors.

Peace, silence! Brutus speaks.

Peace, let us hear what Antony can say.

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

Poor soul, his eyes are red as fire with weeping.

They were villains, murderers. The
will! Read the will.


Room for Antony, most noble Antony.

O noble Caesar!

We will be revenged.

We’ll hear him, we’ll follow him,
we’ll die with him.

Most noble Caesar! We’ll revenge his death.

Go fetch fire.

Whither are you going?

Answer every man directly.

That’s as much as to say they are
fools that marry. You’ll bear me a bang for that, I
fear. Proceed directly.

That matter is answered directly.


The noble Brutus is ascended. Silence.

Let him be Caesar.

Let him go up into the public chair.

He says for Brutus’ sake
He finds himself beholding to us all.

Nay, that’s certain.
We are blest that Rome is rid of him.

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

There’s not a nobler man in Rome than Antony.

You shall have leave.

O woeful day!

Away then. Come, seek the conspirators.

O royal Caesar!

Pluck down benches.

Where do you dwell?

Ay, and truly, you were best.

Your name, sir, truly.

Tear him, tear him! Come, brands, ho,
firebrands! To Brutus’, to Cassius’, burn all! Some
to Decius’ house, and some to Casca’s, some to
Ligarius’. Away, go!


Caesar’s better parts
Shall be crowned in Brutus.

What does he say of Brutus?

’Twere best he speak no harm of Brutus here.

Marked you his words? He would not take the
Therefore ’tis certain he was not ambitious.

Now mark him. He begins again to speak.

We’ll hear the will. Read it, Mark Antony.

Read the will! We’ll hear it, Antony.

They were traitors. Honorable men?

A ring; stand round.

O traitors, villains!

Pluck down forms, windows,

Are you a married man or a

Ay, and wisely.

For your dwelling—briefly.

Tear him for his bad verses, tear him
for his bad verses!

It is no matter. His name’s Cinna.
Pluck but his name out of his heart, and turn him


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

What is my name? Whither am I going? Where
do I dwell? Am I a married man or a bachelor?
Then to answer every man directly and briefly,
wisely and truly: wisely I say, I am a bachelor.

Directly, I am going to Caesar’s funeral.

As a friend.

Briefly, I dwell by the Capitol.

Truly, my name is Cinna.

I am Cinna the poet, I am Cinna the poet!

I am not Cinna the conspirator.

slave to Cassius, freed upon Cassius’s death

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

Fly further off, my lord, fly further off!
Mark Antony is in your tents, my lord.
Fly therefore, noble Cassius, fly far off.

O my lord!

Titinius is enclosèd round about
With horsemen that make to him on the spur,
Yet he spurs on. Now they are almost on him.
Now Titinius! Now some light. O, he lights too.
He’s ta’en.
And hark, they shout for joy.

So I am free, yet would not so have been,
Durst I have done my will.—O Cassius!—
Far from this country Pindarus shall run,
Where never Roman shall take note of him.

First, Second, Third, and Fourth Soldiers in Brutus’s army






Another Poet

Let me go in to see the Generals.
There is some grudge between ’em; ’tis not meet
They be alone.

Nothing but death shall stay me.

For shame, you generals, what do you mean?
Love and be friends as two such men should be,
For I have seen more years, I’m sure, than ye.

A Messenger

Prepare you, generals.
The enemy comes on in gallant show.
Their bloody sign of battle is hung out,
And something to be done immediately.

First and Second Soldiers in Antony’s army

Yield, or thou diest.

We must not. A noble prisoner!

I’ll tell the news. Here comes the General.—
Brutus is ta’en, Brutus is ta’en, my lord.


Room, ho! Tell Antony Brutus is ta’en.

Citizens, Senators, Petitioners, Plebeians, Soldiers


"To See or Not to See" is a web-based tool for the visualization and analysis of quantitative characteristics of Shakespeare plays.

We use resources from the Folger Digital Texts as input data for our tool. The Folger Shakespeare texts are annotated with structural markup from the Text Encoding Initiative (TEI).

Our tool interactively visualizes which character says what and how much at a particular point in time, allowing customized interpretations of Shakespeare plays on the basis of quantitative aspects, without having to care about technical hurdles such as markup or programming languages.

Please see our corresponding paper for more detailed information about the project.

Feel free to report errors to the author.


Wilhelm, T., Burghardt, M. & Wolff, C. (2013). "To See or Not to See" - An Interactive Tool for the Visualization and Analysis of Shakespeare Plays. In Franken-Wendelstorf, R., Lindinger, E. & Sieck J. (eds): Kultur und Informatik - Visual Worlds & Interactive Spaces, Berlin (pp. 175-185). Glückstadt: Verlag Werner Hülsbusch.