{"collection":"sks","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/sks/ff/jc.htm","path":"sks/ff/jc.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/sks/ff/jc.htm","text":"Actus Primus. Scoena Prima.\nEnter Flauius, Murellus, and certaine Commoners ouer the Stage.\nFlauius. Hence: home you idle Creatures, get you home:\nIs this a Holiday? What, know you not\n(Being Mechanicall) you ought not walke\nVpon a labouring day, without the signe\nOf your Profession? Speake, what Trade art thou?\nCar. Why Sir, a Carpenter\nMur. Where is thy Leather Apron, and thy Rule?\nWhat dost thou with thy best Apparrell on?\nYou sir, what Trade are you?\nCobl. Truely Sir, in respect of a fine Workman, I am\nbut as you would say, a Cobler\nMur. But what Trade art thou? Answer me directly\nCob. A Trade Sir, that I hope I may vse, with a safe\nConscience, which is indeed Sir, a Mender of bad soules\nFla. What Trade thou knaue? Thou naughty knaue,\nwhat Trade?\nCobl. Nay I beseech you Sir, be not out with me: yet\nif you be out Sir, I can mend you\nMur. What mean'st thou by that? Mend mee, thou\nsawcy Fellow?\nCob. Why sir, Cobble you\nFla. Thou art a Cobler, art thou?\nCob. Truly sir, all that I liue by, is with the Aule: I\nmeddle with no Tradesmans matters, nor womens matters;\nbut withal I am indeed Sir, a Surgeon to old shooes:\nwhen they are in great danger, I recouer them. As proper\nmen as euer trod vpon Neats Leather, haue gone vpon\nmy handy-worke\nFla. But wherefore art not in thy Shop to day?\nWhy do'st thou leade these men about the streets?\nCob. Truly sir, to weare out their shooes, to get my\nselfe into more worke. But indeede sir, we make Holyday\nto see Caesar, and to reioyce in his Triumph\nMur. Wherefore reioyce?\nWhat Conquest brings he home?\nWhat Tributaries follow him to Rome,\nTo grace in Captiue bonds his Chariot Wheeles?\nYou Blockes, you stones, you worse then senslesse things:\nO you hard hearts, you cruell men of Rome,\nKnew you not Pompey many a time and oft?\nHaue you climb'd vp to Walles and Battlements,\nTo Towres and Windowes? Yea, to Chimney tops,\nYour Infants in your Armes, and there haue sate\nThe liue-long day, with patient expectation,\nTo see great Pompey passe the streets of Rome:\nAnd when you saw his Chariot but appeare,\nHaue you not made an Vniuersall shout,\nThat Tyber trembled vnderneath her bankes\nTo heare the replication of your sounds,\nMade in her Concaue Shores?\nAnd do you now put on your best attyre?\nAnd do you now cull out a Holyday?\nAnd do you now strew Flowers in his way,\nThat comes in Triumph ouer Pompeyes blood?\nBe gone,\nRunne to your houses, fall vpon your knees,\nPray to the Gods to intermit the plague\nThat needs must light on this Ingratitude\nFla. Go, go, good Countrymen, and for this fault\nAssemble all the poore men of your sort;\nDraw them to Tyber bankes, and weepe your teares\nInto the Channell, till the lowest streame\nDo kisse the most exalted Shores of all.\nExeunt. all the Commoners.\nSee where their basest mettle be not mou'd,\nThey vanish tongue-tyed in their guiltinesse:\nGo you downe that way towards the Capitoll,\nThis way will I: Disrobe the Images,\nIf you do finde them deckt with Ceremonies\nMur. May we do so?\nYou know it is the Feast of Lupercall\nFla. It is no matter, let no Images\nBe hung with Caesars Trophees: Ile about,\nAnd driue away the Vulgar from the streets;\nSo do you too, where you perceiue them thicke.\nThese growing Feathers, pluckt from Caesars wing,\nWill make him flye an ordinary pitch,\nWho else would soare aboue the view of men,\nAnd keepe vs all in seruile fearefulnesse.\nExeunt.\nEnter Caesar, Antony for the Course, Calphurnia, Portia, Decius,\nCicero,\nBrutus, Cassius, Caska, a Soothsayer: after them Murellus and\nFlauius.\nCaes. Calphurnia\nCask. Peace ho, Caesar speakes\nCaes. Calphurnia\nCalp. Heere my Lord\nCaes. Stand you directly in Antonio's way,\nWhen he doth run his course. Antonio\nAnt. C\u00e6sar, my Lord\nCaes. Forget not in your speed Antonio,\nTo touch Calphurnia: for our Elders say,\nThe Barren touched in this holy chace,\nShake off their sterrile curse\nAnt. I shall remember,\nWhen Caesar sayes, Do this; it is perform'd\nCaes. Set on, and leaue no Ceremony out\nSooth. Caesar\nCaes. Ha? Who calles?\nCask. Bid euery noyse be still: peace yet againe\nCaes. Who is it in the presse, that calles on me?\nI heare a Tongue shriller then all the Musicke\nCry, Caesar: Speake, Caesar is turn'd to heare\nSooth. Beware the Ides of March\nCaes. What man is that?\nBr. A Sooth-sayer bids you beware the Ides of March\nCaes. Set him before me, let me see his face\nCassi. Fellow, come from the throng, look vpon Caesar\nCaes. What sayst thou to me now? Speak once againe,\nSooth. Beware the Ides of March\nCaes. He is a Dreamer, let vs leaue him: Passe.\nSennet\nExeunt. Manet Brut. & Cass.\nCassi. Will you go see the order of the course?\nBrut. Not I\nCassi. I pray you do\nBrut. I am not Gamesom: I do lacke some part\nOf that quicke Spirit that is in Antony:\nLet me not hinder Cassius your desires;\nIle leaue you\nCassi. Brutus, I do obserue you now of late:\nI haue not from your eyes, that gentlenesse\nAnd shew of Loue, as I was wont to haue:\nYou beare too stubborne, and too strange a hand\nOuer your Friend, that loues you\nBru. Cassius,\nBe not deceiu'd: If I haue veyl'd my looke,\nI turne the trouble of my Countenance\nMeerely vpon my selfe. Vexed I am\nOf late, with passions of some difference,\nConceptions onely proper to my selfe,\nWhich giue some soyle (perhaps) to my Behauiours:\nBut let not therefore my good Friends be greeu'd\n(Among which number Cassius be you one)\nNor construe any further my neglect,\nThen that poore Brutus with himselfe at warre,\nForgets the shewes of Loue to other men\nCassi. Then Brutus, I haue much mistook your passion,\nBy meanes whereof, this Brest of mine hath buried\nThoughts of great value, worthy Cogitations.\nTell me good Brutus, Can you see your face?\nBrutus. No Cassius:\nFor the eye sees not it selfe but by reflection,\nBy some other things\nCassius. 'Tis iust,\nAnd it is very much lamented Brutus,\nThat you haue no such Mirrors, as will turne\nYour hidden worthinesse into your eye,\nThat you might see your shadow:\nI haue heard,\nWhere many of the best respect in Rome,\n(Except immortall Caesar) speaking of Brutus,\nAnd groaning vnderneath this Ages yoake,\nHaue wish'd, that Noble Brutus had his eyes\nBru. Into what dangers, would you\nLeade me Cassius?\nThat you would haue me seeke into my selfe,\nFor that which is not in me?\nCas. Therefore good Brutus, be prepar'd to heare:\nAnd since you know, you cannot see your selfe\nSo well as by Reflection; I your Glasse,\nWill modestly discouer to your selfe\nThat of your selfe, which you yet know not of.\nAnd be not iealous on me, gentle Brutus:\nWere I a common Laughter, or did vse\nTo stale with ordinary Oathes my loue\nTo euery new Protester: if you know,\nThat I do fawne on men, and hugge them hard,\nAnd after scandall them: Or if you know,\nThat I professe my selfe in Banquetting\nTo all the Rout, then hold me dangerous.\nFlourish, and Shout.\nBru. What meanes this Showting?\nI do feare, the People choose Caesar\nFor their King\nCassi. I, do you feare it?\nThen must I thinke you would not haue it so\nBru. I would not Cassius, yet I loue him well:\nBut wherefore do you hold me heere so long?\nWhat is it, that you would impart to me?\nIf it be ought toward the generall good,\nSet Honor in one eye, and Death i'th other,\nAnd I will looke on both indifferently:\nFor let the Gods so speed mee, as I loue\nThe name of Honor, more then I feare death\nCassi. I know that vertue to be in you Brutus,\nAs well as I do know your outward fauour.\nWell, Honor is the subiect of my Story:\nI cannot tell, what you and other men\nThinke of this life: But for my single selfe,\nI had as liefe not be, as liue to be\nIn awe of such a Thing, as I my selfe.\nI was borne free as Caesar, so were you,\nWe both haue fed as well, and we can both\nEndure the Winters cold, as well as hee.\nFor once, vpon a Rawe and Gustie day,\nThe troubled Tyber, chafing with her Shores,\nCaesar saide to me, Dar'st thou Cassius now\nLeape in with me into this angry Flood,\nAnd swim to yonder Point? Vpon the word,\nAccoutred as I was, I plunged in,\nAnd bad him follow: so indeed he did.\nThe Torrent roar'd, and we did buffet it\nWith lusty Sinewes, throwing it aside,\nAnd stemming it with hearts of Controuersie.\nBut ere we could arriue the Point propos'd,\nCaesar cride, Helpe me Cassius, or I sinke.\nI (as Aeneas, our great Ancestor,\nDid from the Flames of Troy, vpon his shoulder\nThe old Anchyses beare) so, from the waues of Tyber\nDid I the tyred Caesar: And this Man,\nIs now become a God, and Cassius is\nA wretched Creature, and must bend his body,\nIf Caesar carelesly but nod on him.\nHe had a Feauer when he was in Spaine,\nAnd when the Fit was on him, I did marke\nHow he did shake: Tis true, this God did shake,\nHis Coward lippes did from their colour flye,\nAnd that same Eye, whose bend doth awe the World,\nDid loose his Lustre: I did heare him grone:\nI, and that Tongue of his, that bad the Romans\nMarke him, and write his Speeches in their Bookes,\nAlas, it cried, Giue me some drinke Titinius,\nAs a sicke Girle: Ye Gods, it doth amaze me,\nA man of such a feeble temper should\nSo get the start of the Maiesticke world,\nAnd beare the Palme alone.\nShout. Flourish.\nBru. Another generall shout?\nI do beleeue, that these applauses are\nFor some new Honors, that are heap'd on Caesar\nCassi. Why man, he doth bestride the narrow world\nLike a Colossus, and we petty men\nWalke vnder his huge legges, and peepe about\nTo finde our selues dishonourable Graues.\nMen at sometime, are Masters of their Fates.\nThe fault (deere Brutus) is not in our Starres,\nBut in our Selues, that we are vnderlings.\nBrutus and Caesar: What should be in that Caesar?\nWhy should that name be sounded more then yours\nWrite them together: Yours, is as faire a Name:\nSound them, it doth become the mouth aswell:\nWeigh them, it is as heauy: Coniure with 'em,\nBrutus will start a Spirit as soone as Caesar.\nNow in the names of all the Gods at once,\nVpon what meate doth this our Caesar feede,\nThat he is growne so great? Age, thou art sham'd.\nRome, thou hast lost the breed of Noble Bloods.\nWhen went there by an Age, since the great Flood,\nBut it was fam'd with more then with one man?\nWhen could they say (till now) that talk'd of Rome,\nThat her wide Walkes incompast but one man?\nNow is it Rome indeed, and Roome enough\nWhen there is in it but one onely man.\nO! you and I, haue heard our Fathers say,\nThere was a Brutus once, that would haue brook'd\nTh' eternall Diuell to keepe his State in Rome,\nAs easily as a King\nBru. That you do loue me, I am nothing iealous:\nWhat you would worke me too, I haue some ayme:\nHow I haue thought of this, and of these times\nI shall recount heereafter. For this present,\nI would not so (with loue I might intreat you)\nBe any further moou'd: What you haue said,\nI will consider: what you haue to say\nI will with patience heare, and finde a time\nBoth meete to heare, and answer such high things.\nTill then, my Noble Friend, chew vpon this:\nBrutus had rather be a Villager,\nThen to repute himselfe a Sonne of Rome\nVnder these hard Conditions, as this time\nIs like to lay vpon vs\nCassi. I am glad that my weake words\nHaue strucke but thus much shew of fire from Brutus,\nEnter Caesar and his Traine.\nBru. The Games are done,\nAnd Caesar is returning\nCassi. As they passe by,\nPlucke Caska by the Sleeue,\nAnd he will (after his sowre fashion) tell you\nWhat hath proceeded worthy note to day\nBru. I will do so: but looke you Cassius,\nThe angry spot doth glow on Caesars brow,\nAnd all the rest, looke like a chidden Traine;\nCalphurnia's Cheeke is pale, and Cicero\nLookes with such Ferret, and such fiery eyes\nAs we haue seene him in the Capitoll\nBeing crost in Conference, by some Senators\nCassi. Caska will tell vs what the matter is\nCaes Antonio\nAnt. Caesar\nCaes Let me haue men about me, that are fat,\nSleeke-headed men, and such as sleepe a-nights:\nYond Cassius has a leane and hungry looke,\nHe thinkes too much: such men are dangerous\nAnt. Feare him not Caesar, he's not dangerous,\nHe is a Noble Roman, and well giuen\nCaes Would he were fatter; But I feare him not:\nYet if my name were lyable to feare,\nI do not know the man I should auoyd\nSo soone as that spare Cassius. He reades much,\nHe is a great Obseruer, and he lookes\nQuite through the Deeds of men. He loues no Playes,\nAs thou dost Antony: he heares no Musicke;\nSeldome he smiles, and smiles in such a sort\nAs if he mock'd himselfe, and scorn'd his spirit\nThat could be mou'd to smile at any thing.\nSuch men as he, be neuer at hearts ease,\nWhiles they behold a greater then themselues,\nAnd therefore are they very dangerous.\nI rather tell thee what is to be fear'd,\nThen what I feare: for alwayes I am Caesar.\nCome on my right hand, for this eare is deafe,\nAnd tell me truely, what thou think'st of him.\nSennit.\nExeunt. Caesar and his Traine.\nCask. You pul'd me by the cloake, would you speake\nwith me?\nBru. I Caska, tell vs what hath chanc'd to day\nThat Caesar lookes so sad\nCask. Why you were with him, were you not?\nBru. I should not then aske Caska what had chanc'd\nCask. Why there was a Crowne offer'd him; & being\noffer'd him, he put it by with the backe of his hand thus,\nand then the people fell a shouting\nBru. What was the second noyse for?\nCask. Why for that too\nCassi. They shouted thrice: what was the last cry for?\nCask. Why for that too\nBru. Was the Crowne offer'd him thrice?\nCask. I marry was't, and hee put it by thrice, euerie\ntime gentler then other; and at euery putting by, mine\nhonest Neighbors showted\nCassi. Who offer'd him the Crowne?\nCask. Why Antony\nBru. Tell vs the manner of it, gentle Caska\nCaska. I can as well bee hang'd as tell the manner of\nit: It was meere Foolerie, I did not marke it. I sawe\nMarke Antony offer him a Crowne, yet 'twas not a\nCrowne neyther, 'twas one of these Coronets: and as I\ntold you, hee put it by once: but for all that, to my thinking,\nhe would faine haue had it. Then hee offered it to\nhim againe: then hee put it by againe: but to my thinking,\nhe was very loath to lay his fingers off it. And then\nhe offered it the third time; hee put it the third time by,\nand still as hee refus'd it, the rabblement howted, and\nclapp'd their chopt hands, and threw vppe their sweatie\nNight-cappes, and vttered such a deale of stinking\nbreath, because Caesar refus'd the Crowne, that it had\n(almost) choaked Caesar: for hee swoonded, and fell\ndowne at it: And for mine owne part, I durst not laugh,\nfor feare of opening my Lippes, and receyuing the bad\nAyre\nCassi. But soft I pray you: what, did Caesar swound?\nCask. He fell downe in the Market-place, and foam'd\nat mouth, and was speechlesse\nBrut. 'Tis very like he hath the Falling sicknesse\nCassi. No, Caesar hath it not: but you, and I,\nAnd honest Caska, we haue the Falling sicknesse\nCask. I know not what you meane by that, but I am\nsure Caesar fell downe. If the tag-ragge people did not\nclap him, and hisse him, according as he pleas'd, and displeas'd\nthem, as they vse to doe the Players in the Theatre,\nI am no true man\nBrut. What said he, when he came vnto himselfe?\nCask. Marry, before he fell downe, when he perceiu'd\nthe common Heard was glad he refus'd the Crowne, he\npluckt me ope his Doublet, and offer'd them his Throat\nto cut: and I had beene a man of any Occupation, if I\nwould not haue taken him at a word, I would I might\ngoe to Hell among the Rogues, and so hee fell. When\nhe came to himselfe againe, hee said, If hee had done, or\nsaid any thing amisse, he desir'd their Worships to thinke\nit was his infirmitie. Three or foure Wenches where I\nstood, cryed, Alasse good Soule, and forgaue him with\nall their hearts: But there's no heed to be taken of them;\nif Caesar had stab'd their Mothers, they would haue done\nno lesse\nBrut. And after that, he came thus sad away\nCask. I\nCassi. Did Cicero say any thing?\nCask. I, he spoke Greeke\nCassi. To what effect?\nCask. Nay, and I tell you that, Ile ne're looke you\ni'th' face againe. But those that vnderstood him, smil'd\nat one another, and shooke their heads: but for mine\nowne part, it was Greeke to me. I could tell you more\nnewes too: Murrellus and Flauius, for pulling Scarffes\noff Caesars Images, are put to silence. Fare you well.\nThere was more Foolerie yet, if I could remember\nit\nCassi. Will you suppe with me to Night, Caska?\nCask. No, I am promis'd forth\nCassi. Will you Dine with me to morrow?\nCask. I, if I be aliue, and your minde hold, and your\nDinner worth the eating\nCassi. Good, I will expect you\nCask. Doe so: farewell both.\nEnter.\nBrut. What a blunt fellow is this growne to be?\nHe was quick Mettle, when he went to Schoole\nCassi. So is he now, in execution\nOf any bold, or Noble Enterprize,\nHow-euer he puts on this tardie forme:\nThis Rudenesse is a Sawce to his good Wit,\nWhich giues men stomacke to disgest his words\nWith better Appetite\nBrut. And so it is:\nFor this time I will leaue you:\nTo morrow, if you please to speake with me,\nI will come home to you: or if you will,\nCome home to me, and I will wait for you\nCassi. I will doe so: till then, thinke of the World.\nExit Brutus.\nWell Brutus, thou art Noble: yet I see,\nThy Honorable Mettle may be wrought\nFrom that it is dispos'd: therefore it is meet,\nThat Noble mindes keepe euer with their likes:\nFor who so firme, that cannot be seduc'd?\nCaesar doth beare me hard, but he loues Brutus.\nIf I were Brutus now, and he were Cassius,\nHe should not humor me. I will this Night,\nIn seuerall Hands, in at his Windowes throw,\nAs if they came from seuerall Citizens,\nWritings, all tending to the great opinion\nThat Rome holds of his Name: wherein obscurely\nCaesars Ambition shall be glanced at.\nAnd after this, let Caesar seat him sure,\nFor wee will shake him, or worse dayes endure.\nEnter.\nThunder, and Lightning. Enter Caska, and Cicero.\nCic. Good euen, Caska: brought you Caesar home?\nWhy are you breathlesse, and why stare you so?\nCask. Are not you mou'd, when all the sway of Earth\nShakes, like a thing vnfirme? O Cicero,\nI haue seene Tempests, when the scolding Winds\nHaue riu'd the knottie Oakes, and I haue seene\nTh' ambitious Ocean swell, and rage, and foame,\nTo be exalted with the threatning Clouds:\nBut neuer till to Night, neuer till now,\nDid I goe through a Tempest-dropping-fire.\nEyther there is a Ciuill strife in Heauen,\nOr else the World, too sawcie with the Gods,\nIncenses them to send destruction\nCic. Why, saw you any thing more wonderfull?\nCask. A common slaue, you know him well by sight,\nHeld vp his left Hand, which did flame and burne\nLike twentie Torches ioyn'd; and yet his Hand,\nNot sensible of fire, remain'd vnscorch'd.\nBesides, I ha' not since put vp my Sword,\nAgainst the Capitoll I met a Lyon,\nWho glaz'd vpon me, and went surly by,\nWithout annoying me. And there were drawne\nVpon a heape, a hundred gastly Women,\nTransformed with their feare, who swore, they saw\nMen, all in fire, walke vp and downe the streetes.\nAnd yesterday, the Bird of Night did sit,\nEuen at Noone-day, vpon the Market place,\nHowting, and shreeking. When these Prodigies\nDoe so conioyntly meet, let not men say,\nThese are their Reasons, they are Naturall:\nFor I beleeue, they are portentous things\nVnto the Clymate, that they point vpon\nCic. Indeed, it is a strange disposed time:\nBut men may construe things after their fashion,\nCleane from the purpose of the things themselues.\nComes Caesar to the Capitoll to morrow?\nCask. He doth: for he did bid Antonio\nSend word to you, he would be there to morrow\nCic. Good-night then, Caska:\nThis disturbed Skie is not to walke in\nCask. Farewell Cicero.\nExit Cicero.\nEnter Cassius.\nCassi. Who's there?\nCask. A Romane\nCassi. Caska, by your Voyce\nCask. Your Eare is good.\nCassius, what Night is this?\nCassi. A very pleasing Night to honest men\nCask. Who euer knew the Heauens menace so?\nCassi. Those that haue knowne the Earth so full of\nfaults.\nFor my part, I haue walk'd about the streets,\nSubmitting me vnto the perillous Night;\nAnd thus vnbraced, Caska, as you see,\nHaue bar'd my Bosome to the Thunder-stone:\nAnd when the crosse blew Lightning seem'd to open\nThe Brest of Heauen, I did present my selfe\nEuen in the ayme, and very flash of it\nCask. But wherefore did you so much tempt the Heauens?\nIt is the part of men, to feare and tremble,\nWhen the most mightie Gods, by tokens send\nSuch dreadfull Heraulds, to astonish vs\nCassi. You are dull, Caska:\nAnd those sparkes of Life, that should be in a Roman,\nYou doe want, or else you vse not.\nYou looke pale, and gaze, and put on feare,\nAnd cast your selfe in wonder,\nTo see the strange impatience of the Heauens:\nBut if you would consider the true cause,\nWhy all these Fires, why all these gliding Ghosts,\nWhy Birds and Beasts, from qualitie and kinde,\nWhy Old men, Fooles, and Children calculate,\nWhy all these things change from their Ordinance,\nTheir Natures, and pre-formed Faculties,\nTo monstrous qualitie; why you shall finde,\nThat Heauen hath infus'd them with these Spirits,\nTo make them Instruments of feare, and warning,\nVnto some monstrous State.\nNow could I (Caska) name to thee a man,\nMost like this dreadfull Night,\nThat Thunders, Lightens, opens Graues, and roares,\nAs doth the Lyon in the Capitoll:\nA man no mightier then thy selfe, or me,\nIn personall action; yet prodigious growne,\nAnd fearefull, as these strange eruptions are\nCask. 'Tis Caesar that you meane:\nIs it not, Cassius?\nCassi. Let it be who it is: for Romans now\nHaue Thewes, and Limbes, like to their Ancestors;\nBut woe the while, our Fathers mindes are dead,\nAnd we are gouern'd with our Mothers spirits,\nOur yoake, and sufferance, shew vs Womanish\nCask. Indeed, they say, the Senators to morrow\nMeane to establish Caesar as a King:\nAnd he shall weare his Crowne by Sea, and Land,\nIn euery place, saue here in Italy\nCassi. I know where I will weare this Dagger then;\nCassius from Bondage will deliuer Cassius:\nTherein, yee Gods, you make the weake most strong;\nTherein, yee Gods, you Tyrants doe defeat.\nNor Stonie Tower, nor Walls of beaten Brasse,\nNor ayre-lesse Dungeon, nor strong Linkes of Iron,\nCan be retentiue to the strength of spirit:\nBut Life being wearie of these worldly Barres,\nNeuer lacks power to dismisse it selfe.\nIf I know this, know all the World besides,\nThat part of Tyrannie that I doe beare,\nI can shake off at pleasure.\nThunder still.\nCask. So can I:\nSo euery Bond-man in his owne hand beares\nThe power to cancell his Captiuitie\nCassi. And why should C\u00e6sar be a Tyrant then?\nPoore man, I know he would not be a Wolfe,\nBut that he sees the Romans are but Sheepe:\nHe were no Lyon, were not Romans Hindes.\nThose that with haste will make a mightie fire,\nBegin it with weake Strawes. What trash is Rome?\nWhat Rubbish, and what Offall? when it serues\nFor the base matter, to illuminate\nSo vile a thing as Caesar. But oh Griefe,\nWhere hast thou led me? I (perhaps) speake this\nBefore a willing Bond-man: then I know\nMy answere must be made. But I am arm'd,\nAnd dangers are to me indifferent\nCask. You speake to Caska, and to such a man,\nThat is no flearing Tell-tale. Hold, my Hand:\nBe factious for redresse of all these Griefes,\nAnd I will set this foot of mine as farre,\nAs who goes farthest\nCassi. There's a Bargaine made.\nNow know you, Caska, I haue mou'd already\nSome certaine of the Noblest minded Romans\nTo vnder-goe, with me, an Enterprize,\nOf Honorable dangerous consequence;\nAnd I doe know by this, they stay for me\nIn Pompeyes Porch: for now this fearefull Night,\nThere is no stirre, or walking in the streetes;\nAnd the Complexion of the Element\nIs Fauors, like the Worke we haue in hand,\nMost bloodie, fierie, and most terrible.\nEnter Cinna.\nCaska. Stand close a while, for heere comes one in\nhaste\nCassi. 'Tis Cinna, I doe know him by his Gate,\nHe is a friend. Cinna, where haste you so?\nCinna. To finde out you: Who's that, Metellus\nCymber?\nCassi. No, it is Caska, one incorporate\nTo our Attempts. Am I not stay'd for, Cinna?\nCinna. I am glad on't.\nWhat a fearefull Night is this?\nThere's two or three of vs haue seene strange sights\nCassi. Am I not stay'd for? tell me\nCinna. Yes, you are. O Cassius,\nIf you could but winne the Noble Brutus\nTo our party-\nCassi. Be you content. Good Cinna, take this Paper,\nAnd looke you lay it in the Pretors Chayre,\nWhere Brutus may but finde it: and throw this\nIn at his Window; set this vp with Waxe\nVpon old Brutus Statue: all this done,\nRepaire to Pompeyes Porch, where you shall finde vs.\nIs Decius Brutus and Trebonius there?\nCinna. All, but Metellus Cymber, and hee's gone\nTo seeke you at your house. Well, I will hie,\nAnd so bestow these Papers as you bad me\nCassi. That done, repayre to Pompeyes Theater.\nExit Cinna.\nCome Caska, you and I will yet, ere day,\nSee Brutus at his house: three parts of him\nIs ours alreadie, and the man entire\nVpon the next encounter, yeelds him ours\nCask. O, he sits high in all the Peoples hearts:\nAnd that which would appeare Offence in vs,\nHis Countenance, like richest Alchymie,\nWill change to Vertue, and to Worthinesse\nCassi. Him, and his worth, and our great need of him,\nYou haue right well conceited: let vs goe,\nFor it is after Mid-night, and ere day,\nWe will awake him, and be sure of him.\nExeunt.\nActus Secundus.\nEnter Brutus in his Orchard.\nBrut. What Lucius, hoe?\nI cannot, by the progresse of the Starres,\nGiue guesse how neere to day- Lucius, I say?\nI would it were my fault to sleepe so soundly.\nWhen Lucius, when? awake, I say: what Lucius?\nEnter Lucius.\nLuc. Call'd you, my Lord?\nBrut. Get me a Tapor in my Study, Lucius:\nWhen it is lighted, come and call me here\nLuc. I will, my Lord.\nEnter.\nBrut. It must be by his death: and for my part,\nI know no personall cause, to spurne at him,\nBut for the generall. He would be crown'd:\nHow that might change his nature, there's the question?\nIt is the bright day, that brings forth the Adder,\nAnd that craues warie walking: Crowne him that,\nAnd then I graunt we put a Sting in him,\nThat at his will he may doe danger with.\nTh' abuse of Greatnesse, is, when it dis-ioynes\nRemorse from Power: And to speake truth of Caesar,\nI haue not knowne, when his Affections sway'd\nMore then his Reason. But 'tis a common proofe,\nThat Lowlynesse is young Ambitions Ladder,\nWhereto the Climber vpward turnes his Face:\nBut when he once attaines the vpmost Round,\nHe then vnto the Ladder turnes his Backe,\nLookes in the Clouds, scorning the base degrees\nBy which he did ascend: so Caesar may;\nThen least he may, preuent. And since the Quarrell\nWill beare no colour, for the thing he is,\nFashion it thus; that what he is, augmented,\nWould runne to these, and these extremities:\nAnd therefore thinke him as a Serpents egge,\nWhich hatch'd, would as his kinde grow mischieuous;\nAnd kill him in the shell.\nEnter Lucius.\nLuc. The Taper burneth in your Closet, Sir:\nSearching the Window for a Flint, I found\nThis Paper, thus seal'd vp, and I am sure\nIt did not lye there when I went to Bed.\nGiues him the Letter.\nBrut. Get you to Bed againe, it is not day:\nIs not to morrow (Boy) the first of March?\nLuc. I know not, Sir\nBrut. Looke in the Calender, and bring me word\nLuc. I will, Sir.\nEnter.\nBrut. The exhalations, whizzing in the ayre,\nGiue so much light, that I may reade by them.\nOpens the Letter, and reades.\nBrutus thou sleep'st; awake, and see thy selfe:\nShall Rome, &c. speake, strike, redresse.\nBrutus, thou sleep'st: awake.\nSuch instigations haue beene often dropt,\nWhere I haue tooke them vp:\nShall Rome, &c. Thus must I piece it out:\nShall Rome stand vnder one mans awe? What Rome?\nMy Ancestors did from the streetes of Rome\nThe Tarquin driue, when he was call'd a King.\nSpeake, strike, redresse. Am I entreated\nTo speake, and strike? O Rome, I make thee promise,\nIf the redresse will follow, thou receiuest\nThy full Petition at the hand of Brutus.\nEnter Lucius.\nLuc. Sir, March is wasted fifteene dayes.\nKnocke within.\nBrut. 'Tis good. Go to the Gate, some body knocks:\nSince Cassius first did whet me against Caesar,\nI haue not slept.\nBetweene the acting of a dreadfull thing,\nAnd the first motion, all the Interim is\nLike a Phantasma, or a hideous Dreame:\nThe Genius, and the mortall Instruments\nAre then in councell; and the state of a man,\nLike to a little Kingdome, suffers then\nThe nature of an Insurrection.\nEnter Lucius.\nLuc. Sir, 'tis your Brother Cassius at the Doore,\nWho doth desire to see you\nBrut. Is he alone?\nLuc. No, Sir, there are moe with him\nBrut. Doe you know them?\nLuc. No, Sir, their Hats are pluckt about their Eares,\nAnd halfe their Faces buried in their Cloakes,\nThat by no meanes I may discouer them,\nBy any marke of fauour\nBrut. Let 'em enter:\nThey are the Faction. O Conspiracie,\nSham'st thou to shew thy dang'rous Brow by Night,\nWhen euills are most free? O then, by day\nWhere wilt thou finde a Cauerne darke enough,\nTo maske thy monstrous Visage? Seek none Conspiracie,\nHide it in Smiles, and Affabilitie:\nFor if thou path thy natiue semblance on,\nNot Erebus it selfe were dimme enough,\nTo hide thee from preuention.\nEnter the Conspirators, Cassius, Caska, Decius, Cinna, Metellus,\nand\nTrebonius.\nCass. I thinke we are too bold vpon your Rest:\nGood morrow Brutus, doe we trouble you?\nBrut. I haue beene vp this howre, awake all Night:\nKnow I these men, that come along with you?\nCass. Yes, euery man of them; and no man here\nBut honors you: and euery one doth wish,\nYou had but that opinion of your selfe,\nWhich euery Noble Roman beares of you.\nThis is Trebonius\nBrut. He is welcome hither\nCass. This, Decius Brutus\nBrut. He is welcome too\nCass. This, Caska; this, Cinna; and this, Metellus\nCymber\nBrut. They are all welcome.\nWhat watchfull Cares doe interpose themselues\nBetwixt your Eyes, and Night?\nCass. Shall I entreat a word?\nThey whisper.\nDecius. Here lyes the East: doth not the Day breake\nheere?\nCask. No\nCin. O pardon, Sir, it doth; and yon grey Lines,\nThat fret the Clouds, are Messengers of Day\nCask. You shall confesse, that you are both deceiu'd:\nHeere, as I point my Sword, the Sunne arises,\nWhich is a great way growing on the South,\nWeighing the youthfull Season of the yeare.\nSome two moneths hence, vp higher toward the North\nHe first presents his fire, and the high East\nStands as the Capitoll, directly heere\nBru. Giue me your hands all ouer, one by one\nCas. And let vs sweare our Resolution\nBrut. No, not an Oath: if not the Face of men,\nThe sufferance of our Soules, the times Abuse;\nIf these be Motiues weake, breake off betimes,\nAnd euery man hence, to his idle bed:\nSo let high-sighted-Tyranny range on,\nTill each man drop by Lottery. But if these\n(As I am sure they do) beare fire enough\nTo kindle Cowards, and to steele with valour\nThe melting Spirits of women. Then Countrymen,\nWhat neede we any spurre, but our owne cause\nTo pricke vs to redresse? What other Bond,\nThen secret Romans, that haue spoke the word,\nAnd will not palter? And what other Oath,\nThen Honesty to Honesty ingag'd,\nThat this shall be, or we will fall for it.\nSweare Priests and Cowards, and men Cautelous\nOld feeble Carrions, and such suffering Soules\nThat welcome wrongs: Vnto bad causes, sweare\nSuch Creatures as men doubt; but do not staine\nThe euen vertue of our Enterprize,\nNor th' insuppressiue Mettle of our Spirits,\nTo thinke, that or our Cause, or our Performance\nDid neede an Oath. When euery drop of blood\nThat euery Roman beares, and Nobly beares\nIs guilty of a seuerall Bastardie,\nIf he do breake the smallest Particle\nOf any promise that hath past from him\nCas. But what of Cicero? Shall we sound him?\nI thinke he will stand very strong with vs\nCask. Let vs not leaue him out\nCyn. No, by no meanes\nMetel. O let vs haue him, for his Siluer haires\nWill purchase vs a good opinion:\nAnd buy mens voyces, to commend our deeds:\nIt shall be sayd, his iudgement rul'd our hands,\nOur youths, and wildenesse, shall no whit appeare,\nBut all be buried in his Grauity\nBru. O name him not; let vs not breake with him,\nFor he will neuer follow any thing\nThat other men begin\nCas. Then leaue him out\nCask. Indeed, he is not fit\nDecius. Shall no man else be toucht, but onely Caesar?\nCas. Decius well vrg'd: I thinke it is not meet,\nMarke Antony, so well belou'd of Caesar,\nShould out-liue Caesar, we shall finde of him\nA shrew'd Contriuer. And you know, his meanes\nIf he improue them, may well stretch so farre\nAs to annoy vs all: which to preuent,\nLet Antony and Caesar fall together\nBru. Our course will seeme too bloody, Caius Cassius,\nTo cut the Head off, and then hacke the Limbes:\nLike Wrath in death, and Enuy afterwards:\nFor Antony, is but a Limbe of Caesar.\nLet's be Sacrificers, but not Butchers Caius:\nWe all stand vp against the spirit of Caesar,\nAnd in the Spirit of men, there is no blood:\nO that we then could come by Caesars Spirit,\nAnd not dismember Caesar! But (alas)\nCaesar must bleed for it. And gentle Friends,\nLet's kill him Boldly, but not Wrathfully:\nLet's carue him, as a Dish fit for the Gods,\nNot hew him as a Carkasse fit for Hounds:\nAnd let our Hearts, as subtle Masters do,\nStirre vp their Seruants to an acte of Rage,\nAnd after seeme to chide 'em. This shall make\nOur purpose Necessary, and not Enuious.\nWhich so appearing to the common eyes,\nWe shall be call'd Purgers, not Murderers.\nAnd for Marke Antony, thinke not of him:\nFor he can do no more then Caesars Arme,\nWhen Caesars head is off\nCas. Yet I feare him,\nFor in the ingrafted loue he beares to Caesar\nBru. Alas, good Cassius, do not thinke of him:\nIf he loue Caesar, all that he can do\nIs to himselfe; take thought, and dye for Caesar,\nAnd that were much he should: for he is giuen\nTo sports, to wildenesse, and much company\nTreb. There is no feare in him; let him not dye,\nFor he will liue, and laugh at this heereafter.\nClocke strikes.\nBru. Peace, count the Clocke\nCas. The Clocke hath stricken three\nTreb. 'Tis time to part\nCass. But it is doubtfull yet,\nWhether Caesar will come forth to day, or no:\nFor he is Superstitious growne of late,\nQuite from the maine Opinion he held once,\nOf Fantasie, of Dreames, and Ceremonies:\nIt may be, these apparant Prodigies,\nThe vnaccustom'd Terror of this night,\nAnd the perswasion of his Augurers,\nMay hold him from the Capitoll to day\nDecius. Neuer feare that: If he be so resolu'd,\nI can ore-sway him: For he loues to heare,\nThat Vnicornes may be betray'd with Trees,\nAnd Beares with Glasses, Elephants with Holes,\nLyons with Toyles, and men with Flatterers.\nBut, when I tell him, he hates Flatterers,\nHe sayes, he does; being then most flattered.\nLet me worke:\nFor I can giue his humour the true bent;\nAnd I will bring him to the Capitoll\nCas. Nay, we will all of vs, be there to fetch him\nBru. By the eight houre, is that the vttermost?\nCin. Be that the vttermost, and faile not then\nMet. Caius Ligarius doth beare Caesar hard,\nWho rated him for speaking well of Pompey;\nI wonder none of you haue thought of him\nBru. Now good Metellus go along by him:\nHe loues me well, and I haue giuen him Reasons,\nSend him but hither, and Ile fashion him\nCas. The morning comes vpon's:\nWee'l leaue you Brutus,\nAnd Friends disperse your selues; but all remember\nWhat you haue said, and shew your selues true Romans\nBru. Good Gentlemen, looke fresh and merrily,\nLet not our lookes put on our purposes,\nBut beare it as our Roman Actors do,\nWith vntyr'd Spirits, and formall Constancie,\nAnd so good morrow to you euery one.\nExeunt.\nManet Brutus.\nBoy: Lucius: Fast asleepe? It is no matter,\nEnioy the hony-heauy-Dew of Slumber:\nThou hast no Figures, nor no Fantasies,\nWhich busie care drawes, in the braines of men;\nTherefore thou sleep'st so sound.\nEnter Portia.\nPor. Brutus, my Lord\nBru. Portia: What meane you? wherfore rise you now?\nIt is not for your health, thus to commit\nYour weake condition, to the raw cold morning\nPor. Nor for yours neither. Y'haue vngently Brutus\nStole from my bed: and yesternight at Supper\nYou sodainly arose, and walk'd about,\nMusing, and sighing, with your armes acrosse\nAnd when I ask'd you what the matter was,\nYou star'd vpon me, with vngentle lookes.\nI vrg'd you further, then you scratch'd your head,\nAnd too impatiently stampt with your foote:\nYet I insisted, yet you answer'd not,\nBut with an angry wafter of your hand\nGaue signe for me to leaue you: So I did,\nFearing to strengthen that impatience\nWhich seem'd too much inkindled; and withall,\nHoping it was but an effect of Humor,\nWhich sometime hath his houre with euery man.\nIt will not let you eate, nor talke, nor sleepe;\nAnd could it worke so much vpon your shape,\nAs it hath much preuayl'd on your Condition,\nI should not know you Brutus. Deare my Lord,\nMake me acquainted with your cause of greefe\nBru. I am not well in health, and that is all\nPor. Brutus is wise, and were he not in health,\nHe would embrace the meanes to come by it\nBru. Why so I do: good Portia go to bed\nPor. Is Brutus sicke? And is it Physicall\nTo walke vnbraced, and sucke vp the humours\nOf the danke Morning? What, is Brutus sicke?\nAnd will he steale out of his wholsome bed\nTo dare the vile contagion of the Night?\nAnd tempt the Rhewmy, and vnpurged Ayre,\nTo adde vnto his sicknesse? No my Brutus,\nYou haue some sicke Offence within your minde,\nWhich by the Right and Vertue of my place\nI ought to know of: And vpon my knees,\nI charme you, by my once commended Beauty,\nBy all your vowes of Loue, and that great Vow\nWhich did incorporate and make vs one,\nThat you vnfold to me, your selfe; your halfe\nWhy you are heauy: and what men to night\nHaue had resort to you: for heere haue beene\nSome sixe or seuen, who did hide their faces\nEuen from darknesse\nBru. Kneele not gentle Portia\nPor. I should not neede, if you were gentle Brutus.\nWithin the Bond of Marriage, tell me Brutus,\nIs it excepted, I should know no Secrets\nThat appertaine to you? Am I your Selfe,\nBut as it were in sort, or limitation?\nTo keepe with you at Meales, comfort your Bed,\nAnd talke to you sometimes? Dwell I but in the Suburbs\nOf your good pleasure? If it be no more,\nPortia is Brutus Harlot, not his Wife\nBru. You are my true and honourable Wife,\nAs deere to me, as are the ruddy droppes\nThat visit my sad heart\nPor. If this were true, then should I know this secret.\nI graunt I am a Woman; but withall,\nA Woman that Lord Brutus tooke to Wife:\nI graunt I am a Woman; but withall,\nA Woman well reputed: Cato's Daughter.\nThinke you, I am no stronger then my Sex\nBeing so Father'd, and so Husbanded?\nTell me your Counsels, I will not disclose 'em:\nI haue made strong proofe of my Constancie,\nGiuing my selfe a voluntary wound\nHeere, in the Thigh: Can I beare that with patience,\nAnd not my Husbands Secrets?\nBru. O ye Gods!\nRender me worthy of this Noble Wife.\nKnocke.\nHarke, harke, one knockes: Portia go in a while,\nAnd by and by thy bosome shall partake\nThe secrets of my Heart.\nAll my engagements, I will construe to thee,\nAll the Charractery of my sad browes:\nLeaue me with hast.\nExit Portia.\nEnter Lucius and Ligarius.\nLucius, who's that knockes\nLuc. Heere is a sicke man that would speak with you\nBru. Caius Ligarius, that Metellus spake of.\nBoy, stand aside. Caius Ligarius, how?\nCai. Vouchsafe good morrow from a feeble tongue\nBru. O what a time haue you chose out braue Caius\nTo weare a Kerchiefe? Would you were not sicke\nCai. I am not sicke, if Brutus haue in hand\nAny exploit worthy the name of Honor\nBru. Such an exploit haue I in hand Ligarius,\nHad you a healthfull eare to heare of it\nCai. By all the Gods that Romans bow before,\nI heere discard my sicknesse. Soule of Rome,\nBraue Sonne, deriu'd from Honourable Loines,\nThou like an Exorcist, hast coniur'd vp\nMy mortified Spirit. Now bid me runne,\nAnd I will striue with things impossible,\nYea get the better of them. What's to do?\nBru. A peece of worke,\nThat will make sicke men whole\nCai. But are not some whole, that we must make sicke?\nBru. That must we also. What it is my Caius,\nI shall vnfold to thee, as we are going,\nTo whom it must be done\nCai. Set on your foote,\nAnd with a heart new-fir'd, I follow you,\nTo do I know not what: but it sufficeth\nThat Brutus leads me on.\nThunder\nBru. Follow me then.\nExeunt.\nThunder & Lightning\nEnter Iulius Caesar in his Night-gowne.\nCaesar. Nor Heauen, nor Earth,\nHaue beene at peace to night:\nThrice hath Calphurnia, in her sleepe cryed out,\nHelpe, ho: They murther Caesar. Who's within?\nEnter a Seruant.\nSer. My Lord\nCaes Go bid the Priests do present Sacrifice,\nAnd bring me their opinions of Successe\nSer. I will my Lord.\nExit\nEnter Calphurnia.\nCal. What mean you Caesar? Think you to walk forth?\nYou shall not stirre out of your house to day\nCaes Caesar shall forth; the things that threaten'd me,\nNe're look'd but on my backe: When they shall see\nThe face of Caesar, they are vanished\nCalp. Caesar, I neuer stood on Ceremonies,\nYet now they fright me: There is one within,\nBesides the things that we haue heard and seene,\nRecounts most horrid sights seene by the Watch.\nA Lionnesse hath whelped in the streets,\nAnd Graues haue yawn'd, and yeelded vp their dead;\nFierce fiery Warriours fight vpon the Clouds\nIn Rankes and Squadrons, and right forme of Warre\nWhich drizel'd blood vpon the Capitoll:\nThe noise of Battell hurtled in the Ayre:\nHorsses do neigh, and dying men did grone,\nAnd Ghosts did shrieke and squeale about the streets.\nO Caesar, these things are beyond all vse,\nAnd I do feare them\nCaes What can be auoyded\nWhose end is purpos'd by the mighty Gods?\nYet Caesar shall go forth: for these Predictions\nAre to the world in generall, as to Caesar\nCalp. When Beggers dye, there are no Comets seen,\nThe Heauens themselues blaze forth the death of Princes\nCaes Cowards dye many times before their deaths,\nThe valiant neuer taste of death but once:\nOf all the Wonders that I yet haue heard,\nIt seemes to me most strange that men should feare,\nSeeing that death, a necessary end\nWill come, when it will come.\nEnter a Seruant.\nWhat say the Augurers?\nSer. They would not haue you to stirre forth to day.\nPlucking the intrailes of an Offering forth,\nThey could not finde a heart within the beast\nCaes The Gods do this in shame of Cowardice:\nCaesar should be a Beast without a heart\nIf he should stay at home to day for feare:\nNo Caesar shall not; Danger knowes full well\nThat Caesar is more dangerous then he.\nWe heare two Lyons litter'd in one day,\nAnd I the elder and more terrible,\nAnd Caesar shall go foorth\nCalp. Alas my Lord,\nYour wisedome is consum'd in confidence:\nDo not go forth to day: Call it my feare,\nThat keepes you in the house, and not your owne.\nWee'l send Mark Antony to the Senate house,\nAnd he shall say, you are not well to day:\nLet me vpon my knee, preuaile in this\nCaes Mark Antony shall say I am not well,\nAnd for thy humor, I will stay at home.\nEnter Decius.\nHeere's Decius Brutus, he shall tell them so\nDeci. Caesar, all haile: Good morrow worthy Caesar,\nI come to fetch you to the Senate house\nCaes And you are come in very happy time,\nTo beare my greeting to the Senators,\nAnd tell them that I will not come to day:\nCannot, is false: and that I dare not, falser:\nI will not come to day, tell them so Decius\nCalp. Say he is sicke\nCaes Shall Caesar send a Lye?\nHaue I in Conquest stretcht mine Arme so farre,\nTo be afear'd to tell Gray-beards the truth:\nDecius, go tell them, Caesar will not come\nDeci. Most mighty Caesar, let me know some cause,\nLest I be laught at when I tell them so\nCaes The cause is in my Will, I will not come,\nThat is enough to satisfie the Senate.\nBut for your priuate satisfaction,\nBecause I loue you, I will let you know.\nCalphurnia heere my wife, stayes me at home:\nShe dreampt to night, she saw my Statue,\nWhich like a Fountaine, with an hundred spouts\nDid run pure blood: and many lusty Romans\nCame smiling, & did bathe their hands in it:\nAnd these does she apply, for warnings and portents,\nAnd euils imminent; and on her knee\nHath begg'd, that I will stay at home to day\nDeci. This Dreame is all amisse interpreted,\nIt was a vision, faire and fortunate:\nYour Statue spouting blood in many pipes,\nIn which so many smiling Romans bath'd,\nSignifies, that from you great Rome shall sucke\nReuiuing blood, and that great men shall presse\nFor Tinctures, Staines, Reliques, and Cognisance.\nThis by Calphurnia's Dreame is signified\nCaes And this way haue you well expounded it\nDeci. I haue, when you haue heard what I can say:\nAnd know it now, the Senate haue concluded\nTo giue this day, a Crowne to mighty Caesar.\nIf you shall send them word you will not come,\nTheir mindes may change. Besides, it were a mocke\nApt to be render'd, for some one to say,\nBreake vp the Senate, till another time:\nWhen Caesars wife shall meete with better Dreames.\nIf Caesar hide himselfe, shall they not whisper\nLoe Caesar is affraid?\nPardon me Caesar, for my deere deere loue\nTo your proceeding, bids me tell you this:\nAnd reason to my loue is liable\nCaes How foolish do your fears seeme now Calphurnia?\nI am ashamed I did yeeld to them.\nGiue me my Robe, for I will go.\nEnter Brutus, Ligarius, Metellus, Caska, Trebonius, Cynna, and\nPublius.\nAnd looke where Publius is come to fetch me\nPub. Good morrow Caesar\nCaes Welcome Publius.\nWhat Brutus, are you stirr'd so earely too?\nGood morrow Caska: Caius Ligarius,\nCaesar was ne're so much your enemy,\nAs that same Ague which hath made you leane.\nWhat is't a Clocke?\nBru. Caesar, 'tis strucken eight\nCaes I thanke you for your paines and curtesie.\nEnter Antony.\nSee, Antony that Reuels long a-nights\nIs notwithstanding vp. Good morrow Antony\nAnt. So to most Noble Caesar\nCaes Bid them prepare within:\nI am too blame to be thus waited for.\nNow Cynna, now Metellus: what Trebonius,\nI haue an houres talke in store for you:\nRemember that you call on me to day:\nBe neere me, that I may remember you\nTreb. Caesar I will: and so neere will I be,\nThat your best Friends shall wish I had beene further\nCaes Good Friends go in, and taste some wine with me.\nAnd we (like Friends) will straight way go together\nBru. That euery like is not the same, O Caesar,\nThe heart of Brutus earnes to thinke vpon.\nExeunt.\nEnter Artemidorus.\nCaesar, beware of Brutus, take heede of Cassius; come not\nneere Caska, haue an eye to Cynna, trust not Trebonius, marke\nwell Metellus Cymber, Decius Brutus loues thee not: Thou\nhast wrong'd Caius Ligarius. There is but one minde in all\nthese men, and it is bent against Caesar: If thou beest not\nImmortall,\nlooke about you: Security giues way to Conspiracie.\nThe mighty Gods defend thee.\nThy Louer, Artemidorus.\nHeere will I stand, till Caesar passe along,\nAnd as a Sutor will I giue him this:\nMy heart laments, that Vertue cannot liue\nOut of the teeth of Emulation.\nIf thou reade this, O Caesar, thou mayest liue;\nIf not, the Fates with Traitors do contriue.\nEnter.\nEnter Portia and Lucius.\nPor. I prythee Boy, run to the Senate-house,\nStay not to answer me, but get thee gone.\nWhy doest thou stay?\nLuc. To know my errand Madam\nPor. I would haue had thee there and heere agen\nEre I can tell thee what thou should'st do there:\nO Constancie, be strong vpon my side,\nSet a huge Mountaine 'tweene my Heart and Tongue:\nI haue a mans minde, but a womans might:\nHow hard it is for women to keepe counsell.\nArt thou heere yet?\nLuc. Madam, what should I do?\nRun to the Capitoll, and nothing else?\nAnd so returne to you, and nothing else?\nPor. Yes, bring me word Boy, if thy Lord look well,\nFor he went sickly forth: and take good note\nWhat Caesar doth, what Sutors presse to him.\nHearke Boy, what noyse is that?\nLuc. I heare none Madam\nPor. Prythee listen well:\nI heard a bussling Rumor like a Fray,\nAnd the winde brings it from the Capitoll\nLuc. Sooth Madam, I heare nothing.\nEnter the Soothsayer.\nPor. Come hither Fellow, which way hast thou bin?\nSooth. At mine owne house, good Lady\nPor. What is't a clocke?\nSooth. About the ninth houre Lady\nPor. Is Caesar yet gone to the Capitoll?\nSooth. Madam not yet, I go to take my stand,\nTo see him passe on to the Capitoll\nPor. Thou hast some suite to Caesar, hast thou not?\nSooth. That I haue Lady, if it will please Caesar\nTo be so good to Caesar, as to heare me:\nI shall beseech him to befriend himselfe\nPor. Why know'st thou any harme's intended towards\nhim?\nSooth. None that I know will be,\nMuch that I feare may chance:\nGood morrow to you: heere the street is narrow:\nThe throng that followes Caesar at the heeles,\nOf Senators, of Praetors, common Sutors,\nWill crowd a feeble man (almost) to death:\nIle get me to a place more voyd, and there\nSpeake to great Caesar as he comes along.\nExit\nPor. I must go in:\nAye me! How weake a thing\nThe heart of woman is? O Brutus,\nThe Heauens speede thee in thine enterprize.\nSure the Boy heard me: Brutus hath a suite\nThat Caesar will not grant. O, I grow faint:\nRun Lucius, and commend me to my Lord,\nSay I am merry; Come to me againe,\nAnd bring me word what he doth say to thee.\nExeunt.\nActus Tertius.\nFlourish\nEnter Caesar, Brutus, Cassius, Caska, Decius, Metellus, Trebonius,\nCynna,\nAntony, Lepidus, Artimedorus, Publius, and the Soothsayer.\nCaes The Ides of March are come\nSooth. I Caesar, but not gone\nArt. Haile Caesar: Read this Scedule\nDeci. Trebonius doth desire you to ore-read\n(At your best leysure) this his humble suite\nArt. O Caesar, reade mine first: for mine's a suite\nThat touches Caesar neerer. Read it great Caesar\nCaes What touches vs our selfe, shall be last seru'd\nArt. Delay not Caesar, read it instantly\nCaes What, is the fellow mad?\nPub. Sirra, giue place\nCassi. What, vrge you your Petitions in the street?\nCome to the Capitoll\nPopil. I wish your enterprize to day may thriue\nCassi. What enterprize Popillius?\nPopil. Fare you well\nBru. What said Popillius Lena?\nCassi. He wisht to day our enterprize might thriue:\nI feare our purpose is discouered\nBru. Looke how he makes to Caesar: marke him\nCassi. Caska be sodaine, for we feare preuention.\nBrutus what shall be done? If this be knowne,\nCassius or Caesar neuer shall turne backe,\nFor I will slay my selfe\nBru. Cassius be constant:\nPopillius Lena speakes not of our purposes,\nFor looke he smiles, and Caesar doth not change\nCassi. Trebonius knowes his time: for look you Brutus\nHe drawes Mark Antony out of the way\nDeci. Where is Metellus Cimber, let him go,\nAnd presently preferre his suite to Caesar\nBru. He is addrest: presse neere, and second him\nCin. Caska, you are the first that reares your hand\nCaes Are we all ready? What is now amisse,\nThat Caesar and his Senate must redresse?\nMetel. Most high, most mighty, and most puisant Caesar\nMetellus Cymber throwes before thy Seate\nAn humble heart\nCaes I must preuent thee Cymber:\nThese couchings, and these lowly courtesies\nMight fire the blood of ordinary men,\nAnd turne pre-Ordinance, and first Decree\nInto the lane of Children. Be not fond,\nTo thinke that Caesar beares such Rebell blood\nThat will be thaw'd from the true quality\nWith that which melteth Fooles, I meane sweet words,\nLow-crooked-curtsies, and base Spaniell fawning:\nThy Brother by decree is banished:\nIf thou doest bend, and pray, and fawne for him,\nI spurne thee like a Curre out of my way:\nKnow, Caesar doth not wrong, nor without cause\nWill he be satisfied\nMetel. Is there no voyce more worthy then my owne,\nTo sound more sweetly in great Caesars eare,\nFor the repealing of my banish'd Brother?\nBru. I kisse thy hand, but not in flattery Caesar:\nDesiring thee, that Publius Cymber may\nHaue an immediate freedome of repeale\nCaes What Brutus?\nCassi. Pardon Caesar: Caesar pardon:\nAs lowe as to thy foote doth Cassius fall,\nTo begge infranchisement for Publius Cymber\nCaes I could be well mou'd, if I were as you,\nIf I could pray to mooue, Prayers would mooue me:\nBut I am constant as the Northerne Starre,\nOf whose true fixt, and resting quality,\nThere is no fellow in the Firmament.\nThe Skies are painted with vnnumbred sparkes,\nThey are all Fire, and euery one doth shine:\nBut, there's but one in all doth hold his place.\nSo, in the World; 'Tis furnish'd well with Men,\nAnd Men are Flesh and Blood, and apprehensiue;\nYet in the number, I do know but One\nThat vnassayleable holds on his Ranke,\nVnshak'd of Motion: and that I am he,\nLet me a little shew it, euen in this:\nThat I was constant Cymber should be banish'd,\nAnd constant do remaine to keepe him so\nCinna. O Caesar\nCaes Hence: Wilt thou lift vp Olympus?\nDecius. Great Caesar\nCaes Doth not Brutus bootlesse kneele?\nCask. Speake hands for me.\nThey stab Caesar.\nCaes Et Tu Brute? - Then fall Caesar.\nDyes\nCin. Liberty, Freedome; Tyranny is dead,\nRun hence, proclaime, cry it about the Streets\nCassi. Some to the common Pulpits, and cry out\nLiberty, Freedome, and Enfranchisement\nBru. People and Senators, be not affrighted:\nFly not, stand still: Ambitions debt is paid\nCask. Go to the Pulpit Brutus\nDec. And Cassius too\nBru. Where's Publius?\nCin. Heere, quite confounded with this mutiny\nMet. Stand fast together, least some Friend of Caesars\nShould chance-\nBru. Talke not of standing. Publius good cheere,\nThere is no harme intended to your person,\nNor to no Roman else: so tell them Publius\nCassi. And leaue vs Publius, least that the people\nRushing on vs, should do your Age some mischiefe\nBru. Do so, and let no man abide this deede,\nBut we the Doers.\nEnter Trebonius\nCassi. Where is Antony?\nTreb. Fled to his House amaz'd:\nMen, Wiues, and Children, stare, cry out, and run,\nAs it were Doomesday\nBru. Fates, we will know your pleasures:\nThat we shall dye we know, 'tis but the time\nAnd drawing dayes out, that men stand vpon\nCask. Why he that cuts off twenty yeares of life,\nCuts off so many yeares of fearing death\nBru. Grant that, and then is Death a Benefit:\nSo are we Caesars Friends, that haue abridg'd\nHis time of fearing death. Stoope Romans, stoope,\nAnd let vs bathe our hands in Caesars blood\nVp to the Elbowes, and besmeare our Swords:\nThen walke we forth, euen to the Market place,\nAnd wauing our red Weapons o're our heads,\nLet's all cry Peace, Freedome, and Liberty\nCassi. Stoop then, and wash. How many Ages hence\nShall this our lofty Scene be acted ouer,\nIn State vnborne, and Accents yet vnknowne?\nBru. How many times shall Caesar bleed in sport,\nThat now on Pompeyes Basis lye along,\nNo worthier then the dust?\nCassi. So oft as that shall be,\nSo often shall the knot of vs be call'd,\nThe Men that gaue their Country liberty\nDec. What, shall we forth?\nCassi. I, euery man away.\nBrutus shall leade, and we will grace his heeles\nWith the most boldest, and best hearts of Rome.\nEnter a Seruant.\nBru. Soft, who comes heere? A friend of Antonies\nSer. Thus Brutus did my Master bid me kneele;\nThus did Mark Antony bid me fall downe,\nAnd being prostrate, thus he bad me say:\nBrutus is Noble, Wise, Valiant, and Honest;\nCaesar was Mighty, Bold, Royall, and Louing:\nSay, I loue Brutus, and I honour him;\nSay, I fear'd Caesar, honour'd him, and lou'd him.\nIf Brutus will vouchsafe, that Antony\nMay safely come to him, and be resolu'd\nHow Caesar hath deseru'd to lye in death,\nMark Antony, shall not loue Caesar dead\nSo well as Brutus liuing; but will follow\nThe Fortunes and Affayres of Noble Brutus,\nThorough the hazards of this vntrod State,\nWith all true Faith. So sayes my Master Antony\nBru. Thy Master is a Wise and Valiant Romane,\nI neuer thought him worse:\nTell him, so please him come vnto this place\nHe shall be satisfied: and by my Honor\nDepart vntouch'd\nSer. Ile fetch him presently.\nExit Seruant.\nBru. I know that we shall haue him well to Friend\nCassi. I wish we may: But yet haue I a minde\nThat feares him much: and my misgiuing still\nFalles shrewdly to the purpose.\nEnter Antony.\nBru. But heere comes Antony:\nWelcome Mark Antony\nAnt. O mighty Caesar! Dost thou lye so lowe?\nAre all thy Conquests, Glories, Triumphes, Spoiles,\nShrunke to this little Measure? Fare thee well.\nI know not Gentlemen what you intend,\nWho else must be let blood, who else is ranke:\nIf I my selfe, there is no houre so fit\nAs Caesars deaths houre; nor no Instrument\nOf halfe that worth, as those your Swords; made rich\nWith the most Noble blood of all this World.\nI do beseech yee, if you beare me hard,\nNow, whil'st your purpled hands do reeke and smoake,\nFulfill your pleasure. Liue a thousand yeeres,\nI shall not finde my selfe so apt to dye.\nNo place will please me so, no meane of death,\nAs heere by Caesar, and by you cut off,\nThe Choice and Master Spirits of this Age\nBru. O Antony! Begge not your death of vs:\nThough now we must appeare bloody and cruell,\nAs by our hands, and this our present Acte\nYou see we do: Yet see you but our hands,\nAnd this, the bleeding businesse they haue done:\nOur hearts you see not, they are pittifull:\nAnd pitty to the generall wrong of Rome,\nAs fire driues out fire, so pitty, pitty\nHath done this deed on Caesar. For your part,\nTo you, our Swords haue leaden points Marke Antony:\nOur Armes in strength of malice, and our Hearts\nOf Brothers temper, do receiue you in,\nWith all kinde loue, good thoughts, and reuerence\nCassi. Your voyce shall be as strong as any mans,\nIn the disposing of new Dignities\nBru. Onely be patient, till we haue appeas'd\nThe Multitude, beside themselues with feare,\nAnd then, we will deliuer you the cause,\nWhy I, that did loue Caesar when I strooke him,\nHaue thus proceeded\nAnt. I doubt not of your Wisedome:\nLet each man render me his bloody hand.\nFirst Marcus Brutus will I shake with you;\nNext Caius Cassius do I take your hand;\nNow Decius Brutus yours; now yours Metellus;\nYours Cinna; and my valiant Caska, yours;\nThough last, not least in loue, yours good Trebonius.\nGentlemen all: Alas, what shall I say,\nMy credit now stands on such slippery ground,\nThat one of two bad wayes you must conceit me,\nEither a Coward, or a Flatterer.\nThat I did loue thee Caesar, O 'tis true:\nIf then thy Spirit looke vpon vs now,\nShall it not greeue thee deerer then thy death,\nTo see thy Antony making his peace,\nShaking the bloody fingers of thy Foes?\nMost Noble, in the presence of thy Coarse,\nHad I as many eyes, as thou hast wounds,\nWeeping as fast as they streame forth thy blood,\nIt would become me better, then to close\nIn tearmes of Friendship with thine enemies.\nPardon me Iulius, heere was't thou bay'd braue Hart,\nHeere did'st thou fall, and heere thy Hunters stand\nSign'd in thy Spoyle, and Crimson'd in thy Lethee.\nO World! thou wast the Forrest to this Hart,\nAnd this indeed, O World, the Hart of thee.\nHow like a Deere, stroken by many Princes,\nDost thou heere lye?\nCassi. Mark Antony\nAnt. Pardon me Caius Cassius:\nThe Enemies of Caesar, shall say this:\nThen, in a Friend, it is cold Modestie\nCassi. I blame you not for praising Caesar so.\nBut what compact meane you to haue with vs?\nWill you be prick'd in number of our Friends,\nOr shall we on, and not depend on you?\nAnt. Therefore I tooke your hands, but was indeed\nSway'd from the point, by looking downe on Caesar.\nFriends am I with you all, and loue you all,\nVpon this hope, that you shall giue me Reasons,\nWhy, and wherein, Caesar was dangerous\nBru. Or else were this a sauage Spectacle:\nOur Reasons are so full of good regard,\nThat were you Antony, the Sonne of Caesar,\nYou should be satisfied\nAnt. That's all I seeke,\nAnd am moreouer sutor, that I may\nProduce his body to the Market-place,\nAnd in the Pulpit as becomes a Friend,\nSpeake in the Order of his Funerall\nBru. You shall Marke Antony\nCassi. Brutus, a word with you:\nYou know not what you do; Do not consent\nThat Antony speake in his Funerall:\nKnow you how much the people may be mou'd\nBy that which he will vtter\nBru. By your pardon:\nI will my selfe into the Pulpit first,\nAnd shew the reason of our Caesars death.\nWhat Antony shall speake, I will protest\nHe speakes by leaue, and by permission:\nAnd that we are contented Caesar shall\nHaue all true Rites, and lawfull Ceremonies,\nIt shall aduantage more, then do vs wrong\nCassi. I know not what may fall, I like it not\nBru. Mark Antony, heere take you Caesars body:\nYou shall not in your Funerall speech blame vs,\nBut speake all good you can deuise of Caesar,\nAnd say you doo't by our permission:\nElse shall you not haue any hand at all\nAbout his Funerall. And you shall speake\nIn the same Pulpit whereto I am going,\nAfter my speech is ended\nAnt. Be it so:\nI do desire no more\nBru. Prepare the body then, and follow vs.\nExeunt.\nManet Antony.\nO pardon me, thou bleeding peece of Earth:\nThat I am meeke and gentle with these Butchers.\nThou art the Ruines of the Noblest man\nThat euer liued in the Tide of Times.\nWoe to the hand that shed this costly Blood.\nOuer thy wounds, now do I Prophesie,\n(Which like dumbe mouthes do ope their Ruby lips,\nTo begge the voyce and vtterance of my Tongue)\nA Curse shall light vpon the limbes of men;\nDomesticke Fury, and fierce Ciuill strife,\nShall cumber all the parts of Italy:\nBlood and destruction shall be so in vse,\nAnd dreadfull Obiects so familiar,\nThat Mothers shall but smile, when they behold\nTheir Infants quartered with the hands of Warre:\nAll pitty choak'd with custome of fell deeds,\nAnd Caesars Spirit ranging for Reuenge,\nWith Ate by his side, come hot from Hell,\nShall in these Confines, with a Monarkes voyce,\nCry hauocke, and let slip the Dogges of Warre,\nThat this foule deede, shall smell aboue the earth\nWith Carrion men, groaning for Buriall.\nEnter Octauio's Seruant.\nYou serue Octauius Caesar, do you not?\nSer. I do Marke Antony\nAnt. Caesar did write for him to come to Rome\nSer. He did receiue his Letters, and is comming,\nAnd bid me say to you by word of mouth-\nO Caesar!\nAnt. Thy heart is bigge: get thee a-part and weepe:\nPassion I see is catching from mine eyes,\nSeeing those Beads of sorrow stand in thine,\nBegan to water. Is thy Master comming?\nSer. He lies to night within seuen Leagues of Rome\nAnt. Post backe with speede,\nAnd tell him what hath chanc'd:\nHeere is a mourning Rome, a dangerous Rome,\nNo Rome of safety for Octauius yet,\nHie hence, and tell him so. Yet stay a-while,\nThou shalt not backe, till I haue borne this course\nInto the Market place: There shall I try\nIn my Oration, how the People take\nThe cruell issue of these bloody men,\nAccording to the which, thou shalt discourse\nTo yong Octauius, of the state of things.\nLend me your hand.\nExeunt.\nEnter Brutus and goes into the Pulpit, and Cassius, with the\nPlebeians.\nPle. We will be satisfied: let vs be satisfied\nBru. Then follow me, and giue me Audience friends.\nCassius go you into the other streete,\nAnd part the Numbers:\nThose that will heare me speake, let 'em stay heere;\nThose that will follow Cassius, go with him,\nAnd publike Reasons shall be rendred\nOf Caesars death\n1.Ple. I will heare Brutus speake\n2. I will heare Cassius, and compare their Reasons,\nWhen seuerally we heare them rendred\n3. The Noble Brutus is ascended: Silence\nBru. Be patient till the last.\nRomans, Countrey-men, and Louers, heare mee for my\ncause, and be silent, that you may heare. Beleeue me for\nmine Honor, and haue respect to mine Honor, that you\nmay beleeue. Censure me in your Wisedom, and awake\nyour Senses, that you may the better Iudge. If there bee\nany in this Assembly, any deere Friend of Caesars, to him\nI say, that Brutus loue to Caesar, was no lesse then his. If\nthen, that Friend demand, why Brutus rose against Caesar,\nthis is my answer: Not that I lou'd Caesar lesse, but\nthat I lou'd Rome more. Had you rather Caesar were liuing,\nand dye all Slaues; then that Caesar were dead, to\nliue all Free-men? As Caesar lou'd mee, I weepe for him;\nas he was Fortunate, I reioyce at it; as he was Valiant, I\nhonour him: But, as he was Ambitious, I slew him. There\nis Teares, for his Loue: Ioy, for his Fortune: Honor, for\nhis Valour: and Death, for his Ambition. Who is heere\nso base, that would be a Bondman? If any, speak, for him\nhaue I offended. Who is heere so rude, that would not\nbe a Roman? If any, speak, for him haue I offended. Who\nis heere so vile, that will not loue his Countrey? If any,\nspeake, for him haue I offended. I pause for a Reply\nAll. None Brutus, none\nBrutus. Then none haue I offended. I haue done no\nmore to Caesar, then you shall do to Brutus. The Question\nof his death, is inroll'd in the Capitoll: his Glory not\nextenuated, wherein he was worthy; nor his offences enforc'd,\nfor which he suffered death.\nEnter Mark Antony, with Caesars body.\nHeere comes his Body, mourn'd by Marke Antony, who\nthough he had no hand in his death, shall receiue the benefit\nof his dying, a place in the Co[m]monwealth, as which\nof you shall not. With this I depart, that as I slewe my\nbest Louer for the good of Rome, I haue the same Dagger\nfor my selfe, when it shall please my Country to need\nmy death\nAll. Liue Brutus, liue, liue\n1. Bring him with Triumph home vnto his house\n2. Giue him a Statue with his Ancestors\n3. Let him be Caesar\n4. Caesars better parts,\nShall be Crown'd in Brutus\n1. Wee'l bring him to his House,\nWith Showts and Clamors\nBru. My Country-men\n2. Peace, silence, Brutus speakes\n1. Peace ho\nBru. Good Countrymen, let me depart alone,\nAnd (for my sake) stay heere with Antony:\nDo grace to Caesars Corpes, and grace his Speech\nTending to Caesars Glories, which Marke Antony\n(By our permission) is allow'd to make.\nI do intreat you, not a man depart,\nSaue I alone, till Antony haue spoke.\nExit\n1 Stay ho, and let vs heare Mark Antony\n3 Let him go vp into the publike Chaire,\nWee'l heare him: Noble Antony go vp\nAnt. For Brutus sake, I am beholding to you\n4 What does he say of Brutus?\n3 He sayes, for Brutus sake\nHe findes himselfe beholding to vs all\n4 'Twere best he speake no harme of Brutus heere?\n1 This Caesar was a Tyrant\n3 Nay that's certaine:\nWe are blest that Rome is rid of him\n2 Peace, let vs heare what Antony can say\nAnt. You gentle Romans\nAll. Peace hoe, let vs heare him\nAn. Friends, Romans, Countrymen, lend me your ears:\nI come to bury Caesar, not to praise him:\nThe euill that men do, liues after them,\nThe good is oft enterred with their bones,\nSo let it be with Caesar. The Noble Brutus,\nHath told you Caesar was Ambitious:\nIf it were so, it was a greeuous Fault,\nAnd greeuously hath Caesar answer'd it.\nHeere, vnder leaue of Brutus, and the rest\n(For Brutus is an Honourable man,\nSo are they all; all Honourable men)\nCome I to speake in Caesars Funerall.\nHe was my Friend, faithfull, and iust to me;\nBut Brutus sayes, he was Ambitious,\nAnd Brutus is an Honourable man.\nHe hath brought many Captiues home to Rome,\nWhose Ransomes, did the generall Coffers fill:\nDid this in Caesar seeme Ambitious?\nWhen that the poore haue cry'de, Caesar hath wept:\nAmbition should be made of sterner stuffe,\nYet Brutus sayes, he was Ambitious:\nAnd Brutus is an Honourable man.\nYou all did see, that on the Lupercall,\nI thrice presented him a Kingly Crowne,\nWhich he did thrice refuse. Was this Ambition?\nYet Brutus sayes, he was Ambitious:\nAnd sure he is an Honourable man.\nI speake not to disprooue what Brutus spoke,\nBut heere I am, to speake what I do know;\nYou all did loue him once, not without cause,\nWhat cause with-holds you then, to mourne for him?\nO Iudgement! thou are fled to brutish Beasts,\nAnd Men haue lost their Reason. Beare with me,\nMy heart is in the Coffin there with Caesar,\nAnd I must pawse, till it come backe to me\n1 Me thinkes there is much reason in his sayings\n2 If thou consider rightly of the matter,\nCaesar ha's had great wrong\n3 Ha's hee Masters? I feare there will a worse come in his place\n4. Mark'd ye his words? he would not take y Crown,\nTherefore 'tis certaine, he was not Ambitious\n1. If it be found so, some will deere abide it\n2. Poore soule, his eyes are red as fire with weeping\n3. There's not a Nobler man in Rome then Antony\n4. Now marke him, he begins againe to speake\nAnt. But yesterday, the word of Caesar might\nHaue stood against the World: Now lies he there,\nAnd none so poore to do him reuerence.\nO Maisters! If I were dispos'd to stirre\nYour hearts and mindes to Mutiny and Rage,\nI should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong:\nWho (you all know) are Honourable men.\nI will not do them wrong: I rather choose\nTo wrong the dead, to wrong my selfe and you,\nThen I will wrong such Honourable men.\nBut heere's a Parchment, with the Seale of Caesar,\nI found it in his Closset, 'tis his Will:\nLet but the Commons heare this Testament:\n(Which pardon me) I do not meane to reade,\nAnd they would go and kisse dead Caesars wounds,\nAnd dip their Napkins in his Sacred Blood;\nYea, begge a haire of him for Memory,\nAnd dying, mention it within their Willes,\nBequeathing it as a rich Legacie\nVnto their issue\n4 Wee'l heare the Will, reade it Marke Antony\nAll. The Will, the Will; we will heare Caesars Will\nAnt. Haue patience gentle Friends, I must not read it.\nIt is not meete you know how Caesar lou'd you:\nYou are not Wood, you are not Stones, but men:\nAnd being men, hearing the Will of Caesar,\nIt will inflame you, it will make you mad:\n'Tis good you know not that you are his Heires,\nFor if you should, O what would come of it?\n4 Read the Will, wee'l heare it Antony:\nYou shall reade vs the Will, Caesars Will\nAnt. Will you be Patient? Will you stay a-while?\nI haue o're-shot my selfe to tell you of it,\nI feare I wrong the Honourable men,\nWhose Daggers haue stabb'd Caesar: I do feare it\n4 They were Traitors: Honourable men?\nAll. The Will, the Testament\n2 They were Villaines, Murderers: the Will, read the\nWill\nAnt. You will compell me then to read the Will:\nThen make a Ring about the Corpes of Caesar,\nAnd let me shew you him that made the Will:\nShall I descend? And will you giue me leaue?\nAll. Come downe\n2 Descend\n3 You shall haue leaue\n4 A Ring, stand round\n1 Stand from the Hearse, stand from the Body\n2 Roome for Antony, most Noble Antony\nAnt. Nay presse not so vpon me, stand farre off\nAll. Stand backe: roome, beare backe\nAnt. If you haue teares, prepare to shed them now.\nYou all do know this Mantle, I remember\nThe first time euer Caesar put it on,\n'Twas on a Summers Euening in his Tent,\nThat day he ouercame the Neruij.\nLooke, in this place ran Cassius Dagger through:\nSee what a rent the enuious Caska made:\nThrough this, the wel-beloued Brutus stabb'd,\nAnd as he pluck'd his cursed Steele away:\nMarke how the blood of Caesar followed it,\nAs rushing out of doores, to be resolu'd\nIf Brutus so vnkindely knock'd, or no:\nFor Brutus, as you know, was Caesars Angel.\nIudge, O you Gods, how deerely Caesar lou'd him:\nThis was the most vnkindest cut of all.\nFor when the Noble Caesar saw him stab,\nIngratitude, more strong then Traitors armes,\nQuite vanquish'd him: then burst his Mighty heart,\nAnd in his Mantle, muffling vp his face,\nEuen at the Base of Pompeyes Statue\n(Which all the while ran blood) great Caesar fell.\nO what a fall was there, my Countrymen?\nThen I, and you, and all of vs fell downe,\nWhil'st bloody Treason flourish'd ouer vs.\nO now you weepe, and I perceiue you feele\nThe dint of pitty: These are gracious droppes.\nKinde Soules, what weepe you, when you but behold\nOur Caesars Vesture wounded? Looke you heere,\nHeere is Himselfe, marr'd as you see with Traitors\n1. O pitteous spectacle!\n2. O Noble Caesar!\n3. O wofull day!\n4. O Traitors, Villaines!\n1. O most bloody sight!\n2. We will be reueng'd: Reuenge\nAbout, seeke, burne, fire, kill, slay,\nLet not a Traitor liue\nAnt. Stay Country-men\n1. Peace there, heare the Noble Antony\n2. Wee'l heare him, wee'l follow him, wee'l dy with\nhim\nAnt. Good Friends, sweet Friends, let me not stirre you vp\nTo such a sodaine Flood of Mutiny:\nThey that haue done this Deede, are honourable.\nWhat priuate greefes they haue, alas I know not,\nThat made them do it: They are Wise, and Honourable,\nAnd will no doubt with Reasons answer you.\nI come not (Friends) to steale away your hearts,\nI am no Orator, as Brutus is:\nBut (as you know me all) a plaine blunt man\nThat loue my Friend, and that they know full well,\nThat gaue me publike leaue to speake of him:\nFor I haue neyther writ nor words, nor worth,\nAction, nor Vtterance, nor the power of Speech,\nTo stirre mens Blood. I onely speake right on:\nI tell you that, which you your selues do know,\nShew you sweet Caesars wounds, poor poor dum mouths\nAnd bid them speake for me: But were I Brutus,\nAnd Brutus Antony, there were an Antony\nWould ruffle vp your Spirits, and put a Tongue\nIn euery Wound of Caesar, that should moue\nThe stones of Rome, to rise and Mutiny\nAll. Wee'l Mutiny\n1 Wee'l burne the house of Brutus\n3 Away then, come, seeke the Conspirators\nAnt. Yet heare me Countrymen, yet heare me speake\nAll. Peace hoe, heare Antony, most Noble Antony\nAnt. Why Friends, you go to do you know not what:\nWherein hath Caesar thus deseru'd your loues?\nAlas you know not, I must tell you then:\nYou haue forgot the Will I told you of\nAll. Most true, the Will, let's stay and heare the Wil\nAnt. Heere is the Will, and vnder Caesars Seale:\nTo euery Roman Citizen he giues,\nTo euery seuerall man, seuenty fiue Drachmaes\n2 Ple. Most Noble Caesar, wee'l reuenge his death\n3 Ple. O Royall Caesar\nAnt. Heare me with patience\nAll. Peace hoe\nAnt. Moreouer, he hath left you all his Walkes,\nHis priuate Arbors, and new-planted Orchards,\nOn this side Tyber, he hath left them you,\nAnd to your heyres for euer: common pleasures\nTo walke abroad, and recreate your selues.\nHeere was a Caesar: when comes such another?\n1.Ple. Neuer, neuer: come, away, away:\nWee'l burne his body in the holy place,\nAnd with the Brands fire the Traitors houses.\nTake vp the body\n2.Ple. Go fetch fire\n3.Ple. Plucke downe Benches\n4.Ple. Plucke downe Formes, Windowes, any thing.\nExit Plebeians.\nAnt. Now let it worke: Mischeefe thou art a-foot,\nTake thou what course thou wilt.\nHow now Fellow?\nEnter Seruant.\nSer. Sir, Octauius is already come to Rome\nAnt. Where is hee?\nSer. He and Lepidus are at Caesars house\nAnt. And thither will I straight, to visit him:\nHe comes vpon a wish. Fortune is merry,\nAnd in this mood will giue vs any thing\nSer. I heard him say, Brutus and Cassius\nAre rid like Madmen through the Gates of Rome\nAnt. Belike they had some notice of the people\nHow I had moued them. Bring me to Octauius.\nExeunt.\nEnter Cinna the Poet, and after him the Plebeians.\nCinna. I dreamt to night, that I did feast with Caesar,\nAnd things vnluckily charge my Fantasie:\nI haue no will to wander foorth of doores,\nYet something leads me foorth\n1. What is your name?\n2. Whether are you going?\n3. Where do you dwell?\n4. Are you a married man, or a Batchellor?\n2. Answer euery man directly\n1. I, and breefely\n4. I, and wisely\n3. I, and truly, you were best\nCin. What is my name? Whether am I going? Where\ndo I dwell? Am I a married man, or a Batchellour? Then\nto answer euery man, directly and breefely, wisely and\ntruly: wisely I say, I am a Batchellor\n2 That's as much as to say, they are fooles that marrie:\nyou'l beare me a bang for that I feare: proceede directly\nCinna. Directly I am going to Caesars Funerall\n1. As a Friend, or an Enemy?\nCinna. As a friend\n2. That matter is answered directly\n4. For your dwelling: breefely\nCinna. Breefely, I dwell by the Capitoll\n3. Your name sir, truly\nCinna. Truly, my name is Cinna\n1. Teare him to peeces, hee's a Conspirator\nCinna. I am Cinna the Poet, I am Cinna the Poet\n4. Teare him for his bad verses, teare him for his bad\nVerses\nCin. I am not Cinna the Conspirator\n4. It is no matter, his name's Cinna, plucke but his\nname out of his heart, and turne him going\n3. Teare him, tear him; Come Brands hoe, Firebrands:\nto Brutus, to Cassius, burne all. Some to Decius House,\nand some to Caska's; some to Ligarius: Away, go.\nExeunt. all the Plebeians.\nActus Quartus.\nEnter Antony, Octauius, and Lepidus.\nAnt. These many then shall die, their names are prickt\nOcta. Your Brother too must dye: consent you Lepidus?\nLep. I do consent\nOcta. Pricke him downe Antony\nLep. Vpon condition Publius shall not liue,\nWho is your Sisters sonne, Marke Antony\nAnt. He shall not liue; looke, with a spot I dam him.\nBut Lepidus, go you to Caesars house:\nFetch the Will hither, and we shall determine\nHow to cut off some charge in Legacies\nLep. What? shall I finde you heere?\nOcta. Or heere, or at the Capitoll.\nExit Lepidus\nAnt. This is a slight vnmeritable man,\nMeet to be sent on Errands: is it fit\nThe three-fold World diuided, he should stand\nOne of the three to share it?\nOcta. So you thought him,\nAnd tooke his voyce who should be prickt to dye\nIn our blacke Sentence and Proscription\nAnt. Octauius, I haue seene more dayes then you,\nAnd though we lay these Honours on this man,\nTo ease our selues of diuers sland'rous loads,\nHe shall but beare them, as the Asse beares Gold,\nTo groane and swet vnder the Businesse,\nEither led or driuen, as we point the way:\nAnd hauing brought our Treasure, where we will,\nThen take we downe his Load, and turne him off\n(Like to the empty Asse) to shake his eares,\nAnd graze in Commons\nOcta. You may do your will:\nBut hee's a tried, and valiant Souldier\nAnt. So is my Horse Octauius, and for that\nI do appoint him store of Prouender.\nIt is a Creature that I teach to fight,\nTo winde, to stop, to run directly on:\nHis corporall Motion, gouern'd by my Spirit,\nAnd in some taste, is Lepidus but so:\nHe must be taught, and train'd, and bid go forth:\nA barren spirited Fellow; one that feeds\nOn Obiects, Arts, and Imitations.\nWhich out of vse, and stal'de by other men\nBegin his fashion. Do not talke of him,\nBut as a property: and now Octauius,\nListen great things. Brutus and Cassius\nAre leuying Powers; We must straight make head:\nTherefore let our Alliance be combin'd,\nOur best Friends made, our meanes stretcht,\nAnd let vs presently go sit in Councell,\nHow couert matters may be best disclos'd,\nAnd open Perils surest answered\nOcta. Let vs do so: for we are at the stake,\nAnd bayed about with many Enemies,\nAnd some that smile haue in their hearts I feare\nMillions of Mischeefes.\nExeunt.\nDrum. Enter Brutus, Lucillius, and the Army. Titinius and\nPindarus meete\nthem.\nBru. Stand ho\nLucil. Giue the word ho, and Stand\nBru. What now Lucillius, is Cassius neere?\nLucil. He is at hand, and Pindarus is come\nTo do you salutation from his Master\nBru. He greets me well. Your Master Pindarus\nIn his owne change, or by ill Officers,\nHath giuen me some worthy cause to wish\nThings done, vndone: But if he be at hand\nI shall be satisfied\nPin. I do not doubt\nBut that my Noble Master will appeare\nSuch as he is, full of regard, and Honour\nBru. He is not doubted. A word Lucillius\nHow he receiu'd you: let me be resolu'd\nLucil. With courtesie, and with respect enough,\nBut not with such familiar instances,\nNor with such free and friendly Conference\nAs he hath vs'd of old\nBru. Thou hast describ'd\nA hot Friend, cooling: Euer note Lucillius,\nWhen Loue begins to sicken and decay\nIt vseth an enforced Ceremony.\nThere are no trickes, in plaine and simple Faith:\nBut hollow men, like Horses hot at hand,\nMake gallant shew, and promise of their Mettle:\nLow March within.\nBut when they should endure the bloody Spurre,\nThey fall their Crests, and like deceitfull Iades\nSinke in the Triall. Comes his Army on?\nLucil. They meane this night in Sardis to be quarter'd:\nThe greater part, the Horse in generall\nAre come with Cassius.\nEnter Cassius and his Powers.\nBru. Hearke, he is arriu'd:\nMarch gently on to meete him\nCassi. Stand ho\nBru. Stand ho, speake the word along.\nStand.\nStand.\nStand\nCassi. Most Noble Brother, you haue done me wrong\nBru. Iudge me you Gods; wrong I mine Enemies?\nAnd if not so, how should I wrong a Brother\nCassi. Brutus, this sober forme of yours, hides wrongs,\nAnd when you do them-\nBrut. Cassius, be content,\nSpeake your greefes softly, I do know you well.\nBefore the eyes of both our Armies heere\n(Which should perceiue nothing but Loue from vs)\nLet vs not wrangle. Bid them moue away:\nThen in my Tent Cassius enlarge your Greefes,\nAnd I will giue you Audience\nCassi. Pindarus,\nBid our Commanders leade their Charges off\nA little from this ground\nBru. Lucillius, do you the like, and let no man\nCome to our Tent, till we haue done our Conference.\nLet Lucius and Titinius guard our doore.\nExeunt.\nManet Brutus and Cassius.\nCassi. That you haue wrong'd me, doth appear in this:\nYou haue condemn'd, and noted Lucius Pella\nFor taking Bribes heere of the Sardians;\nWherein my Letters, praying on his side,\nBecause I knew the man was slighted off\nBru. You wrong'd your selfe to write in such a case\nCassi. In such a time as this, it is not meet\nThat euery nice offence should beare his Comment\nBru. Let me tell you Cassius, you your selfe\nAre much condemn'd to haue an itching Palme,\nTo sell, and Mart your Offices for Gold\nTo Vndeseruers\nCassi. I, an itching Palme?\nYou know that you are Brutus that speakes this,\nOr by the Gods, this speech were else your last\nBru. The name of Cassius Honors this corruption,\nAnd Chasticement doth therefore hide his head\nCassi. Chasticement?\nBru. Remember March, the Ides of March reme[m]ber:\nDid not great Iulius bleede for Iustice sake?\nWhat Villaine touch'd his body, that did stab,\nAnd not for Iustice? What? Shall one of Vs,\nThat strucke the Formost man of all this World,\nBut for supporting Robbers: shall we now,\nContaminate our fingers, with base Bribes?\nAnd sell the mighty space of our large Honors\nFor so much trash, as may be grasped thus?\nI had rather be a Dogge, and bay the Moone,\nThen such a Roman\nCassi. Brutus, baite not me,\nIle not indure it: you forget your selfe\nTo hedge me in. I am a Souldier, I,\nOlder in practice, Abler then your selfe\nTo make Conditions\nBru. Go too: you are not Cassius\nCassi. I am\nBru. I say, you are not\nCassi. Vrge me no more, I shall forget my selfe:\nHaue minde vpon your health: Tempt me no farther\nBru. Away slight man\nCassi. Is't possible?\nBru. Heare me, for I will speake.\nMust I giue way, and roome to your rash Choller?\nShall I be frighted, when a Madman stares?\nCassi. O ye Gods, ye Gods, Must I endure all this?\nBru. All this? I more: Fret till your proud hart break.\nGo shew your Slaues how Chollericke you are,\nAnd make your Bondmen tremble. Must I bouge?\nMust I obserue you? Must I stand and crouch\nVnder your Testie Humour? By the Gods,\nYou shall digest the Venom of your Spleene\nThough it do Split you. For, from this day forth,\nIle vse you for my Mirth, yea for my Laughter\nWhen you are Waspish\nCassi. Is it come to this?\nBru. You say, you are a better Souldier:\nLet it appeare so; make your vaunting true,\nAnd it shall please me well. For mine owne part,\nI shall be glad to learne of Noble men\nCass. You wrong me euery way:\nYou wrong me Brutus:\nI saide, an Elder Souldier, not a Better.\nDid I say Better?\nBru. If you did, I care not\nCass. When Caesar liu'd, he durst not thus haue mou'd me\nBrut. Peace, peace, you durst not so haue tempted him\nCassi. I durst not\nBru. No\nCassi. What? durst not tempt him?\nBru. For your life you durst not\nCassi. Do not presume too much vpon my Loue,\nI may do that I shall be sorry for\nBru. You haue done that you should be sorry for.\nThere is no terror Cassius in your threats:\nFor I am Arm'd so strong in Honesty,\nThat they passe by me, as the idle winde,\nWhich I respect not. I did send to you\nFor certaine summes of Gold, which you deny'd me,\nFor I can raise no money by vile meanes:\nBy Heauen, I had rather Coine my Heart,\nAnd drop my blood for Drachmaes, then to wring\nFrom the hard hands of Peazants, their vile trash\nBy any indirection. I did send\nTo you for Gold to pay my Legions,\nWhich you deny'd me: was that done like Cassius?\nShould I haue answer'd Caius Cassius so?\nWhen Marcus Brutus growes so Couetous,\nTo locke such Rascall Counters from his Friends,\nBe ready Gods with all your Thunder-bolts,\nDash him to peeces\nCassi. I deny'd you not\nBru. You did\nCassi. I did not. He was but a Foole\nThat brought my answer back. Brutus hath riu'd my hart:\nA Friend should beare his Friends infirmities;\nBut Brutus makes mine greater then they are\nBru. I do not, till you practice them on me\nCassi. You loue me not\nBru. I do not like your faults\nCassi. A friendly eye could neuer see such faults\nBru. A Flatterers would not, though they do appeare\nAs huge as high Olympus\nCassi. Come Antony, and yong Octauius come,\nReuenge your selues alone on Cassius,\nFor Cassius is a-weary of the World:\nHated by one he loues, brau'd by his Brother,\nCheck'd like a bondman, all his faults obseru'd,\nSet in a Note-booke, learn'd, and con'd by roate\nTo cast into my Teeth. O I could weepe\nMy Spirit from mine eyes. There is my Dagger,\nAnd heere my naked Breast: Within, a Heart\nDeerer then Pluto's Mine, Richer then Gold:\nIf that thou bee'st a Roman, take it foorth.\nI that deny'd thee Gold, will giue my Heart:\nStrike as thou did'st at Caesar: For I know,\nWhen thou did'st hate him worst, y loued'st him better\nThen euer thou loued'st Cassius\nBru. Sheath your Dagger:\nBe angry when you will, it shall haue scope:\nDo what you will, Dishonor, shall be Humour.\nO Cassius, you are yoaked with a Lambe\nThat carries Anger, as the Flint beares fire,\nWho much inforced, shewes a hastie Sparke,\nAnd straite is cold agen\nCassi. Hath Cassius liu'd\nTo be but Mirth and Laughter to his Brutus,\nWhen greefe and blood ill temper'd, vexeth him?\nBru. When I spoke that, I was ill temper'd too\nCassi. Do you confesse so much? Giue me your hand\nBru. And my heart too\nCassi. O Brutus!\nBru. What's the matter?\nCassi. Haue not you loue enough to beare with me,\nWhen that rash humour which my Mother gaue me\nMakes me forgetfull\nBru. Yes Cassius, and from henceforth\nWhen you are ouer-earnest with your Brutus,\nHee'l thinke your Mother chides, and leaue you so.\nEnter a Poet.\nPoet. Let me go in to see the Generals,\nThere is some grudge betweene 'em, 'tis not meete\nThey be alone\nLucil. You shall not come to them\nPoet. Nothing but death shall stay me\nCas. How now? What's the matter?\nPoet. For shame you Generals; what do you meane?\nLoue, and be Friends, as two such men should bee,\nFor I haue seene more yeeres I'me sure then yee\nCas. Ha, ha, how vildely doth this Cynicke rime?\nBru. Get you hence sirra: Sawcy Fellow, hence\nCas. Beare with him Brutus, 'tis his fashion\nBrut. Ile know his humor, when he knowes his time:\nWhat should the Warres do with these Iigging Fooles?\nCompanion, hence\nCas. Away, away be gone.\nExit Poet\nBru. Lucillius and Titinius bid the Commanders\nPrepare to lodge their Companies to night\nCas. And come your selues, & bring Messala with you\nImmediately to vs\nBru. Lucius, a bowle of Wine\nCas. I did not thinke you could haue bin so angry\nBru. O Cassius, I am sicke of many greefes\nCas. Of your Philosophy you make no vse,\nIf you giue place to accidentall euils\nBru. No man beares sorrow better. Portia is dead\nCas. Ha? Portia?\nBru. She is dead\nCas. How scap'd I killing, when I crost you so?\nO insupportable, and touching losse!\nVpon what sicknesse?\nBru. Impatient of my absence,\nAnd greefe, that yong Octauius with Mark Antony\nHaue made themselues so strong: For with her death\nThat tydings came. With this she fell distract,\nAnd (her Attendants absent) swallow'd fire\nCas. And dy'd so?\nBru. Euen so\nCas. O ye immortall Gods!\nEnter Boy with Wine, and Tapers.\nBru. Speak no more of her: Giue me a bowl of wine,\nIn this I bury all vnkindnesse Cassius.\nDrinkes\nCas. My heart is thirsty for that Noble pledge.\nFill Lucius, till the Wine ore-swell the Cup:\nI cannot drinke too much of Brutus loue.\nEnter Titinius and Messala.\nBrutus. Come in Titinius:\nWelcome good Messala:\nNow sit we close about this Taper heere,\nAnd call in question our necessities\nCass. Portia, art thou gone?\nBru. No more I pray you.\nMessala, I haue heere receiued Letters,\nThat yong Octauius, and Marke Antony\nCome downe vpon vs with a mighty power,\nBending their Expedition toward Philippi\nMess. My selfe haue Letters of the selfe-same Tenure\nBru. With what Addition\nMess. That by proscription, and billes of Outlarie,\nOctauius, Antony, and Lepidus,\nHaue put to death, an hundred Senators\nBru. Therein our Letters do not well agree:\nMine speake of seuenty Senators, that dy'de\nBy their proscriptions, Cicero being one\nCassi. Cicero one?\nMessa. Cicero is dead, and by that order of proscription\nHad you your Letters from your wife, my Lord?\nBru. No Messala\nMessa. Nor nothing in your Letters writ of her?\nBru. Nothing Messala\nMessa. That me thinkes is strange\nBru. Why aske you?\nHeare you ought of her, in yours?\nMessa. No my Lord\nBru. Now as you are a Roman tell me true\nMessa. Then like a Roman, beare the truth I tell,\nFor certaine she is dead, and by strange manner\nBru. Why farewell Portia: We must die Messala:\nWith meditating that she must dye once,\nI haue the patience to endure it now\nMessa. Euen so great men, great losses shold indure\nCassi. I haue as much of this in Art as you,\nBut yet my Nature could not beare it so\nBru. Well, to our worke aliue. What do you thinke\nOf marching to Philippi presently\nCassi. I do not thinke it good\nBru. Your reason?\nCassi. This it is:\n'Tis better that the Enemie seeke vs,\nSo shall he waste his meanes, weary his Souldiers,\nDoing himselfe offence, whil'st we lying still,\nAre full of rest, defence, and nimblenesse\nBru. Good reasons must of force giue place to better:\nThe people 'twixt Philippi, and this ground\nDo stand but in a forc'd affection:\nFor they haue grug'd vs Contribution.\nThe Enemy, marching along by them,\nBy them shall make a fuller number vp,\nCome on refresht, new added, and encourag'd:\nFrom which aduantage shall we cut him off.\nIf at Philippi we do face him there,\nThese people at our backe\nCassi. Heare me good Brother\nBru. Vnder your pardon. You must note beside,\nThat we haue tride the vtmost of our Friends:\nOur Legions are brim full, our cause is ripe,\nThe Enemy encreaseth euery day,\nWe at the height, are readie to decline.\nThere is a Tide in the affayres of men,\nWhich taken at the Flood, leades on to Fortune:\nOmitted, all the voyage of their life,\nIs bound in Shallowes, and in Miseries.\nOn such a full Sea are we now a-float,\nAnd we must take the current when it serues,\nOr loose our Ventures\nCassi. Then with your will go on: wee'l along\nOur selues, and meet them at Philippi\nBru. The deepe of night is crept vpon our talke,\nAnd Nature must obey Necessitie,\nWhich we will niggard with a little rest:\nThere is no more to say\nCassi. No more, good night,\nEarly to morrow will we rise, and hence.\nEnter Lucius.\nBru. Lucius my Gowne: farewell good Messala,\nGood night Titinius: Noble, Noble Cassius,\nGood night, and good repose\nCassi. O my deere Brother:\nThis was an ill beginning of the night:\nNeuer come such diuision 'tweene our soules:\nLet it not Brutus.\nEnter Lucius with the Gowne.\nBru. Euery thing is well\nCassi. Good night my Lord\nBru. Good night good Brother\nTit. Messa. Good night Lord Brutus\nBru. Farwell euery one.\nExeunt.\nGiue me the Gowne. Where is thy Instrument?\nLuc. Heere in the Tent\nBru. What, thou speak'st drowsily?\nPoore knaue I blame thee not, thou art ore-watch'd.\nCall Claudio, and some other of my men,\nIle haue them sleepe on Cushions in my Tent\nLuc. Varrus, and Claudio.\nEnter Varrus and Claudio.\nVar. Cals my Lord?\nBru. I pray you sirs, lye in my Tent and sleepe,\nIt may be I shall raise you by and by\nOn businesse to my Brother Cassius\nVar. So please you, we will stand,\nAnd watch your pleasure\nBru. I will it not haue it so: Lye downe good sirs,\nIt may be I shall otherwise bethinke me.\nLooke Lucius, heere's the booke I sought for so:\nI put it in the pocket of my Gowne\nLuc. I was sure your Lordship did not giue it me\nBru. Beare with me good Boy, I am much forgetfull.\nCanst thou hold vp thy heauie eyes a-while,\nAnd touch thy Instrument a straine or two\nLuc. I my Lord, an't please you\nBru. It does my Boy:\nI trouble thee too much, but thou art willing\nLuc. It is my duty Sir\nBrut. I should not vrge thy duty past thy might,\nI know yong bloods looke for a time of rest\nLuc. I haue slept my Lord already\nBru. It was well done, and thou shalt sleepe againe:\nI will not hold thee long. If I do liue,\nI will be good to thee.\nMusicke, and a Song.\nThis is a sleepy Tune: O Murd'rous slumber!\nLayest thou thy Leaden Mace vpon my Boy,\nThat playes thee Musicke? Gentle knaue good night:\nI will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee:\nIf thou do'st nod, thou break'st thy Instrument,\nIle take it from thee, and (good Boy) good night.\nLet me see, let me see; is not the Leafe turn'd downe\nWhere I left reading? Heere it is I thinke.\nEnter the Ghost of Caesar.\nHow ill this Taper burnes. Ha! Who comes heere?\nI thinke it is the weakenesse of mine eyes\nThat shapes this monstrous Apparition.\nIt comes vpon me: Art thou any thing?\nArt thou some God, some Angell, or some Diuell,\nThat mak'st my blood cold, and my haire to stare?\nSpeake to me, what thou art\nGhost. Thy euill Spirit Brutus?\nBru. Why com'st thou?\nGhost. To tell thee thou shalt see me at Philippi\nBrut. Well: then I shall see thee againe?\nGhost. I, at Philippi\nBrut. Why I will see thee at Philippi then:\nNow I haue taken heart, thou vanishest.\nIll Spirit, I would hold more talke with thee.\nBoy, Lucius, Varrus, Claudio, Sirs: Awake:\nClaudio\nLuc. The strings my Lord, are false\nBru. He thinkes he still is at his Instrument.\nLucius, awake\nLuc. My Lord\nBru. Did'st thou dreame Lucius, that thou so cryedst\nout?\nLuc. My Lord, I do not know that I did cry\nBru. Yes that thou did'st: Did'st thou see any thing?\nLuc. Nothing my Lord\nBru. Sleepe againe Lucius: Sirra Claudio, Fellow,\nThou: Awake\nVar. My Lord\nClau. My Lord\nBru. Why did you so cry out sirs, in your sleepe?\nBoth. Did we my Lord?\nBru. I: saw you any thing?\nVar. No my Lord, I saw nothing\nClau. Nor I my Lord\nBru. Go, and commend me to my Brother Cassius:\nBid him set on his Powres betimes before,\nAnd we will follow\nBoth. It shall be done my Lord.\nExeunt.\nActus Quintus.\nEnter Octauius, Antony, and their Army.\nOcta. Now Antony, our hopes are answered,\nYou said the Enemy would not come downe,\nBut keepe the Hilles and vpper Regions:\nIt proues not so: their battailes are at hand,\nThey meane to warne vs at Philippi heere:\nAnswering before we do demand of them\nAnt. Tut I am in their bosomes, and I know\nWherefore they do it: They could be content\nTo visit other places, and come downe\nWith fearefull brauery: thinking by this face\nTo fasten in our thoughts that they haue Courage;\nBut 'tis not so.\nEnter a Messenger.\nMes. Prepare you Generals,\nThe Enemy comes on in gallant shew:\nTheir bloody signe of Battell is hung out,\nAnd something to be done immediately\nAnt. Octauius, leade your Battaile softly on\nVpon the left hand of the euen Field\nOcta. Vpon the right hand I, keepe thou the left\nAnt. Why do you crosse me in this exigent\nOcta. I do not crosse you: but I will do so.\nMarch.\nDrum. Enter Brutus, Cassius, & their Army.\nBru. They stand, and would haue parley\nCassi. Stand fast Titinius, we must out and talke\nOcta. Mark Antony, shall we giue signe of Battaile?\nAnt. No Caesar, we will answer on their Charge.\nMake forth, the Generals would haue some words\nOct. Stirre not vntill the Signall\nBru. Words before blowes: is it so Countrymen?\nOcta. Not that we loue words better, as you do\nBru. Good words are better then bad strokes Octauius\nAn. In your bad strokes Brutus, you giue good words\nWitnesse the hole you made in Caesars heart,\nCrying long liue, Haile Caesar\nCassi. Antony,\nThe posture of your blowes are yet vnknowne;\nBut for your words, they rob the Hibla Bees,\nAnd leaue them Hony-lesse\nAnt. Not stinglesse too\nBru. O yes, and soundlesse too:\nFor you haue stolne their buzzing Antony,\nAnd very wisely threat before you sting\nAnt. Villains: you did not so, when your vile daggers\nHackt one another in the sides of Caesar:\nYou shew'd your teethes like Apes,\nAnd fawn'd like Hounds,\nAnd bow'd like Bondmen, kissing Caesars feete;\nWhil'st damned Caska, like a Curre, behinde\nStrooke Caesar on the necke. O you Flatterers\nCassi. Flatterers? Now Brutus thanke your selfe,\nThis tongue had not offended so to day.\nIf Cassius might haue rul'd\nOcta. Come, come, the cause. If arguing make vs swet,\nThe proofe of it will turne to redder drops:\nLooke, I draw a Sword against Conspirators,\nWhen thinke you that the Sword goes vp againe?\nNeuer till Caesars three and thirtie wounds\nBe well aueng'd; or till another Caesar\nHaue added slaughter to the Sword of Traitors\nBrut. Caesar, thou canst not dye by Traitors hands.\nVnlesse thou bring'st them with thee\nOcta. So I hope:\nI was not borne to dye on Brutus Sword\nBru. O if thou wer't the Noblest of thy Straine,\nYong-man, thou could'st not dye more honourable\nCassi. A peeuish School-boy, worthles of such Honor\nIoyn'd with a Masker, and a Reueller\nAnt. Old Cassius still\nOcta. Come Antony: away:\nDefiance Traitors, hurle we in your teeth.\nIf you dare fight to day, come to the Field;\nIf not, when you haue stomackes.\nExit Octauius, Antony, and Army\nCassi. Why now blow winde, swell Billow,\nAnd swimme Barke:\nThe Storme is vp, and all is on the hazard\nBru. Ho Lucillius, hearke, a word with you.\nLucillius and Messala stand forth.\nLuc. My Lord\nCassi. Messala\nMessa. What sayes my Generall?\nCassi. Messala, this is my Birth-day: at this very day\nWas Cassius borne. Giue me thy hand Messala:\nBe thou my witnesse, that against my will\n(As Pompey was) am I compell'd to set\nVpon one Battell all our Liberties.\nYou know, that I held Epicurus strong,\nAnd his Opinion: Now I change my minde,\nAnd partly credit things that do presage.\nComming from Sardis, on our former Ensigne\nTwo mighty Eagles fell, and there they pearch'd,\nGorging and feeding from our Soldiers hands,\nWho to Philippi heere consorted vs:\nThis Morning are they fled away, and gone,\nAnd in their steeds, do Rauens, Crowes, and Kites\nFly ore our heads, and downward looke on vs\nAs we were sickely prey; their shadowes seeme\nA Canopy most fatall, vnder which\nOur Army lies, ready to giue vp the Ghost\nMessa. Beleeue not so\nCassi. I but beleeue it partly,\nFor I am fresh of spirit, and resolu'd\nTo meete all perils, very constantly\nBru. Euen so Lucillius\nCassi. Now most Noble Brutus,\nThe Gods to day stand friendly, that we may\nLouers in peace, leade on our dayes to age.\nBut since the affayres of men rests still incertaine,\nLet's reason with the worst that may befall.\nIf we do lose this Battaile, then is this\nThe very last time we shall speake together:\nWhat are you then determined to do?\nBru. Euen by the rule of that Philosophy,\nBy which I did blame Cato, for the death\nWhich he did giue himselfe, I know not how:\nBut I do finde it Cowardly, and vile,\nFor feare of what might fall, so to preuent\nThe time of life, arming my selfe with patience,\nTo stay the prouidence of some high Powers,\nThat gouerne vs below\nCassi. Then, if we loose this Battaile,\nYou are contented to be led in Triumph\nThorow the streets of Rome\nBru. No Cassius, no:\nThinke not thou Noble Romane,\nThat euer Brutus will go bound to Rome,\nHe beares too great a minde. But this same day\nMust end that worke, the Ides of March begun.\nAnd whether we shall meete againe, I know not:\nTherefore our euerlasting farewell take:\nFor euer, and for euer, farewell Cassius,\nIf we do meete againe, why we shall smile;\nIf not, why then this parting was well made\nCassi. For euer, and for euer, farewell Brutus:\nIf we do meete againe, wee'l smile indeede;\nIf not, 'tis true, this parting was well made\nBru. Why then leade on. O that a man might know\nThe end of this dayes businesse, ere it come:\nBut it sufficeth, that the day will end,\nAnd then the end is knowne. Come ho, away.\nExeunt.\nAlarum. Enter Brutus and Messala.\nBru. Ride, ride Messala, ride and giue these Billes\nVnto the Legions, on the other side.\nLowd Alarum.\nLet them set on at once: for I perceiue\nBut cold demeanor in Octauio's wing:\nAnd sodaine push giues them the ouerthrow:\nRide, ride Messala, let them all come downe.\nExeunt.\nAlarums. Enter Cassius and Titinius.\nCassi. O looke Titinius, looke, the Villaines flye:\nMy selfe haue to mine owne turn'd Enemy:\nThis Ensigne heere of mine was turning backe,\nI slew the Coward, and did take it from him\nTitin. O Cassius, Brutus gaue the word too early,\nWho hauing some aduantage on Octauius,\nTooke it too eagerly: his Soldiers fell to spoyle,\nWhilst we by Antony are all inclos'd.\nEnter Pindarus.\nPind. Fly further off my Lord: flye further off,\nMark Antony is in your Tents my Lord:\nFlye therefore Noble Cassius, flye farre off\nCassi. This Hill is farre enough. Looke, look Titinius\nAre those my Tents where I perceiue the fire?\nTit. They are, my Lord\nCassi. Titinius, if thou louest me,\nMount thou my horse, and hide thy spurres in him,\nTill he haue brought thee vp to yonder Troopes\nAnd heere againe, that I may rest assur'd\nWhether yond Troopes, are Friend or Enemy\nTit. I will be heere againe, euen with a thought.\nEnter.\nCassi. Go Pindarus, get higher on that hill,\nMy sight was euer thicke: regard Titinius,\nAnd tell me what thou not'st about the Field.\nThis day I breathed first, Time is come round,\nAnd where I did begin, there shall I end,\nMy life is run his compasse. Sirra, what newes?\nPind. Aboue. O my Lord\nCassi. What newes?\nPind. Titinius is enclosed round about\nWith Horsemen, that make to him on the Spurre,\nYet he spurres on. Now they are almost on him:\nNow Titinius. Now some light: O he lights too.\nHee's tane.\nShowt.\nAnd hearke, they shout for ioy\nCassi. Come downe, behold no more:\nO Coward that I am, to liue so long,\nTo see my best Friend tane before my face\nEnter Pindarus.\nCome hither sirrah: In Parthia did I take thee Prisoner,\nAnd then I swore thee, sauing of thy life,\nThat whatsoeuer I did bid thee do,\nThou should'st attempt it. Come now, keepe thine oath,\nNow be a Free-man, and with this good Sword\nThat ran through Caesars bowels, search this bosome.\nStand not to answer: Heere, take thou the Hilts,\nAnd when my face is couer'd, as 'tis now,\nGuide thou the Sword- Caesar, thou art reueng'd,\nEuen with the Sword that kill'd thee\nPin. So, I am free,\nYet would not so haue beene\nDurst I haue done my will. O Cassius,\nFarre from this Country Pindarus shall run,\nWhere neuer Roman shall take note of him.\nEnter Titinius and Messala.\nMessa. It is but change, Titinius: for Octauius\nIs ouerthrowne by Noble Brutus power,\nAs Cassius Legions are by Antony\nTitin. These tydings will well comfort Cassius\nMessa. Where did you leaue him\nTitin. All disconsolate,\nWith Pindarus his Bondman, on this Hill\nMessa. Is not that he that lyes vpon the ground?\nTitin. He lies not like the Liuing. O my heart!\nMessa. Is not that hee?\nTitin. No, this was he Messala,\nBut Cassius is no more. O setting Sunne:\nAs in thy red Rayes thou doest sinke to night;\nSo in his red blood Cassius day is set.\nThe Sunne of Rome is set. Our day is gone,\nClowds, Dewes, and Dangers come; our deeds are done:\nMistrust of my successe hath done this deed\nMessa. Mistrust of good successe hath done this deed.\nO hatefull Error, Melancholies Childe:\nWhy do'st thou shew to the apt thoughts of men\nThe things that are not? O Error soone conceyu'd,\nThou neuer com'st vnto a happy byrth,\nBut kil'st the Mother that engendred thee\nTit. What Pindarus? Where art thou Pindarus?\nMessa. Seeke him Titinius, whilst I go to meet\nThe Noble Brutus, thrusting this report\nInto his eares; I may say thrusting it:\nFor piercing Steele, and Darts inuenomed,\nShall be as welcome to the eares of Brutus,\nAs tydings of this sight\nTit. Hye you Messala,\nAnd I will seeke for Pindarus the while:\nWhy did'st thou send me forth braue Cassius?\nDid I not meet thy Friends, and did not they\nPut on my Browes this wreath of Victorie,\nAnd bid me giue it thee? Did'st thou not heare their showts?\nAlas, thou hast misconstrued euery thing.\nBut hold thee, take this Garland on thy Brow,\nThy Brutus bid me giue it thee, and I\nWill do his bidding. Brutus, come apace,\nAnd see how I regarded Caius Cassius:\nBy your leaue Gods: This is a Romans part,\nCome Cassius Sword, and finde Titinius hart.\nDies\nAlarum. Enter Brutus, Messala, yong Cato, Strato, Volumnius, and\nLucillius.\nBru. Where, where Messala, doth his body lye?\nMessa. Loe yonder, and Titinius mourning it\nBru. Titinius face is vpward\nCato. He is slaine\nBru. O Iulius Caesar, thou art mighty yet,\nThy Spirit walkes abroad, and turnes our Swords\nIn our owne proper Entrailes. Low Alarums\nCato. Braue Titinius,\nLooke where he haue not crown'd dead Cassius\nBru. Are yet two Romans liuing such as these?\nThe last of all the Romans, far thee well:\nIt is impossible, that euer Rome\nShould breed thy fellow. Friends I owe mo teares\nTo this dead man, then you shall see me pay.\nI shall finde time, Cassius: I shall finde time.\nCome therefore, and to Tharsus send his body,\nHis Funerals shall not be in our Campe,\nLeast it discomfort vs. Lucillius come,\nAnd come yong Cato, let vs to the Field,\nLabio and Flauio set our Battailes on:\n'Tis three a clocke, and Romans yet ere night,\nWe shall try Fortune in a second fight.\nExeunt.\nAlarum. Enter Brutus, Messala, Cato, Lucillius, and Flauius.\nBru. Yet Country-men: O yet, hold vp your heads\nCato. What Bastard doth not? Who will go with me?\nI will proclaime my name about the Field.\nI am the Sonne of Marcus Cato, hoe.\nA Foe to Tyrants, and my Countries Friend.\nI am the Sonne of Marcus Cato, hoe.\nEnter Souldiers, and fight.\nAnd I am Brutus, Marcus Brutus, I,\nBrutus my Countries Friend: Know me for Brutus\nLuc. O yong and Noble Cato, art thou downe?\nWhy now thou dyest, as brauely as Titinius,\nAnd may'st be honour'd, being Cato's Sonne\nSold. Yeeld, or thou dyest\nLuc. Onely I yeeld to dye:\nThere is so much, that thou wilt kill me straight:\nKill Brutus, and be honour'd in his death\nSold. We must not: a Noble Prisoner.\nEnter Antony.\n2.Sold. Roome hoe: tell Antony, Brutus is tane\n1.Sold. Ile tell thee newes. Heere comes the Generall,\nBrutus is tane, Brutus is tane my Lord\nAnt. Where is hee?\nLuc. Safe Antony, Brutus is safe enough:\nI dare assure thee, that no Enemy\nShall euer take aliue the Noble Brutus:\nThe Gods defend him from so great a shame,\nWhen you do finde him, or aliue, or dead,\nHe will be found like Brutus, like himselfe\nAnt. This is not Brutus friend, but I assure you,\nA prize no lesse in worth; keepe this man safe,\nGiue him all kindnesse. I had rather haue\nSuch men my Friends, then Enemies. Go on,\nAnd see where Brutus be aliue or dead,\nAnd bring vs word, vnto Octauius Tent:\nHow euery thing is chanc'd.\nExeunt.\nEnter Brutus, Dardanius, Clitus, Strato, and Volumnius.\nBrut. Come poore remaines of friends, rest on this\nRocke\nClit. Statillius shew'd the Torch-light, but my Lord\nHe came not backe: he is or tane, or slaine\nBrut. Sit thee downe, Clitus: slaying is the word,\nIt is a deed in fashion. Hearke thee, Clitus\nClit. What I, my Lord? No, not for all the World\nBrut. Peace then, no words\nClit. Ile rather kill my selfe\nBrut. Hearke thee, Dardanius\nDard. Shall I doe such a deed?\nClit. O Dardanius\nDard. O Clitus\nClit. What ill request did Brutus make to thee?\nDard. To kill him, Clitus: looke he meditates\nClit. Now is that Noble Vessell full of griefe,\nThat it runnes ouer euen at his eyes\nBrut. Come hither, good Volumnius, list a word\nVolum. What sayes my Lord?\nBrut. Why this, Volumnius:\nThe Ghost of Caesar hath appear'd to me\nTwo seuerall times by Night: at Sardis, once;\nAnd this last Night, here in Philippi fields:\nI know my houre is come\nVolum. Not so, my Lord\nBrut. Nay, I am sure it is, Volumnius.\nThou seest the World, Volumnius, how it goes,\nOur Enemies haue beat vs to the Pit:\nLow Alarums.\nIt is more worthy, to leape in our selues,\nThen tarry till they push vs. Good Volumnius,\nThou know'st, that we two went to Schoole together:\nEuen for that our loue of old, I prethee\nHold thou my Sword Hilts, whilest I runne on it\nVol. That's not an Office for a friend, my Lord.\nAlarum still.\nCly. Fly, flye my Lord, there is no tarrying heere\nBru. Farewell to you, and you, and Volumnius.\nStrato, thou hast bin all this while asleepe:\nFarewell to thee, to Strato, Countrymen:\nMy heart doth ioy, that yet in all my life,\nI found no man, but he was true to me.\nI shall haue glory by this loosing day\nMore then Octauius, and Marke Antony,\nBy this vile Conquest shall attaine vnto.\nSo fare you well at once, for Brutus tongue\nHath almost ended his liues History:\nNight hangs vpon mine eyes, my Bones would rest,\nThat haue but labour'd, to attaine this houre.\nAlarum. Cry within, Flye, flye, flye.\nCly. Fly my Lord, flye\nBru. Hence: I will follow:\nI prythee Strato, stay thou by thy Lord,\nThou art a Fellow of a good respect:\nThy life hath had some smatch of Honor in it,\nHold then my Sword, and turne away thy face,\nWhile I do run vpon it. Wilt thou Strato?\nStra. Giue me your hand first. Fare you wel my Lord\nBru. Farewell good Strato. - Caesar, now be still,\nI kill'd not thee with halfe so good a will.\nDyes.\nAlarum. Retreat. Enter Antony, Octauius, Messala, Lucillius, and\nthe\nArmy.\nOcta. What man is that?\nMessa. My Masters man. Strato, where is thy Master?\nStra. Free from the Bondage you are in Messala,\nThe Conquerors can but make a fire of him:\nFor Brutus onely ouercame himselfe,\nAnd no man else hath Honor by his death\nLucil. So Brutus should be found. I thank thee Brutus\nThat thou hast prou'd Lucillius saying true,\nOcta. All that seru'd Brutus, I will entertaine them.\nFellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me?\nStra. I, if Messala will preferre me to you\nOcta. Do so, good Messala\nMessa. How dyed my Master Strato?\nStra. I held the Sword, and he did run on it\nMessa. Octauius, then take him to follow thee,\nThat did the latest seruice to my Master\nAnt. This was the Noblest Roman of them all:\nAll the Conspirators saue onely hee,\nDid that they did, in enuy of great Caesar:\nHe, onely in a generall honest thought,\nAnd common good to all, made one of them.\nHis life was gentle, and the Elements\nSo mixt in him, that Nature might stand vp,\nAnd say to all the world; This was a man\nOcta. According to his Vertue, let vs vse him\nWithall Respect, and Rites of Buriall.\nWithin my Tent his bones to night shall ly,\nMost like a Souldier ordered Honourably:\nSo call the Field to rest, and let's away,\nTo part the glories of this happy day.\nExeunt. omnes.\nFINIS. THE TRAGEDIE OF IVLIVS CaeSAR.","title":"The Tragedie of Julius Caesar","type":"page"}