JULIUS CAESAR. William Shakespeare
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Of any promise that hath pass’d from him.
CASSIUS.
But what of Cicero? Shall we sound him?
I think he will stand very strong with us.
CASCA.
Let us not leave him out.
CINNA.
No, by no means.
METELLUS.
O, let us have him! for his silver hairs
Will purchase us a good opinion,
And buy men’s voices to commend our deeds:
It shall be said, his judgment ruled our hands;
Our youths and wildness shall no whit appear,
But all be buried in his gravity.
BRUTUS.
O, name him not! let us not break with him;
For he will never follow any thing
That other men begin.
CASSIUS.
Then leave him out.
CASCA.
Indeed, he is not fit.
DECIUS.
Shall no man else be touch’d but only Caesar?
CASSIUS.
Decius, well urged.—I think it is not meet,
Mark Antony, so well beloved of Caesar,
Should outlive Caesar: we shall find of him
A shrewd contriver; and you know his means,
If he improve them, may well stretch so far
As to annoy us all: which to prevent,
Let Antony and Caesar fall together.
BRUTUS.
Our course will seem too bloody, Caius Cassius,
To cut the head off, and then hack the limbs,
Like wrath in death, and envy afterwards;
For Antony is but a limb of Caesar.
Let us be sacrificers, but not butchers, Caius.
We all stand up against the spirit of Caesar;
And in the spirit of men there is no blood:
O, that we then could come by Caesar’s spirit,
And not dismember Caesar! But, alas,
Caesar must bleed for it! And, gentle friends,
Let’s kill him boldly, but not wrathfully;
Let’s carve him as a dish fit for the gods,
Not hew him as a carcass fit for hounds;
And let our hearts, as subtle masters do,
Stir up their servants to an act of rage,
And after seem to chide ‘em. This shall mark
Our purpose necessary, and not envious;
Which so appearing to the common eyes,
We shall be call’d purgers, not murderers.
And for Mark Antony, think not of him;
For he can do no more than Caesar’s arm
When Caesar’s head is off.
CASSIUS.
Yet I do fear him;
For in th’ ingrafted love he bears to Caesar—
BRUTUS.
Alas, good Cassius, do not think of him:
If he love Caesar, all that he can do
Is to himself,—take thought and die for Caesar.
And that were much he should; for he is given
To sports, to wildness, and much company.
TREBONIUS.
There is no fear in him; let him not die;
For he will live, and laugh at this hereafter.
[Clock strikes.]
BRUTUS.
Peace! count the clock.
CASSIUS.
The clock hath stricken three.
TREBONIUS.
‘Tis time to part.
CASSIUS.
But it is doubtful yet
Whether Caesar will come forth today or no;
For he is superstitious grown of late,
Quite from the main opinion he held once
Of fantasy, of dreams, and ceremonies.
It may be these apparent prodigies,
The unaccustom’d terror of this night,
And the persuasion of his augurers
May hold him from the Capitol to-day.
DECIUS.
Never fear that: if he be so resolved,
I can o’ersway him, for he loves to hear
That unicorns may be betray’d with trees,
And bears with glasses, elephants with holes,
Lions with toils, and men with flatterers:
But when I tell him he hates flatterers,
He says he does, being then most flattered.
Let me work;
For I can give his humor the true bent,
And I will bring him to the Capitol.
CASSIUS.
Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch him.
BRUTUS.
By the eighth hour: is that the uttermost?
CINNA.
Be that the uttermost; and fail not then.
METELLUS.
Caius Ligarius doth bear Caesar hard,
Who rated him for speaking well of Pompey:
I wonder none of you have thought of him.
BRUTUS.
Now, good Metellus, go along by him:
He loves me well, and I have given him reason;
Send him but hither, and I’ll fashion him.
CASSIUS.
The morning comes upon ‘s. We’ll leave you, Brutus;—
And, friends, disperse yourselves, but all remember
What you have said, and show yourselves true Romans.
BRUTUS.
Good gentlemen, look fresh and merrily;
Let not our looks put on our purposes,
But bear it as our Roman actors do,
With untired spirits and formal constancy:
And so, good morrow to you every one.—
[Exeunt all but Brutus.]
Boy! Lucius!—Fast asleep? It is no matter;
Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber:
Thou hast no figures nor no fantasies,
Which busy care draws in the brains of men;
Therefore thou sleep’st so sound.
[Enter Portia.]
PORTIA.
Brutus, my lord!
BRUTUS.