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Cæs. I could be well mov’d, if I were as you ;
Cin. O Cæsar,
Doth not Brutus bootless' kneel ?
[Casca stabs CÆSAR in the Neck. CÆSAR
catches hold of his Arm. He is then stabbed by several other Conspirators, and at last
by MARCUS BRUTUS. Cæs. Et tu, Brute 8 ? — Then, fall, Cæsar.
[Dies. The Senators and People retire in
confusion. Cin. Liberty! Freedom! Tyranny is dead ! Run hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets.
Cas. Some to the common pulpits, and cry out, Liberty, freedom, and enfranchisement !
Bru. People, and senators! be not affrighted ; Fly not ; stand still: - ambition's debt is paid. Casca. Go to the pulpit, Brutus. Dec.
And Cassius too.
Bru. Where's Publius ?
cheer; There is no harm intended to your person, Nor to no Roman else : so tell them, Publius.
Cas. And leave us, Publius; lest that the people, Rushing on us, should do your age some mischief. Bru. Do so;
- and let no man abide this deed, But we the doers.
Fled to his house amaz'd : Men, wives, and children, stare, cry out, and
run, As it were doomsday,
Bru. Fates! we will know your pleasures : That we shall die, we know ; 'tis but the time, And drawing days out, that men stand upon.
Cas. Why, he that cuts off twenty years of life, Cuts off so many years of fearing death.
Bru. Grant that, and then is death a benefit : So are we Cæsar's friends, that have abridg'd His time of fearing death.- Stoop, Romans, stoop, And let us bathe our hands in Cæsar's blood Up to the elbows, and besmear our swords : Then walk we forth, even to the market-place: And, waving our red weapons o'er our heads, Let 's all cry, Peace! Freedom! and Liberty ! Cas. Stoop then, and wash. How many ages
hence, Shall this our lofty scene be acted over, In states unborn, and accents yet unknown !
Bru. How many times shall Cæsar bleed in sport, That now on Pompey's basis lies along, No worthier than the dust!
So oft as that shall be,
Dec. What, shall we forth ?
Ay, every man away :
Enter a Servant.
Bru. Soft, who comes here ? A friend of Anto
Bru. Thy master is a wise and valiant Roman;
[Exit Servant. Bru. I know, that we shall have him well to
Re-enter Antony. Bru. But here comes Antony.- Welcome, Mark
Antony. Ant. O mighty Cæsar! Dost thou lie so low? Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils, Shrunk to this little measure ? Fare thee well. I know not, gentlemen, what you intend, Who else must be let blood, who else is ranko: If I myself, there is no hour so fit As Cæsar's death's hour; nor no instrument Of half that worth, as those your swords, made rich With the most noble blood of all this world. I do beseech ye, if you bear me hard, Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and smoke, Fulfil your pleasure. Live a thousand years, I shall not find myself so apt to die : No place will please me so, no mean of death, As here by Cæsar, and by you cut off, The choice and master spirits of this age.
Bru. O Antony! beg not your death of us. Though now we must appear bloody and cruel, As, by our hands, and this our present act, You see we do; yet see you but our hands, And this the bleeding business they have done : Our hearts you see not, they are pitiful ; And pity to the general wrong of Rome (As fire drives out fire, so pity, pity,) Hath done this deed on Cæsar. For your part, To you our swords have leaden points, Mark An
tony : Our arms, in strength of malice, and our hearts, Of brothers' temper, do receive you
in With all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence. Cas. Your voice shall be as strong as any
man's, In the disposing of new dignities.
Bru. Only be patient, till we have appeas'd
9 Grown too high for the publick safety.
The multitude, beside themselves with fear,
I doubt not of your wisdom.
now yours, MeYours, Cinna ;-and, my valiant Casca, yours ; Though last, not least in love, yours, good Tre
bonius. Gentlemen all, - alas ! what shall I say? My credit now stands on such slippery ground, That one of two bad ways you must conceit me, Either a coward or a flatterer.That I did love thee, Cæsar, 0, 'tis true : If then thy spirit look upon us now, Shall it not grieve thee, dearer than thy death, To see thy Antony making his peace, Shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes, Most noble ! in the presence of thy corse ? Had I as many eyes as thou hast wounds, Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood, It would become me better, than to close In terms of friendship with thine enemies.. Pardon me, Julius ! — Here wast thou bay'd, brave
Here didst thou fall; and here thy hunters stand,
Cas. Mark Antony,
Pardon me, Caius Cassius :