Should I have answer'd Caius Cassius so? When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous, To lock such rascal counters from his friends, Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts; Dash him to pieces! I did not: he was but a fool that brought My answer back. Brutus hath rived my heart: A friend should bear his friend's infirmities, But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.
A friendly eye could never see such faults. A flatterer's would not, though they do appear As huge as high Olympus. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come, Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius, For Cassius is aweary of the world; Hated by one he loves; braved by his brother; Cheque'd like a bondman; all his faults observed, Set in a note-book, learn'd, and conn'd by rote, To cast into my teeth.
O, I could weep My spirit from mine eyes! There is my dagger, And here my naked breast; within, a heart Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold: If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth; I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart: Strike, as thou didst at Caesar; for, I know, When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him better Than ever thou lovedst Cassius. Sheathe your dagger: Be angry when you will, it shall have scope; Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour.
O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb That carries anger as the flint bears fire; Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark, And straight is cold again. Hath Cassius lived To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, When grief, and blood ill-temper'd, vexeth him? Do you confess so much? Give me your hand. Have not you love enough to bear with me, When that rash humour which my mother gave me Makes me forgetful?
Yes, Cassius; and, from henceforth, When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so. I'll know his humour, when he knows his time: What should the wars do with these jigging fools? Companion, hence! Lucilius and Tintinius, bid the commanders Prepare to lodge their companies to-night. I did not think you could have been so angry. Of your philosophy you make no use, If you give place to accidental evils.
How 'scaped I killing when I cross'd you so? O insupportable and touching loss! Upon what sickness? Impatient of my absence, And grief that young Octavius with Mark Antony Have made themselves so strong:—for with her death That tidings came;—with this she fell distract, And, her attendants absent, swallow'd fire. Speak no more of her. Give me a bowl of wine. In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius.
My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge. Fill, Lucius, till the wine o'erswell the cup; I cannot drink too much of Brutus' love. Come in, Tintinius! Now sit we close about this taper here, And call in question our necessities. No more, I pray you.
Messala, I have here received letters, That young Octavius and Mark Antony Come down upon us with a mighty power, Bending their expedition toward Philippi. Myself have letters of the selfsame tenor. That by proscription and bills of outlawry, Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus, Have put to death an hundred senators. Therein our letters do not well agree; Mine speak of seventy senators that died By their proscriptions, Cicero being one.
Cicero is dead, And by that order of proscription. Had you your letters from your wife, my lord? Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell: For certain she is dead, and by strange manner. Why, farewell, Portia. We must die, Messala: With meditating that she must die once, I have the patience to endure it now. I have as much of this in art as you, But yet my nature could not bear it so.
Well, to our work alive. What do you think Of marching to Philippi presently? This it is: 'Tis better that the enemy seek us: So shall he waste his means, weary his soldiers, Doing himself offence; whilst we, lying still, Are full of rest, defense, and nimbleness. Good reasons must, of force, give place to better. The people 'twixt Philippi and this ground Do stand but in a forced affection; For they have grudged us contribution: The enemy, marching along by them, By them shall make a fuller number up, Come on refresh'd, new-added, and encouraged; From which advantage shall we cut him off, If at Philippi we do face him there, These people at our back.
Under your pardon. You must note beside, That we have tried the utmost of our friends, Our legions are brim-full, our cause is ripe: The enemy increaseth every day; We, at the height, are ready to decline. There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; Omitted, all the voyage of their life Is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat; And we must take the current when it serves, Or lose our ventures.
Then, with your will, go on; We'll along ourselves, and meet them at Philippi. The deep of night is crept upon our talk, And nature must obey necessity; Which we will niggard with a little rest. There is no more to say? No more. Good night: Early to-morrow will we rise, and hence. Noble, noble Cassius, Good night, and good repose. O my dear brother! This was an ill beginning of the night: Never come such division 'tween our souls! Let it not, Brutus. Farewell, every one.
Where is thy instrument? What, thou speak'st drowsily? Poor knave, I blame thee not; thou art o'er-watch'd. Call Claudius and some other of my men: I'll have them sleep on cushions in my tent.
I pray you, sirs, lie in my tent and sleep; It may be I shall raise you by and by On business to my brother Cassius. So please you, we will stand and watch your pleasure. I will not have it so: lie down, good sirs; It may be I shall otherwise bethink me. Look, Lucius, here's the book I sought for so; I put it in the pocket of my gown.
I was sure your lordship did not give it me. Bear with me, good boy, I am much forgetful. Canst thou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile, And touch thy instrument a strain or two? It does, my boy: I trouble thee too much, but thou art willing. I should not urge thy duty past thy might; I know young bloods look for a time of rest.
It was well done; and thou shalt sleep again; I will not hold thee long: if I do live, I will be good to thee. O murderous slumber, Lay'st thou thy leaden mace upon my boy, That plays thee music? Gentle knave, good night; I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee: If thou dost nod, thou break'st thy instrument; I'll take it from thee; and, good boy, good night.
Let me see, let me see; is not the leaf turn'd down Where I left reading? Here it is, I think. I think it is the weakness of mine eyes That shapes this monstrous apparition.
It comes upon me. Art thou any thing? Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil, That makest my blood cold and my hair to stare?
Speak to me what thou art. To tell thee thou shalt see me at Philippi. Why, I will see thee at Philippi, then. Boy, Lucius! Sirs, awake! He thinks he still is at his instrument. Lucius, awake! Sleep again, Lucius. Sirrah Claudius! Go and commend me to my brother Cassius; Bid him set on his powers betimes before, And we will follow. I do not cross you; but I will do so.
Not that we love words better, as you do. O, yes, and soundless too; For you have stol'n their buzzing, Antony, And very wisely threat before you sting. Come, come, the cause: if arguing make us sweat, The proof of it will turn to redder drops. Look; I draw a sword against conspirators; When think you that the sword goes up again? Never, till Caesar's three and thirty wounds Be well avenged; or till another Caesar Have added slaughter to the sword of traitors.
Caesar, thou canst not die by traitors' hands, Unless thou bring'st them with thee. So I hope; I was not born to die on Brutus' sword. O, if thou wert the noblest of thy strain, Young man, thou couldst not die more honourable. Why, now, blow wind, swell billow and swim bark! The storm is up, and all is on the hazard.
I but believe it partly; For I am fresh of spirit and resolved To meet all perils very constantly. Now, most noble Brutus, The gods to-day stand friendly, that we may, Lovers in peace, lead on our days to age! But since the affairs of men rest still incertain, Let's reason with the worst that may befall. If we do lose this battle, then is this The very last time we shall speak together: What are you then determined to do?
Even by the rule of that philosophy By which I did blame Cato for the death Which he did give himself, I know not how, But I do find it cowardly and vile, For fear of what might fall, so to prevent The time of life: arming myself with patience To stay the providence of some high powers That govern us below.
Then, if we lose this battle, You are contented to be led in triumph Thorough the streets of Rome? But this same day Must end that work the ides of March begun; And whether we shall meet again I know not. Therefore our everlasting farewell take: For ever, and for ever, farewell, Cassius! If we do meet again, why, we shall smile; If not, why then, this parting was well made. For ever, and for ever, farewell, Brutus! If we do meet again, we'll smile indeed; If not, 'tis true this parting was well made.
Why, then, lead on. O, that a man might know The end of this day's business ere it come! But it sufficeth that the day will end, And then the end is known. Come, ho! Ride, ride, Messala, ride, and give these bills Unto the legions on the other side.
Ride, ride, Messala: let them all come down. Hie you, Messala, And I will seek for Pindarus the while. Did I not meet thy friends? Didst thou not hear their shouts? Alas, thou hast misconstrued every thing! But, hold thee, take this garland on thy brow; Thy Brutus bid me give it thee, and I Will do his bidding. Brutus, come apace, And see how I regarded Caius Cassius. By your leave, gods:—this is a Roman's part Come, Cassius' sword, and find Tintinius' heart. O Julius Caesar, thou art mighty yet!
Thy spirit walks abroad and turns our swords In our own proper entrails. Young Cato. Brave Tintinius! Look, whether he have not crown'd dead Cassius! Are yet two Romans living such as these? The last of all the Romans, fare thee well! It is impossible that ever Rome Should breed thy fellow. Friends, I owe more tears To this dead man than you shall see me pay. I shall find time, Cassius, I shall find time. Come, therefore, and to Thasos send his body: His funerals shall not be in our camp, Lest it discomfort us.
Lucilius, come; And come, young Cato; let us to the field. Labeo and Flavius, set our battles on: 'Tis three o'clock; and, Romans, yet ere night We shall try fortune in a second fight. What bastard doth not? Who will go with me? I will proclaim my name about the field: I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho! A foe to tyrants, and my country's friend; I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho! Statilius show'd the torch-light, but, my lord, He came not back: he is or ta'en or slain. Sit thee down, Clitus: slaying is the word; It is a deed in fashion.
Hark thee, Clitus. What, I, my lord? No, not for all the world. Now is that noble vessel full of grief, That it runs over even at his eyes. Why, this, Volumnius: The ghost of Caesar hath appear'd to me Two several times by night; at Sardis once, And, this last night, here in Philippi fields: I know my hour is come. Nay, I am sure it is, Volumnius. Thou seest the world, Volumnius, how it goes; Our enemies have beat us to the pit: [Low alarums] It is more worthy to leap in ourselves, Than tarry till they push us.
Good Volumnius, Thou know'st that we two went to school together: Even for that our love of old, I prithee, Hold thou my sword-hilts, whilst I run on it. Fly, fly, my lord; there is no tarrying here. Farewell to you; and you; and you, Volumnius. Strato, thou hast been all this while asleep; Farewell to thee too, Strato.
Countrymen, My heart doth joy that yet in all my life I found no man but he was true to me. I shall have glory by this losing day More than Octavius and Mark Antony By this vile conquest shall attain unto. So fare you well at once; for Brutus' tongue Hath almost ended his life's history: Night hangs upon mine eyes; my bones would rest, That have but labour'd to attain this hour.
I will follow. Wilt thou, Strato? Give me your hand first. Fare you well, my lord. Farewell, good Strato. Return to the "Julius Caesar" menu. All texts are in the public domain and be used freely for any purpose. Privacy policy. Act, Scene, Line Click to see in context. Speech text. What man is that? A soothsayer bids you beware the ides of March. Will you go see the order of the course? Not I. I pray you, do. Flourish, and shout Brutus. Flourish Brutus. The games are done and Caesar is returning.
Why, you were with him, were you not? I should not then ask Casca what had chanced. What was the second noise for? Why, for that too. Was the crown offered him thrice? Why, Antony. Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca. What said he when he came unto himself? And after that, he came, thus sad, away? Exit Brutus. Call'd you, my lord? Gives him the letter Brutus. I know not, sir. Look in the calendar, and bring me word. Knocking within Brutus.
Is he alone? No, sir, there are moe with him. Do you know them? He is welcome hither. This, Decius Brutus. He is welcome too. Give me your hands all over, one by one.
And let us swear our resolution. Yet I fear him; For in the ingrafted love he bears to Caesar— Brutus. Antony, according to his agreement with Brutus, must acknowledge that he is speaking by permission under leave of the conspirators.
Brutus intends that this should show the conspirators in a good light; unfortunately for Brutus and the rest, it gives Antony an opening to elaborate upon them in what will evolve into a most unflattering refrain. And here we have one of Shakespeare's most cited examples of verbal irony.
The tone here is at its most subtle; Antony has to make this particular occurrence as benign as possible at first. The irony as he returns to the phrase throughout his speech is dependent upon a progressive contrast between Antony's words and his inflection. Here again, we have a sense of disjointed meter that underscores the tension in what Antony says.
The repetition of "all" with the midline caesura gives the speaker a naturally stressed inflection that betrays some of Antony's underlying scorn. Antony returns to the actual predicate of his statement with innocuous metrical regularity. The line is all but a throwaway; Antony doesn't want the crowd dwelling on the idea that he is speaking here by permission. The preceding parenthetical insertion of Brutus and the rest being "honourable men" displaces his emphasis and lessens the impression that Brutus holds sway over him.
In doing so, Antony effectively obeys the letter of his agreement without yielding to its spirit. Metrically, Shakespeare employs a trochaic inversion centered upon a midline caesura. Antony, rather unsurprisingly, begins his formal eulogy of Caesar by recalling their friendship. On the rhetorical level, this will also help call into question the reasoning that Brutus gives for Caesar's murder. Antony contrasts his experience with what Brutus has said. The obvious implication is that Brutus and Antony have different views of Caesar.
The more subtle implication is that since both men have claimed him as their friend, they have equal authority to speak on the subject of Caesar's disposition. Antony, however, has the advantage of not needing to justify his actions. Instead, Antony can focus on sawing the limb out from under Brutus's argument. A plebian might think that at worst, perhaps, either Antony or Brutus has made an honest mistake in his judgment of Caesar. On the other hand, the words says , ambitious , and honourable are becoming impossible to miss.
The pronoun, given the preceding reference to Brutus, can sometimes be a tad confusing at first; the "He" refers to Caesar. The second foot of the line is the only tricky one to scan.
It's tempting to think that Shakespeare meant general meaning "public" in this context to be pronounced more like gen'ral to adhere more strictly to iambic meter. As it stands, it's just as easy to read general as a dactyl substitution in a predominantly iambic line. Antony also displays the mark of a true politician: he appeals to their wallets, reminding the crowd that what was good for the economy was good for them.
The question, of course, is rhetorical. The scary term for this style of rhetorical question is anacoenosis , a tactic of posing a rhetorical question to one's audience for dramatic effect. The trope also implies a bond or common interest between the speaker and the audience, that both are of like mind. This line demonstrates the two most common trochaic inversions in Shakespeare's verse: an initial trochee to begin the line, and another following the caesura.
Antony knows his audience well. Patricians and the upper crust of Roman society that comprised the Senate were known to be indifferent, even callous, to the suffering of the lower classes.
To portray Caesar as sympathetically weeping for their plight is fanning the flames, although Antony is saving his proof Caesar's will as a trump card for later. Antony, were he speaking on television today, could be accused of going for a good soundbite. Stern denotes "pitiless; cruel or unkind. This is another way that Antony uses circumlocution to call Brutus's account into question without ever averring that Brutus is a liar.
This is the third time in this speech that Antony utters this refrain. Every time he says this, it draws Brutus in an increasingly harsher light. Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears. I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. The evil that men do lives after them;. So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus. Hath told you Caesar was ambitious. If it were so, it was a grievous fault,. And grievously hath Caesar answered it.
Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest —. For Brutus is an honorable man;. So are they all, all honorable men —. Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. He was my friend, faithful and just to me. But Brutus says he was ambitious,. And Brutus is an honorable man. He hath brought many captives home to Rome,. Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill.
Did this in Caesar seem ambitious? When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept;. Ambition should be made of sterner stuff. Yet Brutus says he was ambitious,. You all did see that on the Lupercal. I thrice presented him a kingly crown,. Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition? And sure he is an honorable man. I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,.
But here I am to speak what I do know. You all did love him once, not without cause;. What cause withholds you then to mourn for him? O judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts,. And men have lost their reason! Bear with me;. My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar,. And I must pause till it come back to me. Methinks there is much reason in his sayings. If thou consider rightly of the matter,.
Caesar has had great wrong. Has he, masters? I fear there will a worse come in his place. Marked ye his words? He would not take the crown;. Therefore 'tis certain he was not ambitious. If it be found so, some will dear abide it. Poor soul, his eyes are red as fire with weeping. There's not a nobler man in Rome than Antony. Now mark him, he begins again to speak. But yesterday the word of Caesar might. Have stood against the world.
Now lies he there,. And none so poor to do him reverence. O masters , if I were disposed to stir. Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage,. I should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong,.
Who — you all know — are honorable men. I will not do them wrong. I rather choose. To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you,. Than I will wrong such honorable men. But here's a parchment , with the seal of Caesar;. I found it in his closet — 'tis his will. Let but the commons hear this testament —.
Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read —. And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds. And dip their napkins in his sacred blood,. Yea, beg a hair of him for memory,. And dying , mention it within their wills,. Bequeathing it as a rich legacy. Unto their issue. We'll hear the will! Read it, Mark Antony. The will! We will hear Caesar's will! Have patience, gentle friends; I must not read it.
It is not meet you know how Caesar loved you. You are not wood, you are not stones, but men;. And, being men, hearing the will of Caesar,. It will inflame you, it will make you mad. For, if you should, O, what would come of it? Read the will! We'll hear it, Antony! You shall read us the will, Caesar's will! Will you be patient? Will you stay awhile? I have o'ershot myself to tell you of it.
I fear I wrong the honorable men. Whose daggers have stabbed Caesar; I do fear it. They were traitors. The testament! They were villains, murderers! You will compel me, then, to read the will? Then make a ring about the corpse of Caesar,. And let me show you him that made the will. Shall I descend? And will you give me leave? Come down. You shall have leave. A ring. Stand round.
Stand from the hearse, stand from the body.
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