It makes the course of thoughts to fetch about,


Makes sound opinion sick and truth suspected,


When workmen strive to do better than well,


They do confound their skill in covetousness;


Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse,


Than did the fault before it was so patchd.


To this effect, before you were new crownd,


We breathed our counsel: but it pleased your highness


To overbear it, and we are all well pleased,


Since all and every part of what we would


Doth make a stand at what your highness will.


I have possessd you with and think them strong;


And more, more strong, then lesser is my fear,


I shall indue you with: meantime but ask


What you would have reformd that is not well,


And well shall you perceive how willingly


I will both hear and grant you your requests.


Then I, as one that am the tongue of these,


To sound the purpose of all their hearts,


Both for myself and them, but, chief of all,


Your safety, for the which myself and them


Bend their best studies, heartily request


The enfranchisement of Arthur; whose restraint


Doth move the murmuring lips of discontent


To break into this dangerous argument,--


If what in rest you have in right you hold,


Why then your fears, which, as they say, attend


The steps of wrong, should move you to mew up


Your tender kinsman and to choke his days


With barbarous ignorance and deny his youth


That the times enemies may not have this


Which for our goods we do no further ask


Than whereupon our weal, on you depending,


Counts it your weal he have his liberty.


To your direction. Hubert, what news with you?


This is the man should do the bloody deed;


He showd his warrant to a friend of mine:


Lives in his eye; that close aspect of his


Does show the mood of a much troubled breast;


Like heralds twixt two dreadful battles set:


His passion is so ripe, it needs must break.


And when it breaks, I fear will issue thence


The foul corruption of a sweet childs death.


Good lords, although my will to give is living,


The suit which you demand is gone and dead:


He tells us Arthur is deceased to-night.


Indeed we feard his sickness was past cure.


Indeed we heard how near his death he was


Before the child himself felt he was sick:


This must be answerd either here or hence.


Why do you bend such solemn brows on me?


Have I commandment on the pulse of life?


That greatness should so grossly offer it:


So thrive it in your game! and so, farewell.


Stay yet, Lord Salisbury; Ill go with thee,


And find the inheritance of this poor child,


That blood which owed the breadth of all this isle,


Three foot of it doth hold: bad world the while!


This must not be thus borne: this will break out


To all our sorrows, and ere long I doubt.


There is no sure foundation set on blood,


No certain life achieved by others death.


A fearful eye thou hast: where is that blood


That I have seen inhabit in those cheeks?


So foul a sky clears not without a storm:


Pour down thy weather: how goes all in France?


From France to England. Never such a power


The copy of your speed is learnd by them;


For when you should be told they do prepare,


The tidings come that they are all arrived.


O, where hath our intelligence been drunk?


Where hath it slept? Where is my mothers care,


That such an army could be drawn in France,


Is stoppd with dust; the first of April died


Your noble mother: and, as I hear, my lord,


Three days before: but this from rumours tongue


I idly heard; if true or false I know not.


O, make a league with me, till I have pleased


My discontented peers! What! mother dead!


How wildly then walks my estate in France!


Under whose conduct came those powers of France


That thou for truth givest out are landed here?


To your proceedings? do not seek to stuff


My head with more ill news, for it is full.


Then let the worst unheard fall on your bead.


To any tongue, speak it of what it will.


The sums I have collected shall express.


But as I travelld hither through the land,


Possessd with rumours, full of idle dreams,


Not knowing what they fear, but full of fear:


And here a prophet, that I brought with me


From forth the streets of Pomfret, whom I found


With many hundreds treading on his heels;


To whom he sung, in rude harsh-sounding rhymes,


That, ere the next Ascension-day at noon,


Your highness should deliver up your crown.


Thou idle dreamer, wherefore didst thou so?


Foreknowing that the truth will fall out so.


I shall yield up my crown, let him be hangd.


Hearst thou the news abroad, who are arrived?


The French, my lord; mens mouths are full of it:


Besides, I met Lord Bigot and Lord Salisbury,


And others more, going to seek the grave


Of Arthur, who they say is killd to-night


And thrust thyself into their companies:


Nay, but make haste; the better foot before.


When adverse foreigners affright my towns


And fly like thought from them to me again.


The spirit of the time shall teach me speed.


Spoke like a sprightful noble gentleman.


Some messenger betwixt me and the peers;


My lord, they say five moons were seen to-night;


Four fixed, and the fifth did whirl about


Young Arthurs death is common in their mouths:


And when they talk of him, they shake their heads


And he that speaks doth gripe the hearers wrist,


Whilst he that hears makes fearful action,


With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes.


I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus,


The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool,


With open mouth swallowing a tailors news;


Who, with his shears and measure in his hand,


Standing on slippers, which his nimble haste


That were embattailed and rankd in Kent:


Cuts off his tale and talks of Arthurs death.


Why seekst thou to possess me with these fears?


Why urgest thou so oft young Arthurs death?


Thy hand hath murderd him: I had a mighty cause


To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him.


No had, my lord! why, did you not provoke me?


By slaves that take their humours for a warrant


To break within the bloody house of life,


To understand a law, to know the meaning


Of dangerous majesty, when perchance it frowns


Here is your hand and seal for what I did.


O, when the last account twixt heaven and earth


Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal


How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds


Make deeds ill done! Hadst not thou been by,


I faintly broke with thee of Arthurs death;


Made it no conscience to destroy a prince.


Hadst thou but shook thy head or made a pause


As bid me tell my tale in express words,


Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break off,


And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me:


But thou didst understand me by my signs


And didst in signs again parley with sin;


Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent,


The deed, which both our tongues held vile to name.


My nobles leave me; and my state is braved,


Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign powers:


This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath,


Between my conscience and my cousins death.


Ill make a peace between your soul and you.


Young Arthur is alive: this hand of mine


Not painted with the crimson spots of blood.


The dreadful motion of a murderous thought;


And you have slanderd nature in my form,


Than to be butcher of an innocent child.


Doth Arthur live? O, haste thee to the peers,


Throw this report on their incensed rage,


Forgive the comment that my passion made


Upon thy feature; for my rage was blind,


Presented thee more hideous than thou art.


The angry lords with all expedient haste.


I conjure thee but slowly; run more fast.


The wall is high, and yet will I leap down:


Good ground, be pitiful and hurt me not!


Theres few or none do know me: if they did,


This ship-boys semblance hath disguised me quite.


If I get down, and do not break my limbs,


O me! my uncles spirit is in these stones:


Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones!


Lords, I will meet him at Saint Edmundsbury:


Who brought that letter from the cardinal?


The Count Melun, a noble lord of France,


Whose private with me of the Dauphins love


Is much more general than these lines import.


Or rather then set forward; for twill be


Two long days journey, lords, or ere we meet.


Once more to-day well met, distemperd lords!


The king by me requests your presence straight.


The king hath dispossessd himself of us:


We will not line his thin bestained cloak


With our pure honours, nor attend the foot


That leaves the print of blood whereer it walks.


Return and tell him so: we know the worst.


Whateer you think, good words, I think, were best.


Our griefs, and not our manners, reason now.


But there is little reason in your grief;


Therefore twere reason you had manners now.


Sir, sir, impatience hath his privilege.


Tis true, to hurt his master, no man else.


This is the prison. What is he lies here?


O death, made proud with pure and princely beauty!


The earth had not a hole to hide this deed.


Murder, as hating what himself hath done,


Or, when he doomd this beauty to a grave,


Found it too precious-princely for a grave.


Sir Richard, what think you? have you beheld,


Or have you read or heard? or could you think?


Or do you almost think, although you see,


That you do see? could thought, without this object,


Form such another? This is the very top,


The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest,


Of murders arms: this is the bloodiest shame,


The wildest savagery, the vilest stroke,


That ever wall-eyed wrath or staring rage


All murders past do stand excused in this:


And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest,


We had a kind of light what would ensue:


It is the shameful work of Huberts hand;


The practise and the purpose of the king:


Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life,


And breathing to his breathless excellence


Never to taste the pleasures of the world,


Our souls religiously confirm thy words.


Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking you:


Arthur doth live; the king hath sent for you.


Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone!


Your sword is bright, sir; put it up again.


Not till I sheathe it in a murderers skin.


Stand back, Lord Salisbury, stand back, I say;


By heaven, I think my swords as sharp as yours:


I would not have you, lord, forget yourself,


Nor tempt the danger of my true defence;


Your worth, your greatness and nobility.


Out, dunghill! darest thou brave a nobleman?


Yet I am none: whose tongue soeer speaks false,


Not truly speaks; who speaks not truly, lies.


Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faulconbridge.


Thou wert better gall the devil, Salisbury:


If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot,


Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame,


Ill strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime;


Or Ill so maul you and your toasting-iron,


That you shall think the devil is come from hell.


What wilt thou do, renowned Faulconbridge?


I honourd him, I loved him, and will weep


My date of life out for his sweet lifes loss.


Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes,


And he, long traded in it, makes it seem


The uncleanly savours of a slaughter-house;


For I am stifled with this smell of sin.


There tell the king he may inquire us out.


Heres a good world! Knew you of this fair work?


Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of death,


Thourt damnd as black--nay, nothing is so black;


Thou art more deep damnd than Prince Lucifer:


There is not yet so ugly a fiend of hell


As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child.


And if thou wantst a cord, the smallest thread


Will serve to strangle thee, a rush will be a beam


To hang thee on; or wouldst thou drown thyself,


If I in act, consent, or sin of thought,


Be guilty of the stealing that sweet breath


Which was embounded in this beauteous clay,


Let hell want pains enough to torture me.


Among the thorns and dangers of this world.


The life, the right and truth of all this realm


Is fled to heaven; and England now is left


To tug and scamble and to part by the teeth


The unowed interest of proud-swelling state.


And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace:


Now powers from home and discontents at home


Meet in one line; and vast confusion waits,


Now happy he whose cloak and cincture can


Hold out this tempest. Bear away that child


And follow me with speed: Ill to the king:


A thousand businesses are brief in hand,


And heaven itself doth frown upon the land.


Enter KING JOHN, CARDINAL PANDULPH, and Attendants


From this my hand, as holding of the pope


Now keep your holy word: go meet the French,


And from his holiness use all your power


To stop their marches fore we are inflamed.


Swearing allegiance and the love of soul


Then pause not; for the present times so sick,


That present medicine must be ministerd,


It was my breath that blew this tempest up,


My tongue shall hush again this storm of war


And make fair weather in your blustering land.


Go I to make the French lay down their arms.


Is this Ascension-day? Did not the prophet


My crown I should give off? Even so I have:


I did suppose it should be on constraint:


But, heaven be thankd, it is but voluntary.


All Kent hath yielded; nothing there holds out


Like a kind host, the Dauphin and his powers:


Your nobles will not hear you, but are gone


The little number of your doubtful friends.


After they heard young Arthur was alive?


They found him dead and cast into the streets,


An empty casket, where the jewel of life


By some damnd hand was robbd and taen away.


That villain Hubert told me he did live.


So, on my soul, he did, for aught he knew.


But wherefore do you droop? why look you sad?


Be great in act, as you have been in thought;


Let not the world see fear and sad distrust


Be stirring as the time; be fire with fire;


Threaten the threatener and outface the brow


Of bragging horror: so shall inferior eyes,


That borrow their behaviors from the great,


What, shall they seek the lion in his den,


And fright him there? and make him tremble there?


To meet displeasure farther from the doors,


And grapple with him ere he comes so nigh.


The legate of the pope hath been with me,


And he hath promised to dismiss the powers


Send fair-play orders and make compromise,


To arms invasive? shall a beardless boy,


A cockerd silken wanton, brave our fields,


Mocking the air with colours idly spread,


And find no cheque? Let us, my liege, to arms:


Perchance the cardinal cannot make your peace;


Have thou the ordering of this present time.


Away, then, with good courage! yet, I know,


SCENE II. LEWISs camp at St. Edmundsbury.


Enter, in arms, LEWIS, SALISBURY, MELUN, PEMBROKE, BIGOT, and Soldiers


Return the precedent to these lords again;


That, having our fair order written down,


Both they and we, perusing oer these notes,


May know wherefore we took the sacrament


And keep our faiths firm and inviolable.


Upon our sides it never shall be broken.


To your proceedings; yet believe me, prince,


Should seek a plaster by contemnd revolt,


And heal the inveterate canker of one wound


That I must draw this metal from my side


That, for the health and physic of our right,


That we, the sons and children of this isle,


Were born to see so sad an hour as this;


Her enemies ranks,--I must withdraw and weep


What, here? O nation, that thou couldst remove!


That Neptunes arms, who clippeth thee about,


Would bear thee from the knowledge of thyself,


Where these two Christian armies might combine


The blood of malice in a vein of league,


And great affections wrestling in thy bosom


That silverly doth progress on thy cheeks:


This shower, blown up by tempest of the soul,


Startles mine eyes, and makes me more amazed


Than had I seen the vaulty top of heaven


And with a great heart heave away the storm:


Nor met with fortune other than at feasts,


Full of warm blood, of mirth, of gossiping.


Come, come; for thou shalt thrust thy hand as deep


As Lewis himself: so, nobles, shall you all,


That knit your sinews to the strength of mine.


And even there, methinks, an angel spake:


Look, where the holy legate comes apace,


To give us warrant from the hand of heaven


And on our actions set the name of right


The next is this, King John hath reconciled


That so stood out against the holy church,


Therefore thy threatening colours now wind up;


Your grace shall pardon me, I will not back:


To any sovereign state throughout the world.


Your breath first kindled the dead coal of wars


Between this chastised kingdom and myself,


And brought in matter that should feed this fire;


And now tis far too huge to be blown out


With that same weak wind which enkindled it.


You taught me how to know the face of right,


Acquainted me with interest to this land,


Yea, thrust this enterprise into my heart;


And come ye now to tell me John hath made


His peace with Rome? What is that peace to me?


After young Arthur, claim this land for mine;


And, now it is half-conquerd, must I back


Because that John hath made his peace with Rome?


Am I Romes slave? What penny hath Rome borne,


That undergo this charge? who else but I,


Sweat in this business and maintain this war?


Have I not heard these islanders shout out


Vive le roi! as I have bankd their towns?


Have I not here the best cards for the game,


To win this easy match playd for a crown?


And shall I now give oer the yielded set?


No, no, on my soul, it never shall be said.


You look but on the outside of this work.


And culld these fiery spirits from the world,


Even in the jaws of danger and of death.


According to the fair play of the world,


Let me have audience; I am sent to speak:


I come, to learn how you have dealt for him;


And will not temporize with my entreaties;


He flatly says hell not lay down his arms.


By all the blood that ever fury breathed,


The youth says well. Now hear our English king;


He is prepared, and reason too he should:


This harnessd masque and unadvised revel,


This unhaird sauciness and boyish troops,


The king doth smile at; and is well prepared


To whip this dwarfish war, these pigmy arms,


That hand which had the strength, even at your door,


To cudgel you and make you take the hatch,


To dive like buckets in concealed wells,


To crouch in litter of your stable planks,


To lie like pawns lockd up in chests and trunks,


To hug with swine, to seek sweet safety out


In vaults and prisons, and to thrill and shake


Even at the crying of your nations crow,


Shall that victorious hand be feebled here,


That in your chambers gave you chastisement?


To souse annoyance that comes near his nest.


And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts,


Of your dear mother England, blush for shame;


For your own ladies and pale-visaged maids


Their thimbles into armed gauntlets change,


Their needles to lances, and their gentle hearts


There end thy brave, and turn thy face in peace;


We grant thou canst outscold us: fare thee well;


We hold our time too precious to be spent


Strike up the drums; and let the tongue of war


Plead for our interest and our being here.


Indeed your drums, being beaten, will cry out;


And so shall you, being beaten: do but start


That shall reverberate all as loud as thine;


And mock the deep-mouthd thunder: for at hand,


Not trusting to this halting legate here,


Whom he hath used rather for sport than need


Is warlike John; and in his forehead sits


A bare-ribbd death, whose office is this day


To feast upon whole thousands of the French.


Strike up our drums, to find this danger out.


And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not doubt.


How goes the day with us? O, tell me, Hubert.


This fever, that hath troubled me so long,


My lord, your valiant kinsman, Faulconbridge,


And send him word by me which way you go.


Tell him, toward Swinstead, to the abbey there.


Be of good comfort; for the great supply


Are wreckd three nights ago on Goodwin Sands.


This news was brought to Richard but even now:


The French fight coldly, and retire themselves.


And will not let me welcome this good news.


Set on toward Swinstead: to my litter straight;


I did not think the king so stored with friends.


Up once again; put spirit in the French:


In spite of spite, alone upholds the day.


They say King John sore sick hath left the field.


Fly, noble English, you are bought and sold;


Seek out King John and fall before his feet;


For if the French be lords of this loud day,


He means to recompense the pains you take


By cutting off your heads: thus hath he sworn


Even on that altar where we swore to you


Have I not hideous death within my view,


Which bleeds away, even as a form of wax


Resolveth from his figure gainst the fire?


What in the world should make me now deceive,


Since I must lose the use of all deceit?


Why should I then be false, since it is true


That I must die here and live hence by truth?


He is forsworn, if eer those eyes of yours


But even this night, whose black contagious breath


Even this ill night, your breathing shall expire,


Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives,


If Lewis by your assistance win the day.


Commend me to one Hubert with your king:


The love of him, and this respect besides,


For that my grandsire was an Englishman,


Awakes my conscience to confess all this.


In lieu whereof, I pray you, bear me hence


From forth the noise and rumour of the field,


Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts


In peace, and part this body and my soul


Of this most fair occasion, by the which


We will untread the steps of damned flight,


Leaving our rankness and irregular course,


Stoop low within those bounds we have oerlookd


Even to our ocean, to our great King John.


My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence;


Right in thine eye. Away, my friends! New flight;


And happy newness, that intends old right.


The sun of heaven methought was loath to set,


But stayd and made the western welkin blush,


When English measure backward their own ground


In faint retire. O, bravely came we off,


When with a volley of our needless shot,


After such bloody toil, we bid good night;


And wound our tattering colours clearly up,


Last in the field, and almost lords of it!


The Count Melun is slain; the English lords


And your supply, which you have wishd so long,


Are cast away and sunk on Goodwin Sands.


Ah, foul shrewd news! beshrew thy very heart!


As this hath made me. Who was he that said


The stumbling night did part our weary powers?


Well; keep good quarter and good care to-night:


SCENE VI. An open place in the neighbourhood of Swinstead Abbey.


Whos there? speak, ho! speak quickly, or I shoot.


Whats that to thee? why may not I demand


Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine?


Thou art my friend, that knowst my tongue so well.


Thou mayst befriend me so much as to think


Unkind remembrance! thou and eyeless night


Have done me shame: brave soldier, pardon me,


That any accent breaking from thy tongue


Should scape the true acquaintance of mine ear.


Come, come; sans compliment, what news abroad?


Why, here walk I in the black brow of night,


O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night,


Black, fearful, comfortless and horrible.


Show me the very wound of this ill news:


I left him almost speechless; and broke out


To acquaint you with this evil, that you might


Than if you had at leisure known of this.


How did he take it? who did taste to him?


Whose bowels suddenly burst out: the king


Yet speaks and peradventure may recover.


Who didst thou leave to tend his majesty?


Why, know you not? the lords are all come back,


And brought Prince Henry in their company;


At whose request the king hath pardond them,


Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven,


And tempt us not to bear above our power!


Ill tell tree, Hubert, half my power this night,


Passing these flats, are taken by the tide;


These Lincoln Washes have devoured them;


Myself, well mounted, hardly have escaped.


SCENE VII. The orchard in Swinstead Abbey.


Enter PRINCE HENRY, SALISBURY, and BIGOT


It is too late: the life of all his blood


Is touchd corruptibly, and his pure brain,


Which some suppose the souls frail dwelling-house,


His highness yet doth speak, and holds belief


Of that fell poison which assaileth him.


Let him be brought into the orchard here.


Than when you left him; even now he sung.


In their continuance will not feel themselves.


Death, having preyd upon the outward parts,


Leaves them invisible, and his siege is now


Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds


Whi ch, in their throng and press to that last hold,


Confound themselves. Tis strange that death


I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan,


Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death,


And from the organ-pipe of frailty sings


His soul and body to their lasting rest.


Be of good comfort, prince; for you are born


Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude.


Enter Attendants, and BIGOT, carrying KING JOHN in a chair


It would not out at windows nor at doors.


Poisond,--ill fare--dead, forsook, cast off:


And none of you will bid the winter come


Nor let my kingdoms rivers take their course


Through my burnd bosom, nor entreat the north


To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips


And comfort me with cold. I do not ask you much,


I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait


O that there were some virtue in my tears,


Within me is a hell; and there the poison


And spleen of speed to see your majesty!


O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye:


The tackle of my heart is crackd and burnd,


And all the shrouds wherewith my life should sail


Are turned to one thread, one little hair:


My heart hath one poor string to stay it by,


Which holds but till thy news be uttered;


And then all this thou seest is but a clod


Where heaven He knows how we shall answer him;


For in a night the best part of my power,


You breathe these dead news in as dead an ear.


My liege! my lord! but now a king, now thus.


Even so must I run on, and even so stop.


What surety of the world, what hope, what stay,


When this was now a king, and now is clay?


And then my soul shall wait on thee to heaven,


As it on earth hath been thy servant still.


Now, now, you stars that move in your right spheres,


Where be your powers? show now your mended faiths,


Out of the weak door of our fainting land.


Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be sought;


It seems you know not, then, so much as we:


The Cardinal Pandulph is within at rest,


Who half an hour since came from the Dauphin,


And brings from him such offers of our peace


With purpose presently to leave this war.


To the sea-side, and put his cause and quarrel


With whom yourself, myself and other lords,


If you think meet, this afternoon will post


With other princes that may best be spared,


And the like tender of our love we make,


I have a kind soul that would give you thanks


And knows not how to do it but with tears.


Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs.


This England never did, nor never shall,


But when it first did help to wound itself.


Now these her princes are come home again,


Come the three corners of the world in arms,


And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rue,


Enter FLAVIUS, MARULLUS, and certain Commoners


Hence! home, you idle creatures get you home:


Of your profession? Speak, what trade art thou?


Where is thy leather apron and thy rule?


What dost thou with thy best apparel on?


Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but,


But what trade art thou? answer me directly.


A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with a safe


conscience; which is, indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles.


What trade, thou knave? thou naughty knave, what trade?


Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me: yet,


What meanest thou by that? mend me, thou saucy fellow!


Truly, sir, all that I live by is with the awl: I


meddle with no tradesmans matters, nor womens


matters, but with awl. I am, indeed, sir, a surgeon


to old shoes; when they are in great danger, I


recover them. As proper men as ever trod upon


neats leather have gone upon my handiwork.


But wherefore art not in thy shop today?


Why dost thou lead these men about the streets?


Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get myself


into more work. But, indeed, sir, we make holiday,


to see Caesar and to rejoice in his triumph.


Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he home?


To grace in captive bonds his chariot-wheels?


You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things!


O you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome,


Knew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft


Have you climbd up to walls and battlements,


To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops,


Your infants in your arms, and there have sat


The livelong day, with patient expectation,


To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome:


And when you saw his chariot but appear,


That Tiber trembled underneath her banks,


That comes in triumph over Pompeys blood? Be gone!


Run to your houses, fall upon your knees,


That needs must light on this ingratitude.


Go, go, good countrymen, and, for this fault,


Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears


Into the channel, till the lowest stream


See whether their basest metal be not moved;


They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness.


Go you down that way towards the Capitol;


If you do find them deckd with ceremonies.


Be hung with Caesars trophies. Ill about,


And drive away the vulgar from the streets:


So do you too, where you perceive them thick.


These growing feathers pluckd from Caesars wing


Who else would soar above the view of men


Flourish. Enter CAESAR; ANTONY, for the course;  CALPURNIA, PORTIA, DECIUS BRUTUS, CICERO, BRUTUS,  CASSIUS, and CASCA; a great crowd following, among them a Soothsayer


When Caesar says do this, it is performd.


Bid every noise be still: peace yet again!


Who is it in the press that calls on me?


I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music,


Cry Caesar! Speak; Caesar is turnd to hear.


A soothsayer bids you beware the ides of March.


Fellow, come from the throng; look upon Caesar.


What sayst thou to me now? speak once again.


He is a dreamer; let us leave him: pass.


Sennet. Exeunt all except BRUTUS and CASSIUS


Will you go see the order of the course?


Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires;


I have not from your eyes that gentleness


You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand


Be not deceived: if I have veild my look,


Of late with passions of some difference,


Which give some soil perhaps to my behaviors;


But let not therefore my good friends be grieved--


Among which number, Cassius, be you one--


Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war,


Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion;


By means whereof this breast of mine hath buried


Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations.


Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face?


No, Cassius; for the eye sees not itself,


But by reflection, by some other things.


That you have no such mirrors as will turn


That you might see your shadow. I have heard,


Except immortal Caesar, speaking of Brutus


Have wishd that noble Brutus had his eyes.


Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius,


Therefore, good Brutus, be prepared to hear:


And since you know you cannot see yourself


So well as by reflection, I, your glass,


That of yourself which you yet know not of.


And be not jealous on me, gentle Brutus:


To all the rout, then hold me dangerous.


What means this shouting? I do fear, the people


Then must I think you would not have it so.


I would not, Cassius; yet I love him well.


But wherefore do you hold me here so long?


Set honour in one eye and death i the other,


The name of honour more than I fear death.


I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus,


As well as I do know your outward favour.


Well, honour is the subject of my story.


Think of this life; but, for my single self,


We both have fed as well, and we can both


The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores,


Caesar said to me Darest thou, Cassius, now


And swim to yonder point? Upon the word,


And stemming it with hearts of controversy;


But ere we could arrive the point proposed,


Caesar cried Help me, Cassius, or I sink!


Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder


The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tiber


A wretched creature and must bend his body,


How he did shake: tis true, this god did shake;


His coward lips did from their colour fly,


And that same eye whose bend doth awe the world


Did lose his lustre: I did hear him groan:


Ay, and that tongue of his that bade the Romans


Mark him and write his speeches in their books,


Alas, it cried Give me some drink, Titinius,


As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me


For some new honours that are heapd on Caesar.


Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world


Men at some time are masters of their fates:


The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,


But in ourselves, that we are underlings.


Brutus and Caesar: what should be in that Caesar?


Why should that name be sounded more than yours?


Write them together, yours is as fair a name;


Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well;


Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with em,


Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Caesar.


Now, in the names of all the gods at once,


Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed,


That he is grown so great? Age, thou art shamed!


Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods!


When went there by an age, since the great flood,


But it was famed with more than with one man?


When could they say till now, that talkd of Rome,


That her wide walls encompassd but one man?


O, you and I have heard our fathers say,


There was a Brutus once that would have brookd


The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome


That you do love me, I am nothing jealous;


What you would work me to, I have some aim:


How I have thought of this and of these times,


I shall recount hereafter; for this present,


I would not, so with love I might entreat you,


Be any further moved. What you have said


I will with patience hear, and find a time


Both meet to hear and answer such high things.


Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this:


Under these hard conditions as this time


Have struck but thus much show of fire from Brutus.


The games are done and Caesar is returning.


As they pass by, pluck Casca by the sleeve;


And he will, after his sour fashion, tell you


The angry spot doth glow on Caesars brow,


And all the rest look like a chidden train:


Looks with such ferret and such fiery eyes


Being crossd in conference by some senators.


Sleek-headed men and such as sleep o nights:


Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look;


He thinks too much: such men are dangerous.


Fear him not, Caesar; hes not dangerous;


Would he were fatter! But I fear him not:


So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much;


Quite through the deeds of men: he loves no plays,


As thou dost, Antony; he hears no music;


Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sort


As if he mockd himself and scornd his spirit


That could be moved to smile at any thing.


Whiles they behold a greater than themselves,


Than what I fear; for always I am Caesar.


Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf,


And tell me truly what thou thinkst of him.


Sennet. Exeunt CAESAR and all his Train, but CASCA


You pulld me by the cloak; would you speak with me?


Ay, Casca; tell us what hath chanced to-day,


I should not then ask Casca what had chanced.


Why, there was a crown offered him: and being


offered him, he put it by with the back of his hand,


thus; and then the people fell a-shouting.


They shouted thrice: what was the last cry for?


Ay, marry, wast, and he put it by thrice, every


time gentler than other, and at every putting-by


I can as well be hanged as tell the manner of it:


it was mere foolery; I did not mark it. I saw Mark


Antony offer him a crown;--yet twas not a crown


neither, twas one of these coronets;--and, as I told


you, he put it by once: but, for all that, to my


thinking, he would fain have had it. Then he


offered it to him again; then he put it by again:


but, to my thinking, he was very loath to lay his


fingers off it. And then he offered it the third


time; he put it the third time by: and still as he


refused it, the rabblement hooted and clapped their


chapped hands and threw up their sweaty night-caps


and uttered such a deal of stinking breath because


Caesar refused the crown that it had almost choked


Caesar; for he swounded and fell down at it: and


for mine own part, I durst not laugh, for fear of


opening my lips and receiving the bad air.


But, soft, I pray you: what, did Caesar swound?


He fell down in the market-place, and foamed at


Tis very like: he hath the failing sickness.


And honest Casca, we have the falling sickness.


I know not what you mean by that; but, I am sure,


Caesar fell down. If the tag-rag people did not


clap him and hiss him, according as he pleased and


displeased them, as they use to do the players in


Marry, before he fell down, when he perceived the


common herd was glad he refused the crown, he


plucked me ope his doublet and offered them his


throat to cut. An I had been a man of any


occupation, if I would not have taken him at a word,


I would I might go to hell among the rogues. And so


he fell. When he came to himself again, he said,


If he had done or said any thing amiss, he desired


their worships to think it was his infirmity. Three


or four wenches, where I stood, cried Alas, good


soul! and forgave him with all their hearts: but


theres no heed to be taken of them; if Caesar had


stabbed their mothers, they would have done no less.


And after that, he came, thus sad, away?


Nay, an I tell you that, Ill neer look you i the


face again: but those that understood him smiled at


one another and shook their heads; but, for mine own


part, it was Greek to me. I could tell you more


news too: Marullus and Flavius, for pulling scarfs


off Caesars images, are put to silence. Fare you


well. There was more foolery yet, if I could


Ay, if I be alive and your mind hold and your dinner


What a blunt fellow is this grown to be!


He was quick mettle when he went to school.


This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit,


Which gives men stomach to digest his words


And so it is. For this time I will leave you:


To-morrow, if you please to speak with me,


I will come home to you; or, if you will,


Come home to me, and I will wait for you.


I will do so: till then, think of the world.


Well, Brutus, thou art noble; yet, I see,


From that it is disposed: therefore it is meet


That noble minds keep ever with their likes;


Caesar doth bear me hard; but he loves Brutus:


If I were Brutus now and he were Cassius,


He should not humour me. I will this night,


In several hands, in at his windows throw,


Writings all tending to the great opinion


That Rome holds of his name; wherein obscurely


And after this let Caesar seat him sure;


For we will shake him, or worse days endure.


Thunder and lightning. Enter from opposite sides, CASCA, with his sword drawn, and CICERO


Good even, Casca: brought you Caesar home?


Why are you breathless? and why stare you so?


Are not you moved, when all the sway of earth


I have seen tempests, when the scolding winds


Have rived the knotty oaks, and I have seen


The ambitious ocean swell and rage and foam,


To be exalted with the threatening clouds:


But never till to-night, never till now,


Did I go through a tempest dropping fire.


Either there is a civil strife in heaven,


Or else the world, too saucy with the gods,


A common slave--you know him well by sight--


Held up his left hand, which did flame and burn


Like twenty torches joind, and yet his hand,


Not sensible of fire, remaind unscorchd.


Besides--I ha not since put up my sword--


Without annoying me: and there were drawn


Transformed with their fear; who swore they saw


Men all in fire walk up and down the streets.


Hooting and shrieking. When these prodigies


These are their reasons; they are natural;


For, I believe, they are portentous things


But men may construe things after their fashion,


Clean from the purpose of the things themselves.


Send word to you he would be there to-morrow.


Good night then, Casca: this disturbed sky


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


Those that have known the earth so full of faults.


For my part, I have walkd about the streets,


Have bared my bosom to the thunder-stone;


And when the cross blue lightning seemd to open


The breast of heaven, I did present myself


But wherefore did you so much tempt the heavens?


It is the part of men to fear and tremble,


When the most mighty gods by tokens send


You are dull, Casca, and those sparks of life


Or else you use not. You look pale and gaze


And put on fear and cast yourself in wonder,


To see the strange impatience of the heavens:


But if you would consider the true cause


Why all these fires, why all these gliding ghosts,


Why birds and beasts from quality and kind,


Why old men fool and children calculate,


Why all these things change from their ordinance


To monstrous quality,--why, you shall find


That heaven hath infused them with these spirits,


To make them instruments of fear and warning


That thunders, lightens, opens graves, and roars


In personal action, yet prodigious grown


And fearful, as these strange eruptions are.


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


Have thews and limbs like to their ancestors;


But, woe the while! our fathers minds are dead,


And we are governd with our mothers spirits;


Our yoke and sufferance show us womanish.


And he shall wear his crown by sea and land,


I know where I will wear this dagger then;


Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius:


Therein, ye gods, you make the weak most strong;


Therein, ye gods, you tyrants do defeat:


Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass,


Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron,


Can be retentive to the strength of spirit;


But life, being weary of these worldly bars,


If I know this, know all the world besides,


Poor man! I know he would not be a wolf,


But that he sees the Romans are but sheep:


Those that with haste will make a mighty fire


Begin it with weak straws: what trash is Rome,


What rubbish and what offal, when it serves


So vile a thing as Caesar! But, O grief,


Where hast thou led me? I perhaps speak this


That is no fleering tell-tale. Hold, my hand:


Be factious for redress of all these griefs,


Now know you, Casca, I have moved already


Some certain of the noblest-minded Romans


And I do know, by this, they stay for me


In Pompeys porch: for now, this fearful night,


There is no stir or walking in the streets;


In favours like the work we have in hand,


Stand close awhile, for here comes one in haste.


To find out you. Whos that? Metellus Cimber?


To our attempts. Am I not stayd for, Cinna?


I am glad on t. What a fearful night is this!


Theres two or three of us have seen strange sights.


Be you content: good Cinna, take this paper,


And look you lay it in the praetors chair,


Where Brutus may but find it; and throw this


Repair to Pompeys porch, where you shall find us.


To seek you at your house. Well, I will hie,


And so bestow these papers as you bade me.


See Brutus at his house: three parts of him


Upon the next encounter yields him ours.


O, he sits high in all the peoples hearts:


And that which would appear offence in us,


Will change to virtue and to worthiness.


Him and his worth and our great need of him


You have right well conceited. Let us go,


Give guess how near to day. Lucius, I say!


I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly.


When, Lucius, when? awake, I say! what, Lucius!


When it is lighted, come and call me here.


It must be by his death: and for my part,


I know no personal cause to spurn at him,


But for the general. He would be crownd:


How that might change his nature, theres the question.


It is the bright day that brings forth the adder;


And that craves wary walking. Crown him?--that;--


And then, I grant, we put a sting in him,


The abuse of greatness is, when it disjoins


Remorse from power: and, to speak truth of Caesar,


I have not known when his affections swayd


More than his reason. But tis a common proof,


That lowliness is young ambitions ladder,


Whereto the climber-upward turns his face;


But when he once attains the upmost round.


Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees


Then, lest he may, prevent. And, since the quarrel


Will bear no colour for the thing he is,


Fashion it thus; that what he is, augmented,


Would run to these and these extremities:


And therefore think him as a serpents egg


Which, hatchd, would, as his kind, grow mischievous,


Searching the window for a flint, I found


This paper, thus seald up; and, I am sure,


It did not lie there when I went to bed.


Is not to-morrow, boy, the ides of March?


Look in the calendar, and bring me word.


Give so much light that I may read by them.


Brutus, thou sleepst: awake, and see thyself.


Shall Rome,  and c. Speak, strike, redress!


Such instigations have been often droppd


Shall Rome,  and c. Thus must I piece it out:


Shall Rome stand under one mans awe? What, Rome?


My ancestors did from the streets of Rome


The Tarquin drive, when he was calld a king.


To speak and strike? O Rome, I make thee promise:


If the redress will follow, thou receivest


Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus!


Tis good. Go to the gate; somebody knocks.


Since Cassius first did whet me against Caesar,


And the first motion, all the interim is


Are then in council; and the state of man,


Sir, tis your brother Cassius at the door,


No, sir; their hats are pluckd about their ears,


And half their faces buried in their cloaks,


Shamest thou to show thy dangerous brow by night,


When evils are most free? O, then by day


Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough


To mask thy monstrous visage? Seek none, conspiracy;


For if thou path, thy native semblance on,


Enter the conspirators, CASSIUS, CASCA, DECIUS BRUTUS, CINNA, METELLUS CIMBER, and TREBONIUS


I have been up this hour, awake all night.


Know I these men that come along with you?


But honours you; and every one doth wish


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


What watchful cares do interpose themselves


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


O, pardon, sir, it doth; and yon gray lines


That fret the clouds are messengers of day.


You shall confess that you are both deceived.


Here, as I point my sword, the sun arises,


Which is a great way growing on the south,


Weighing the youthful season of the year.


Some two months hence up higher toward the north


He first presents his fire; and the high east


Give me your hands all over, one by one.


No, not an oath: if not the face of men,


The sufferance of our souls, the times abuse,--


If these be motives weak, break off betimes,


Till each man drop by lottery. But if these,


To kindle cowards and to steel with valour


The melting spirits of women, then, countrymen,


What need we any spur but our own cause,


Than secret Romans, that have spoke the word,


And will not palter? and what other oath


That this shall be, or we will fall for it?


Swear priests and cowards and men cautelous,


Old feeble carrions and such suffering souls


That welcome wrongs; unto bad causes swear


Such creatures as men doubt; but do not stain


Nor the insuppressive mettle of our spirits,


To think that or our cause or our performance


Did need an oath; when every drop of blood


That every Roman bears, and nobly bears,


Of any promise that hath passd from him.


I think he will stand very strong with us.


O, let us have him, for his silver hairs


And buy mens voices to commend our deeds:


It shall be said, his judgment ruled our hands;


Our youths and wildness shall no whit appear,


O, name him not: let us not break with him;


Shall no man else be touchd but only Caesar?


Decius, well urged: I think it is not meet,


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


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;


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 Caesars spirit,


Caesar must bleed for it! And, gentle friends,


Lets kill him boldly, but not wrathfully;


Lets carve him as a dish fit for the gods,


Not hew him as a carcass fit for hounds:


And let our hearts, as subtle masters do,


Stir up their servants to an act of rage,


And after seem to chide em. This shall make


We shall be calld purgers, not murderers.


For in the ingrafted love he bears to Caesar--


Alas, good Cassius, do not think of him:


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.


There is no fear in him; let him not die;


For he will live, and laugh at this hereafter.


Whether Caesar will come forth to-day, or no;


Quite from the main opinion he held once


That unicorns may be betrayd 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.


For I can give his humour the true bent,


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


By the eighth hour: is that the uttermost?


Be that the uttermost, and fail not then.


Who rated him for speaking well of Pompey:


I wonder none of you have thought of him.


He loves me well, and I have given him reasons;


Send him but hither, and Ill fashion him.


The morning comes upon s: well leave you, Brutus.


And, friends, disperse yourselves; but all remember


What you have said, and show yourselves true Romans.


With untired spirits and formal constancy:


Boy! Lucius! Fast asleep? It is no matter;


Which busy care draws in the brains of men;


Portia, what mean you? wherefore rise you now?


It is not for your health thus to commit


Your weak condition to the raw cold morning.


Nor for yours neither. Youve ungently, Brutus,


Stole from my bed: and yesternight, at supper,


Musing and sighing, with your arms across,


And when I askd you what the matter was,


I urged you further; then you scratchd your head,


And too impatiently stampd with your foot;


But, with an angry wafture of your hand,


Gave sign for me to leave you: so I did;


Which seemd too much enkindled, and withal


Which sometime hath his hour with every man.


It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep,


And could it work so much upon your shape


As it hath much prevaild on your condition,


I should not know you, Brutus. Dear my lord,


Make me acquainted with your cause of grief.


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


Brutus is wise, and, were he not in health,


He would embrace the means to come by it.


To walk unbraced and suck up the humours


Of the dank morning? What, is Brutus sick,


And will he steal out of his wholesome bed,


To add unto his sickness? No, my Brutus;


You have some sick offence within your mind,


Which, by the right and virtue of my place,


I charm you, by my once-commended beauty,


By all your vows of love and that great vow


That you unfold to me, yourself, your half,


Why you are heavy, and what men to-night


Have had to resort to you: for here have been


Some six or seven, who did hide their faces


I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus.


Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus,


To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed,


And talk to you sometimes? Dwell I but in the suburbs


Of your good pleasure? If it be no more,


If this were true, then should I know this secret.


Tell me your counsels, I will not disclose em:


I have made strong proof of my constancy,


Here, in the thigh: can I bear that with patience.


Hark, hark! one knocks: Portia, go in awhile;


All my engagements I will construe to thee,


He is a sick man that would speak with you.


Vouchsafe good morrow from a feeble tongue.


O, what a time have you chose out, brave Caius,


To wear a kerchief! Would you were not sick!


Such an exploit have I in hand, Ligarius,


I here discard my sickness! Soul of Rome!


Brave son, derived from honourable loins!


Thou, like an exorcist, hast conjured up


And I will strive with things impossible;


Yea, get the better of them. Whats to do?


A piece of work that will make sick men whole.


But are not some whole that we must make sick?


That must we also. What it is, my Caius,


And with a heart new-fired I follow you,


Thunder and lightning. Enter CAESAR, in his night-gown


Nor heaven nor earth have been at peace to-night:


Thrice hath Calpurnia in her sleep cried out,


Help, ho! they murder Caesar! Whos within?


What mean you, Caesar? think you to walk forth?


You shall not stir out of your house to-day.


Caesar shall forth: the things that threatend me


Neer lookd but on my back; when they shall see


Yet now they fright me. There is one within,


Besides the things that we have heard and seen,


Recounts most horrid sights seen by the watch.


And graves have yawnd, and yielded up their dead;


Fierce fiery warriors fought upon the clouds,


In ranks and squadrons and right form of war,


Horses did neigh, and dying men did groan,


And ghosts did shriek and squeal about the streets.


O Caesar! these things are beyond all use,


Whose end is purposed by the mighty gods?


Yet Caesar shall go forth; for these predictions


Are to the world in general as to Caesar.


When beggars die, there are no comets seen;


The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes.


Cowards die many times before their deaths;


The valiant never taste of death but once.


Of all the wonders that I yet have heard.


It seems to me most strange that men should fear;


They would not have you to stir forth to-day.


Plucking the entrails of an offering forth,


They could not find a heart within the beast.


Caesar should be a beast without a heart,


If he should stay at home to-day for fear.


No, Caesar shall not: danger knows full well


That keeps you in the house, and not your own.


Well send Mark Antony to the senate-house:


And he shall say you are not well to-day:


And, for thy humour, I will stay at home.


Heres Decius Brutus, he shall tell them so.


Caesar, all hail! good morrow, worthy Caesar:


I come to fetch you to the senate-house.


And tell them that I will not come to-day:


Cannot, is false, and that I dare not, falser:


I will not come to-day: tell them so, Decius.


Have I in conquest stretchd mine arm so far,


To be afraid to tell graybeards the truth?


Decius, go tell them Caesar will not come.


Most mighty Caesar, let me know some cause,


Lest I be laughd at when I tell them so.


The cause is in my will: I will not come;


Because I love you, I will let you know:


Calpurnia here, my wife, stays me at home:


Which, like a fountain with an hundred spouts,


Did run pure blood: and many lusty Romans


Came smiling, and did bathe their hands in it:


And these does she apply for warnings, and portents,


Hath beggd that I will stay at home to-day.


Your statue spouting blood in many pipes,


Signifies that from you great Rome shall suck


Reviving blood, and that great men shall press


For tinctures, stains, relics and cognizance.


And this way have you well expounded it.


I have, when you have heard what I can say:


And know it now: the senate have concluded


To give this day a crown to mighty Caesar.


If you shall send them word you will not come,


Their minds may change. Besides, it were a mock


When Caesars wife shall meet with better dreams.


If Caesar hide himself, shall they not whisper


Pardon me, Caesar; for my dear dear love


To our proceeding bids me tell you this;


How foolish do your fears seem now, Calpurnia!


Enter PUBLIUS, BRUTUS, LIGARIUS, METELLUS, CASCA, TREBONIUS, and CINNA


And look where Publius is come to fetch me.


What, Brutus, are you stirrd so early too?


As that same ague which hath made you lean.


I thank you for your pains and courtesy.


Is notwithstanding up. Good morrow, Antony.


Now, Cinna: now, Metellus: what, Trebonius!


That your best friends shall wish I had been further.


Good friends, go in, and taste some wine with me;


And we, like friends, will straightway go together.


[Aside]  That every like is not the same, O Caesar,


The heart of Brutus yearns to think upon!


Caesar, beware of Brutus; take heed of Cassius;


come not near Casca; have an eye to Cinna, trust not


Trebonius: mark well Metellus Cimber: Decius Brutus


loves thee not: thou hast wronged Caius Ligarius.


There is but one mind in all these men, and it is


bent against Caesar. If thou beest not immortal,


look about you: security gives way to conspiracy.


Here will I stand till Caesar pass along,


My heart laments that virtue cannot live


If thou read this, O Caesar, thou mayst live;


If not, the Fates with traitors do contrive.


SCENE IV. Another part of the same street, before the house of BRUTUS.


I prithee, boy, run to the senate-house;


Stay not to answer me, but get thee gone:


I would have had thee there, and here again,


Ere I can tell thee what thou shouldst do there.


Set a huge mountain tween my heart and tongue!


How hard it is for women to keep counsel!


Yes, bring me word, boy, if thy lord look well,


For he went sickly forth: and take good note


What Caesar doth, what suitors press to him.


And the wind brings it from the Capitol.


Come hither, fellow: which way hast thou been?


Thou hast some suit to Caesar, hast thou not?


That I have, lady: if it will please Caesar


I shall beseech him to befriend himself.


Why, knowst thou any harms intended towards him?


None that I know will be, much that I fear may chance.


Good morrow to you. Here the street is narrow:


The throng that follows Caesar at the heels,


Of senators, of praetors, common suitors,


Will crowd a feeble man almost to death:


Ill get me to a place more void, and there


Speak to great Caesar as he comes along.


The heavens speed thee in thine enterprise!


Sure, the boy heard me: Brutus hath a suit


That Caesar will not grant. O, I grow faint.


And bring me word what he doth say to thee.


SCENE I. Rome. Before the Capitol; the Senate sitting above.


A crowd of people; among them ARTEMIDORUS and the  Soothsayer. Flourish. Enter CAESAR, BRUTUS,  CASSIUS, CASCA, DECIUS BRUTUS, METELLUS CIMBER,  TREBONIUS, CINNA, ANTONY, LEPIDUS, POPILIUS, PUBLIUS, and others


[To the Soothsayer]  The ides of March are come.


At your best leisure, this his humble suit.


O Caesar, read mine first; for mines a suit


That touches Caesar nearer: read it, great Caesar.


What touches us ourself shall be last served.


What, urge you your petitions in the street?


CAESAR goes up to the Senate-House, the rest following


I wish your enterprise to-day may thrive.


He wishd to-day our enterprise might thrive.


Casca, be sudden, for we fear prevention.


Brutus, what shall be done? If this be known,


Cassius or Caesar never shall turn back,


Popilius Lena speaks not of our purposes;


For, look, he smiles, and Caesar doth not change.


Trebonius knows his time; for, look you, Brutus.


And presently prefer his suit to Caesar.


He is addressd: press near and second him.


Casca, you are the first that rears your hand.


That Caesar and his senate must redress?


Most high, most mighty, and most puissant Caesar,


These couchings and these lowly courtesies


To think that Caesar bears such rebel blood


That will be thawd from the true quality


With that which melteth fools; I mean, sweet words,


Low-crooked courtsies and base spaniel-fawning.


If thou dost bend and pray and fawn for him,


Know, Caesar doth not wrong, nor without cause


Is there no voice more worthy than my own


To sound more sweetly in great Caesars ear


For the repealing of my banishd brother?


I kiss thy hand, but not in flattery, Caesar;


As low as to thy foot doth Cassius fall,


To beg enfranchisement for Publius Cimber.


I could be well moved, if I were as you:


If I could pray to move, prayers would move me:


The skies are painted with unnumberd sparks,


They are all fire and every one doth shine,


But theres but one in all doth hold his place:


So in the world; tis furnishd well with men,


And men are flesh and blood, and apprehensive;


That I was constant Cimber should be banishd,


CASCA first, then the other Conspirators and BRUTUS stab CAESAR


Run hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets.


Fly not; stand stiff: ambitions debt is paid.


Here, quite confounded with this mutiny.


Stand fast together, lest some friend of Caesars


Talk not of standing. Publius, good cheer;


There is no harm intended to your person,


Nor to no Roman else: so tell them, Publius.


And leave us, Publius; lest that the people,


Rushing on us, should do your age some mischief.


Men, wives and children stare, cry out and run


That we shall die, we know; tis but the time


And drawing days out, that men stand upon.


Why, he that cuts off twenty years of life


Cuts off so many years of fearing death.


Grant that, and then is death a benefit:


So are we Caesars friends, that have abridged


His time of fearing death. Stoop, Romans, stoop,


And let us bathe our hands in Caesars blood


Up to the elbows, and besmear our swords:


Then walk we forth, even to the market-place,


And, waving our red weapons oer our heads,


Lets all cry Peace, freedom and liberty!


Stoop, then, and wash. How many ages hence


Shall this our lofty scene be acted over


In states unborn and accents yet unknown!


How many times shall Caesar bleed in sport,


The men that gave their country liberty.


Brutus shall lead; and we will grace his heels


With the most boldest and best hearts of Rome.


Soft! who comes here? A friend of Antonys.


Thus, Brutus, did my master bid me kneel:


And, being prostrate, thus he bade me say:


Brutus is noble, wise, valiant, and honest;


Caesar was mighty, bold, royal, and loving:


Say I feard Caesar, honourd him and loved him.


How Caesar hath deserved to lie in death,


So well as Brutus living; but will follow


The fortunes and affairs of noble Brutus


Thorough the hazards of this untrod state


With all true faith. So says my master Antony.


Tell him, so please him come unto this place,


He shall be satisfied; and, by my honour,


I know that we shall have him well to friend.


That fears him much; and my misgiving still


Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils,


Shrunk to this little measure? Fare thee well.


Who else must be let blood, who else is rank:


As Caesars death hour, nor no instrument


Of half that worth as those your swords, made rich


With the most noble blood of all this world.


Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and smoke,


Fulfil your pleasure. Live a thousand years,


No place will please me so, no mean of death,


The choice and master spirits of this age.


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;


Hath done this deed on Caesar. For your part,


To you our swords have leaden points, Mark Antony:


Our arms, in strength of malice, and our hearts


With all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence.


Your voice shall be as strong as any mans


The multitude, beside themselves with fear,


Why I, that did love Caesar when I struck him,


First, Marcus Brutus, will I shake with you;


Next, Caius Cassius, do I take your hand;


Now, Decius Brutus, yours: now yours, Metellus;


Yours, Cinna; and, my valiant Casca, yours;


Though last, not last in love, yours, good Trebonius.


My credit now stands on such slippery ground,


That one of two bad ways you must conceit me,


That I did love thee, Caesar, O, tis true:


Shall it not grieve thee dearer than thy death,


To see thy thy Anthony making his peace,


Most noble! in the presence of thy corse?


Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood,


In terms of friendship with thine enemies.


Pardon me, Julius! Here wast thou bayd, brave hart;


Here didst thou fall; and here thy hunters stand,


Signd in thy spoil, and crimsond in thy lethe.


O world, thou wast the forest to this hart;


And this, indeed, O world, the heart of thee.


How like a deer, strucken by many princes,


But what compact mean you to have with us?


Will you be prickd in number of our friends;


Therefore I took your hands, but was, indeed,


Swayd from the point, by looking down on Caesar.


Friends am I with you all and love you all,


Upon this hope, that you shall give me reasons


That were you, Antony, the son of Caesar,


You know not what you do: do not consent


Know you how much the people may be moved


And show the reason of our Caesars death:


Have all true rites and lawful ceremonies.


It shall advantage more than do us wrong.


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


Mark Antony, here, take you Caesars body.


You shall not in your funeral speech blame us,


But speak all good you can devise of Caesar,


O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth,


That I am meek and gentle with these butchers!


Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood!


Which, like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips,


To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue--


A curse shall light upon the limbs of men;


Blood and destruction shall be so in use


That mothers shall but smile when they behold


Their infants quarterd with the hands of war;


All pity choked with custom of fell deeds:


And Caesars spirit, ranging for revenge,


With Ate by his side come hot from hell,


Shall in these confines with a monarchs voice


Cry  Havoc, and let slip the dogs of war;


That this foul deed shall smell above the earth


Caesar did write for him to come to Rome.


He did receive his letters, and is coming;


And bid me say to you by word of mouth--


Thy heart is big, get thee apart and weep.


Passion, I see, is catching; for mine eyes,


Seeing those beads of sorrow stand in thine,


He lies to-night within seven leagues of Rome.


Post back with speed, and tell him what hath chanced:


Here is a mourning Rome, a dangerous Rome,


Hie hence, and tell him so. Yet, stay awhile;


Thou shalt not back till I have borne this corse


Into the market-place: there shall I try


According to the which, thou shalt discourse


To young Octavius of the state of things.


Enter BRUTUS and CASSIUS, and a throng of Citizens


We will be satisfied; let us be satisfied.


Then follow me, and give me audience, friends.


Those that will hear me speak, let em stay here;


Those that will follow Cassius, go with him;


I will hear Cassius; and compare their reasons,


Exit CASSIUS, with some of the Citizens. BRUTUS goes into the pulpit


Romans, countrymen, and lovers! hear me for my


cause, and be silent, that you may hear: believe me


for mine honour, and have respect to mine honour, that


you may believe: censure me in your wisdom, and


awake your senses, that you may the better judge.


If there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of


Caesars, to him I say, that Brutus love to Caesar


was no less than his. If then that friend demand


why Brutus rose against Caesar, this is my answer:


--Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved


Rome more. Had you rather Caesar were living and


die all slaves, than that Caesar were dead, to live


all free men? As Caesar loved me, I weep for him;


as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was


valiant, I honour him: but, as he was ambitious, I


slew him. There is tears for his love; joy for his


fortune; honour for his valour; and death for his


ambition. Who is here so base that would be a


bondman? If any, speak; for him have I offended.


Who is here so rude that would not be a Roman? If


any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is here so


vile that will not love his country? If any, speak;


for him have I offended. I pause for a reply.


Then none have I offended. I have done no more to


Caesar than you shall do to Brutus. The question of


his death is enrolled in the Capitol; his glory not


extenuated, wherein he was worthy, nor his offences


Enter ANTONY and others, with CAESARs body


Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony: who,


though he had no hand in his death, shall receive


the benefit of his dying, a place in the


commonwealth; as which of you shall not? With this


I depart,--that, as I slew my best lover for the


good of Rome, I have the same dagger for myself,


when it shall please my country to need my death.


Bring him with triumph home unto his house.


And, for my sake, stay here with Antony:


Do grace to Caesars corpse, and grace his speech


Tending to Caesars glories; which Mark Antony,


Twere best he speak no harm of Brutus here.


Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears;


I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.


The good is oft interred with their bones;


So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus


Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest--


He was my friend, faithful and just to me:


He hath brought many captives home to Rome


Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill:


When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept:


Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:


Which he did thrice refuse: was this ambition?


I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,


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.


I fear there will a worse come in his place.


Markd 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.


Theres not a nobler man in Rome than Antony.


Have stood against the world; now lies he there.


Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage,


I should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong,


I will not do them wrong; I rather choose


To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you,


But heres a parchment with the seal of Caesar;


Let but the commons hear this testament--


Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read--


And they would go and kiss dead Caesars wounds


And dip their napkins in his sacred blood,


And, dying, mention it within their wills,


Well hear the will: read it, Mark Antony.


The will, the will! we will hear Caesars 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, bearing the will of Caesar,


It will inflame you, it will make you mad:


Tis good you know not that you are his heirs;


For, if you should, O, what would come of it!


You shall read us the will, Caesars will.


Will you be patient? will you stay awhile?


I have oershot myself to tell you of it:


Whose daggers have stabbd Caesar; I do fear it.


They were villains, murderers: the will! read the will.


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?


Stand from the hearse, stand from the body.


Nay, press not so upon me; stand far off.


If you have tears, prepare to shed them now.


Look, in this place ran Cassius dagger through:


Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabbd;


Mark how the blood of Caesar followd it,


For Brutus, as you know, was Caesars angel:


Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar loved him!


Ingratitude, more strong than traitors arms,


Quite vanquishd him: then burst his mighty heart;


And, in his mantle muffling up his face,


Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell.


O, what a fall was there, my countrymen!


Then I, and you, and all of us fell down,


Whilst bloody treason flourishd over us.


O, now you weep; and, I perceive, you feel


The dint of pity: these are gracious drops.


Kind souls, what, weep you when you but behold


Our Caesars vesture wounded? Look you here,


Here is himself, marrd, as you see, with traitors.


Revenge! About! Seek! Burn! Fire! Kill! Slay!


Well hear him, well follow him, well die with him.


Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up


They that have done this deed are honourable:


What private griefs they have, alas, I know not,


That made them do it: they are wise and honourable,


And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you.


I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts:


But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man,


That love my friend; and that they know full well


That gave me public leave to speak of him:


For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth,


Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech,


To stir mens blood: I only speak right on;


I tell you that which you yourselves do know;


Show you sweet Caesars wounds, poor poor dumb mouths,


And bid them speak for me: but were I Brutus,


Would ruffle up your spirits and put a tongue


In every wound of Caesar that should move


Away, then! come, seek the conspirators.


Yet hear me, countrymen; yet hear me speak.


Peace, ho! Hear Antony. Most noble Antony!


Why, friends, you go to do you know not what:


Wherein hath Caesar thus deserved your loves?


Alas, you know not: I must tell you then:


Most true. The will! Lets stay and hear the will.


Here is the will, and under Caesars seal.


To every several man, seventy-five drachmas.


Most noble Caesar! Well revenge his death.


Moreover, he hath left you all his walks,


His private arbours and new-planted orchards,


On this side Tiber; he hath left them you,


And to your heirs for ever, common pleasures,


To walk abroad, and recreate yourselves.


Here was a Caesar! when comes such another?


And with the brands fire the traitors houses.


Now let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot,


And thither will I straight to visit him:


And in this mood will give us any thing.


Are rid like madmen through the gates of Rome.


Belike they had some notice of the people,


How I had moved them. Bring me to Octavius.


I dreamt to-night that I did feast with Caesar,


I have no will to wander forth of doors,


What is my name? Whither am I going? Where do I


dwell? Am I a married man or a bachelor? Then, to


answer every man directly and briefly, wisely and


Thats as much as to say, they are fools that marry:


youll bear me a bang for that, I fear. Proceed; directly.


Directly, I am going to Caesars funeral.


I am Cinna the poet, I am Cinna the poet.


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


It is no matter, his names Cinna; pluck but his


name out of his heart, and turn him going.


Tear him, tear him! Come, brands ho! fire-brands:


to Brutus, to Cassius; burn all: some to Decius


house, and some to Cascas; some to Ligarius: away, go!


ANTONY, OCTAVIUS, and LEPIDUS, seated at a table


These many, then, shall die; their names are prickd.


Your brother too must die; consent you, Lepidus?


He shall not live; look, with a spot I damn him.


Fetch the will hither, and we shall determine


The three-fold world divided, he should stand


And took his voice who should be prickd to die,


Octavius, I have seen more days than you:


And though we lay these honours on this man,


To ease ourselves of divers slanderous loads,


He shall but bear them as the ass bears gold,


Either led or driven, as we point the way;


And having brought our treasure where we will,


Then take we down his load, and turn him off,


Like to the empty ass, to shake his ears,


His corporal motion governd by my spirit.


He must be taught and traind and bid go forth;


A barren-spirited fellow; one that feeds


Which, out of use and staled by other men,


Listen great things:--Brutus and Cassius


Are levying powers: we must straight make head:


Our best friends made, our means stretchd


How covert matters may be best disclosed,


And some that smile have in their hearts, I fear,


SCENE II. Camp near Sardis. Before BRUTUSs tent.


Drum. Enter BRUTUS, LUCILIUS, LUCIUS, and Soldiers; TITINIUS and PINDARUS meeting them


He greets me well. Your master, Pindarus,


Things done, undone: but, if he be at hand,


Such as he is, full of regard and honour.


How he received you, let me be resolved.


Nor with such free and friendly conference,


A hot friend cooling: ever note, Lucilius,


There are no tricks in plain and simple faith;


But hollow men, like horses hot at hand,


Make gallant show and promise of their mettle;


But when they should endure the bloody spur,


They fall their crests, and, like deceitful jades,


They mean this night in Sardis to be quarterd;


Most noble brother, you have done me wrong.


Judge me, you gods! wrong I mine enemies?


And, if not so, how should I wrong a brother?


Brutus, this sober form of yours hides wrongs;


Speak your griefs softly: I do know you well.


Before the eyes of both our armies here,


Which should perceive nothing but love from us,


Then in my tent, Cassius, enlarge your griefs,


Bid our commanders lead their charges off


Lucilius, do you the like; and let no man


Come to our tent till we have done our conference.


That you have wrongd me doth appear in this:


You have condemnd and noted Lucius Pella


Wherein my letters, praying on his side,


Because I knew the man, were slighted off.


You wronged yourself to write in such a case.


That every nice offence should bear his comment.


Are much condemnd to have an itching palm;


You know that you are Brutus that speak this,


Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last.


The name of Cassius honours this corruption,


And chastisement doth therefore hide his head.


Remember March, the ides of March remember:


Did not great Julius bleed for justice sake?


What villain touchd his body, that did stab,


And not for justice? What, shall one of us


That struck the foremost man of all this world


But for supporting robbers, shall we now


Contaminate our fingers with base bribes,


And sell the mighty space of our large honours


For so much trash as may be grasped thus?


I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon,


Have mind upon your health, tempt me no further.


Must I give way and room to your rash choler?


Shall I be frighted when a madman stares?


O ye gods, ye gods! must I endure all this?


All this! ay, more: fret till your proud heart break;


Go show your slaves how choleric you are,


And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge?


Must I observe you? must I stand and crouch


You shall digest the venom of your spleen,


Though it do split you; for, from this day forth,


Ill use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter,


Let it appear so; make your vaunting true,


And it shall please me well: for mine own part,


You wrong me every way; you wrong me, Brutus;


When Caesar lived, he durst not thus have moved me.


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


You have done that you should be sorry for.


There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats,


For certain sums of gold, which you denied me:


And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring


From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash


Which you denied me: was that done like Cassius?


To lock such rascal counters from his friends,


Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts;


I did not: he was but a fool that brought


My answer back. Brutus hath rived my heart:


A friend should bear his friends infirmities,


But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.


A friendly eye could never see such faults.


A flatterers would not, though they do appear


Hated by one he loves; braved by his brother;


Chequed like a bondman; all his faults observed,


Set in a note-book, learnd, and connd by rote,


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 best 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


Be angry when you will, it shall have scope;


Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour.


That carries anger as the flint bears fire;


Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark,


To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus,


When grief, and blood ill-temperd, vexeth him?


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


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


When you are over-earnest with your Brutus,


Hell think your mother chides, and leave you so.


[Within]  Let me go in to see the generals;


There is some grudge between em, tis not meet


[Within]  Nothing but death shall stay me.


Enter Poet, followed by LUCILIUS, TITINIUS, and LUCIUS


For shame, you generals! what do you mean?


Love, and be friends, as two such men should be;


For I have seen more years, Im sure, than ye.


Ha, ha! how vilely doth this cynic rhyme!


Get you hence, sirrah; saucy fellow, hence!


Ill know his humour, when he knows his time:


What should the wars do with these jigging fools?


Lucilius and Titinius, bid the commanders


Prepare to lodge their companies to-night.


And come yourselves, and bring Messala with you


I did not think you could have been so angry.


No man bears sorrow better. Portia is dead.


How scaped I killing when I crossd you so?


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, swallowd fire.


Speak no more of her. Give me a bowl of wine.


My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge.


Fill, Lucius, till the wine oerswell the cup;


Bending their expedition toward Philippi.


Myself have letters of the selfsame tenor.


That by proscription and bills of outlawry,


Mine speak of seventy senators that died


By their proscriptions, Cicero being one.


Had you your letters from your wife, my lord?


Nor nothing in your letters writ of her?


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


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:


Even so great men great losses should endure.


Well, to our work alive. What do you think


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


Come on refreshd, new-added, and encouraged;


From which advantage shall we cut him off,


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:


We, at the height, are ready to decline.


Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;


And we must take the current when it serves,


Well along ourselves, and meet them at Philippi.


The deep of night is crept upon our talk,


Which we will niggard with a little rest.


Early to-morrow will we rise, and hence.


Good night, Titinius. Noble, noble Cassius,


Never come such division tween our souls!


Give me the gown. Where is thy instrument?


Poor knave, I blame thee not; thou art oer-watchd.


Ill have them sleep on cushions in my tent.


I pray you, sirs, lie in my tent and sleep;


So please you, we will stand and watch your pleasure.


I will not have it so: lie down, good sirs;


Look, Lucius, heres the book I sought for so;


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?


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,


This is a sleepy tune. O murderous slumber,


That plays thee music? Gentle knave, good night;


I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee:


If thou dost nod, thou breakst thy instrument;


Ill take it from thee; and, good boy, good night.


Let me see, let me see; is not the leaf turnd down


Where I left reading? Here it is, I think.


How ill this taper burns! Ha! who comes here?


Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil,


That makest my blood cold and my hair to stare?


To tell thee thou shalt see me at Philippi.


Ill spirit, I would hold more talk with thee.


Boy, Lucius! Varro! Claudius! Sirs, awake! Claudius!


He thinks he still is at his instrument.


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


Yes, that thou didst: didst thou see any thing?


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


Go and commend me to my brother Cassius;


Bid him set on his powers betimes before,


It proves not so: their battles are at hand;


Wherefore they do it: they could be content


With fearful bravery, thinking by this face


To fasten in our thoughts that they have courage;


Their bloody sign of battle is hung out,


Upon the right hand I; keep thou the left.


Drum. Enter BRUTUS, CASSIUS, and their Army; LUCILIUS, TITINIUS, MESSALA, and others


Stand fast, Titinius: we must out and talk.


Mark Antony, shall we give sign of battle?


No, Caesar, we will answer on their charge.


Make forth; the generals would have some words.


Words before blows: is it so, countrymen?


Not that we love words better, as you do.


Good words are better than bad strokes, Octavius.


In your bad strokes, Brutus, you give good words:


Witness the hole you made in Caesars heart,


The posture of your blows are yet unknown;


But for your words, they rob the Hybla bees,


For you have stoln their buzzing, Antony,


And very wisely threat before you sting.


Villains, you did not so, when your vile daggers


Hackd one another in the sides of Caesar:


You showd your teeth like apes, and fawnd like hounds,


And bowd like bondmen, kissing Caesars feet;


Struck Caesar on the neck. O you flatterers!


Flatterers! Now, Brutus, thank yourself:


Come, come, the cause: if arguing make us sweat,


The proof of it will turn to redder drops. Look;


When think you that the sword goes up again?


Never, till Caesars three and thirty wounds


Have added slaughter to the sword of traitors.


Caesar, thou canst not die by traitors hands,


O, if thou wert the noblest of thy strain,


Young man, thou couldst not die more honourable.


A peevish schoolboy, worthless of such honour,


Defiance, traitors, hurl we in your teeth:


If you dare fight to-day, come to the field;


Why, now, blow wind, swell billow and swim bark!


The storm is up, and all is on the hazard.


Was Cassius born. Give me thy hand, Messala:


Be thou my witness that against my will,


And partly credit things that do presage.


Coming from Sardis, on our former ensign


Two mighty eagles fell, and there they perchd,


Gorging and feeding from our soldiers hands;


This morning are they fled away and gone;


And in their steads do ravens, crows and kites,


Fly oer our heads and downward look on us,


As we were sickly prey: their shadows seem


Our army lies, ready to give up the ghost.


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,


Lets reason with the worst that may befall.


The very last time we shall speak together:


Which he did give himself, I know not how,


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


No, Cassius, no: think not, thou noble Roman,


He bears too great a mind. But this same day


Must end that work the ides of March begun;


And whether we shall meet again I know not.


Therefore our everlasting farewell take:


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 not, tis true this parting was well made.


Why, then, lead on. O, that a man might know


The end of this days business ere it come!


And then the end is known. Come, ho! away!


SCENE II. The same. The field of battle.


Ride, ride, Messala, ride, and give these bills


And sudden push gives them the overthrow.


Ride, ride, Messala: let them all come down.


O, look, Titinius, look, the villains fly!


This ensign here of mine was turning back;


I slew the coward, and did take it from him.


O Cassius, Brutus gave the word too early;


Took it too eagerly: his soldiers fell to spoil,


Fly further off, my lord, fly further off;


Fly, therefore, noble Cassius, fly far off.


This hill is far enough. Look, look, Titinius;


Are those my tents where I perceive the fire?


Mount thou my horse, and hide thy spurs in him,


Till he have brought thee up to yonder troops,


Whether yond troops are friend or enemy.


I will be here again, even with a thought.


My sight was ever thick; regard Titinius,


And tell me what thou notest about the field.


This day I breathed first: time is come round,


And where I did begin, there shall I end;


My life is run his compass. Sirrah, what news?


[Above]  Titinius is enclosed round about


With horsemen, that make to him on the spur;


Yet he spurs on. Now they are almost on him.


Now, Titinius! Now some light. O, he lights too.


To see my best friend taen before my face!


And then I swore thee, saving of thy life,


Thou shouldst attempt it. Come now, keep thine oath;


Now be a freeman: and with this good sword,


That ran through Caesars bowels, search this bosom.


Stand not to answer: here, take thou the hilts;


And, when my face is coverd, as tis now,


So, I am free; yet would not so have been,


Far from this country Pindarus shall run,


Where never Roman shall take note of him.


It is but change, Titinius; for Octavius


These tidings will well comfort Cassius.


With Pindarus his bondman, on this hill.


Is not that he t hat lies upon the ground?


He lies not like the living. O my heart!


As in thy red rays thou dost sink to-night,


The sun of Rome is set! Our day is gone;


Clouds, dews, and dangers come; our deeds are done!


Mistrust of my success hath done this deed.


Mistrust of good success hath done this deed.


Why dost thou show to the apt thoughts of men


The things that are not? O error, soon conceived,


But killst the mother that engenderd thee!


What, Pindarus! where art thou, Pindarus?


Shall be as welcome to the ears of Brutus


Why didst thou send me forth, brave Cassius?


Did I not meet thy friends? and did not they


And bid me give it thee? Didst thou not hear their shouts?


Alas, thou hast misconstrued every thing!


But, hold thee, take this garland on thy brow;


Will do his bidding. Brutus, come apace,


By your leave, gods:--this is a Romans part


Come, Cassius sword, and find Titinius heart.


Alarum. Re-enter MESSALA, with BRUTUS, CATO, STRATO, VOLUMNIUS, and LUCILIUS


Where, where, Messala, doth his body lie?


Thy spirit walks abroad and turns our swords


Look, whether he have not crownd dead Cassius!


Are yet two Romans living such as these?


The last of all the Romans, fare thee well!


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:


And come, young Cato; let us to the field.


Tis three oclock; and, Romans, yet ere night


Alarum. Enter fighting, Soldiers of both armies; then BRUTUS, CATO, LUCILIUS, and others


Yet, countrymen, O, yet hold up your heads!


What bastard doth not? Who will go with me?


I will proclaim my name about the field:


A foe to tyrants, and my countrys friend;


Brutus, my countrys friend; know me for Brutus!


Why, now thou diest as bravely as Titinius;


There is so much that thou wilt kill me straight;


Kill Brutus, and be honourd in his death.


Ill tell the news. Here comes the general.


Brutus is taen, Brutus is taen, my lord.


The gods defend him from so great a shame!


He will be found like Brutus, like himself.


This is not Brutus, friend; but, I assure you,


A prize no less in worth: keep this man safe;


Give him all kindness: I had rather have


Such men my friends than enemies. Go on,


And see whether Brutus be alive or dead;


Enter BRUTUS, DARDANIUS, CLITUS, STRATO, and VOLUMNIUS


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


Statilius showd the torch-light, but, my lord,


He came not back: he is or taen 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.


What ill request did Brutus make to thee?


To kill him, Clitus. Look, he meditates.


Come hither, good Volumnius; list a word.


Two several times by night; at Sardis once,


And, this last night, here in Philippi fields:


Thou seest the world, Volumnius, how it goes;


Than tarry till they push us. Good Volumnius,


Thou knowst 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.


Thats not an office for a friend, my lord.


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


By this vile conquest shall attain unto.


So fare you well at once; for Brutus tongue


Night hangs upon mine eyes; my bones would rest,


That have but labourd to attain this hour.


I prithee, Strato, stay thou by thy lord:


Thy life hath had some smatch of honour in it:


Hold then my sword, and turn away thy face,


While I do run upon it. Wilt thou, Strato?


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


I killd not thee with half so good a will.


Alarum. Retreat. Enter OCTAVIUS, ANTONY, MESSALA, LUCILIUS, and the army


My masters man. Strato, where is thy master?


Free from the bondage you are in, Messala:


The conquerors can but make a fire of him;


And no man else hath honour by his death.


So Brutus should be found. I thank thee, Brutus,


That thou hast proved Lucilius saying true.


All that served Brutus, I will entertain them.


Fellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me?


That did the latest service to my master.


Did that they did in envy of great Caesar;


And common good to all, made one of them.


So mixd in him that Nature might stand up


And say to all the world This was a man!


Within my tent his bones to-night shall lie,


So call the field to rest; and lets away,


I thought the king had more affected the Duke of


It did always seem so to us: but now, in the


division of the kingdom, it appears not which of


the dukes he values most; for equalities are so


weighed, that curiosity in neither can make choice


His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge: I have


so often blushed to acknowledge him, that now I am


Sir, this young fellows mother could: whereupon


she grew round-wombed, and had, indeed, sir, a son


for her cradle ere she had a husband for her bed.


I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of it


But I have, sir, a son by order of law, some year


elder than this, who yet is no dearer in my account:


though this knave came something saucily into the


world before he was sent for, yet was his mother


fair; there was good sport at his making, and the


whoreson must be acknowledged. Do you know this


My lord of Kent: remember him hereafter as my


I must love you, and sue to know you better.


He hath been out nine years, and away he shall


Sennet. Enter KING LEAR, CORNWALL, ALBANY, GONERIL, REGAN, CORDELIA, and Attendants


Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, Gloucester.


Meantime we shall express our darker purpose.


Give me the map there. Know that we have divided


In three our kingdom: and tis our fast intent


To shake all cares and business from our age;


Conferring them on younger strengths, while we


Unburthend crawl toward death. Our son of Cornwall,


And you, our no less loving son of Albany,


We have this hour a constant will to publish


Our daughters several dowers, that future strife


May be prevented now. The princes, France and Burgundy,


Great rivals in our youngest daughters love,


Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn,


And here are to be answerd. Tell me, my daughters,--


Since now we will divest us both of rule,


Interest of territory, cares of state,--


Which of you shall we say doth love us most?


Where nature doth with merit challenge. Goneril,


Sir, I love you more than words can wield the matter;


Dearer than eye-sight, space, and liberty;


Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare;


No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour;


As much as child eer loved, or father found;


A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable;


Beyond all manner of so much I love you.


Of all these bounds, even from this line to this,


With shadowy forests and with champains richd,


With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads,


We make thee lady: to thine and Albanys issue


Be this perpetual. What says our second daughter,


Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall? Speak.


Of the self-same metal that my sister is,


And prize me at her worth. In my true heart


Only she comes too short: that I profess


Which the most precious square of sense possesses;


And yet not so; since, I am sure, my loves


Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom;


No less in space, validity, and pleasure,


Than that conferrd on Goneril. Now, our joy,


Although the last, not least; to whose young love


The vines of France and milk of Burgundy


Strive to be interessd; what can you say to draw


A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak.


Nothing will come of nothing: speak again.


My heart into my mouth: I love your majesty


According to my bond; nor more nor less.


How, how, Cordelia! mend your speech a little,


Return those duties back as are right fit,


Obey you, love you, and most honour you.


Why have my sisters husbands, if they say


They love you all? Haply, when I shall wed,


That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry