O mighty Caesar! Dost thou lie so low?170Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils,Shrunk to this little measure? Fare thee well.—I know not, gentlemen, what you intend,Who else must be let blood, who else is rank.If I myself, there is no hour so fit175As Caesar’s death’s hour, nor no instrumentOf half that worth as those your swords, made richWith the most noble blood of all this world.I do beseech ye, if you bear me hard,Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and smoke,180Fulfill your pleasure. Live a thousand years,I shall not find myself so apt to die.No place will please me so, no mean of death,As here by Caesar, and by you cut off,The choice and master spirits of this age.ANTONY[To CAESAR's body] Oh, mighty Caesar! Do you lie so low? Are all of your conquests, glories, triumphs, and successes now shrunk to such little value? Farewell. [To the conspirators] Gentlemen, I don’t know what you plan to do; who else you must kill; who else you think is corrupt. If it’s me, there’s no time as fitting as this hour of Caesar’s death, and no weapons even half as worthy as your swords— which have been made rich by being covered in the noblest blood in the whole world. I beg you, if you have a grudge against me, do what you want to do right now while your stained hands still smell of blood. Even if were I to live a thousand years, I would never find another moment when I would be as ready to die as I am now. There’s no place I’d rather die than next to Caesar, and no manner of death I'd prefer than being stabbed by you, the leaders of this new era.BRUTUS185O Antony, beg not your death of us.Though now we must appear bloody and cruel—As by our hands and this our present actYou see we do —yet see you but our handsAnd this the bleeding business they have done.190Our hearts you see not. They are pitiful.And pity to the general wrong of Rome—As fire drives out fire, so pity pity—Hath done this deed on Caesar. For your part,To you our swords have leaden points, Mark Antony.195Our arms in strength of malice and our heartsOf brothers' temper do receive you inWith all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence.BRUTUSOh, Antony, don’t beg us to kill you. Though we must seem to be bloody and cruel right now to you—with our bloody hands and what we've just done—you’re only seeing our hands and the bloody work they've done. You have not seen into our hearts. They are full of pity for Caesar. But, just as fire drives out fire, our pity for the wrongs committed against Rome overcame our pity for Caesar and made us do what we did to Caesar. As for you, our swords have soft points that will not harm you, Mark Antony. Our arms—with the same strength they had in striking Caesar—and our hearts—filled with brotherly love—embrace you with kind love, good thoughts, and admiration.CASSIUSYour voice shall be as strong as any man’sIn the disposing of new dignities.CASSIUSYour influence will be as strong as anyone’s in the selection of new government officials.BRUTUS200Only be patient till we have appeasedThe multitude, beside themselves with fear,And then we will deliver you the cause,Why I, that did love Caesar when I struck him,Have thus proceeded.BRUTUSJust be patient until we’ve calmed the masses, who are beside themselves with fear. And then we’ll explain to you why I—who loved Caesar even while I stabbed him—have done this.ANTONY205I doubt not of your wisdom.Let each man render me his bloody hand.[shakes hands with the conspirators]First, Marcus Brutus, will I shake with you.—Next, Caius Cassius, do I take your hand.210—Now, Decius Brutus, yours. —Now yours, Metellus.—Yours, Cinna. —And, my valiant Casca, yours.—Though last, not last in love, yours, good Trebonius.—Gentlemen all, alas, what shall I say?My credit now stands on such slippery ground215That one of two bad ways you must conceit me,Either a coward or a flatterer—That I did love thee, Caesar, O, ’tis true.If then thy spirit look upon us now,Shall it not grieve thee dearer than thy death220To see thy Antony making his peace,Shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes—Most noble!—in the presence of thy corse?Had I as many eyes as thou hast wounds,Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood,225It would become me better than to closeIn terms of friendship with thine enemies.Pardon me, Julius! Here wast thou bayed, brave hart;Here didst thou fall; and here thy hunters stand,Signed in thy spoil, and crimsoned in thy lethe.230O 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,Dost thou here lie!