All language subtitles for Julius.Caesar.1953.720p.WEBRip.x264.AAC-[YTS.MX]

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Hence! Home, you idle creatures,
get you home!

This is a holiday. What trade art thou?

Why, sir, a carpenter.

Where is thy leather apron and thy rule?
What dost thou with thy best apparel on?

You, sir, what trade are you?

Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman,
I am but, as you would say, a cobbler.

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.

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?

What tributaries follow him to Rome,

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 climbed
up to walls and battlements,

to towers and windows,
yea, to chimney tops,

your infants in your arms,

and there have sat the live-long day
with patient expectation

to see great Pompey
pass the streets of Rome.

And when you saw his chariot but appear,

have you not made a universal shout,

that Tiber trembled underneath her banks,

to hear the replication of your sounds
made in her concave shores?

And do you now put on your best attire?

And do you now cull out a holiday?

And do you now strew flowers in his way

that comes in triumph
over Pompey's blood?

Be gone! Run to your houses,

fall upon your knees,

pray to the gods to intermit the plague

that needs must light on this ingratitude.

See where their basest metal
be not moved.

They vanish tongue-tied
in their guiltiness!

Go you down that way toward the Capitol.

This way will I. Disrobe the images if you
do find them decked with ceremonies.

May we do so?
You know, it is the feast of Lupercal.

It is no matter. Let no images be hung
with Caesar's trophies.

These growing feathers,
plucked from Caesar's wing,

will make him fly an ordinary pitch.

Who else would soar
above the view of men

and keep us all in servile fearfulness?

- Calpurnia.
- Peace, ho! Caesar speaks.

Calpurnia!

Here, my lord.

Stand you directly in Antonius' way,
when he doth run his course.

- Antonius.
- Caesar, my lord?

Forget not, in your speed, Antonius,
to touch Calpurnia,

for our elders say, the barren touched
in this holy chase

shake off their sterile curse.

When Caesar says "do this,"
it is performed.

Set on and leave no ceremony out!

Caesar!

- Who calls?
- 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 turned to hear.

Beware the ides of March.

What man is that?

A soothsayer bids you
beware the ides of March.

Set him before me. Let me see his face.

Fellow, come from the throng.

Look upon Caesar.

What sayest thou to me now?
Speak once again.

Beware the ides of March.

He is a dreamer. Let us leave him.

Pass. Pass!

Will you go see the order of the course?

- Not I.
- I pray you do.

I am not gamesome. I do lack some part
of that quick spirit that is in Antony.

Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires.
I'll leave you.

Brutus, I do observe you now of late.

I have not from your eyes that gentleness
and show of love as I was wont to have.

You bear too stubborn and too strange
a hand over your friend that loves you.

Cassius, be not deceived.
If I have veiled my look,

I turn the trouble of my countenance
merely upon myself.

Vexed I am of late,
with passions of some difference.

Conceptions only proper to myself,

which give some soil, perhaps,
to my behaviors,

but let not therefore
my good friends be grieved,

among which number, Cassius,
be you one.

Nor construe any further my neglect
than that poor Brutus with himself at war

forgets the shows of love to other men.

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

No, Cassius, for the eye sees not itself
but by reflection,

by some other things.

'Tis just. And it is very much lamented,
Brutus, that you have no such mirrors

as will turn your hidden worthiness
into your eye,

that you might see your shadow.

I have heard where many
of the best respect in Rome,

except immortal Caesar,

speaking of Brutus
and groaning underneath this age's yoke,

have wished
that noble Brutus had his eyes.

Into what dangers
would you lead me, Cassius,

that you would have me seek
into myself for that which is not in me?

Therefore, good Brutus,
be prepared to hear.

And since you know you cannot
see yourself so well as by reflection,

I, your glass, will modestly
discover to yourself

that of yourself
which you yet know not of.

And be not jealous on me, gentle Brutus.

Were I a common laugher and
did use to stale with ordinary oaths

my love to every new protester,

or if you know that I profess myself
in banqueting to all the rout,

then hold me dangerous.

What means this shouting?

I do fear the people choose Caesar
for their king.

Ay, do you fear it?

Then must I think
you would not have it so?

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

But what is it you would impart to me?

If it be aught toward the general good,

set honor in one eye
and death in the other,

and I will look on both indifferently.

For let the gods so speed me
as I love the name of honor

more than I fear death.

I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus,
as well as I do know your outward favor.

Well, honor is the subject of my story.

I cannot tell what you
or other men think of this life,

but, for my single self, I had as lief not be

as live to be in awe
of such a thing as I myself.

I was born free as Caesar. So were you.

We both have fed as well,

and we can both endure the winter's cold
as well as he.

For once, upon a raw and gusty day,

the troubled Tiber chafing at her shores,

Caesar said to me, "Darest thou, Cassius,
now leap in with me

"into this angry flood
and swim to yonder points?"

Upon the word, accoutered as I was,
I plunged in and bade him follow,

so indeed he did.

The torrent roared,
and we did buffet it with lusty sinews,

throwing it aside and stemming it
with hearts of controversy.

But ere we could arrive
the point proposed,

Caesar cried, "Help me, Cassius, or I sink!"

And this man is now become a god,

and Cassius is a wretched creature

and must bend his body
if Caesar carelessly but nod on him.

Caesar! Caesar!

He had a fever when he was in Spain,

and when the fit was on him,
I did mark how he did shake.

It is true, this god did shake.
His coward lips did from their color fly,

and that same eye whose bend doth awe
the world did lose his luster.

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 a man
of such a feeble temper

should so get the start
of the majestic world

and bear the palm alone.

Caesar! Caesar!

Another general shout.

Why, man, he doth bestride
the narrow world like a colossus.

And we petty men walk
under his huge legs

and peep about
to find ourselves dishonorable graves.

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 them,

Brutus will start a spirit
as soon as Caesar.

Now, in the name 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 a time,
since the great flood,

but it was famed
for more than for one man?

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

that her wide walls encompassed
but one man?

O you and I have heard our fathers say,
there was a Brutus once

that would have brooked the eternal devil

to keep his state in Rome
as easily as a king.

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 consider.

What you have to say, 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.

Brutus had rather be a villager

than to repute himself a son of Rome
under these hard conditions

as this time is like to lay upon us.

I am glad that my weak words

have struck but thus much show
of fire from Brutus.

The games are done
and Caesar is returning.

Look you, Cassius, the angry spot
doth glow on Caesar's brow,

and all the rest look like a chidden train.

Casca will, after his sour fashion, tell us
what hath proceeded worthy note today.

Calpurnia's cheek is pale,

and Cicero looks with such ferret
and such fiery eyes

as we have seen him in the Capitol being
crossed in conference by some senators.

Casca will tell us what the matter is.

Antonius, let me have men about me
that are fat,

sleek-headed men,
and such as sleep a-nights.

Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look.
He thinks too much.

Such men are dangerous.

Fear him not, Caesar. He is not dangerous.

Would he were fatter.

But I fear him not.

Yet if my name were liable to fear,

I do not know the man I should avoid
so soon as that spare Cassius.

He reads much.

He is a great observer, and he looks
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 mocked himself,
and scorned his spirit

that could be moved to smile at anything.

Such men as he be never at heart's ease

whilst they behold
a greater than themselves,

and therefore are they very dangerous.

I rather tell thee what is to be
feared 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 think'st of him.

- Would you speak with me?
- Ay, Casca.

Tell us what hath chanced today,
that Caesar looks so sad.

Why, you were with him, were you not?

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.

What was the second noise for?

- Why, for that too.
- They shouted thrice.

- What was the last cry for?
- Why, for that too.

- Was the crown offered him thrice?
- Ay, marry, it was,

and he put it by thrice,
every time gentler than other,

and with every putting by
mine honest neighbors shouted.

- Who offered him the crown?
- Why, Antony.

Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca.

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 it was not a crown neither,
it was one of those 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.

Then he offered it a third time.
He put it a third time by.

And still as he refused it, the rabblement
hooted and clapped their chapped hands

and threw up their sweaty nightcaps

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.

What? Did Caesar swoon?

He fell down and foamed at the mouth
and was speechless.

'Tis very like he hath the falling sickness.

No, Caesar hath it not,

but you and I and honest Casca,
we have the falling sickness.

I know not what you mean by that,
but I am sure Caesar fell down.

What said he when he came unto himself?

When he came to himself again,

he said if he had done
or said anything 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.

There's 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?

Ay.

Did Cicero say anything?

- Ay, he spoke Greek.
- To what effect?

Nay, an I tell you that,
I'll never look you in 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 scarves
off Caesar's images, are put to silence.

Fare you well.

There was more foolery yet,
if I could remember it.

Will you sup with me tonight, Casca?

No, I am promised forth.

Will you dine with me tomorrow?

Ay, if I be alive and your mind hold,
and your dinner worth the eating.

Good. I will expect you.

Do so. Farewell, both.

What a blunt fellow is this grown to be.

He was quick metal
when he went to school.

So is he now in execution
of any bold or noble enterprise.

This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit,

which gives men stomach to digest
his words with better appetite.

And so it is.

For this time I will leave you.

Tomorrow, 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 thy honorable metal
may be wrought from that it is disposed.

Therefore, it is meet that noble minds
keep ever with their likes,

for who so firm that cannot be seduced?

Caesar doth bear me hard,
yet he loves Brutus.

If I were Brutus now and he were Cassius,
he should not humor me.

I will this night, in several hands,

in at his windows throw,
as if they came from several citizens,

writings all tending to the great opinion
that Rome holds of his name,

wherein obscurely Caesar's ambition
shall be glanced at.

And after this let Caesar seat him sure,

for we will shake him,

or worse days endure.

Good even, Casca.

Why are you breathless?
And why stare you so?

Are not you moved, when all the sway
of earth shakes like a thing unfirm?

O Cicero, 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 tonight, 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,
incenses them to send destruction.

Why, saw you anything more wonderful?

A common slave,
you know him well by sight,

held up his left hand,

which did flame and burn
like 20 torches joined.

And there were drawn upon a heap

100 ghastly women,
transformed with their fear,

who swore they saw men all in fire
walk up and down the streets.

And yesterday the bird of night did sit,
even at noonday, upon the marketplace,

hooting and shrieking.

When these prodigies
do so conjointly meet,

let not men say, "These are their reasons,
they are natural."

For, I believe, they are portentous things
unto the climate that they point upon.

Comes Caesar to the Capitol tomorrow?

He doth, for he did bid Antonius send word
to you he would be there tomorrow.

Good night then, Casca.

This disturbed sky is not to walk in.

Farewell, Cicero.

- Who's there?
- A Roman.

Casca, by your voice.

- Cassius, what night is this?
- A very pleasing night to honest men.

Who ever knew the heavens menace so?

Those that have known
the earth so full of faults.

You are dull, Casca,

and those sparks of life
that should be in a Roman

you do want, 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.

Now could I, Casca, name to thee
a man most like this dreadful night

that thunders, lightens,
opens graves and roars.

A man no mightier than thyself or me.

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

Let it be who it is.

Indeed, they say the senators tomorrow
mean to establish Caesar as a king.

And he shall wear his crown
by sea and land,

in every place save here in Italy.

I know where I will wear this dagger, then.

Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius.

That part of tyranny that I do bear
I can shake off at pleasure.

So can I, so every bondman
in his own hand

bears the power to cancel his captivity.

And why should Caesar be a tyrant then?

Poor man, I know he would not be a wolf

but that he knows
the Romans are but sheep.

He were no lion, were not Romans hinds.

They that with haste will make
a mighty fire begin it with weak straws.

What trash is Rome,
what rubbish and what offal,

that it serves for the base
matter to illuminate

so vile a thing as Caesar.

But, O grief, where hast thou led me?

I, per chance, speak this
before a willing bondman.

You speak to Casca, and to such a man
that is no fleering tell-tale.

Here's my hand.

And I will set this foot of mine
as far as who goes farthest.

There's a bargain made!

Stand close awhile.

'Tis Cinna. I do know him by his gait.
He is a friend.

- Cinna, where haste you so?
- To find out you.

Who's that? Metellus Cimber?

No, it is Casca,
one incorporate to our attempts.

- Am I not stayed for, Cinna?
- Yes, you are.

Cassius, if you could but win the noble
Brutus to our party...

Be you content.
Good Cinna, take this paper,

and look you lay it in the praetor's
chair, where Brutus may but find it,

and throw this in at his window,
set this up in wax upon old Brutus' statue.

All this done, repair to Pompey's porch,
where you shall find us.

Is Decius Brutus and Trebonius there?

All but Metellus Cimber,
and he's gone to seek you at your house.

Now, Casca, you and I will yet ere day
seek Brutus at his house.

Three parts of him is ours already,

and the man entire
upon the next encounter yields him ours.

I cannot, by the progress of the stars,
give guess how near to day.

Lucius.

Awake, I say. Lucius.

I would it were my fault
to sleep so soundly.

Called you, my lord?

Get me a taper in my study, Lucius.
When it is lighted, come and call me here.

I will, my lord.

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 crowned.

How that might change his nature,
there's the question.

For 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,
that at his will he may do danger with.

The abuse of greatness is
when it disjoins remorse from power.

And, to speak truth of Caesar,

I have not known when his affections
swayed more than his reason.

But 'tis a common proof
that lowliness is young ambition's ladder,

whereto the climber upward turns
his face,

but when he once attains
the upmost round,

he then unto the ladder turns his back,
looks in the clouds,

scorning the base degrees
by which he did ascend.

So Caesar may.

Then lest he may, prevent.

And, since the quarrel will bear no color
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 serpent's egg

which, hatched, would, as his kind,
grow mischievous,

and kill him in the shell.

The taper burneth in your closet, sir.

Searching the window for a flint,
I found this paper thus sealed up,

and I am sure it did not lie there
when I went to bed.

Is not tomorrow, boy, the ides of March?

I know not, sir.

- Look in the calendar and bring me word.
- I will, sir.

"Brutus, thou sleep'st.

"Awake and see thyself.

"Shall Rome, etcetera."

"Speak, strike, redress!

"Brutus, thou sleep'st. Awake!"

Such instigations have been often dropped
where I have took them up.

"Shall Rome, etcetera."

Thus must I piece it out.

Shall Rome stand under one man's awe?

What, Rome?

My ancestors did from the streets of Rome
the Tarquin drive,

when he was called a king.

"Speak, strike, redress."

Am I entreated 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.

Sir, March is wasted fifteen days.

'Tis good.

Go to the gate. Somebody knocks.

Since Cassius first did whet me
against Caesar, I have not slept.

Between the acting of a dreadful thing
and the first motion,

all the interim is like a phantasma,

or a hideous dream.

The genius and the mortal instruments
are then in council,

and the state of man,

like to a little kingdom,
suffers then the nature of an insurrection.

I fear we are too bold upon your rest.

Good morrow, Brutus. Do we trouble you?

I have been up this hour, awake all night.

Know I these men
that come along with you?

Yes, every one of them.
And no man here but honors you.

And every one doth wish
you had but that opinion of yourself

which every noble Roman bears of you.

This is Trebonius.

- He is welcome hither.
- This, Decius Brutus.

- He is welcome, too.
- This, Casca. This, Cinna.

- And this, Metellus Cimber.
- They are all welcome.

What watchful cares
do interpose themselves

betwixt your eyes and the night?

Shall I entreat a word?

Here lies the east.
Doth not the day break here?

- No.
- O pardon, sir, it doth.

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.

- Give me your hands all over, one by one.
- And let us swear our resolution.

No, not an oath.

If not the face of men, the sufferance
of our souls, the time's abuse,

if these be motives weak,
break off betimes,

and every man hence to his idle bed.

So let high-sighted tyranny range on

till each man drop by lottery.

What need we any spur but our own cause
to prick us to redress?

What other bond than secret Romans
that have spoke the word

and will not palter?

What other oath
than honesty to honesty engaged,

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 the even virtue
of our enterprise,

nor the insuppressive mettle of our spirit,

to think that or our cause
or our performance did need an oath.

But what of Cicero? Shall we sound him?

I think he will stand very strong with us.

O let us have him, for his silver hairs
will purchase us a good opinion

and buy men's voices
to commend our deeds.

Let us not leave him out.

O name him not. For he will never follow
anything that other men begin.

- Then leave him out.
- Indeed, he is not fit.

Shall no man else be touched
but only Caesar?

Decius, well urged.

I think it is not meet Mark Antony,
so well beloved of Caesar,

should outlive Caesar.

We shall find in him a shrewd contriver,

and, you know, his means,
if he improve them,

may well stretch so far as to annoy us all,

which to prevent,
let Antony and Caesar fall together.

Our course will seem too bloody,
Caius Cassius,

to cut the head off
and then hack the limbs,

like wrath in death and envy afterwards.

For Antony is but a limb of Caesar.

Let us be sacrificers,
but not butchers, Caius.

We all stand up
against the spirit of Caesar.

And in the spirit of men there is no blood.

O that we then could come
by Caesar's spirit,

and not dismember Caesar.
But, alas, Caesar must bleed for it.

And, gentle friends,
let's kill him boldly, but not wrathfully.

Let's carve him as a dish fit for the gods,
not hew him as a carcass fit for hounds.

And for Mark Antony, think not of him,

for he can do no more than Caesar's arm
when Caesar's head is off.

Yet I do fear him,

- for the ingrafted love he bears to Caesar.
- Alas, good Cassius, do not think of him.

If he love Caesar,
all that he can do is to himself.

Take thought and die for Caesar.

And that were much he should,
for he is given to sports,

to wildness and much company.

There is no fear in him. Let him not die,

for he will live and laugh at this hereafter.

'Tis time to part.
The morning comes upon us.

We'll leave you, Brutus.

But it is doubtful yet whether Caesar
will come forth today or no,

for he is superstitious grown of late.

It may be, these apparent prodigies,
the unaccustomed terror of the night,

and the persuasion of his augurers,
may hold him from the Capitol today.

Never fear that.
If he be so resolved, I can oversway him,

for he loves to hear that unicorns may be
betrayed with trees,

lions with toils and men with flatterers.

But when I tell him he hates flatterers,

he says he does,
being then most flattered.

Let me work,
and I will bring him to the Capitol.

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.

Caius Ligarius doth bear Caesar hard,

who rated him
for speaking well of Pompey.

I wonder none of you have thought of him.

Now, good Metellus, go along by him.

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

Send him but hither, and I'll fashion him.

And friends, disperse yourselves,
but all remember what you have said,

and show yourselves true Romans.

Good gentlemen, look fresh and merrily.

Let not our looks put on our purposes.

And so, good morrow to you, everyone.

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.

You've ungently, Brutus,
stole from my bed,

and yesternight at supper
you suddenly arose and walked about

musing and sighing
with your arms across.

And when I asked you
what the matter was,

you stared upon me with ungentle looks.

I urged you further,

and then you scratched your head and
too impatiently stamped with your foot.

Yet I insisted, yet you answered not,

but, with an angry wafture of your hand,
gave sign for me to leave you.

So I did,

fearing to strengthen that impatience
which seemed too much enkindled,

and withal hoping it was
but an effect of humor,

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 prevailed
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.

Why, so I do.

Good Portia, go to bed.

Is Brutus sick?

And is it physical to walk unbraced

and suck up the humors
of the dank morning?

What, is Brutus sick?

And will he steal
out of his wholesome bed

to dare the vile contagion of the night,
and add unto his sickness?

No, my Brutus.

You have some sick offense
within your mind,

which, by the right and virtue of my place,
I ought to know of.

And, upon my knees, I charm you

by my once-commended beauty,

by all your vows of love
and that great vow

which did incorporate and make us one,

that you unfold to me, yourself, your half,
why you are heavy,

and what men tonight
have had resort to you,

for here have been some six or seven who
did hide their faces even from darkness.

Kneel not, gentle Portia.

I should not need
if you were gentle Brutus.

Within the bond of marriage,
tell me, Brutus,

is it excepted I should know no secrets
that appertain to you?

Am I yourself but, as it were,
in sort or Iimitation,

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, Portia is Brutus' harlot,
not his wife.

You are my true and honorable wife,

as dear to me as are the ruddy drops
that visit my sad heart.

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

I grant I am a woman,

but withal a woman
that Lord Brutus took to wife.

I grant I am a woman, but withal a woman
well-reputed, Cato's daughter.

Think you I am no stronger than my sex,
being so fathered and so husbanded?

Tell me your counsels.
I will not disclose them.

Portia, go in a while.

And by and by thy bosom shall partake
the secrets of my heart.

All my engagements
I will construe to thee,

all the charactery of my sad brows.

Here is a sick man
that would speak with you.

Caius Ligarius, that Metellus spake of.

Boy, stand aside.

Vouchsafe good morrow
from a feeble tongue.

What a time have you chose out,
brave Caius, to wear a kerchief.

- Would you were not sick.
- I am not sick,

if Brutus have in hand any exploit
worthy the name of honor.

Such an exploit have I in hand, Ligarius,

had you a healthful ear to hear of it.

By all the gods that Romans bow before,
I here discard my sickness.

Bid me run,
and I will strive with things impossible.

Yea, get the better of them.

For it sufficeth that Brutus leads me on.

What's to do?

A piece of work
that will make sick men whole.

But are not some whole
but we must make sick?

That must we also.

Caesar! Help!

Help!

They murder Caesar! They murder Caesar!

They murdered Caesar!

They murdered Caesar!

Who's within?

Who's within?

My lord.

Go bid the priests do present sacrifice,
and bring me their opinions of success.

I will, my lord.

Nor heaven nor earth
have been at peace tonight.

What mean you, Caesar?

Think you to walk forth?

You shall not stir out of your house today.

Caesar shall forth.

The things that threatened me
never looked but at my back,

when they shall see the face of Caesar,
they are vanished.

Caesar,

I never stood on ceremonies.

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.

A lioness hath whelped in the streets,

and graves have yawned
and yielded up their dead.

Fierce fiery warriors
fought upon the clouds,

and ghosts did shriek
and squeal about the streets.

O Caesar, these things are beyond all use,

and I do fear them.

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 death.

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,

seeing that death, a necessary end,
will come

when it will come.

What say the augurers?

They would not have you
to stir forth today.

Plucking the entrails of an offering forth,

they could not find
a heart within the beast.

The gods do this in shame of cowardice.

Caesar should be a beast without a heart
if he should stay at home today for fear.

No, Caesar shall not.

Danger knows full well
that Caesar is more dangerous than he,

and Caesar shall go forth!

Alas, my lord, your wisdom
is consumed in confidence.

Do not go forth today.

Call it my fear that keeps you
in the house and not your own.

We'll send Mark Antony
to the senate house,

and he shall say you are not well today.

Let me prevail in this.

Mark Antony shall say I am not well.

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

Here's Decius Brutus.
He shall tell them so.

Caesar, all hail!
Good morrow, worthy Caesar.

I come to fetch you to the senate house.

And you are come in very happy time
to bear my greeting to the senators,

and tell them that I will not come today.

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

I will not come today.
Tell them so, Decius.

- Say he is sick.
- Shall Caesar send a lie?

Have I in conquest
stretched mine arm so far

to be afeard to tell graybeards the truth?

Decius, go tell them Caesar will not come.

Most mighty Caesar,
let me know some cause,

lest I be laughed at when I tell them so.

The cause is in my will. I will not come.

That is enough to satisfy the senate.

But, for your private satisfaction,
because I love you, I will let you know.

Calpurnia here, my wife,
stays me at home.

She dreamt tonight she saw my statue,

which like a fountain with 100 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 and evils imminent,

and on her knee hath begged
that I will stay at home today.

This dream is all amiss interpreted.

It was a vision fair and fortunate.

Your statue spouting blood in many pipes,
in which so many smiling Romans bathed,

signifies that, from you,

great Rome shall suck reviving blood,

and that great men shall press
for tinctures, stains, relics and cognizance.

This by Calpurnia's dream is signified.

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 apt
to be rendered for some one to say,

"Break up the senate till another time,

"when Caesar's wife
shall meet with better dreams."

If Caesar hide himself,

shall they not whisper,
"Lo, Caesar is afraid?"

Pardon me, Caesar,

for my dear, dear love to your proceeding
bids me tell you this,

and reason to my love is liable.

How foolish do your fears seem
now, Calpurnia!

I am ashamed I did yield to them.
Give me my robe, for I will go!

And look where Publius
has come to fetch me.

- Good morrow, Caesar.
- Welcome, Publius.

What, Brutus,
are you stirred so early, too?

Good morrow, Casca.

Caius Ligarius, Caesar was ne'er
so much your enemy

as that same ague
which hath made you lean.

- What is 't o'clock?
- Caesar, 'tis after eight.

See. Antony, that revels long
o' nights is notwithstanding up.

- Good morrow, Antony.
- So to most noble Caesar.

I am to blame to be thus waited for.

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

and we, like friends,
will straightaway go together.

Now, Cinna.

Now, Metellus. What, Trebonius!

I have an hour's talk in store for you.

Remember that you call on me today.

- Be near me, that I may remember you.
- Caesar, I will.

"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 has wronged Caius Ligarius.

"There is but one mind in all these men,
and it is bent against Caesar.

"If thou be'st not immortal,
look about you.

"Security gives way to conspiracy.

"The mighty gods defend thee.
Artemidorus."

Here will I stand till Caesar pass along.

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

If not, the Fates with traitors do contrive.

The ides of March are come.

Ay, Caesar, but not gone.

Hail, Caesar! Read this schedule.

Trebonius doth desire you to o'er-read,
at your best leisure, this his humble suit.

O Caesar, read mine first.

For mine's a suit that touches Caesar
nearer. Read it, great Caesar.

What touches us ourself
shall be last served.

Delay not, Caesar, read it instantly.

What, is the fellow mad?

Sirrah, give place.

What, urge you your petitions
in the street?

Come to the Capitol.

I wish your enterprise today may thrive.

- What enterprise, Popilius?
- Fare you well.

What said Popilius Lena?

He wished today
our enterprise might thrive.

- I fear our purpose is discovered.
- Look how he makes to Caesar. Mark him.

Brutus, what shall be done?

If this be known, Cassius or Caesar
never shall turn back, for I will slay myself.

Cassius, be constant.

Popilius Lena speaks not of our purposes,
for, look, he smiles,

and Caesar doth not change.

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

he draws Mark Antony out of the way.

Where is Metellus Cimber? Let him go,
and presently prefer his suit to Caesar.

He is addressed.
Press near and second him.

Casca, you are the first
that rears your hand.

Are we all ready?

What is now amiss that Caesar
and his senate must redress?

Most high, most mighty,
and most puissant Caesar,

Metellus Cimber throws before thy seat
an humble heart.

I must prevent thee, Cimber.

These couchings
and these lowly courtesies

might fire the blood of ordinary men,
and turn pre-ordinance and first decree

into the law of children.

Be not fond to think
that Caesar bears such rebel blood

that will be thawed from the true quality
by that which melteth fools.

I mean sweet words,

low-crooked courtesies
and base spaniel fawning.

Thy brother by decree is banished.

If thou dost bend and pray
and fawn for him,

I spurn thee like a cur out of my way.

Know, Caesar doth not wrong,
nor without cause will he be satisfied.

Is there no voice
more worthy than my own

to sound more sweetly
in great Caesar's ear

for the repealing of my banished brother?

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

desiring thee that Publius Cimber
may have an immediate freedom of repeal.

What, Brutus?

Pardon, Caesar. Caesar, pardon.

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.

But I am constant as the northern star,

of whose true fixed and resting quality
there is no fellow in the firmament.

The skies are painted
with unnumbered sparks.

They are all fire and every one doth shine,

but there's but one in all
doth hold his place.

So in the world,
'tis furnished well with men,

and men are flesh and blood,
and apprehensive,

yet in the number I do know but one,

that unassailable holds on his rank,
unshaked of motion,

and that I am he.
Let me a little show it, even in this.

That I was constant
Cimber should be banished,

and constant do remain to keep him so.

- O, Caesar!
- Hence!

- Wilt thou lift up Olympus?
- Great Caesar!

- Doth not Brutus bootless kneel?
- Speak, hands, for me!

Et tu, Brute? Then fall Caesar.

Liberty! Freedom!

Tyranny is dead!

Run hence!
Proclaim, cry it about the streets!

Some to the common pulpits and cry out,
"Liberty, freedom, enfranchisement!"

People and Senators, be not affrighted.

Fly not, stand still.
Ambition's debt is paid.

- Go to the pulpit, Brutus.
- Where's Publius?

Here, quite confounded with this mutiny.

Stand fast together, lest some
friend of Caesar's should chance to...

Talk not of standing. Publius, good cheer.

There is no harm intended to your person,
nor to no Roman else.

So tell them, Publius.

- Where is Antony?
- Fled to his house amazed.

Men, wives and children stare,
cry out and run, as it were doomsday!

Now leave us, Publius.

Lest that the people, rushing on us,
should do your age some mischief.

Do so, and let no man abide this deed,
but we the doers.

Fates, we will know your pleasures.

That we shall die, we know.

'Tis but the time and drawing days out
that men stand upon.

Why, he that cuts off 20 years of life,
cuts off so many years of fearing death.

Grant that, and then is death a benefit.

So we, Caesar's friends, that have
abridged his time of fearing death.

Stoop, Romans, stoop, and let us
bathe our hands in Caesar's blood.

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,

that now on Pompey's basis lies along
no worthier than the dust.

So oft as that shall be,

so often shall the knot of us be called
the men that gave their country liberty.

Soft, who comes here?

A friend of Antony's.

Thus, Brutus, did my master bid me kneel.

Thus did Mark Antony bid me fall down.

And, being prostrate, thus he bade me say,

"Brutus is noble, wise, valiant and honest.

"Caesar was mighty, bold,
royal and loving.

"Say I love Brutus and I honor him.

"Say I feared Caesar,
honored him and loved him.

"If Brutus will vouchsafe that
Antony may safely come to him

"and be resolved how Caesar
hath deserved to lie in death,

"Mark Antony shall not love
Caesar dead so well as Brutus living,

"but will follow the fortunes
and affairs of noble Brutus

"through the hazards of this untrod state

"with all true faith."

So says my master Antony.

Thy master is a wise and valiant Roman.
I never thought him worse.

Tell him, so please him come
unto this place, he shall be satisfied,

and, by my honor, depart untouched.

I'll fetch him presently.

I know that we shall have him well
to friend.

I wish we may.

And yet I have a mind
that fears him much,

and my misgiving still fall
shrewdly to the purpose.

Welcome, Mark Antony.

O mighty Caesar, dost thou lie so low?

Are all thy conquests, glories,
triumphs, spoils,

shrunk to this little measure?

Fare thee well.

I know not, gentlemen, what you intend,

who else must be let blood,
who else is rank.

If I myself, there is no hour so fit
as Caesar's death hour,

nor no instrument of half that worth
as those your swords,

made rich with the most
noble blood of all this world.

I do beseech ye, if you bear me hard,

now, whilst your purpled hands do reek
and smoke, fulfill 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.

O Antony, beg not your death of us.

Though now we must appear
bloody and cruel,

as by our hands and this our
present act, you see we do,

yet see you but our hands and this
the bleeding business they have done,

our hearts you see not.

They are pitiful.
And pity to the general wrong of Rome,

as fire drives out fire, so pity, pity,
hath done this deed on Caesar.

Your voice shall be as strong as any man's
in the disposing of new dignities.

Only be patient
till we have appeased the 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.

I doubt not of your wisdom.

Let each man render me his bloody hand.

First, Marcus Brutus, do I shake with you.

Next, Caius Cassius, do I take your hand.

Now, Decius Brutus, yours.

Yours, Metellus.

Yours, Cinna.

And my valiant Casca, yours.

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

Gentlemen all.

Alas, what shall I say?
My credit now stands

on such slippery ground,
that one of two bad ways

you must conceit me,
either a coward or a flatterer.

That I did love thee, Caesar, O it is true.

If then thy spirit look upon us now,

shall it not grieve thee dearer
than thy death

to see thy Antony making his peace,

shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes,
most noble in the presence of thy corse?

Had I as many eyes as thou hast wounds,

weeping as fast
as they stream forth thy blood,

it would become me better than to close
in terms of friendship with thine enemies.

- Mark Antony?
- Pardon me, Caius Cassius.

The enemies of Caesar shall say this.

Then, in a friend, it is cold modesty.

I blame you not for praising Caesar so,

but what compact mean you
to have with us?

Will you be pricked in number
of our friends,

or shall we on, and not depend on you?

Therefore I took your hands,

but was indeed swayed 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
why and wherein Caesar was dangerous.

Or else were this a savage spectacle.

Our reasons are so full of good regard

that were you, Antony, the son of Caesar,
you should be satisfied.

That's all I seek,

and am moreover suitor that I may
produce his body to the marketplace,

and in the pulpit, as becomes a friend,
speak in the order of his funeral.

- You shall, Mark Antony.
- Brutus, a word with you.

Do not consent that Antony
speak in his funeral.

Know you how much
the people may be moved

- by that which he will utter?
- By your pardon,

I will myself into the pulpit first, and
show the reason of our Caesar's death.

What Antony shall speak, I will protest
he speaks by leave and by permission,

and that we are contented Caesar shall
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 Caesar's body.

You shall not in your funeral speech
blame us,

but speak all good
you can devise of Caesar,

and say you do it by our permission.

Else shall you not have any
hand at all about his funeral,

and you shall speak in the same pulpit
whereto I am going

after my speech is ended.

Be it so. I do desire no more.

O, pardon me,
thou bleeding piece of earth,

that I am meek and gentle
with these butchers.

Thou art the ruins of the noblest man
that ever lived in the tide of times.

Woe to the hand
that shed this costly blood.

Over thy wounds now do I prophesy,

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.

Domestic fury and fierce civil strife shall
cumber all the parts of Italy.

Blood and destruction shall be so in use,
and dreadful objects so familiar,

that mothers shall but smile
when they behold their infants

quartered with the hands of war.

All pity choked with custom of fell deed.

And Caesar's spirit,

ranging for revenge,
with Ate by his side come hot from hell,

shall in these confines
with a monarch's voice cry "Havoc!"

and let slip the dogs of war.

That this foul deed shall smell
above the earth

with carrion men, groaning for burial.

Caesar!

Romans!

Countrymen!

I will hear Brutus speak!

Hear me for my cause!

Peace! Silence! Brutus speaks!

Romans,

countrymen,

be patient till the last!

Hear me for my cause,
and be silent, that you may hear.

Believe me for mine honor,

and have respect to mine honor,
that you may believe.

Censure me in your wisdom,
and awake your senses,

that you may the better judge.

Caesar! Caesar!

Caesar!

If there be any in this assembly,

any dear friend of Caesar's,

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?

- No!
- No!

- No!
- No!

As Caesar loved me, I weep for him.

As he was fortunate, I rejoice at it.

As he was valiant, I honor him.

But as he was ambitious, I slew him.

There's tears for his love,
joy for his fortune,

honor for his valor,
and death for his ambition.

Who is here so base
that will be a bondsman?

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.

None, Brutus. None!

None!

- None!
- None!

- None!
- None!

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 offenses enforced,

for which he suffered death.

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 Caesar
for the good of Rome,

I have the same dagger for myself,

when it shall please my country
to need my death.

- Live, Brutus!
- Live! Live!

- Live!
- Live!

Bring him with triumph
home unto his house!

- Give him a statue with his ancestors!
- Live, Brutus!

- Live!
- Live!

Let him be Caesar!

Caesar's better parts
shall be crowned in Brutus!

- Hurray!
- Hurray!

- Good countrymen.
- Peace! Silence!

Brutus speaks!

Good countrymen, let me depart alone,

and for my sake, stay here with Antony.

Do grace to Caesar's corpse,

and grace his speech
tending to Caesar's glories,

which Mark Antony, by our permission,
is allowed to make.

I do entreat you, not a man depart,

save I alone, till Antony hath spoke.

Stay, ho! Let us hear Mark Antony!

Let him go up into the public chair.
We'll hear him.

Noble Antony, go up.

For Brutus' sake, I am beholden to you.

What does he say of Brutus?

He says for Brutus' sake,
he finds himself beholding to us all.

It were best he speak no harm
of Brutus here!

- This Caesar was a tyrant!
- Nay, that's certain.

We are blessed that Rome is rid of him!

You gentle Romans.

Gentle Romans, hear me!

Friends, Romans, countrymen,
lend me your ears.

I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.

The evil that men do lives after them,
the good is oft interred with their bones.

So let it be with Caesar.

The noble Brutus hath told you
Caesar was ambitious.

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

and grievously hath Caesar answered it.

Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest,
for Brutus is an honorable man,

so are they all, all honorable men,

come I to speak in Caesar's funeral.

He was my friend, faithful and just to me.

But Brutus says he was ambitious,

and Brutus is an honorable man.

He hath brought many captives
home to Rome,

whose ransoms did the general coffers fill.
Did this in Caesar seem ambitious?

When that the poor have cried,
Caesar hath wept.

Ambition should be made of sterner stuff.

Yet Brutus says he was ambitious,

and Brutus is an honorable man.

You all did see that on the Lupercal
I thrice presented him a kingly crown,

which he did thrice refuse.

Was this ambition?

Yet Brutus says he was ambitious,
and, sure, he is an honorable man.

I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,

but here I am to speak what I do know.

You all did love him once,
not without cause.

What cause withholds
you then to mourn for him?

O judgment!
Thou art fled to brutish beasts,

and men have lost their reason!

Bear with me.
My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar,

and I must pause till it come back to me.

Methinks there is much reason
in his saying.

If thou consider rightly of the matter,
Caesar has had great wrong.

Has he, masters?

I fear there will a worse come in his place.

Marked ye his words?

He would not take the crown.

Therefore it is certain
he was not ambitious.

If it be found so, some will dear abide it.

There's not a nobler man
in Rome than Antony.

Now mark him, he begins again to speak.

Poor soul.
His eyes are red as fire with weeping.

But yesterday, the word of Caesar
might have stood against the world.

Now lies he there, and none
so poor to do him reverence.

O masters!

If I were disposed to stir your hearts
and minds to mutiny and rage,

I should do Brutus wrong
and Cassius wrong,

who, you all know, are honorable men.

I will not do them wrong.

I rather choose to wrong the dead,

to wrong myself and you,
than I will wrong such honorable men.

But here's a parchment

with the seal of Caesar.
I found it in his closet. 'Tis his will.

Let but the commons hear this testament,

which, pardon me, I do not mean to read,

and they would go
and kiss dead Caesar's wounds,

and dip their napkins in his sacred blood,

yea, beg a hair of him for memory,
and, dying, mention it within their wills,

bequeathing it as a rich legacy
unto their issue.

We'll hear the will. Read it, Mark Antony!

We will hear Caesar's will!

- The will!
- The will!

We'll hear it, Antony!

Have patience, gentle friends.
I must not read it.

It is not meet you know
how Caesar loved you.

You are not wood,
you are not stones, but men.

And being men, hearing the will of Caesar,

it will inflame you, it will make you mad.

It is good you know not
that you are his heirs.

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

Read the will. We'll hear it, Antony!

You shall read us the will, Caesar's will!

Read us the will!

Will you be patient? Will you stay awhile?

I have overshot myself to tell you of it.

I fear I wrong the honorable men
whose daggers have stabbed Caesar.

They were traitors. Honorable men!

- They were villains, murderers!
- The will!

The will!

You will compel me then to read the will?

Then make a ring around
the corpse of Caesar,

and let me show you him
that made the will.

Shall I descend,
and will you give me leave?

- Come down!
- Come down!

If you have tears,

prepare to shed them now.

You all do know this mantle.

I remember the first time ever
Caesar put it on.

It was on a summer's evening in his tent
that day he overcame the Nervii.

Look, in this place ran
Cassius' dagger through.

See what a rent the envious Casca made.

Through this
the well-beloved Brutus stabbed,

and, as he plucked his cursed steel away,
mark how the blood of Caesar followed it,

as rushing out of doors, to be resolved
if Brutus so unkindly knocked or no.

For Brutus, as you know,
was Caesar's angel.

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

This was the most unkindest cut of all.

For when the noble Caesar saw him stab,
ingratitude,

more strong than traitors' arms,
quite vanquished him,

then burst his mighty heart,

and, in his mantle muffling up his face,

even at the base of Pompey's statue,
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 flourished over us.

Oh.

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 Caesar's vesture wounded?

Look you here.

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

O noble Caesar.

O most bloody sight.

- Traitors.
- Villains.

- We will be revenged!
- Let not a traitor live!

Stay, countrymen!

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

to such a sudden flood of mutiny.

They that have done this deed
are honorable.

What private griefs they have, alas,
I know not

that made them do it.

They are wise and honorable,

and will, no doubt,
with reasons answer you.

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

I am no orator, as Brutus is,

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

that loved 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 men's blood.

I only speak right on. I tell you that
which you yourselves do know,

show you sweet Caesar's wounds,
poor, poor dumb mouths,

and bid them speak for me.

But were I Brutus, and Brutus Antony,

there were an Antony
would ruffle up your spirits,

and put a tongue
in every wound of Caesar

that should move the stones of Rome
to rise and mutiny.

We'll mutiny!
We'll burn the house of Brutus!

- Yet hear me, countrymen!
- We'll mutiny!

Yet hear me speak!

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

Wherein hath Caesar
thus deserved your love?

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

You have forgot the will I told you of.

The will!

Here is the will, and under Caesar's seal.

To every Roman citizen he gives,
to every several man,

75 drachmas!

Moreover, he hath left you all his walks,

his private arbors and new-planted
orchards on this side Tiber.

He hath left them you
and to your heirs forever.

Common pleasures,
to walk abroad and recreate yourselves.

Here was a Caesar.

When comes such another?

Never, never!

Go fetch fire!

Come away, away!

These many then shall die.
Their names are pricked.

Your brother too must die.

- Consent you, Lepidus?
- I do consent.

Prick him down, Antony.

Upon condition Publius shall not live,

who is your sister's son, Mark Antony.

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

But, Lepidus, go you fetch Caesar's will,

and we then shall determine
how to cut off some charge in legacies.

What, shall I meet you here?

Or here, or at the Capitol.

This is a slight unmeritable man,
meet to be sent on errands.

Is it fit, the three-fold world divided,

he should stand
one of the three to share it?

So you thought him.

And took his voice
who should be pricked to die

in our black sentence and prescription.

Octavius, I have seen more days than you.

And though we lay these honors
on this man

to ease ourselves
of diverse slanderous loads,

he shall but bear them
as the ass bears gold,

to groan and sweat under the business,
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,
and graze in common.

You may do your will,
but he's a tried and valiant soldier.

So is my horse, Octavius, and for that
I do appoint him store of provender.

And now, Octavius, listen great things.

Brutus and Cassius are levying powers.

We must straight make head.

Therefore let our alliance be combined,

and let us presently go sit in council,

how covert matters
may be best disclosed

and open perils surest answered.

Let us do so, for we are at the stake,
and bayed about with many enemies,

and some that smile have in their hearts,
I fear, millions of mischiefs.

Stand, ho!

Give the word, ho!

Stand, ho!

Stand, ho.

What now, Lucilius? Is Cassius near?

He is at hand, and Pindarus is come
to do you salutation from his master.

He greets me well.

Your master, Pindarus,
in his own change, or by ill officers,

hath given me some worthy cause
to wish things done, undone,

but if he be at hand, I shall be satisfied.

I do not doubt but that
my noble master will appear,

such as he is, full of regard and honor.

He is not doubted.

A word, Lucilius.
How he received you, let me be resolved.

With courtesy and with respect enough,
but not with such familiar instances,

nor with such free and friendly
conference, as he hath used of old.

Thou has described a hot friend cooling.

Ever note, Lucilius, when love begins
to sicken and decay,

it useth an enforced ceremony.

There are no tricks
in plain and simple faith.

Stand, ho!

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, and when you do them...

Cassius, be content.
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, let us not wrangle.

That you have wronged me doth appear
in this. You have condemned and noted

Lucius Pella for taking bribes here
of the Sardians.

Wherein my letters, praying on his side,
because I knew the man, were slighted off.

You wronged yourself
to write in such a case.

In such a time as this it is not meet
that every nice offense

should bear its comment.

Let me tell you, Cassius,
you yourself are much condemned

to have an itching palm,

to sell and mart your offices
for gold to undeservers.

I 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 honors
this corruption,

and chastisement doth, therefore,
hide his head.

Chastisement!

Remember March,
the ides of March, remember.

Did not great Julius bleed
for justice sake?

What villain touched 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 honors for so much trash

as may be grasped thus?

I'd rather be a dog and bay the moon
than such a Roman.

Brutus, bay not me. I'll not endure it.

You forget yourself to hedge me in.

I am a soldier, I, older in action,
abler than yourself to make conditions.

Go to. You are not Cassius.

- I am.
- I say you are not.

Urge me no more, I shall forget myself.

Have mind upon your health.
Tempt me no further.

Away, slight man.

Is it possible?

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 breaks.

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
under your testy humor?

By the gods, you shall digest
the venom of your spleen,

though it do split you,
for, from this day forth,

I'll use you for my mirth, yea,
for my laughter, when you are waspish.

Is it come to this?

You say you are a better soldier.

Let it appear so. Make your vaunting true,
and it shall please me well.

For mine own part, I shall be glad
to learn of noble men.

You wrong me every way.
You wrong me, Brutus.

I said an elder soldier, not a better.

- Did I say better?
- If you did, I care not.

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

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

- I durst not!
- No!

What, durst not tempt him?

For your life you durst not.

Do not presume too much upon my love.
I may do that I shall be sorry for.

You have done that
you should be sorry for.

There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats,
for I am armed so strong in honesty,

that they pass by me as the idle wind,
which I respect not.

I did send to you for certain sums of gold,
which you denied me,

for I can raise no money by vile means.

I did send to you for gold
to pay my legions, which you denied me.

Was that done like Cassius?

- I denied you not!
- You did.

I did not. He was but a fool
that brought my answer back.

Brutus has rived my heart.

A friend should bear
his friend's infirmities,

but Brutus makes mine
greater than they are.

I do not, till you practice them on me.

- You love me not.
- I do not like your faults.

A friendly eye could never see such faults.

A flatterer's would not,

though they do appear as huge
as high Olympus.

Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come,

revenge yourselves alone on Cassius,

for Cassius is aweary of the world.

Hated by one he loves,
braved by his brother,

checked like a bondman,
all his faults observed,

set in a notebook, learned and conned
by rote to cast into my teeth.

O, I could weep the spirit from mine eyes!

Here is my dagger,
and here my naked breast.

If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth.

I, that denied thee gold,
will give my heart.

Strike, as thou didst at Caesar,

for, I know, when thou didst
hate him worst,

thou lovedst him better
than ever thou lovedst Cassius.

Sheathe your dagger.

Be angry when you will,
it shall have scope.

Do what you will, dishonor shall be humor.

Hath Cassius lived to be but mirth
and laughter to his Brutus,

when grief and blood
ill-tempered vexeth him?

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

Do you confess so much?

- Give me your hand.
- And my heart, too.

O Brutus, have you not love enough
to bear with me,

when that rash humor that my mother
gave me makes me forgetful?

Yes, Cassius.

And from henceforth, when you are
over-earnest with your Brutus,

he'll think your mother chides,
and leave you so.

Lucilius, bid the commanders prepare
to lodge their companies tonight.

And come yourself, and bring Messala
with you immediately to us.

Lucius, a bowl of wine.

I did not think
you could have been so angry.

O Cassius, I am sick of many griefs.

Of your philosophy you make no use,
if you give place to accidental evils.

No man bears sorrow better.

Portia is dead.

Portia?

She is dead.

How escaped I killing
when I crossed you so?

O, insupportable and touching loss!

Upon what sickness?

Impatient of my absence,
and grief that young Octavius

with Mark Antony
have made themselves so strong,

for with her death that tidings came.

With this she fell distract,

and, her attendants absent,
swallowed fire.

And died so?

Even so.

O ye immortal gods.

Speak no more of her.

In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius.

My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge.

Come in, Lucilius.

Welcome, good Messala.

Now, sit we close about this taper here,
and call in question our necessities.

- Portia, art thou gone?
- No more, I pray you.

Messala, I have here received letters

that young Octavius and Mark Antony
come down upon us with a mighty power,

bending their expedition toward Philippi.

Myself have letters of the selfsame tenor.

With what addition?

That by prescription and bills of outlawry,

Octavius, Antony and Lepidus
have put to death 100 senators.

Therein our letters do not well agree.

Mine speak of 70 senators
that died by their prescriptions,

Cicero being one.

- Cicero?
- Cicero is dead,

and by that order of prescription.

Had you your letters
from your wife, my lord?

No, Messala.

Nor nothing in your letters writ of her?

Nothing, Messala.

Well, to our work alive.

What do you think of marching
to Philippi presently?

- I do not think it good.
- Your reason?

This it is. 'Tis better
that the enemy seek us.

So shall he waste his means,
weary his soldiers, doing himself offense,

whilst we, lying still, are full of rest,
defense, and nimbleness.

Good reasons must, of force,
give place to better.

The people 'twixt Philippi and this ground

do stand but in a forced affection.

Hear me, good brother.

Under your pardon.

You must note, beside, that we have
tried the utmost of our friends.

Our legions are brim-full, our cause is ripe.

The enemy increaseth every day.
We, at the height, are ready to decline.

There is a tide in the affairs of men,

which, taken at the flood,
leads on to fortune.

Omitted, all the voyage of their life
is bound in shallows and in miseries.

On such a full sea are we now afloat,

and we must take the current
when it serves, or lose our ventures.

Then, with your will, go on.

We'll along ourselves,
and meet them at Philippi.

There is no more to say?

No more.

Good night.

Early tomorrow will we rise and hence.

Lucius, my gown!

- Good night, Lucilius.
- Good night, my lord.

Farewell, good Messala.

Good night, Lord Brutus.

Noble, noble Cassius,
good night, and good repose.

O my dear brother.

This was an ill beginning to the night.

Never come such division 'twixt our souls.

Let it not, Brutus.

Everything is well.

Good night, my lord.

Good night, good brother.

- Where is thy instrument?
- Here in the tent, sir.

What, thou speak'st drowsily?

Poor knave, I blame thee not.
Thou art over-watched.

Call Claudius and some other of my men.

I'll have them sleep on cushions
by my tent.

Varro and Claudius.

Look, Lucius,
here's the book I sought for so.

I put it in the pocket of my gown.

I was sure your lordship did not give it me.

Bear with me, good boy,
I am much forgetful.

Canst thou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile,

and touch thy instrument
a strain or two?

Ay, my lord, an't please you.

It does, my boy. I trouble thee too much,
but thou art willing.

'Tis my duty, sir.

I should not urge thy duty past thy might.

I know young bloods
look for a time of rest.

I have slept, my lord, already.

It was well done,
and thou shalt sleep again.

I will not hold thee long.

If I do live, I will be good to thee.

Now, O now

I needs must part

Joy once fled cannot return

If that parting

be offense

It is she

This is a sleepy tune.

which thus offends

O murderous slumber,

lay'st thou thy leaden mace upon my boy
that plays thee music?

Gentle knave, good night. I will not
do thee so much wrong to wake thee.

And, good boy, good night.

Let me see, let me see. Is not the leaf
turned down where I left reading?

Here it is, I think.

How ill this taper burns.

Who comes here?

I think it is the weakness of my eyes
that shapes this monstrous apparition.

Art thou anything?

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

that mak'st my blood cold
and my hair to stare?

Speak to me what thou art!

Thy evil spirit, Brutus.

Why com'st thou?

To tell thee thou shalt see me at Philippi.

Well, then I shall see thee again.

Ay, at Philippi.

Why,

I will see thee at Philippi, then!

Now I have taken heart, thou vanishest.

Ill spirit, I would hold more talk with thee.

Boy, Lucius! Lucius, awake!

My lord?

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

My lord, I do not know that I did cry.

Yes, that thou didst.
Didst thou see anything?

Nothing, my lord.

Varro! Claudius! Sirs, awake!

- My lord.
- My lord.

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

Did we, my lord?

Ay. Saw you anything?

- No, my lord, I saw nothing.
- Nor I, my lord.

Go and commend me
to my brother Cassius.

Bid him set on his powers
betimes before, and we will follow.

It shall be done, my lord.

Now, most noble Brutus,
the gods today stand friendly,

that we may, lovers in peace,
lead on our days to age.

But, since the affairs of men
rest still uncertain,

let's reason with the worst
that may befall.

If we do lose this battle,
then is this the very last time

we shall speak together.

What are you, then, determined to do?

Think not, thou noble Roman,
that ever Brutus will go bound to Rome.

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.

Forever and forever, farewell, Cassius.

If we do meet again, why, we shall smile.

If not, why then,
this parting was well made.

Forever and forever farewell, Brutus.

If we do meet again, we'll smile indeed.

If not, 'tis true this parting was well made.

Why, then, lead on.

O, that a man might know the end
of this day's business ere it come.

But it sufficeth that the day will end,
and then the end is known.

- Messala.
- What says my general?

Messala, this is my birthday.
As this very day was Cassius born.

Give me thy hand, Messala.

Be thou my witness that against my will,
as Pompey was,

I am compelled to set upon one battle
all our liberties.

Fly further off, my lord, fly further off!

This hill is far enough.

Look, look, Titinius.

Are those my tents
where I perceive our light?

They are, my lord.

Titinius, if thou lovest me,
mount thou my horse

and hide thy spurs in him,

till he have brought thee up
to yonder troops and here again,

that I may rest assured
whether those troops be friend or enemy.

I will be here again, even with a thought.

Go, Pindarus, get higher on that hill.

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 its compass.

- My lord!
- Sirrah, what news?

O, my lord!

Titinius is enclosed at round about with
horsemen that make to him on the spur.

Yet he spurs on.

Now they are almost on him.

Now, Titinius! Now! Now!

He's taken.

Come down. Behold no more.

O, coward that I am, to live so long

to see my best friend taken
before my face.

Come hither, sirrah.

In Parthia did I take thee prisoner,

and then I swore thee, saving of thy life,

that whatsoever I did bid thee do,
thou shouldst attempt it.

Come now, keep thine oath.

Now be a freeman,

and with this good sword,
that ran through Caesar's bowels,

search this bosom.

Stand not to answer. Take thou the hilts.

Guide thou the sword.

Come now, keep thine oath!

Where is he?

Safe, Octavius. Brutus is safe enough.

I dare assure thee that no enemy
shall ever take alive the noble Brutus.

Yet, countrymen,
O yet hold up your heads!

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

O Julius Caesar, thou art mighty yet.

Thy spirit walks abroad
and turns our swords

in our own proper entrails.

Hark thee, Clitus.

What, I, my lord?

No, not for all the world.

- Peace, then. No words.
- I'd rather kill myself.

Come hither, good Volumnius. List a word.

What says my lord?

Why this, Volumnius.
The ghost of Caesar hath appeared to me

two several times by night,

at Sardis once, and this last night
here in Philippi fields.

I know my hour is come.

Not so, my lord.

Nay, I am sure it is, Volumnius.

Thou seest the world, Volumnius,
how it goes.

Our enemies have beat us to the pit.

It is more worthy to leap in ourselves
than tarry till they push us.

Good Volumnius, thou know'st
that we two went to school together.

Even for that our love of old, I prithee,
hold thou my sword-hilts,

whilst I run on it.

That's 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.

Countrymen, my heart doth joy
that yet, in all my life,

I found no man but he was true to me.

I shall have glory by this losing day,
more than Octavius and Mark Antony

by this vile conquest shall attain unto.

So, fare you well at once,

for Brutus' tongue hath almost ended
his life's history.

Night hangs upon mine eyes.
My bones would rest,

that have but labored to attain this hour.

I prithee, Strato, stay thou by thy Lord.

Thou art a fellow of a good respect.

Thy life hath had
some smatch of honor 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.

Farewell, good Strato.

Caesar, now be still.

I killed not thee with half so good a will.

According to his virtue,
let us use him

with all respect and rites of burial.

Within my tent his bones tonight
shall lie, most like a soldier,

ordered honorably.

This was the noblest Roman of them all.

All the conspirators, save only he,
did that they did in envy of great Caesar.

He only, in a general honest thought

and common good to all,
made one of them.

His life was gentle,

and the elements so mixed in him

that Nature might stand up
and say to all the world,

"This was a man."