FRIENDS, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; | |
| I come to bury Cæsar, 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 Cæsar. The noble Brutus | 5 |
| Hath told you Cæsar was ambitious: | |
| If it were so, it was a grievous fault, | |
| And grievously hath Cæsar answer’d it. | |
| Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest— | |
| For Brutus is an honourable man; | 10 |
| So are they all, all honourable men— | |
| Come I to speak in Cæsar’s funeral. | |
| He was my friend, faithful and just to me: | |
| But Brutus says he was ambitious; | |
| And Brutus is an honourable man. | 15 |
| He hath brought many captives home to Rome, | |
| Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill: | |
| Did this in Cæsar seem ambitious? | |
| When that the poor have cried, Cæsar hath wept: | |
| Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: | 20 |
| Yet Brutus says he was ambitious; | |
| And Brutus is an honourable man. | |
| You all did see that on the Lupercal | |
| I thrice presented him a kingly crown, | |
| Which he did thrice refuse: was this ambition? | 25 |
| Yet Brutus says he was ambitious; | |
| And, sure, he is an honourable 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: | 30 |
| 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 Cæsar, | |
| And I must pause till it come back to me. * * * * * | 35 |
| But yesterday the word of Cæsar 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, | 40 |
| I should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong, | |
| Who, you all know, are honourable 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. | 45 |
| But here’s a parchment with the seal of Cæsar; | |
| 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 Cæsar’s wounds | 50 |
| 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. * * * * * | 55 |
| Have patience, gentle friends, I must not read it; | |
| It is not meet you know how Cæsar loved you. | |
| You are not wood, you are not stones, but men; | |
| And, being men, hearing the will of Cæsar, | |
| It will inflame you, it will make you mad: | 60 |
| ’Tis good you know not that you are his heirs; | |
| For, if you should, O, what would come of it! * * * * * | |
| You will compel me then to read the will? | |
| Then make a ring about the corpse of Cæsar, | |
| And let me show you him that made the will. | 65 |
| Shall I descend? and will you give me leave? * * * * * | |
| If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. | |
| You all do know this mantle: I remember | |
| The first time ever Cæsar put it on; | |
| ’Twas on a summer’s evening, in his tent, | 70 |
| 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 stabb’d; | |
| And as he pluck’d his cursed steel away, | 75 |
| Mark how the blood of Cæsar follow’d it, | |
| As rushing out of doors, to be resolved | |
| If Brutus so unkindly knock’d, or no; | |
| For Brutus, as you know, was Cæsar’s angel: | |
| Judge, O you gods, how dearly Cæsar loved him! | 80 |
| This was the most unkindest cut of all; | |
| For when the noble Cæsar saw him stab, | |
| Ingratitude, more strong than traitors’ arms, | |
| Quite vanquish’d him: then burst his mighty heart; | |
| And, in his mantle muffling up his face, | 85 |
| Even at the base of Pompey’s statue, | |
| Which all the while ran blood, great Cæsar fell. | |
| O, what a fall was there, my countrymen! | |
| Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, | |
| Whilst bloody treason flourish’d over us. | 90 |
| 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 Cæsar’s vesture wounded? Look you here, | |
| Here is himself, marr’d, as you see, with traitors. | 95 |
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