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 stab'd;
And as he pluck'd his cursed steel away,
Mark how the blood of Caesar follow'd it!--
As rushing out of doors, to be resolv'd
If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no;
For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel:
Judge, O you Gods, how Caesar lov'd him!
This was the most unkindest cut of all!
For when the noble Caesar 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,
Even at the base of Pompey's statue,
Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell.
Oh what a fall was there, my countrymen!
Then I and you, and all of us, fell down,
Whilst bloody treason flourish'd 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, mar'd, as you see, by traitors.

_1 Ple._ Oh, piteous spectacle!

_2 Ple._ Oh, noble Caesar!

_3 Ple._ Oh, woful day!

_4 Ple._ Oh, traitors, villains!

_1 Ple._ Oh, most bloody sight!

_2 Ple._ We will be reveng'd!

_All._ Revenge; about--seek--burn--fire--kill--day!--Let not
a traitor live!

_Ant._ Stay, countrymen.

_1 Ple._ Peace there! Hear the noble Antony.

_2 Ple._ We'll hear him, we'll follow him, we'll die with him.

_Ant._ 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 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 men's blood. I only speak right on:
I tell you that which you yourselves do know;
Show your sweet Caesar's wounds, poor, poor, dumb