Well Brutus Thou Art Noble Yet I See Thy Honorable Mettle May Be Wrought From That It Is Disposed
O mighty Caesar! dost chiliad lie and then depression?
Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils,
Shrunk to this lilliputian measure? Fare thee well.
I know not, gentlemen, what you lot intend,
Who else must be let blood, who else is rank:
If I myself, in that location is no hour then fit
As Caesar'south decease hour, nor no instrument
Of half that worth every bit those your swords, made rich
With the most noble claret of all this world.
I do beseech ye, if you bear me hard,
Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and smoke,
Fulfil your pleasure. Alive a thousand years,
I shall non discover myself so apt to die:
No place volition please me and then, no mean of decease,
As hither by Caesar, and by y'all cut off,
The choice and master spirits of this historic period. 
Well, Brutus, thou art noble; all the same, I see,
Thy honourable metal may be wrought
From that it is disposed: therefore it is see
That noble minds go on ever with their likes;
For who and so firm that cannot exist seduced?
Caesar doth bear me hard; but he loves Brutus:
If I were Brutus at present and he were Cassius,
He should non humour me. I volition this night,
In several hands, in at his windows throw,
As if they came from several citizens,
Writings all tending to the keen 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 nosotros will shake him, or worse days endure.
Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he home?
What tributaries follow him to Rome,
To grace in captive bonds his chariot-wheels? 35
You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things!
O you hard hearts, you vicious men of Rome,
Knew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft
Accept y'all climb'd upwards to walls and battlements,
To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops,
Your infants in your artillery, and there have sabbatum
The livelong day, with patient expectation,
To encounter neat Pompey pass the streets of Rome:
And when you saw his chariot but appear,
Have you not made an universal shout,
That Tiber trembled underneath her banks,
To hear the replication of your sounds
Made in her concave shores?
And do yous now put on your best attire?
And do y'all now choose out a vacation?
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.
I know that virtue to exist in y'all, Brutus,
As well as I do know your outward favour.
Well, honour is the subject field of my story.
I cannot tell what you and other men
Think of this life; but, for my single cocky,
I had as lief not be as live to exist
In awe of such a matter as I myself.
I was built-in free every bit Caesar; so were you:
We both accept fed as well, and we tin both
Endure the winter'southward cold as well as he:
For one time, upon a raw and gusty day,
The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores,
Caesar said to me 'Darest thou, Cassius, now
Leap in with me into this angry flood,
And swim to yonder point?' Upon the word,
Accoutred as I was, I plunged in
And bade him follow; then indeed he did.
The torrent roar'd, and nosotros did buffet information technology
With brawny 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!'
I, as Aeneas, our nifty ancestor,
Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder
The old Anchises deport, and so from the waves of Tiber
Did I the tired Caesar. And this homo
Is now become a god, and Cassius is
A wretched creature and must bend his body,
If Caesar carelessly but nod on him.
He had a fever when he was in Spain,
And when the fit was on him, I did mark
How he did milkshake: 'tis true, this god did shake;
His coward lips did from their colour fly,
And that same eye whose curve doth awe the world
Did lose his lustre: I did hear him groan:
Ay, and that natural language of his that bade the Romans
Mark him and write his speeches in their books,
Alas, information technology cried 'Give me some potable, Tintinius,'
As a ill girl. Ye gods, information technology doth amaze me
A human of such a feeble atmosphere should
And so get the start of the majestic world
And deport the palm alone.
Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world
Like a Colossus, and we petty men
Walk under his huge legs and peep virtually
To find ourselves dishonourable graves.
Men at some fourth dimension are masters of their fates:
The error, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that nosotros are underlings.
Brutus and Caesar: what should be in that 'Caesar'?
Why should that name exist sounded more than yours?
Write them together, yours is every bit fair a name;
Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well;
Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with 'em,
Brutus will beginning a spirit as soon as Caesar.
At present, in the names of all the gods at one time,
Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed,
That he is grown and so great? Age, k art shamed!
Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods!
When went there past an age, since the great flood,
Merely it was famed with more than with i man?
When could they say till at present, that talk'd of Rome,
That her wide walls cover'd but one human being?
Now is it Rome indeed and room enough,
When there is in it just one just man.
O, you and I take heard our fathers say,
In that location was a Brutus in one case that would have beck'd
The eternal devil to continue his state in Rome
As easily as a king.
I can every bit well be hanged every bit tell the manner of it: it was mere foolery; I did not mark information technology. I saw Mark Antony offer him a crown;—however 'twas not a crown neither, 'twas 1 of these coronets;—and, as I told you, he put it by one time: but, for all that, to my thinking, he would fain have had it. And then he offered it to him again; then he put information technology by again: only, 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 equally he refused it, the rabblement hooted and clapped their chapped easily and threw up their sweaty nighttime-caps and uttered such a bargain of stinking breath because Caesar refused the crown that it had well-nigh high-strung Caesar; for he swounded and fell downwardly at it: and for mine own part, I durst non laugh, for fear of opening my lips and receiving the bad air.
Casca. 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
Take rived the knotty oaks, and I have seen
The ambitious ocean bang-up and rage and foam,
To be exalted with the threatening clouds:
But never till to-nighttime, never till now,
Did I get through a tempest dropping fire.
Either there is a civil strife in heaven,
Or else the world, besides saucy with the gods,
Incenses them to transport destruction.
Cicero. Why, saw yous any thing more wonderful?
Casca. A common slave—yous know him well by sight—
Held up his left hand, which did flame and burn
Like xx torches join'd, and yet his hand,
Not sensible of burn down, remain'd unscorch'd.
Too—I ha' non since put upward my sword—
Against the Capitol I met a lion,
Who glared upon me, and went bearish by,
Without annoying me: and in that location were drawn
Upon a heap a hundred 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
Fifty-fifty at noon-day upon the market-place,
Hooting and shrieking. When these prodigies
Do so conjointly meet, allow not men say
'These are their reasons; they are natural;'
For, I believe, they are portentous things
Unto the climate that they point upon.
You are ho-hum, Casca, and those sparks of life
That should exist in a Roman y'all practice want,
Or else you use not. Y'all look stake and gaze
And put on fear and cast yourself in wonder,
To see the strange impatience of the heavens:
Merely if y'all would consider the truthful 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 modify from their ordinance
Their natures and preformed faculties
To monstrous quality,—why, you shall find
That sky hath infused them with these spirits,
To make them instruments of fright and alarm
Unto some monstrous country.
At present could I, Casca, name to thee a human being
Most like this dreadful night,
That thunders, lightens, opens graves, and roars
As doth the king of beasts in the Capitol,
A man no mightier than thyself or me
In personal action, yet prodigious grown
And fearful, as these strange eruptions are.
It must be past his death: and for my role,
I know no personal cause to spurn at him,
Merely for the general. He would be crown'd:
How that might modify his nature, there's the question.
Information technology is the bright day that brings forth the adder;
And that craves wary walking. Crown him?—that;—
And so, I grant, nosotros 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 sway'd
More 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 circular.
He so unto the ladder turns his dorsum,
Looks in the clouds, scorning the base of operations degrees
By which he did ascend. So Caesar may.
Then, lest he may, prevent. And, since the quarrel
Will acquit no colour for the thing he is,
Fashion information technology thus; that what he is, augmented,
Would run to these and these extremities:
And therefore think him every bit a serpent's egg
Which, hatch'd, would, as his kind, grow mischievous,
And impale him in the beat out.
No, not an oath: if non the face of men,
The sufferance of our souls, the time's corruption,—
If these be motives weak, break off betimes,
And every man hence to his idle bed;
So permit high-sighted tyranny range on,
Till each man drop by lottery. But if these,
As I am sure they do, deport burn down enough
To kindle cowards and to steel with valour
The melting spirits of women, and so, countrymen,
What need we any spur but our own cause,
To prick u.s.a. to redress? what other bond
Than hole-and-corner Romans, that have spoke the word,
And will not palter? and what other oath
Than honesty to honesty engaged,
That this shall be, or we will autumn for it?
Swear priests and cowards and men cautelous,
Quondam feeble carrions and such suffering souls
That welcome wrongs; unto bad causes swear
Such creatures as men dubiousness; only practise not stain
The even virtue of our enterprise,
Nor the insuppressive mettle of our spirits,
To call back that or our cause or our performance
Did need an adjuration; when every driblet of blood
That every Roman bears, and nobly bears,
Is guilty of a several bastardy,
If he do break the smallest particle
Of whatsoever promise that hath pass'd from him.
Our course will seem besides bloody, Caius Cassius,
To cut the head off and and so hack the limbs,
Like wrath in decease and envy afterwards;
For Antony is just a limb of Caesar:
Let u.s.a. be sacrificers, only not butchers, Caius.
We all stand 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 amputate Caesar! But, alas,
Caesar must drain for it! And, gentle friends,
Permit's kill him boldly, but not wrathfully;
Permit'due south carve him equally a dish fit for the gods,
Not hew him as a carcass fit for hounds:
And let our hearts, as subtle masters practice,
Stir up their servants to an act of rage,
And subsequently seem to chide 'em. This shall make
Our purpose necessary and not envious:
Which then actualization to the common eyes,
Nosotros shall be telephone call'd purgers, not murderers.
And for Mark Antony, think not of him;
For he can do no more than than Caesar's arm
When Caesar's head is off.
I doubt not of your wisdom. My credit now stands on such slippery ground,
Let each human being render me his bloody mitt:
Starting time, Marcus Brutus, will I milkshake with you lot;
Side by side, Caius Cassius, do I take your hand;
Now, Decius Brutus, yours: now yours, Metellus;
Yours, Cinna; and, my valiant Casca, yours;
Though final, not final in beloved, yours, skilful Trebonius.
Gentlemen all,—alas, what shall I say?
That one of two bad ways you lot must conceit me,
Either a coward or a flatterer.
That I did love thee, Caesar, O, 'tis true:
If then thy spirit await upon u.s. now,
Shall it not grieve thee dearer than thy death,
To see thy thy Anthony making his peace,
Shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes,
Most noble! in the presence of thy corse?
Had I as many eyes as 1000 hast wounds,
Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood,
Information technology would become me improve than to close
In terms of friendship with thine enemies.
Pardon me, Julius! Hither wast thou bay'd, dauntless hart;
Here didst thousand fall; and here thy hunters stand,
Sign'd in thy spoil, and carmine'd in thy lethe.
O world, thou wast the forest to this hart;
And this, indeed, O globe, the heart of thee.
How like a deer, strucken by many princes,
Dost thou here prevarication!
O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth,
That I am meek and gentle with these butchers!
G art the ruins of the noblest man
That ever lived in the tide of times.
Woe to the paw that shed this costly blood!
Over thy wounds now do I prophesy,—
Which, like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips,
To beg the vox 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 only smile when they behold
Their infants quarter'd with the easily of war;
All pity choked with custom of barbarous deeds:
And Caesar'south spirit, ranging for revenge,
With Ate by his side come up hot from hell,
Shall in these confines with a monarch's voice
Cry 'Havoc,' and allow sideslip the dogs of state of war;
That this foul deed shall smell higher up the earth
With carrion men, groaning for burial.
Brutus. Exist patient till the last. Romans, countrymen, and lovers! hear me for my cause, and be silent, that you lot may hear: believe me for mine honour, and have respect to mine award, that you may believe: censure me in your wisdom, and awake your senses, that yous may the better judge. If there be whatever in this associates, whatever 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 expressionless, to live all free men? As Caesar loved me, I weep for him; every bit he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; equally he was valiant, I accolade him: but, as he was ambitious, I slew him. There is tears for his love; joy for his fortune; award for his valour; and death for his ambition. Who is here and so base that would be a bondman? If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is here so rude that would non exist a Roman? If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is here so vile that will not love his land? If any, speak; for him have I offended. I pause for a reply.
All. None, Brutus, none.
Brutus. Then none have I offended. I take done no more to Caesar than y'all shall practise to Brutus. The question of his death is enrolled in the Capitol; his celebrity not extenuated, wherein he was worthy, nor his offences enforced, for which he suffered death. [Enter ANTONY and others, with CAESAR's trunk] Here comes his body, mourned past Mark Antony: who, though he had no paw in his decease, shall receive the benefit of his dying, a place in the commonwealth; as which of yous shall not? With this I depart,—that, every bit I slew my best lover for the good of Rome, I take the aforementioned dagger for myself, when it shall please my country to demand my expiry.
Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears;
I come up to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their bones;
Then 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 answer'd information technology.
Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest—
For Brutus is an honourable man;
So are they all, all honourable 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 honourable man.
He hath brought many captives home to Rome
Whose ransoms did the full general coffers fill:
Did this in Caesar seem ambitious?
When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept:
Ambition should exist fabricated of sterner stuff:
Still Brutus says he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honourable homo.
You all did see that on the Lupercal
I thrice presented him a kingly crown,
Which he did thrice pass up: was this appetite?
Yet Brutus says he was aggressive;
And, sure, he is an honourable human being.
I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,
Only here I am to speak what I practice know.
You all did dear him once, not without cause:
What cause withholds you and then, to mourn for him?
O judgment! 1000 art fled to brutish beasts,
And men have lost their reason. Behave with me;
My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar,
And I must pause till it come back to me.
But yesterday the word of Caesar might
Have stood against the earth; at present lies he there.
And none then poor to do him reverence.
O masters, if I were disposed to stir
Your hearts and minds to wildcat and rage,
I should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong,
Who, you all know, are honourable men:
I volition non practice them incorrect; I rather choose
To incorrect the dead, to wrong myself and you,
Than I will wrong such honourable men.
But hither's a parchment with the seal of Caesar;
I found it in his cupboard, 'tis his volition:
Let only the commons hear this attestation—
Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read—
And they would go and kiss expressionless Caesar's wounds
And dip their napkins in his sacred claret,
Yea, beg a hair of him for retentivity,
And, dying, mention it within their wills,
Bequeathing it as a rich legacy
Unto their outcome.
If you have tears, set up to shed them at present.
You all do know this mantle: I call back
The first time always Caesar put it on;
'Twas on a summertime's evening, in his tent,
That twenty-four hour period he overcame the Nervii:
Look, in this identify 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,
Marking how the blood of Caesar follow'd it,
As rushing out of doors, to be resolved
If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no;
For Brutus, as yous know, was Caesar's angel:
Judge, O y'all gods, how dearly Caesar loved him!
This was the most unkindest cut of all;
For when the noble Caesar saw him stab,
Ingratitude, more than strong than traitors' artillery,
Quite vanquish'd him: and so outburst his mighty heart;
And, in his mantle muffling up his face up,
Even at the base of Pompey'due south statua,
Which all the while ran blood, not bad Caesar fell.
O, what a fall was in that location, my countrymen!
And then I, and you, and all of us fell downward,
Whilst encarmine treason flourish'd over us.
O, at present y'all cry; and, I perceive, yous feel
The dint of pity: these are gracious drops.
Kind souls, what, cry y'all when you just behold
Our Caesar's vesture wounded? Look you here,
Here is himself, marr'd, as y'all see, with traitors.
Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you upwards
To such a sudden flood of wildcat.
They that have done this deed are honourable:
What private griefs they have, alas, I know non,
That made them practice it: they are wise and honourable,
And volition, no doubt, with reasons reply you lot.
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 human being,
That love my friend; and that they know full well
That gave me public get out to speak of him:
For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth,
Activity, nor utterance, nor the ability of speech,
To stir men'due south blood: I only speak right on;
I tell y'all that which you yourselves practise know;
Bear witness yous 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 upward your spirits and put a tongue
In every wound of Caesar that should movement
The stones of Rome to rising and wildcat.
You take done that y'all should be sad for.
There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats,
For I am arm'd so strong in honesty
That they pass by me as the idle wind,
Which I respect non. I did ship to you
For sure sums of golden, which you denied me:
For I can heighten no coin past vile means:
By heaven, I had rather money my center,
And drop my claret for drachmas, than to wring
From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash
By whatsoever indirection: I did send
To you lot for gold to pay my legions,
Which you lot denied me: was that done similar Cassius?
Should I have answer'd Caius Cassius then?
When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous,
To lock such rascal counters from his friends,
Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts;
Nuance him to pieces!
Cassius. Messala,
This is my nascency-twenty-four hours; every bit this very day
Was Cassius born. Give me thy hand, Messala:
Exist yard my witness that confronting my volition,
Every bit Pompey was, am I compell'd to set
Upon one boxing all our liberties.
You know that I held Epicurus strong
And his opinion: now I change my heed,
And partly credit things that exercise presage.
Coming from Sardis, on our old ensign
Two mighty eagles cruel, and at that place they perch'd,
Gorging and feeding from our soldiers' easily;
Who to Philippi here consorted u.s.a.:
This morn are they fled away and gone;
And in their steads do ravens, crows and kites,
Fly o'er our heads and downwardly look on us,
As we were sickly prey: their shadows seem
A awning almost fatal, under which
Our ground forces lies, set to give up the ghost.
Cassius.I but believe information technology partly; Brutus. Notwithstanding, Lucilius. Messala. Believe not so.
For I am fresh of spirit and resolved
To meet all perils very constantly.
Cassius. Now, most noble Brutus,
The gods to-solar day stand friendly, that we may,
Lovers in peace, lead on our days to age!
But since the diplomacy of men rest still incertain,
Allow'due south reason with the worst that may befall.
If we do lose this battle, and so is this
The very last time we shall speak together:
What are you then determined to do?
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Source: https://www.shakespeare-monologues.org/men/plays/38