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, 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 Cæsar,-- I found it in his closet; 't is 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, 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.-- If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. You all do know this mantle; I remember The first time ever Cæsar, ever put it on; 'T was on a summer's evening in his tent; That day he overcame the Nervii.-- Look! In this place ran Cassius's dagger through: See what a rent the envious Casca made: Through this, the well-belovéd Brutus stabbed; And as he plucked his curséd steel away, Mark, how the blood of Cæsar, followed it!-- This was the most unkindest cut of all! For when the noble Cæsar, 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 Cæsar, 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. O, now you weep; and I perceive you feel