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 Cæsar seem ambitious? When that the poor have cried, Cæsar 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 Cæsar, And I must pause till it come back to me. * * * * * 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,--’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, 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 put it on; ’Twas 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-belovèd Brutus stabb’d; And, as he plucked his cursèd steel away, Mark how the blood of Cæsar followed it!-- As rushing out of doors, to be resolved If Brutus so unkindly knocked, or no: For Brutus, as you know, was Cæsar’s angel: Judge, O you gods, how dearly Cæsar loved him! 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 statua, Which all the while ran blood, great Cæsar fell.