Julius Caesar

Cassius

This hill is far enough. Look, look, Titinius — 
Are those my tents where I perceive the fire?

Titinius

They are, my lord.

Cassius

                                Titinius, if thou lovest me,
Mount thou my horse and hide thy spurs in him,
Till he have brought thee up to yonder troops
And here again, that I may rest assured
Whether yond troops are friend or enemy.

Titinius

I will be here again, even with a thought.

Titinius

O Cassius, Brutus gave the word too early,
Who having some advantage on Octavius
Took it too eagerly. His soldiers fell to spoil,
Whilst we by Antony are all enclosed.

Antony

This is not Brutus, friend, but, I assure you,
A prize no less in worth. Keep this man safe;
Give him all kindness. I had rather have
Such men my friends than enemies. Go on,
[Alarum. Enter fighting, Soldiers of both armies; then Brutus, Cato, Lucilius, and others.]

Brutus

Yet, countrymen, O, yet hold up your heads!
[Exit Brutus.]

Cato

What bastard doth not? Who will go with me?
I will proclaim my name about the field — 
I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho!
A foe to tyrants, and my country's friend.
I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho!

Brutus

Let me see, let me see — is not the leaf turned down
Where I left reading? Here it is, I think.
[Enter the Ghost of Caesar.]
How ill this taper burns! Ha! who comes here?
I think it is the weakness of mine eyes
That shapes this monstrous apparition.

Brutus

For I can raise no money by vile means.
By heaven, I had rather coin my heart,
And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring
From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash
By any indirection. I did send
To you for gold to pay my legions,
Which you denied me. Was that done like Cassius?
Should I have answered Caius Cassius so?
When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous,
To lock such rascal counters from his friends,
Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts,
Dash him to pieces!
[Enter Cinna the poet.]

Cinna the Poet

I dreamt tonight that I did feast with Caesar,
And things unlucky charge my fantasy.
I have no will to wander forth of doors,
Yet something leads me forth.

Antony

Let but the commons hear this testament — 
Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read — 
And they would go and kiss dead Caesar'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.

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