1 A friendly eye could never see such faults.
2 Poor soul, his eyes are red as fire with weeping.
3 Now is that noble vessel full of grief, That it runs over even at his eyes.
4 No, Cassius, for the eye sees not itself But by reflection, by some other thing.
5 Night hangs upon mine eyes; my bones would rest, That have but labour'd to attain this hour.
6 Passion, I see, is catching; for mine eyes, Seeing those beads of sorrow stand in thine, Began to water.
7 Before the eyes of both our armies here, Which should perceive nothing but love from us, Let us not wrangle.
8 Brutus, I do observe you now of late: I have not from your eyes that gentleness And show of love as I was wont to have.
9 This shall mark Our purpose necessary, and not envious; Which so appearing to the common eyes, We shall be call'd purgers, not murderers.
10 Tis just: And it is very much lamented, Brutus, That you have no such mirrors as will turn Your hidden worthiness into your eye, That you might see your shadow.
11 He had a fever when he was in Spain, And when the fit was on him I did mark How he did shake: 'tis true, this god did shake: His coward lips did from their colour fly, And that same eye whose bend doth awe the world Did lose his lustre.'
12 But, look you, Cassius, The angry spot doth glow on Caesar's brow, And all the rest look like a chidden train: Calphurnia's cheek is pale; and Cicero Looks with such ferret and such fiery eyes As we have seen him in the Capitol, Being cross'd in conference by some senators.