1 And after this, let Caesar seat him sure, For we will shake him, or worse days endure.
2 Statilius show'd the torch-light; but, my lord, He came not back: he is or ta'en or slain.
3 So is he now in execution Of any bold or noble enterprise, However he puts on this tardy form.
4 Go on, And see whether Brutus be alive or dead; And bring us word unto Octavius' tent How everything is chanc'd.
5 When he came to himself again, he said, if he had done or said anything amiss, he desir'd their worships to think it was his infirmity.
6 For this time I will leave you: Tomorrow, if you please to speak with me, I will come home to you; or, if you will, Come home to me, and I will wait for you.
7 Your master, Pindarus, In his own change, or by ill officers, Hath given me some worthy cause to wish Things done, undone: but, if he be at hand, I shall be satisfied.
8 But it is doubtful yet Whether Caesar will come forth today or no; For he is superstitious grown of late, Quite from the main opinion he held once Of fantasy, of dreams, and ceremonies.
9 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 assur'd Whether yond troops are friend or enemy.
10 Between the acting of a dreadful thing And the first motion, all the interim is Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream: The genius and the mortal instruments Are then in council; and the state of man, Like to a little kingdom, suffers then The nature of an insurrection.
11 Now could I, Casca, name to thee a man Most like this dreadful night, That thunders, lightens, opens graves, and roars, As doth the lion in the Capitol; A man no mightier than thyself, or me, In personal action; yet prodigious grown, And fearful, as these strange eruptions are.
12 And be not jealous on me, gentle Brutus: Were I a common laugher, or did use To stale with ordinary oaths my love To every new protester; if you know That I do fawn on men, and hug them hard, And after scandal them; or if you know That I profess myself in banqueting, To all the rout, then hold me dangerous.
13 Look, in this place 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, Mark how the blood of Caesar follow'd it, As rushing out of doors, to be resolv'd If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no; For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel.