And then the rabble, vacillating, fool citizens said, "None, Brutus, none," and continue to yell, "Live, Brutus, live! live!"
Brutus leaves the Forum and requests the human cattle to remain and hear Antony relate the glories of Cæsar!
Finally Antony is persuaded to take the rostrum, and delivers this greatest funeral oration of all the ages:
_"Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to bury Cæsar, not to praise him; The evil that men do live after them; The good is oft interred with their bones; So let it be with Cæsar. The noble Brutus Hath told you Cæsar was ambitious; If it were so it was a grievous fault; And grievously hath Cæsar answered it. Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest, (For Brutus is an honorable man, So are they all, all honorable men); Come I to speak in Cæsar's funeral. 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 hath 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 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 until 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 statement, (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 beloved Brutus stabbed; And as he plucked his cursed 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 ye gods, how 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 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 The impression of pity; these are gracious drops. Kind souls, what, weep you, when you but behold Our Cæsar's vesture wounded? Look you here, Here is himself marred, as you see, with traitors! Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up To such a sudden flood of mutiny; They that have done this deed are honorable; What private griefs they have, alas, I know not That made them do it; they are wise and honorable And will no doubt with reasons answer you. I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts; I am no orator, as Brutus is: But as you know me all, a plain, blunt man, That love my friends, and that they know full well, That gave me public leave to speak of him. For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech To stir men's blood, I only speak right on; I tell you that, which you yourselves do know; Show you sweet Cæsar's wounds, poor, poor dumb mouths, And bid them speak for me; but were I Brutus, And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue In every wound of Cæsar, that should move The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny!"_