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 friend; 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.
1 CITIZEN.--We'll burn the house of Brutus.
3 CITIZEN.--Away, then! come, seek the conspirators.
ANTONY.--Yet hear me, countrymen; yet hear me speak.
ALL.--Peace, ho! Hear Antony, most noble Antony.
ANTONY.--Why, friends, you go to do you know not what. Wherein hath Cæsar thus deserved your loves? Alas, you know not!--I must tell you, then. You have forgot the will I told you of.
ALL.--Most true;--the will!--let's stay and hear the will.
ANTONY.--Here is the will, and under Cæsar's seal:-- To every Roman citizen he gives, To every several man, seventy-five drachmas.
2 CITIZEN.--Most noble Cæsar!--we'll revenge his death.
ANTONY.--Moreover, he hath left you all his walks, His private arbors, and new-planted orchards On this side Tiber; he hath left them you, And to your heirs forever,--common pleasures, To walk abroad, and recreate yourselves. Here was a Cæsar! when comes such another?
1 CITIZEN.--Never, never!--Come away, away! We 'll burn his body in the holy place, And with the brands fire the traitors' houses. Take up the body.... [_Exeunt Citizens, with the body._]
ANTONY.--Now let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot, Take thou what course thou wilt.
Thy will, O King, is done! Lighting but to consume, The roar of the fierce flames drowned even the shouts and shrieks; Reddening each roof, like some day-dawn of bloody doom, Seemed they in joyous flight to dance above their wrecks.