friend, it is cold modesty. I blame you not for praising Caesar so; But what compact mean you to have with us? Will you be prick'd in number of our friends; Or shall we on, and not depend on you? Therefore I took your hands, but was, indeed, Sway'd from the point, by looking down on Caesar. Friends am I with you all and love you all, Upon this hope, that you shall give me reasons Why and wherein Caesar was dangerous. Or else were this a savage spectacle: Our reasons are so full of good regard That were you, Antony, the son of Caesar, You should be satisfied. That's all I seek: And am moreover suitor that I may Produce his body to the market-place; And in the pulpit, as becomes a friend, Speak in the order of his funeral. You shall, Mark Antony. Brutus, a word with you. You know not what you do: do not consent That Antony speak in his funeral: Know you how much the people may be moved By that which he will utter? By your pardon; I will myself into the pulpit first, And show the reason of our Caesar's death: What Antony shall speak, I will protest He speaks by leave and by permission, And that we are contented Caesar shall Have all true rites and lawful ceremonies. It shall advantage more than do us wrong. I know not what may fall; I like it not. Mark Antony, here, take you Caesar's body. You shall not in your funeral speech blame us, But speak all good you can devise of Caesar, And say you do't by our permission; Else shall you not have any hand at all About his funeral: and you shall speak In the same pulpit whereto I am going, After my speech is ended. Be it so. I do desire no more. Prepare the body then, and follow us. O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth, That I am meek and gentle with these butchers! Thou art the ruins of the noblest man That ever lived in the tide of times. Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood! Over thy wounds now do I prophesy,-- Which, like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips, To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue-- A curse shall light upon the limbs of men; Domestic fury and fierce civil strife Shall cumber all the parts of Italy; Blood and destruction shall be so in use And dreadful objects so familiar That mothers shall but smile when they behold Their infants quarter'd with the hands