Oh mighty Caesar, doest thou lie so low?
Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils shrunk to this little measure?
Fare thee well.
I know not, gentlemen, what you intend.
Who else must be let blood, who else is rank.
If I myself, there is no hour so fit as Caesar's death hour,
Not no instruments of half that worth as those your swords,
Made rich with the most noble blood of all the world.
I do beseech ye, if you bare me hard.
Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek in smoke,
Fulfil your pleasure.
Live a thousand years, I shall not find myself so apt to die.
Yeah, that's all I remember.
