Julius Caesar, Act 1, Scene 2

Calphurnia.

Calphurnia.

Peace, ho! Caesar speaks.

Quiet there! Caesar is speaking.

Calphurnia.

Calphurnia.

Here, my lord.

Here, my lord.

Stand you directly in Antonius’ way, When he doth run his course. Antonius.

Stand right in Antonius' path when he runs his race. Antonius.

Caesar, my lord?

Caesar, my lord?

Forget not in your speed, Antonius, To touch Calphurnia; for our elders say, The barren, touched in this holy chase, Shake off their sterile curse.

As you run, Antonius, don't forget to touch Calphurnia; our elders say that childless women, touched during this holy race, shake off the curse of barrenness.

I shall remember. When Caesar says “Do this,” it is perform’d.

I'll remember. When Caesar says "Do this," it is done.

Set on; and leave no ceremony out.

Move on, and leave out no part of the ceremony.

Caesar!

Caesar!

Ha! Who calls?

Ha! Who's calling?

Bid every noise be still; peace yet again!

Order all noise to stop; quiet once again!

Who is it in the press that calls on me? I hear a tongue shriller than all the music, Cry “Caesar”! Speak. Caesar is turn’d to hear.

Who is it in the crowd that calls to me? I hear a voice shriller than all the music crying "Caesar"! Speak. Caesar is turned to listen.

Beware the Ides of March.

Beware the Ides of March.

What man is that?

Who is that man?

A soothsayer bids you beware the Ides of March.

A fortune-teller telling you to beware the Ides of March.

Set him before me; let me see his face.

Bring him in front of me; let me see his face.

Fellow, come from the throng; look upon Caesar.

You there, come out of the crowd; look at Caesar.

What say’st thou to me now? Speak once again.

What do you have to say to me now? Say it again.

Beware the Ides of March.

Beware the Ides of March.

He is a dreamer; let us leave him. Pass.

He's a dreamer; let's leave him. Move along.

Will you go see the order of the course?

Will you come and watch how the race is run?

Not I.

Not me.

I pray you, do.

Please, do.

I am not gamesome: I do lack some part Of that quick spirit that is in Antony. Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires; I’ll leave you.

I'm not one for games: I lack some part of that lively spirit Antony has. Don't let me hold you back from what you want, Cassius; I'll leave you.

Brutus, I do observe you now of late: I have not from your eyes that gentleness And show of love as I was wont to have. You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand Over your friend that loves you.

Brutus, I've been watching you lately: I don't get from your eyes the gentleness and sign of affection I used to have. You handle a friend who loves you with too stiff and too distant a hand.

Cassius, Be not deceived: if I have veil’d my look, I turn the trouble of my countenance Merely upon myself. Vexed I am Of late with passions of some difference, Conceptions only proper to myself, Which give some soil perhaps to my behaviors; But let not therefore my good friends be grieved (Among which number, Cassius, be you one) Nor construe any further my neglect, Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war, Forgets the shows of love to other men.

Cassius, don't be mistaken: if I've masked my expression, I'm turning my troubled face only against myself. Lately I've been troubled by conflicting feelings, ideas that concern only me, and they may have stained my behaviour a little; but my good friends shouldn't be hurt by it (and count yourself one of them, Cassius), or read anything more into my neglect than that poor Brutus, at war with himself, forgets to show affection to other men.

Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion; By means whereof this breast of mine hath buried Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations. Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face?

Then, Brutus, I've badly misread your mood; and because of that this chest of mine has buried thoughts of great worth, ideas worth considering. Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your own face?

No, Cassius, for the eye sees not itself But by reflection, by some other thing.

No, Cassius, because the eye can't see itself except by reflection, by way of something else.

’Tis just: And it is very much lamented, Brutus, That you have no such mirrors as will turn Your hidden worthiness into your eye, That you might see your shadow. I have heard Where many of the best respect in Rome, (Except immortal Caesar) speaking of Brutus, And groaning underneath this age’s yoke, Have wish’d that noble Brutus had his eyes.

That's right. And it's a great pity, Brutus, that you have no mirrors to turn your hidden worth back into your own eye, so that you might see your own image. I have heard many of the most respected men in Rome (except immortal Caesar), speaking of Brutus and groaning under the yoke of this age, wish that noble Brutus had eyes to see.

Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius, That you would have me seek into myself For that which is not in me?

Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius, that you want me to search inside myself for something that isn't there?

Therefore, good Brutus, be prepared to hear; And since you know you cannot see yourself So well as by reflection, I, your glass, Will modestly discover to yourself That of yourself which you yet know not of. 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.

So, good Brutus, be ready to listen; and since you know you can't see yourself except by reflection, I, your mirror, will modestly reveal to you that part of yourself which you don't yet know about. And don't be suspicious of me, gentle Brutus: if I were a common joker, or in the habit of cheapening my friendship with everyday oaths to every new man who declares himself my friend; if you know that I flatter men and embrace them warmly and then slander them afterwards; or if you know that I proclaim my friendship at banquets to the whole rabble, then consider me dangerous.

What means this shouting? I do fear the people Choose Caesar for their king.

What does this shouting mean? I'm afraid the people are choosing Caesar as their king.

Ay, do you fear it? Then must I think you would not have it so.

Yes, are you afraid of it? Then I must conclude you don't want it to happen.

I would not, Cassius; yet I love him well, But wherefore do you hold me here so long? What is it that you would impart to me? If it be aught toward the general good, Set honour in one eye and death i’ the other, And I will look on both indifferently; For let the gods so speed me as I love The name of honour more than I fear death.

I don't want it, Cassius; and yet I love him dearly. But why are you keeping me here so long? What is it you want to tell me? If it has anything to do with the general good, set honour before one of my eyes and death before the other, and I'll look at both without preference; for may the gods help me as surely as I love the name of honour more than I fear death.

I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus, As well as I do know your outward favour. Well, honour is the subject of my story. I cannot tell what you and other men Think of this life; but, for my single self, I had as lief not be as live to be In awe of such a thing as I myself. I was born free as Caesar; so were you; We both have fed as well, and we can both Endure the winter’s cold as well as he: For once, upon a raw and gusty day, The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores, Caesar said to me, “Dar’st thou, Cassius, now Leap in with me into this angry flood, And swim to yonder point?” Upon the word, Accoutred as I was, I plunged in, And bade him follow: so indeed he did. The torrent roar’d, and we did buffet it With lusty sinews, throwing it aside And stemming it with hearts of controversy. But ere we could arrive the point propos’d, Caesar cried, “Help me, Cassius, or I sink!” I, as Aeneas, our great ancestor, Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tiber Did I the tired Caesar. And this man Is now become a god; and Cassius is A wretched creature, and must bend his body, If Caesar carelessly but nod on him. He had a fever when he was in Spain, And when the fit was on him I did mark How he did shake: ’tis true, this god did shake: His coward lips did from their colour fly, And that same eye whose bend doth awe the world Did lose his lustre. I did hear him groan: Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans Mark him, and write his speeches in their books, Alas, it cried, “Give me some drink, Titinius,” As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me, A man of such a feeble temper should So get the start of the majestic world, And bear the palm alone.

I know that virtue is in you, Brutus, as surely as I know your outward face. Well, honour is exactly the subject of my story. I can't say what you and other men think of this life; but as for myself alone, I would as soon not exist as live in awe of a creature no better than myself. I was born as free as Caesar; so were you. We have both eaten as well, and we can both endure the winter's cold as well as he can. Once, on a raw and windy day, when the swollen Tiber was fretting against its banks, Caesar said to me, "Do you dare, Cassius, to leap into this angry flood with me now, and swim to that point over there?" At the word, dressed as I was, I plunged in and told him to follow: and so he did. The torrent roared, and we fought it with strong muscles, pushing it aside and forcing our way through it with defiant hearts. But before we could reach the point we'd aimed at, Caesar cried, "Help me, Cassius, or I'm sinking!" Just as Aeneas, our great ancestor, carried old Anchises on his shoulder out of the flames of Troy, so I carried the exhausted Caesar out of the waves of the Tiber. And this man has now become a god; and Cassius is a wretched creature who must bow his body if Caesar so much as carelessly nods at him. He had a fever when he was in Spain, and when the fit came on him I noticed how he shook. It's true, this god shook. His cowardly lips lost their colour and fled, and that very eye whose glance overawes the world lost its brightness. I heard him groan. Yes, and that tongue of his, which told the Romans to pay attention to him and write down his speeches in their books, cried out, "Give me something to drink, Titinius," like a sick girl. You gods, it astonishes me that a man of such a weak constitution should outstrip the majestic world and carry off the prize alone.

Another general shout? I do believe that these applauses are For some new honours that are heap’d on Caesar.

Another general shout? I believe this applause is for some new honours being piled on Caesar.

Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world Like a Colossus, and we petty men Walk under his huge legs, and peep about To find ourselves dishonourable graves. Men at some time are masters of their fates: The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, But in ourselves, that we are underlings. “Brutus” and “Caesar”: what should be in that “Caesar”? Why should that name be sounded more than yours? Write them together, yours is as fair a name; Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well; Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with ’em, “Brutus” will start a spirit as soon as “Caesar.” Now in the names of all the gods at once, Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed, That he is grown so great? Age, thou art sham’d! Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods! When went there by an age since the great flood, But it was fam’d with more than with one man? When could they say, till now, that talk’d of Rome, That her wide walls encompass’d but one man? Now is it Rome indeed, and room enough, When there is in it but one only man. O, you and I have heard our fathers say, There was a Brutus once that would have brook’d Th’ eternal devil to keep his state in Rome, As easily as a king!

Why, man, he straddles the narrow world like a Colossus, and we little men walk under his huge legs and peer around to find ourselves dishonourable graves. Men are sometimes masters of their own destinies: the fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars but in ourselves, that we are underlings. "Brutus" and "Caesar": what should there be in that "Caesar"? Why should that name be spoken more than yours? Write them side by side, yours is just as fine a name; say them aloud, yours suits the mouth as well; weigh them, yours is just as heavy; use them in magic spells, and "Brutus" will raise a spirit as quickly as "Caesar." Now, in the names of all the gods at once, what food does this Caesar of ours eat, that he has grown so great? Age, you are disgraced! Rome, you have lost your stock of noble blood! When, since the great flood, did any age go by that wasn't made famous by more than one man? Until now, when could those who talked of Rome say that her wide walls enclosed only one man? Now it is indeed Rome, and room enough, when there's only one single man in it. Oh, you and I have heard our fathers say there was once a Brutus who would have put up with the everlasting devil holding court in Rome as readily as with a king!

That you do love me, I am nothing jealous; What you would work me to, I have some aim: How I have thought of this, and of these times, I shall recount hereafter. For this present, I would not, so with love I might entreat you, Be any further mov’d. What you have said, I will consider; what you have to say I will with patience hear; and find a time Both meet to hear and answer such high things. Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this: Brutus had rather be a villager Than to repute himself a son of Rome Under these hard conditions as this time Is like to lay upon us.

That you love me, I don't doubt at all; what you want to bring me round to, I can partly guess. What I've thought about this, and about these times, I'll tell you later. For now, I'd ask you, as a loving request, not to press me any further. What you've said, I'll think about; what you still have to say, I'll hear patiently; and I'll find a time suitable both for hearing and for answering such weighty matters. Till then, my noble friend, chew on this: Brutus would rather be a villager than call himself a son of Rome under the harsh conditions that this time is likely to impose on us.

I am glad that my weak words Have struck but thus much show of fire from Brutus.

I'm glad that my feeble words have struck even this much spark of fire out of Brutus.

The games are done, and Caesar is returning.

The games are over, and Caesar is coming back.

As they pass by, pluck Casca by the sleeve, And he will, after his sour fashion, tell you What hath proceeded worthy note today.

As they go past, tug Casca by the sleeve, and in his sour way he'll tell you what has happened today that's worth noting.

I will do so. But, look you, Cassius, The angry spot doth glow on Caesar’s brow, And all the rest look like a chidden train: Calphurnia’s cheek is pale; and Cicero Looks with such ferret and such fiery eyes As we have seen him in the Capitol, Being cross’d in conference by some senators.

I'll do that. But look, Cassius, the angry flush is glowing on Caesar's forehead, and all the rest look like a group that's been scolded. Calphurnia's cheek is pale; and Cicero has the same ferret-like, fiery eyes we've seen in him at the Capitol when some senators contradicted him in debate.

Casca will tell us what the matter is.

Casca will tell us what the trouble is.

Antonius.

Antonius.

Caesar?

Caesar?

Let me have men about me that are fat, Sleek-headed men, and such as sleep a-nights: Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look; He thinks too much: such men are dangerous.

Let the men around me be fat, with sleek heads, the kind who sleep at night. That Cassius over there has a lean and hungry look; he thinks too much: such men are dangerous.

Fear him not, Caesar; he’s not dangerous; He is a noble Roman and well given.

Don't be afraid of him, Caesar; he isn't dangerous. He's a noble Roman and well disposed.

Would he were fatter! But I fear him not: Yet if my name were liable to fear, I do not know the man I should avoid So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much, He is a great observer, and he looks Quite through the deeds of men. He loves no plays, As thou dost, Antony; he hears no music. Seldom he smiles; and smiles in such a sort As if he mock’d himself and scorn’d his spirit That could be mov’d to smile at anything. Such men as he be never at heart’s ease Whiles they behold a greater than themselves, And therefore are they very dangerous. I rather tell thee what is to be fear’d Than what I fear; for always I am Caesar. Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf, And tell me truly what thou think’st of him.

I wish he were fatter! But I'm not afraid of him. Still, if my name were capable of fear, I don't know the man I would avoid sooner than that thin Cassius. He reads a great deal, he watches everything closely, and he sees straight through what men do. He doesn't enjoy plays, as you do, Antony; he doesn't listen to music. He rarely smiles, and when he does it's in such a way as if he were laughing at himself and despising his own nature for letting itself be moved to smile at anything. Men like him are never at ease in their hearts while they see someone greater than themselves, and that's why they are very dangerous. I'm telling you what is to be feared rather than what I fear; for I am always Caesar. Come round to my right side, because this ear is deaf, and tell me honestly what you think of him.

You pull’d me by the cloak; would you speak with me?

You pulled me by the cloak; do you want to speak to me?

Ay, Casca, tell us what hath chanc’d today, That Caesar looks so sad.

Yes, Casca, tell us what has happened today, that makes Caesar look so gloomy.

Why, you were with him, were you not?

Why, you were with him, weren't you?

I should not then ask Casca what had chanc’d.

Then I wouldn't be asking Casca what had happened.

Why, there was a crown offer’d him; and being offer’d him, he put it by with the back of his hand, thus; and then the people fell a-shouting.

Well, a crown was offered to him; and when it was offered, he pushed it away with the back of his hand, like this; and then the people started shouting.

What was the second noise for?

What was the second burst of noise for?

Why, for that too.

Why, for that too.

They shouted thrice: what was the last cry for?

They shouted three times: what was the last shout for?

Why, for that too.

Why, for that too.

Was the crown offer’d him thrice?

Was the crown offered to him three times?

Ay, marry, was’t, and he put it by thrice, every time gentler than other; and at every putting-by mine honest neighbours shouted.

Yes, indeed it was, and he pushed it away three times, each time more gently than the last; and at every pushing-away my honest neighbours shouted.

Who offer’d him the crown?

Who offered him the crown?

Why, Antony.

Why, Antony.

Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca.

Tell us how it happened, good Casca.

I can as well be hang’d, as tell the manner of it: it was mere foolery; I did not mark it. I saw Mark Antony offer him a crown; yet ’twas not a crown neither, ’twas one of these coronets; and, as I told you, he put it by once: but, for all that, to my thinking, he would fain have had it. Then he offered it to him again: then he put it by again: but, to my thinking, he was very loath to lay his fingers off it. And then he offered it the third time; he put it the third time by; and still, as he refus’d it, the rabblement hooted, and clapp’d their chopt hands, and threw up their sweaty night-caps, and uttered such a deal of stinking breath because Caesar refus’d the crown, that it had, almost, choked Caesar, for he swooned, and fell down at it. And for mine own part, I durst not laugh, for fear of opening my lips and receiving the bad air.

I might as well be hanged as tell you how it happened: it was pure nonsense; I paid no attention to it. I saw Mark Antony offer him a crown — and yet it wasn't a crown either, it was one of those coronets; and, as I told you, he pushed it aside once. But for all that, to my mind, he would gladly have taken it. Then Antony offered it to him again; then he pushed it aside again; but, to my mind, he was very unwilling to take his fingers off it. And then Antony offered it a third time; he pushed it aside the third time; and each time he refused it, the mob hooted and clapped their chapped hands and threw up their sweaty nightcaps and let out such a quantity of stinking breath because Caesar refused the crown that it almost choked Caesar, for he fainted and fell down at it. And as for me, I dared not laugh, for fear of opening my lips and taking in the foul air.

But, soft! I pray you. What, did Caesar swoon?

But wait, please. What, did Caesar faint?

He fell down in the market-place, and foam’d at mouth, and was speechless.

He fell down in the marketplace, and foamed at the mouth, and could not speak.

’Tis very like: he hath the falling-sickness.

That's very likely: he has epilepsy.

No, Caesar hath it not; but you, and I, And honest Casca, we have the falling-sickness.

No, Caesar doesn't have it; but you and I and honest Casca, we have the falling sickness.

I know not what you mean by that; but I am sure Caesar fell down. If the tag-rag people did not clap him and hiss him, according as he pleased and displeased them, as they use to do the players in the theatre, I am no true man.

I don't know what you mean by that; but I'm sure Caesar fell down. If the ragged rabble didn't clap him and hiss him, depending on whether he pleased or displeased them, the way they do with the actors in the theatre, then I'm not an honest man.

What said he when he came unto himself?

What did he say when he came round?

Marry, before he fell down, when he perceived the common herd was glad he refused the crown, he pluck’d me ope his doublet, and offer’d them his throat to cut. And I had been a man of any occupation, if I would not have taken him at a word, I would I might go to hell among the rogues. And so he fell. 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. Three or four wenches where I stood cried, “Alas, good soul!” and forgave him with all their hearts. But there’s no heed to be taken of them: if Caesar had stabb’d their mothers, they would have done no less.

Well, before he fell down, when he noticed that the common herd was glad he refused the crown, he tore open his doublet and offered them his throat to cut. And if I had been a working man of any trade, and hadn't taken him at his word, I'd be willing to go to hell along with the villains. And so he fell. When he came to himself again, he said that if he had done or said anything wrong, he asked their worships to put it down to his illness. Three or four young women where I was standing cried out, "Alas, good soul!" and forgave him with all their hearts. But no notice should be taken of them: if Caesar had stabbed their mothers, they would have done just the same.

And, after that, he came thus sad away?

And after that, he came away as gloomy as this?

Ay.

Yes.

Did Cicero say anything?

Did Cicero say anything?

Ay, he spoke Greek.

Yes, he spoke Greek.

To what effect?

Saying what?

Nay, and I tell you that, I’ll ne’er look you i’ the face again. But those that understood him smil’d at one another and shook their heads; but for mine own part, it was Greek to me. I could tell you more news too: Marullus and Flavius, for pulling scarfs off Caesar’s images, are put to silence. Fare you well. There was more foolery yet, if I could remember it.

No — if I tell you that, I'll never look you in the face again. But those who understood him smiled at one another and shook their heads; as for me, though, it was Greek to me. I could tell you more news too: Marullus and Flavius, for pulling scarves off Caesar's statues, have been silenced. Goodbye. There was still more foolishness, if I could only remember it.

Will you sup with me tonight, Casca?

Will you have supper with me tonight, Casca?

No, I am promis’d forth.

No, I've promised to be elsewhere.

Will you dine with me tomorrow?

Will you dine with me tomorrow?

Ay, if I be alive, and your mind hold, and your dinner worth the eating.

Yes, if I'm alive, and you haven't changed your mind, and your dinner is worth eating.

Good. I will expect you.

Good. I'll expect you.

Do so; farewell both.

Do that. Goodbye, both of you.

What a blunt fellow is this grown to be! He was quick mettle when he went to school.

What a blunt fellow he has turned into! He was full of spirit when he was at school.

So is he now in execution Of any bold or noble enterprise, However he puts on this tardy form. This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit, Which gives men stomach to digest his words With better appetite.

He still is, when it comes to carrying out any bold or noble undertaking, however much he puts on this sluggish manner. This roughness is a sauce to his good wit, which gives people the appetite to digest his words more eagerly.

And so it is. 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.

That's true. For now I'll leave you. Tomorrow, if you'd like to talk with me, I'll come to your house; or, if you prefer, come to mine, and I'll be waiting for you.

I will do so: till then, think of the world.

I'll do that. Till then, think about the state of the world.

Well, Brutus, thou art noble; yet I see, Thy honourable metal may be wrought From that it is dispos’d: therefore ’tis meet That noble minds keep ever with their likes; For who so firm that cannot be seduc’d? Caesar doth bear me hard, but he loves Brutus. If I were Brutus now, and he were Cassius, He should not humour me. I will this night, In several hands, in at his windows throw, As if they came from several citizens, Writings, all tending to the great opinion That Rome holds of his name; wherein obscurely Caesar’s ambition shall be glanced at. And after this, let Caesar seat him sure, For we will shake him, or worse days endure.

Well, Brutus, you are noble; yet I see that your honourable metal can be bent out of the shape it naturally takes. So it's right that noble minds should always keep company with their own kind; for who is so steady that he can't be led astray? Caesar bears a grudge against me, but he loves Brutus. If I were Brutus now, and he were Cassius, he wouldn't win me over. Tonight I'll throw in at his windows, in different handwritings, as though they came from various citizens, letters all pointing to the high opinion Rome holds of his name; and in them Caesar's ambition will be darkly hinted at. And after this, let Caesar make his seat secure, for we will shake him loose, or suffer worse days.