Julius Caesar, Act 4, Scene 3

That you have wrong’d me doth appear in this: You have condemn’d and noted Lucius Pella For taking bribes here of the Sardians; Wherein my letters, praying on his side Because I knew the man, were slighted off.

That you have wronged me is clear from this: you have condemned and publicly disgraced Lucius Pella for taking bribes here from the people of Sardis; and my letters, pleading on his behalf because I knew the man, were brushed aside.

You wrong’d yourself to write in such a case.

You wronged yourself by writing in a case like that.

In such a time as this it is not meet That every nice offence should bear his comment.

At a time like this it isn't right that every trifling offence should get its own criticism.

Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself Are much condemn’d to have an itching palm, To sell and mart your offices for gold To undeservers.

Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself are widely accused of having a greedy, itching palm — of selling and trading your offices for gold to men who don't deserve them.

I an itching palm! You know that you are Brutus that speak this, Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last.

I, an itching palm! You know that it's Brutus who says this, or, by the gods, this speech would be your last.

The name of Cassius honours this corruption, And chastisement doth therefore hide his head.

The name of Cassius lends this corruption respectability, and so punishment hides its head.

Chastisement!

Punishment!

Remember March, the Ides of March remember: Did not great Julius bleed for justice’ sake? What villain touch’d his body, that did stab, And not for justice? What! Shall one of us, That struck the foremost man of all this world But for supporting robbers, shall we now Contaminate our fingers with base bribes, And sell the mighty space of our large honours For so much trash as may be grasped thus? I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, Than such a Roman.

Remember March, remember the Ides of March: didn't great Julius bleed for the sake of justice? What villain who struck him touched his body for any reason but justice? What! Shall one of us, who struck down the foremost man in all this world only because he protected robbers, shall we now dirty our fingers with cheap bribes, and sell the mighty scope of our great honours for as much rubbish as can be gripped in one hand like this? I would rather be a dog and howl at the moon than be such a Roman.

Brutus, bait not me, I’ll not endure it. You forget yourself, To hedge me in. I am a soldier, I, Older in practice, abler than yourself To make conditions.

Brutus, don't provoke me; I won't put up with it. You forget yourself in trying to fence me in. I am a soldier, I am, longer in experience and more capable than you of arranging terms.

Go to; you are not, Cassius.

Come off it; you are not, Cassius.

I am.

I am.

I say you are not.

I say you are not.

Urge me no more, I shall forget myself; Have mind upon your health, tempt me no farther.

Push me no further, or I'll lose control of myself. Think of your own safety; don't provoke me any more.

Away, slight man!

Get away, you worthless man!

Is’t possible?

Is this possible?

Hear me, for I will speak. Must I give way and room to your rash choler? Shall I be frighted when a madman stares?

Listen to me, because I intend to speak. Must I give way and make room for your reckless temper? Am I to be frightened when a madman glares?

O ye gods, ye gods! Must I endure all this?

Oh you gods, you gods! Must I put up with all this?

All this? ay, more: fret till your proud heart break; Go show your slaves how choleric you are, And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge? Must I observe you? Must I stand and crouch Under your testy humour? By the gods, You shall digest the venom of your spleen, Though it do split you; for, from this day forth, I’ll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter, When you are waspish.

All this? Yes, and more: rage until your proud heart bursts. Go show your slaves how hot-tempered you are, and make your servants shake. Must I give ground? Must I wait on you? Must I stand and cringe under your irritable moods? By the gods, you will swallow the poison of your own bad temper, even if it splits you apart; because from this day on I'll use you as my entertainment, yes, as my joke, whenever you turn spiteful.

Is it come to this?

Has it come to this?

You say you are a better soldier: Let it appear so; make your vaunting true, And it shall please me well. For mine own part, I shall be glad to learn of noble men.

You say you are the better soldier: then let it show. Make your boasting true, and it will please me well. For my part, I'll be glad to learn from noble men.

You wrong me every way, you wrong me, Brutus. I said, an elder soldier, not a better: Did I say better?

You wrong me at every turn, you wrong me, Brutus. I said an older soldier, not a better one. Did I say better?

If you did, I care not.

If you did, I don't care.

When Caesar liv’d, he durst not thus have mov’d me.

When Caesar was alive, he wouldn't have dared to anger me like this.

Peace, peace! you durst not so have tempted him.

Quiet, quiet! You wouldn't have dared to provoke him like this.

I durst not?

I wouldn't have dared?

No.

No.

What? durst not tempt him?

What? I wouldn't have dared to provoke him?

For your life you durst not.

Not for your life would you have dared.

Do not presume too much upon my love. I may do that I shall be sorry for.

Don't count too much on my affection. I may do something I'll be sorry for.

You have done that you should be sorry for. There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats, For I am arm’d so strong in honesty, That they pass by me as the idle wind, Which I respect not. I did send to you For certain sums of gold, which you denied me; For I can raise no money by vile means: By Heaven, I had rather coin my heart, And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash By any indirection. I did send To you for gold to pay my legions, Which you denied me: was that done like Cassius? Should I have answer’d Caius Cassius so? When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous, To lock such rascal counters from his friends, Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts, Dash him to pieces!

You have already done something you ought to be sorry for. There is no terror in your threats, Cassius, because I am so strongly armoured in my honesty that they blow past me like the useless wind, which I pay no attention to. I sent to you for certain sums of gold, and you refused me; for I can't raise money by shameful means. By Heaven, I would rather mint my heart and drip my blood out as coins than squeeze from the hard hands of peasants their miserable little cash by any crooked method. I sent to you for gold to pay my legions, and you refused me: was that behaving like Cassius? Would I have answered Caius Cassius that way? When Marcus Brutus grows so grasping that he locks such worthless coins away from his friends, be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts, and smash him to pieces!

I denied you not.

I did not refuse you.

You did.

You did.

I did not. He was but a fool That brought my answer back. Brutus hath riv’d my heart. A friend should bear his friend’s infirmities; But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.

I did not. The man who brought my answer back was nothing but a fool. Brutus has torn my heart open. A friend should put up with his friend's weaknesses; but Brutus makes mine out to be bigger than they are.

I do not, till you practise them on me.

I don't, until you practise them on me.

You love me not.

You don't love me.

I do not like your faults.

I don't like your faults.

A friendly eye could never see such faults.

A friendly eye would never see such faults.

A flatterer’s would not, though they do appear As huge as high Olympus.

A flatterer's eye wouldn't, even if they stood up as huge as high Olympus.

Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come, Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius, For Cassius is a-weary of the world: Hated by one he loves; brav’d by his brother; Check’d like a bondman; all his faults observ’d, Set in a note-book, learn’d and conn’d by rote, To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep My spirit from mine eyes! There is my dagger, And here my naked breast; within, a heart Dearer than Plutus’ mine, richer than gold: If that thou be’st a Roman, take it forth. I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart: Strike as thou didst at Caesar; for I know, When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him better Than ever thou lovedst Cassius.

Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come, take your revenge on Cassius alone, for Cassius is tired of the world: hated by one he loves, defied by his brother, scolded like a slave, all his faults watched, written down in a notebook, studied and learned by heart to be thrown in his face. Oh, I could weep my very soul out through my eyes! There is my dagger, and here is my bare chest; inside it a heart worth more than Plutus' mine, richer than gold. If you are a Roman, cut it out. I, who refused you gold, will give you my heart. Strike as you struck at Caesar; for I know that when you hated him most, you loved him better than you ever loved Cassius.

Sheathe your dagger. Be angry when you will, it shall have scope; Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour. O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb That carries anger as the flint bears fire, Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark, And straight is cold again.

Put your dagger away. Be angry whenever you like; it will have free rein. Do whatever you want; your insults will count as no more than a mood. Oh Cassius, you are harnessed with a lamb that carries anger the way flint carries fire: struck hard, it shows a quick spark, and immediately goes cold again.

Hath Cassius liv’d To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, When grief and blood ill-temper’d vexeth him?

Has Cassius lived only to be a joke and a laughing-stock to his Brutus, when grief and a disordered temper torment him?

When I spoke that, I was ill-temper’d too.

When I said that, I was out of temper too.

Do you confess so much? Give me your hand.

Do you admit that much? Give me your hand.

And my heart too.

And my heart as well.

O Brutus!

Oh Brutus!

What’s the matter?

What's wrong?

Have not you love enough to bear with me, When that rash humour which my mother gave me Makes me forgetful?

Don't you have enough love to be patient with me, when that hasty temper my mother gave me makes me forget myself?

Yes, Cassius; and from henceforth, When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, He’ll think your mother chides, and leave you so.

Yes, Cassius; and from now on, when you get too heated with your Brutus, he'll think it's your mother scolding, and leave you to it.

[Within.] Let me go in to see the generals, There is some grudge between ’em; ’tis not meet They be alone.

[Offstage.] Let me go in to see the generals. There's some quarrel between them; it isn't right that they should be alone.

[Within.] You shall not come to them.

[Offstage.] You are not going in to them.

[Within.] Nothing but death shall stay me.

[Offstage.] Nothing but death will stop me.

How now! What’s the matter?

What's going on! What's the matter?

For shame, you generals! What do you mean? Love, and be friends, as two such men should be; For I have seen more years, I’m sure, than ye.

Shame on you, generals! What do you think you're doing? Love each other and be friends, as two such men ought to be; for I've seen more years, I'm certain, than the two of you.

Ha, ha! How vilely doth this cynic rhyme!

Ha, ha! How badly this snarling fellow rhymes!

Get you hence, sirrah. Saucy fellow, hence!

Get out of here, you. Insolent fellow, out!

Bear with him, Brutus; ’tis his fashion.

Be patient with him, Brutus; it's just his way.

I’ll know his humour when he knows his time. What should the wars do with these jigging fools? Companion, hence!

I'll allow for his moods when he knows the right occasion for them. What use has a war for these rhyme-jingling fools? Off with you, fellow!

Away, away, be gone!

Away, away, get out!

Lucilius and Titinius, bid the commanders Prepare to lodge their companies tonight.

Lucilius and Titinius, tell the commanders to get their units ready to camp for the night.

And come yourselves and bring Messala with you Immediately to us.

And then come back yourselves and bring Messala with you to us at once.

Lucius, a bowl of wine.

Lucius, a bowl of wine.

I did not think you could have been so angry.

I didn't think you could get so angry.

O Cassius, I am sick of many griefs.

Oh, Cassius, I am sick with many sorrows.

Of your philosophy you make no use, If you give place to accidental evils.

You're making no use of your philosophy if you give way to troubles that come by chance.

No man bears sorrow better. Portia is dead.

No man endures sorrow better. Portia is dead.

Ha? Portia?

What? Portia?

She is dead.

She is dead.

How ’scap’d I killing, when I cross’d you so? O insupportable and touching loss! Upon what sickness?

How did I escape being killed, when I contradicted you like that? Oh, unbearable and heartbreaking loss! What illness was it?

Impatient of my absence, And grief that young Octavius with Mark Antony Have made themselves so strong; for with her death That tidings came. With this she fell distract, And, her attendants absent, swallow’d fire.

She could not bear my absence, and she grieved that young Octavius and Mark Antony have made themselves so strong; for that news came at the same time as her death. With this she went out of her mind, and, while her servants were away, she swallowed fire.

And died so?

And died that way?

Even so.

Yes, just that way.

O ye immortal gods!

Oh, you immortal gods!

Speak no more of her. Give me a bowl of wine. In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius.

Say no more about her. Give me a bowl of wine. In this I bury all ill feeling, Cassius.

My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge. Fill, Lucius, till the wine o’erswell the cup. I cannot drink too much of Brutus’ love.

My heart is thirsty for that noble toast. Fill it, Lucius, until the wine spills over the cup. I can't drink too much of Brutus' love.

Come in, Titinius! Welcome, good Messala. Now sit we close about this taper here, And call in question our necessities.

Come in, Titinius! Welcome, good Messala. Now let us sit close around this candle here and discuss what we have to do.

Portia, art thou gone?

Portia, are you gone?

No more, I pray you. Messala, I have here received letters, That young Octavius and Mark Antony Come down upon us with a mighty power, Bending their expedition toward Philippi.

No more of that, please. Messala, I have received letters here saying that young Octavius and Mark Antony are coming down on us with a huge army, directing their march toward Philippi.

Myself have letters of the selfsame tenor.

I have letters myself saying exactly the same thing.

With what addition?

With anything added?

That by proscription and bills of outlawry Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus Have put to death an hundred Senators.

That by outlawing them and publishing their names, Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus have put a hundred senators to death.

Therein our letters do not well agree. Mine speak of seventy Senators that died By their proscriptions, Cicero being one.

On that point our letters don't agree. Mine say seventy senators died by their condemnations, Cicero being one of them.

Cicero one!

Cicero one of them!

Cicero is dead, And by that order of proscription. Had you your letters from your wife, my lord?

Cicero is dead, and by that same order of condemnation. Did you have letters from your wife, my lord?

No, Messala.

No, Messala.

Nor nothing in your letters writ of her?

And nothing written about her in your letters?

Nothing, Messala.

Nothing, Messala.

That, methinks, is strange.

That, I think, is strange.

Why ask you? Hear you aught of her in yours?

Why do you ask? Do you hear anything about her in yours?

No, my lord.

No, my lord.

Now as you are a Roman, tell me true.

Now, since you are a Roman, tell me the truth.

Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell, For certain she is dead, and by strange manner.

Then bear the truth I tell you like a Roman, for she is certainly dead, and in a strange way.

Why, farewell, Portia. We must die, Messala. With meditating that she must die once, I have the patience to endure it now.

Well then, farewell, Portia. We all must die, Messala. By thinking about the fact that she had to die sometime, I have the strength to endure it now.

Even so great men great losses should endure.

That is just how great men should endure great losses.

I have as much of this in art as you, But yet my nature could not bear it so.

I know as much of this as you do in theory, but my nature still could not bear it that way.

Well, to our work alive. What do you think Of marching to Philippi presently?

Well, to our living business. What do you think about marching to Philippi at once?

I do not think it good.

I don't think it's a good idea.

Your reason?

Your reason?

This it is: ’Tis better that the enemy seek us; So shall he waste his means, weary his soldiers, Doing himself offence, whilst we, lying still, Are full of rest, defence, and nimbleness.

It's this: it's better that the enemy come looking for us. That way he will use up his supplies, tire out his soldiers, and do himself harm, while we, staying where we are, are full of rest, well defended, and quick to move.

Good reasons must of force give place to better. The people ’twixt Philippi and this ground Do stand but in a forced affection; For they have grudg’d us contribution. The enemy, marching along by them, By them shall make a fuller number up, Come on refresh’d, new-added, and encourag’d; From which advantage shall we cut him off If at Philippi we do face him there, These people at our back.

Good reasons must necessarily give way to better ones. The people between Philippi and this spot support us only because they are forced to; they have given us their contributions grudgingly. The enemy, marching past them, will use them to build up his numbers, and will arrive refreshed, reinforced, and encouraged. We will cut him off from that advantage if we confront him at Philippi, with these people behind us.

Hear me, good brother.

Listen to me, good brother.

Under your pardon. You must note besides, That we have tried the utmost of our friends, Our legions are brim-full, our cause is ripe. The enemy increaseth every day; We, at the height, are ready to decline. There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; Omitted, all the voyage of their life Is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat, And we must take the current when it serves, Or lose our ventures.

Excuse me. You must notice besides that we have demanded the most our friends can give; our legions are completely full, our cause is ripe. The enemy grows stronger every day; we, at our peak, are ready to decline. There is a tide in the affairs of men which, caught at the flood, leads on to good fortune; missed, the whole voyage of their life is trapped in shallows and miseries. We are afloat now on such a full sea, and we must take the current while it serves us, or lose what we have risked.

Then, with your will, go on: We’ll along ourselves, and meet them at Philippi.

Then, since you wish it, go ahead. We will march ourselves and meet them at Philippi.

The deep of night is crept upon our talk, And nature must obey necessity, Which we will niggard with a little rest. There is no more to say?

The dead of night has crept up on our talk, and our bodies must obey necessity, which we will satisfy stingily with a little rest. Is there nothing more to say?

No more. Good night: Early tomorrow will we rise, and hence.

Nothing more. Good night. Early tomorrow we will get up and be off.

Lucius! My gown.

Lucius! My gown.

Farewell now, good Messala. Good night, Titinius. Noble, noble Cassius, Good night, and good repose.

Farewell now, good Messala. Good night, Titinius. Noble, noble Cassius, good night, and rest well.

O my dear brother! This was an ill beginning of the night. Never come such division ’tween our souls! Let it not, Brutus.

Oh, my dear brother! This was a bad way for the night to start. Let such a quarrel never come between our souls again! Don't let it, Brutus.

Everything is well.

Everything is fine.

Good night, my lord.

Good night, my lord.

Good night, good brother.

Good night, good brother.

Good night, Lord Brutus.

Good night, Lord Brutus.

Farewell, everyone.

Farewell, everyone.

Give me the gown. Where is thy instrument?

Give me the gown. Where is your musical instrument?

Here in the tent.

Here in the tent.

What, thou speak’st drowsily? Poor knave, I blame thee not, thou art o’er-watch’d. Call Claudius and some other of my men; I’ll have them sleep on cushions in my tent.

What, you're speaking sleepily? Poor boy, I don't blame you, you've been kept awake too long. Call Claudius and some others of my men; I'll have them sleep on cushions in my tent.

Varro and Claudius!

Varro and Claudius!

Calls my lord?

Does my lord call?

I pray you, sirs, lie in my tent and sleep; It may be I shall raise you by-and-by On business to my brother Cassius.

Please, gentlemen, lie down in my tent and sleep. It may be that I will wake you shortly to send you on business to my brother Cassius.

So please you, we will stand and watch your pleasure.

If it pleases you, we will stay standing and wait for your orders.

I will not have it so; lie down, good sirs, It may be I shall otherwise bethink me. Look, Lucius, here’s the book I sought for so; I put it in the pocket of my gown.

I won't have that; lie down, good men. It may be that I shall change my mind. Look, Lucius, here's the book I was searching so hard for; I put it in the pocket of my gown.

I was sure your lordship did not give it me.

I was certain you had not given it to me.

Bear with me, good boy, I am much forgetful. Canst thou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile, And touch thy instrument a strain or two?

Be patient with me, good boy, I am very forgetful. Can you keep your heavy eyes open a little longer, and play a tune or two on your lute?

Ay, my lord, an’t please you.

Yes, my lord, if it pleases you.

It does, my boy. I trouble thee too much, but thou art willing.

It does, my boy. I ask too much of you, but you are willing.

It is my duty, sir.

It is my duty, sir.

I should not urge thy duty past thy might; I know young bloods look for a time of rest.

I should not press your duty beyond your strength; I know the young need their time to rest.

I have slept, my lord, already.

I have slept already, my lord.

It was well done, and thou shalt sleep again; I will not hold thee long. If I do live, I will be good to thee.

That was well done, and you shall sleep again; I will not keep you long. If I live, I will treat you well.

This is a sleepy tune. O murd’rous slumber, Layest thou thy leaden mace upon my boy, That plays thee music? Gentle knave, good night; I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee. If thou dost nod, thou break’st thy instrument; I’ll take it from thee; and, good boy, good night. Let me see, let me see; is not the leaf turn’d down Where I left reading? Here it is, I think.

This is a drowsy tune. Oh murderous sleep, do you lay your leaden club on my boy, who plays you music? Gentle lad, good night; I will not wrong you so far as to wake you. If you nod, you will break your lute; I'll take it from you; and, good boy, good night. Let me see, let me see; isn't the page folded down where I stopped reading? Here it is, I think.

How ill this taper burns! Ha! who comes here? I think it is the weakness of mine eyes That shapes this monstrous apparition. It comes upon me. Art thou anything? Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil, That mak’st my blood cold and my hair to stare? Speak to me what thou art.

How badly this candle burns! Ha! Who comes here? I think it is the weakness of my eyes that gives shape to this monstrous apparition. It is coming toward me. Are you a real thing? Are you some god, some angel, or some devil, that makes my blood run cold and my hair stand on end? Tell me what you are.

Thy evil spirit, Brutus.

Your evil spirit, Brutus.

Why com’st thou?

Why have you come?

To tell thee thou shalt see me at Philippi.

To tell you that you will see me at Philippi.

Well; then I shall see thee again?

Well; so I shall see you again?

Ay, at Philippi.

Yes, at Philippi.

Why, I will see thee at Philippi then.

Then I will see you at Philippi.

Now I have taken heart, thou vanishest. Ill spirit, I would hold more talk with thee. Boy! Lucius! Varro! Claudius! Sirs, awake! Claudius!

Now that I have found my courage, you disappear. Evil spirit, I would like to talk with you more. Boy! Lucius! Varro! Claudius! Men, wake up! Claudius!

The strings, my lord, are false.

The strings are out of tune, my lord.

He thinks he still is at his instrument. Lucius, awake!

He thinks he is still at his lute. Lucius, wake up!

My lord?

My lord?

Didst thou dream, Lucius, that thou so criedst out?

Were you dreaming, Lucius, that you cried out like that?

My lord, I do not know that I did cry.

My lord, I don't know that I cried out at all.

Yes, that thou didst. Didst thou see anything?

Yes, you did. Did you see anything?

Nothing, my lord.

Nothing, my lord.

Sleep again, Lucius. Sirrah Claudius! Fellow thou, awake!

Go back to sleep, Lucius. You there, Claudius! You, fellow, wake up!

My lord?

My lord?

My lord?

My lord?

Why did you so cry out, sirs, in your sleep?

Why did you cry out like that in your sleep, men?

Did we, my lord?

Did we, my lord?

Ay. Saw you anything?

Yes. Did you see anything?

No, my lord, I saw nothing.

No, my lord, I saw nothing.

Nor I, my lord.

Neither did I, my lord.

Go and commend me to my brother Cassius; Bid him set on his powers betimes before, And we will follow.

Go and give my greetings to my brother Cassius; tell him to get his troops moving early and go on ahead, and we will follow.

It shall be done, my lord.

It shall be done, my lord.