_Ant._ You will compel me then to read the will?
Then, make a ring about the corpse of Cæsar,
And let me shew you him that made the will.
Shall I descend? And will you give me leave?

_All._ Come down.

_2 Ple._ Descend. [_He comes down from the Rostrum_.

_3 Ple._ You shall have leave.

_4 Ple._ A ring; stand round.

_1 Ple._ Stand from the hearse, stand from the body.

_2 Ple._ Room for Antony!--most noble Antony!

_Ant._ Nay, press not so upon me; stand far off.

_All._ Stand back! room! bear back!

_Ant._ If you have tears, prepare to shed them now;
You all do know this mantle: I remember
The first time ever Cæsar put it on;
'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent,
That day he overcame the Nervii.
Look, in this place, ran Cassius' dagger through:
See, what a rent the envious Casca made:
Through this, the well-beloved Brutus stab'd;
And as he pluck'd his cursed steel away,
Mark how the blood of Cæsar follow'd it!--
As rushing out of doors, to be resolv'd
If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no;
For Brutus, as you know, was Cæsar's angel:
Judge, O you Gods, how Cæsar lov'd him!
This was the most unkindest cut of all!
For when the noble Cæsar saw him stab,
Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms,
Quite vanquish'd him: then burst his mighty heart;
And in his mantle muffling up his face,
Even at the base of Pompey's statue,
Which all the while ran blood, great Cæsar fell.
Oh what a fall was there, my countrymen!
Then I and you, and all of us, fell down,
Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us.
Oh! now you weep; and I perceive you feel
The dint of pity; these are gracious drops.
Kind souls! what, weep you, when you but behold
Our Cæsar's vesture wounded? Look you here!
Here is himself, mar'd, as you see, by traitors.

_1 Ple._ Oh, piteous spectacle!

_2 Ple._ Oh, noble Cæsar!

_3 Ple._ Oh, woful day!

_4 Ple._ Oh, traitors, villains!

_1 Ple._ Oh, most bloody sight!