But here’s a parchment with the seal of Caesar;
I found it in his closet; ’t is his will: 
Let but the commons hear this testament—­
Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read—­
And they would go and kiss dead Caesar’s wounds,
And dip their napkins in his sacred blood;
Yea, beg a hair of him for memory,
And, dying, mention it within their wills,
Bequeathing it as a rich legacy
Unto their issue.

Citizen.  We’ll hear the will:  read it, Mark Antony. 
All.  The will, the will; we will hear Caesar’s will. 
Ant.  Have patience, gentle friends, I must not read it;
         It is not meet you know how Caesar loved you. 
         You are not wood, you are not stones, but men;
         And, being men, hearing the will of Caesar,
         It will inflame you, it will make you mad;
         ’T is good you know not that you are his heirs;
         For, if you should, Oh what would come of it! 
Cit.  Read the will; we’ll hear it, Antony;
         You shall read the will, Caesar’s will. 
Ant.  Will you be patient?  Will you stay awhile? 
         I have o’ershot myself to tell you of it: 
         I fear I wrong the honorable men
         Whose daggers have stabbed Caesar.  I do fear it. 
Cit.  They were traitors:  honorable men! 
All.  The will! the testament! 
Ant.  You will compel me, then, to read the will? 
         Then make a ring about the corpse of Caesar,
         And let me show you him that made the will.

(He comes down from the pulpit.)

If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. 
You all do know this mantle:  I remember
The first time ever Caesar put it on;
’T was 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 belove’d Brutus stabbed;
And, as he plucked his cursed steel away,
Mark how the blood of Caesar followed it,
As rushing out of doors, to be resolved
If Brutus so unkindly knocked, or no;
For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar’s angel: 
Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar loved him!

This was the most unkindest cut of all;
For, when the noble Caesar saw him stab,
Ingratitude, more strong than traitors’ arms,
Quite vanquished him:  then burst his mighty heart;
And, in his mantle muffling up his face,
Even at the base of Pompey’s statua,
Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell.

Oh, what a fall was there, my countrymen! 
Then I, and you, and all of us fell down,
Whilst bloody treason flourished 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 Caesar’s vesture wounded?