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Forget not in your speed, Antonius, To touch Calphurnia, for our elders say The barren, touchèd in this holy chase, Shake off their sterile curse.
He is a dreamer. Let us leave him. Pass!
Beware the ides of March.
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.
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.
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