Why I, that did love Caesar when I struck him, have thus proceeded.
Let each man render me his bloody hand.
With this I depart: that, as I slew my best lover for the good of Rome, I have the same dagger for myself when it shall please my country to need my death.
Live, Brutus! Live, live!
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.
Revenge! About! Seek! Burn! Fire! Kill! Slay! Let not a traitor live!
I am Cinna the poet. I am Cinna the poet.
Tear him for his bad verses! Tear him for his bad verses!