Peace, ho! Caesar speaks.
Here, my lord.
Stand you directly in Antonius' way
When he doth run his course.—Antonius!
Caesar, my lord.
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.
I shall remember.
When Caesar says, “do this,” it is performed.
Set on, and leave no ceremony out.
Ha! Who calls?
Bid every noise be still. Peace yet again.
Who is it in the press that calls on me?