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Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get myself into more work. But, indeed, sir, we make holiday, to see Caesar and to rejoice in his triumph.
That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood? Be gone! Run to your houses, fall upon your knees, Pray to the gods to intermit the plague That needs must light on this ingratitude.
May we do so? You know it is the feast of Lupercal.
It is no matter; let no images Be hung with Caesar's trophies. I'll about, And drive away the vulgar from the streets: So do you too, where you perceive them thick.
To touch Calpurnia; for our elders say, 90 The barren, touched in this holy chase, Shake off their sterile curse.
Here, my lord.
I shall remember: When Caesar says 'do this,' it is perform'd.
What say'st thou to me now? speak once again.
Beware the ides of March.
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.
Cassius, Be not deceived: if I have veil'd my look, I turn the trouble of my countenance Merely upon myself. Vexed I am Of late with passions of some difference, Conceptions only proper to myself
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