The Tragedy of Julius Caesar

forever farewell, Brutus!
If we do meet again, we'll smile indeed;
If not, 'tis true this parting was well made.

Brutus had rather be a villager
Than to repute himself a son of Rome

Men at some time are masters of their fates:
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,

And I will look on both indifferently,
For let the gods so speed me as I love
The name of honour more than I fear death.

Such men as he be never at heart's ease
Whiles they behold a greater than themselves,
And therefore are they very dangerous.
I rather tell thee what is to be fear'd
Than what I fear; for always I am Caesar.
Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf,
And tell me truly what thou think'st of him.

could weep
My spirit from mine eyes!

mine eyes,
Seeing those beads of sorrow stand in thine,
Began to water.

Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood!

Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood!

and then is death a benefit