All of Shakespeare’s plays.
Here, quite confounded with this mutiny.
Liberty! Freedom! Tyranny is dead!
Run hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets.
Casca, you are the first that rears your hand.
Be that the uttermost, and fail not then.
No, by no means.
O, pardon, sir, it doth; and yon gray lines
That fret the clouds are messengers of day.
All but Metellus Cimber; and he's gone
To seek you at your house. Well, I will hie,
And so bestow these papers as you bade me.
Yes, you are.
O Cassius, if you could
But win the noble Brutus to our party--
I am glad on 't. What a fearful night is this!
There's two or three of us have seen strange sights.
To find out you. Who's that? Metellus Cimber?
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