All of Shakespeare’s plays.
According to his virtue let us use him,
With all respect and rites of burial.
Within my tent his bones to-night shall lie,
Most like a soldier, order'd honourably.
So call the field to rest; and let's away,
To part the glories of this happy day.
Do so, good Messala.
All that served Brutus, I will entertain them.
Fellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me?
What man is that?
Come, Antony, away!
Defiance, traitors, hurl we in your teeth:
If you dare fight to-day, come to the field;
If not, when you have stomachs.
So I hope;
I was not born to die on Brutus' sword.
Come, come, the cause: if arguing make us sweat,
The proof of it will turn to redder drops. Look;
I draw a sword against conspirators;
When think you that the sword goes up again?
Never, till Caesar's three and thirty wounds
Be well avenged; or till another Caesar
Not that we love words better, as you do.
Stir not until the signal.
Mark Antony, shall we give sign of battle?
I do not cross you; but I will do so.
Upon the right hand I; keep thou the left.
Now, Antony, our hopes are answered:
You said the enemy would not come down,
But keep the hills and upper regions;
It proves not so: their battles are at hand;
They mean to warn us at Philippi here,
Answering before we do demand of them.
Let us do so: for we are at the stake,
And bay'd about with many enemies;
And some that smile have in their hearts, I fear,
Millions of mischiefs.
You may do your will;
But he's a tried and valiant soldier.
So you thought him;
And took his voice who should be prick'd to die,
In our black sentence and proscription.
Or here, or at the Capitol.
Prick him down, Antony.
Your brother too must die; consent you, Lepidus?
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