O Antony, beg not your death of us. Though now we must appear bloody and cruel, As, by our hands and this our present act, You see we do, yet see you but our hands And this the bleeding business they have done: Our hearts you see not; they are pitiful; And pity to the general wrong of Rome⁠— As fire drives out fire, so pity pity⁠— Hath done this deed on Caesar. For your part, To you our swords have leaden points, Mark Antony: Our arms, in strength of malice, and our hearts Of brothers’ temper, do receive you in With all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence.

Your voice shall be as strong as any man’s In the disposing of new dignities.

Only be patient till we have appeased The multitude, beside themselves with fear, And then we will deliver you the cause, Why I, that did love Caesar when I struck him, Have thus proceeded.