Have patience, gentle friends, I must not read it; It is not meet you know how Caesar loved you. You are not wood, you are not stones, but men; And, being men, bearing the will of Caesar, It will inflame you, it will make you mad: ’Tis good you know not that you are his heirs; For, if you should, O, what would come of it!

Read the will; we’ll hear it, Antony; You shall read us the will, Caesar’s will.

Will you be patient? will you stay awhile? I have o’ershot myself to tell you of it: I fear I wrong the honourable men Whose daggers have stabb’d Caesar; I do fear it.

You will compel me, then, to read the will? Then make a ring about the corpse of Caesar, And let me show you him that made the will. Shall I descend? and will you give me leave?