Why, friends, you go to do you know not what: Wherein hath Caesar thus deserved your loves? Alas, you know not: I must tell you then: You have forgot the will I told you of.

Here is the will, and under Caesar’s seal. To every Roman citizen he gives, To every several man, seventy-five drachmas.

Moreover, he hath left you all his walks, His private arbours and new-planted orchards, On this side Tiber; he hath left them you, And to your heirs forever, common pleasures, To walk abroad, and recreate yourselves. Here was a Caesar! when comes such another?

Never, never. Come, away, away! We’ll burn his body in the holy place, And with the brands fire the traitors’ houses. Take up the body.

Now let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot, Take thou what course thou wilt!