Original
Modern English
Good even, Casca: brought you Caesar home? Why are you breathless? and why stare you so?
Good evening, Casca: did you bring Caesar home? Why are you out of breath? And why are you staring like that?
Are not you moved, when all the sway of earth Shakes like a thing unfirm? O Cicero, I have seen tempests, when the scolding winds Have rived the knotty oaks, and I have seen The ambitious ocean swell and rage and foam, To be exalted with the threatening clouds: But never till to-night, never till now, Did I go through a tempest dropping fire. Either there is a civil strife in heaven, Or else the world, too saucy with the gods, Incenses them to send destruction.
Aren’t you shaken, when the whole earth shakes Like something unstable? Oh Cicero, I’ve seen storms, when the howling winds Have torn apart the strong oak trees, and I’ve seen The wild sea rise up and rage and foam, All stirred up by threatening clouds: But never before tonight, never until now, Have I witnessed a storm that rains fire. Either there’s a civil war in the heavens, Or the world, too bold with the gods, Has angered them into sending destruction.
Why, saw you any thing more wonderful?
Really? Did you see anything even stranger?
A common slave--you know him well by sight-- Held up his left hand, which did flame and burn Like twenty torches join’d, and yet his hand, Not sensible of fire, remain’d unscorch’d. Besides--I ha’ not since put up my sword-- Against the Capitol I met a lion, Who glared upon me, and went surly by, Without annoying me: and there were drawn Upon a heap a hundred ghastly women, Transformed with their fear; who swore they saw Men all in fire walk up and down the streets. And yesterday the bird of night did sit Even at noon-day upon the market-place, Hooting and shrieking. When these prodigies Do so conjointly meet, let not men say ’These are their reasons; they are natural;’ For, I believe, they are portentous things Unto the climate that they point upon.
A common slave--you know him by sight-- Held up his left hand, and it blazed with flames Like twenty torches together, and yet his hand, Not feeling the fire, stayed unharmed. Also--I haven’t sheathed my sword since then-- On my way to the Capitol I met a lion, It glared at me, then just walked on past, Without attacking me: and there were gathered A hundred ghostly women, Transformed by their fear, who swore they saw Men walking on fire in the streets. And yesterday, at noon, the owl sat Right in the market place, Hooting and shrieking. When all these signs Appear together, don’t let people say ’These are just natural occurrences,’ Because, I believe, they are ominous things Meant for the place where they happen.
Indeed, it is a strange-disposed time: But men may construe things after their fashion, Clean from the purpose of the things themselves. Come Caesar to the Capitol to-morrow?
Yes, it’s a strange time indeed: But people can interpret things in their own way, Completely missing the true meaning of the events themselves. Is Caesar coming to the Capitol tomorrow?
He doth; for he did bid Antonius Send word to you he would be there to-morrow.
Yes, he is; for he told Antonius To send word to you that he will be there tomorrow.
Good night then, Casca: this disturbed sky Is not to walk in.
Good night then, Casca: this stormy sky Is not a good place to walk in.
Farewell, Cicero.
Farewell, Cicero.
Who’s there?
Who’s there?
A Roman.
A Roman.
Casca, by your voice.
Casca, by your voice.
Your ear is good. Cassius, what night is this!
You’re right, it’s me. Cassius, what kind of night is this!
A very pleasing night to honest men.
A very pleasant night for honest men.
Who ever knew the heavens menace so?
Who ever saw the heavens threaten like this?
Those that have known the earth so full of faults. For my part, I have walk’d about the streets, Submitting me unto the perilous night, And, thus unbraced, Casca, as you see, Have bared my bosom to the thunder-stone; And when the cross blue lightning seem’d to open The breast of heaven, I did present myself Even in the aim and very flash of it.
Those who have seen the earth so full of problems. As for me, I’ve walked around the streets, Exposing myself to the dangerous night, And, like this, Casca, as you see, I’ve bared my chest to the thunderbolt; And when the blue lightning seemed to split The sky open, I stood right in its path Even in its strike and the flash of it.
But wherefore did you so much tempt the heavens? It is the part of men to fear and tremble, When the most mighty gods by tokens send Such dreadful heralds to astonish us.
But why did you tempt the heavens like that? It’s natural for people to fear and tremble, When the mighty gods send such ominous signs To shock us.
You are dull, Casca, and those sparks of life That should be in a Roman you do want, Or else you use not. You look pale and gaze And put on fear and cast yourself in wonder, To see the strange impatience of the heavens: But if you would consider the true cause Why all these fires, why all these gliding ghosts, Why birds and beasts from quality and kind, Why old men fool and children calculate, Why all these things change from their ordinance Their natures and preformed faculties To monstrous quality,--why, you shall find That heaven hath infused them with these spirits, To make them instruments of fear and warning Unto some monstrous state. Now could I, Casca, name to thee a man Most like this dreadful night, That thunders, lightens, opens graves, and roars As doth the lion in the Capitol, A man no mightier than thyself or me In personal action, yet prodigious grown And fearful, as these strange eruptions are.
You’re dull, Casca, and those sparks of life That should be in a Roman, you lack, Or else you don’t use them. You look pale and stare And act frightened, marveling at the strange things in the sky: But if you considered the real reason For all these fires, all these wandering ghosts, Why birds and animals behave strangely, Why old men act foolish and children try to reason, Why all these things change from their nature And deviate from their normal qualities, You’d find That the heavens have filled them with these spirits, To make them instruments of fear and warning For some dreadful outcome. Now, Casca, I could name a man to you Who is most like this terrible night, That thunders, flashes lightning, opens graves, and roars Like a lion in the Capitol, A man no more powerful than you or me In action, but grown monstrous and terrifying, Like these strange phenomena.
’Tis Caesar that you mean; is it not, Cassius?
You mean Caesar, don’t you, Cassius?
Let it be who it is: for Romans now Have thews and limbs like to their ancestors; But, woe the while! our fathers’ minds are dead, And we are govern’d with our mothers’ spirits; Our yoke and sufferance show us womanish.
Let it be whoever it is: because Romans now Have strength and bodies like their ancestors; But alas! our fathers’ minds are dead, And we are ruled by the spirits of our mothers; Our burden and suffering make us seem weak.
Indeed, they say the senators tomorrow Mean to establish Caesar as a king; And he shall wear his crown by sea and land, In every place, save here in Italy.
Indeed, they say the senators tomorrow Plan to make Caesar king; And he will wear his crown by land and sea, Everywhere except here in Italy.
I know where I will wear this dagger then; Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius: Therein, ye gods, you make the weak most strong; Therein, ye gods, you tyrants do defeat: Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass, Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron, Can be retentive to the strength of spirit; But life, being weary of these worldly bars, Never lacks power to dismiss itself. If I know this, know all the world besides, That part of tyranny that I do bear I can shake off at pleasure.
I know where I’ll wear this dagger then; Cassius will free Cassius from bondage: There, gods, you make the weak most strong; There, gods, you bring down tyrants: Neither a stone tower, nor walls of beaten brass, Nor an airless dungeon, nor strong chains of iron, Can restrain the strength of spirit; But life, being tired of these worldly chains, Can always free itself. If I know this, then all the world knows, That part of tyranny that I bear I can shake off at will.
So can I: So every bondman in his own hand bears The power to cancel his captivity.
So can I: So every slave has the power in his own hands To end his captivity.
And why should Caesar be a tyrant then? Poor man! I know he would not be a wolf, But that he sees the Romans are but sheep: He were no lion, were not Romans hinds. Those that with haste will make a mighty fire Begin it with weak straws: what trash is Rome, What rubbish and what offal, when it serves For the base matter to illuminate So vile a thing as Caesar! But, O grief, Where hast thou led me? I perhaps speak this Before a willing bondman; then I know My answer must be made. But I am arm’d, And dangers are to me indifferent.
And why should Caesar be a tyrant then? Poor man! I know he wouldn’t be a wolf, If he didn’t see that the Romans are just sheep: He wouldn’t be a lion if Romans weren’t weak. Those who quickly start a great fire Begin with weak twigs: what a mess is Rome, What trash, and what filth, when it’s used As fuel to light up Such a vile thing as Caesar! But, oh grief, Where has this led me? I might be speaking this To someone willing to be a slave; then I know My answer must be made. But I am armed, And dangers mean nothing to me.
You speak to Casca, and to such a man That is no fleering tell-tale. Hold, my hand: Be factious for redress of all these griefs, And I will set this foot of mine as far As who goes farthest.
You speak to Casca, a man Who is no coward. Hold my hand: Fight for the correction of these wrongs, And I’ll go as far As anyone goes.
There’s a bargain made. Now know you, Casca, I have moved already Some certain of the noblest-minded Romans To undergo with me an enterprise Of honourable-dangerous consequence; And I do know, by this, they stay for me In Pompey’s porch: for now, this fearful night, There is no stir or walking in the streets; And the complexion of the element In favour’s like the work we have in hand, Most bloody, fiery, and most terrible.
It’s a deal. Now, Casca, know this: I’ve already talked to Some of the noblest-minded Romans To join me in a risky but honorable mission; And I know, because of this, they’re waiting for me In Pompey’s porch: for now, this terrifying night, The streets are empty; And the atmosphere Seems to favor the work we have to do, Bloody, fiery, and terrible.
Stand close awhile, for here comes one in haste.
Stay close, someone’s coming fast.
’Tis Cinna; I do know him by his gait; He is a friend.
It’s Cinna; I know him by his walk; He’s a friend.
Cinna, where haste you so?
Cinna, where are you rushing off to?
To find out you. Who’s that? Metellus Cimber?
To find you. Who’s that? Metellus Cimber?
No, it is Casca; one incorporate To our attempts. Am I not stay’d for, Cinna?
No, it’s Casca; one of us who is fully involved In our plans. Aren’t you supposed to wait for me, Cinna?
I am glad on ’t. What a fearful night is this! There’s two or three of us have seen strange sights.
I’m glad to hear that. What a scary night this is! Two or three of us have seen some strange things.
Am I not stay’d for? tell me.
Am I not supposed to be waited for? Tell me.
Yes, you are. O Cassius, if you could But win the noble Brutus to our party--
Yes, you are. Oh Cassius, if only you could Get the noble Brutus to join our side--
Be you content: good Cinna, take this paper, And look you lay it in the praetor’s chair, Where Brutus may but find it; and throw this In at his window; set this up with wax Upon old Brutus’ statue: all this done, Repair to Pompey’s porch, where you shall find us. Is Decius Brutus and Trebonius there?
Don’t worry: good Cinna, take this letter, And make sure you place it in the praetor’s chair, Where Brutus might find it; and throw this Through his window; stick this up with wax On old Brutus’ statue: once all that’s done, Go to Pompey’s porch, where you’ll find us. Is Decius Brutus and Trebonius there?
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.
Everyone except Metellus Cimber; he’s gone To look for you at your house. Alright, I’ll hurry, And deliver these papers as you told me to.
That done, repair to Pompey’s theatre.
Once you’re done, head to Pompey’s theatre.
Come, Casca, you and I will yet ere day See Brutus at his house: three parts of him Is ours already, and the man entire Upon the next encounter yields him ours.
Let’s go, Casca, you and I will still see Brutus at his house before dawn. Three parts of him are already with us, and the whole man Will be ours once we meet him again.
O, he sits high in all the people’s hearts: And that which would appear offence in us, His countenance, like richest alchemy, Will change to virtue and to worthiness.
Oh, he’s held in high regard by the people: And anything that might seem wrong in us, His expression, like the best alchemy, Will turn into virtue and worth.
Him and his worth and our great need of him You have right well conceited. Let us go, For it is after midnight; and ere day We will awake him and be sure of him.
You’re absolutely right about him, his worth, and how badly we need him. Let’s go, It’s already after midnight, and before dawn We’ll wake him up and make sure he’s with us.