Original
Modern English
That you have wrong’d me doth appear in this: You have condemn’d and noted Lucius Pella For taking bribes here of the Sardians; Wherein my letters, praying on his side, Because I knew the man, were slighted off.
The fact that you’ve wronged me is clear in this: You’ve condemned and marked Lucius Pella For taking bribes from the Sardians; And my letters, supporting him because I knew him, Were dismissed without consideration.
You wronged yourself to write in such a case.
You wronged yourself by writing about this case.
In such a time as this it is not meet That every nice offence should bear his comment.
At a time like this, it’s not right For every small offense to be given attention.
Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself Are much condemn’d to have an itching palm; To sell and mart your offices for gold To undeservers.
Let me tell you, Cassius, you are Much more guilty of having a greedy hand; To sell and trade your positions for money To those who don’t deserve them.
I an itching palm! You know that you are Brutus that speak this, Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last.
Me, with a greedy hand! You know you’re Brutus when you say this, Or by the gods, this speech will be your last.
The name of Cassius honours this corruption, And chastisement doth therefore hide his head.
The name of Cassius brings dishonor to this corruption, And punishment therefore hides its face.
Chastisement!
Punishment!
Remember March, the ides of March remember: Did not great Julius bleed for justice’ sake? What villain touch’d his body, that did stab, And not for justice? What, shall one of us That struck the foremost man of all this world But for supporting robbers, shall we now Contaminate our fingers with base bribes, And sell the mighty space of our large honours For so much trash as may be grasped thus? I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, Than such a Roman.
Remember March, remember the Ides of March: Didn’t great Julius bleed for justice’ sake? What villain touched his body, that stabbed him, And didn’t do it for justice? What, should one of us Who struck the greatest man in the world Just to support thieves, should we now Stain our hands with dirty bribes, And sell the honor of our high positions For so much worthless trash as can be held like this? I’d rather be a dog, howling at the moon, Than be such a Roman.
Brutus, bay not me; I’ll not endure it: you forget yourself, To hedge me in; I am a soldier, I, Older in practise, abler than yourself To make conditions.
Brutus, don’t bark at me; I won’t put up with it: you’re losing your temper, Trying to corner me; I’m a soldier, I am, More experienced, better than you At making deals.
Go to; you are not, Cassius.
Enough; you’re not, Cassius.
I am.
I am.
I say you are not.
I say you’re not.
Urge me no more, I shall forget myself; Have mind upon your health, tempt me no further.
Stop pushing me, I’ll forget myself; Think about your health, don’t push me any further.
Away, slight man!
Get away, you insignificant man!
Is’t possible?
Is it possible?
Hear me, for I will speak. Must I give way and room to your rash choler? Shall I be frighted when a madman stares?
Listen to me, because I will speak. Do I have to give way and let you act on your rage? Should I be frightened when a madman glares at me?
O ye gods, ye gods! must I endure all this?
Oh gods, oh gods! Do I really have to put up with all this?
All this! ay, more: fret till your proud heart break; Go show your slaves how choleric you are, And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge? Must I observe you? must I stand and crouch Under your testy humour? By the gods You shall digest the venom of your spleen, Though it do split you; for, from this day forth, I’ll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter, When you are waspish.
All this! Yes, more: get upset until your proud heart breaks; Go show your servants how angry you are, And make your slaves afraid. Do I have to move? Do I have to pay attention to you? Do I have to stand and bend Under your bad mood? By the gods You’ll have to deal with your own anger, Even if it tears you apart; because from now on, I’ll make fun of you, yes, I’ll laugh at you, When you act like this.
Is it come to this?
Has it really come to this?
You say you are a better soldier: Let it appear so; make your vaunting true, And it shall please me well: for mine own part, I shall be glad to learn of noble men.
You say you’re a better soldier: Prove it; make your boasting true, And I’ll be pleased: for my part, I’ll be happy to learn from noble men.
You wrong me every way; you wrong me, Brutus; I said, an elder soldier, not a better: Did I say ’better’?
You’re wronging me in every way; you’re wronging me, Brutus; I said, an older soldier, not a better: Did I say ‘better’?
If you did, I care not.
If you did, I don’t care.
When Caesar lived, he durst not thus have moved me.
When Caesar was alive, he wouldn’t have dared to treat me like this.
Peace, peace! you durst not so have tempted him.
Quiet, quiet! You wouldn’t have dared to challenge him like this.
I durst not!
I wouldn’t have dared!?
No.
No.
What, durst not tempt him!
What, wouldn’t I dare challenge him?
For your life you durst not!
For your life, you wouldn’t dare!
Do not presume too much upon my love; I may do that I shall be sorry for.
Don’t take my love for granted; I might do something I’ll regret.
You have done that you should be sorry for. There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats, For I am arm’d so strong in honesty That they pass by me as the idle wind, Which I respect not. I did send to you For certain sums of gold, which you denied me: For I can raise no money by vile means: By heaven, I had rather coin my heart, And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash By any indirection: I did send To you for gold to pay my legions, Which you denied me: was that done like Cassius? Should I have answer’d Caius Cassius so? When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous, To lock such rascal counters from his friends, Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts; Dash him to pieces!
You’ve already done something you should regret. There’s no fear, Cassius, in your threats, Because I’m so strong in honesty That they go right through me like the wind, Which I don’t care about. I sent to you For some gold, which you refused me: Because I won’t raise money in dishonest ways: By heaven, I’d rather sell my heart, And spill my blood for drachmas, than to take The filthy money from poor people’s hands By any underhanded means: I sent To you for gold to pay my troops, Which you refused me: was that what Cassius would do? Should I have answered Caius Cassius like this? When Marcus Brutus becomes so greedy, That he hides such worthless coins from his friends, Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts; Strike him down!
I denied you not.
I didn’t refuse you.
You did.
You did.
I did not: he was but a fool that brought My answer back. Brutus hath rived my heart: A friend should bear his friend’s infirmities, But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.
I didn’t: it was just a fool who brought My reply back. Brutus has torn my heart apart: A friend should tolerate his friend’s weaknesses, But Brutus makes mine seem worse than they really are.
I do not, till you practise them on me.
I don’t, until you treat me that way.
You love me not.
You don’t love me.
I do not like your faults.
I don’t like your flaws.
A friendly eye could never see such faults.
A true friend would never see such flaws.
A flatterer’s would not, though they do appear As huge as high Olympus.
A flatterer wouldn’t, even if they were as big As Mount Olympus itself.
Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come, Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius, For Cassius is aweary of the world; Hated by one he loves; braved by his brother; Cheque’d like a bondman; all his faults observed, Set in a note-book, learn’d, and conn’d by rote, To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep My spirit from mine eyes! There is my dagger, And here my naked breast; within, a heart Dearer than Plutus’ mine, richer than gold: If that thou be’st a Roman, take it forth; I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart: Strike, as thou didst at Caesar; for, I know, When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him better Than ever thou lovedst Cassius.
Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come, Get your revenge on me alone, For I am tired of this world; Hated by someone I love; insulted by my brother; Treated like a servant; all my faults noticed, Written down, memorized, and repeated back at me, To throw in my face. Oh, I could cry My soul out of my eyes! Here’s my dagger, And here’s my bare chest; inside, a heart More valuable than any treasure, richer than gold: If you’re really Roman, take it; I, who denied you gold, will give you my heart: Strike, like you did with Caesar; because I know, When you hated him the most, you loved him more Than you ever loved me.
Sheathe your dagger: Be angry when you will, it shall have scope; Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour. O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb That carries anger as the flint bears fire; Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark, And straight is cold again.
Put your dagger away: Be angry when you want, but it will have a limit; Do what you will, dishonor will be just a mood. Oh Cassius, you are paired with a lamb Who holds anger like flint holds fire; Who, when pushed too hard, sparks up quickly, But then cools down just as fast.
Hath Cassius lived To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, When grief, and blood ill-temper’d, vexeth him?
Has Cassius lived To be nothing but a joke and laughter for Brutus, While grief and anger trouble him?
When I spoke that, I was ill-temper’d too.
When I said that, I was angry too.
Do you confess so much? Give me your hand.
Do you admit that? Give me your hand.
And my heart too.
And my heart too.
O Brutus!
Oh Brutus!
What’s the matter?
What’s wrong?
Have not you love enough to bear with me, When that rash humour which my mother gave me Makes me forgetful?
Don’t you love me enough to put up with me, When that rash temper my mother gave me Makes me forget things?
Yes, Cassius; and, from henceforth, When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, He’ll think your mother chides, and leave you so.
Yes, Cassius; and from now on, When you get too intense with me, I’ll think of it as your mother scolding you, and leave you alone.
[Within] Let me go in to see the generals; There is some grudge between ’em, ’tis not meet They be alone.
[Within] Let me go in to see the generals; There’s some conflict between them, it’s not right They be alone.
[Within] You shall not come to them.
[Within] You can’t come in to see them.
[Within] Nothing but death shall stay me.
[Within] Nothing but death will stop me.
How now! what’s the matter?
What’s going on? What’s the problem?
For shame, you generals! what do you mean? Love, and be friends, as two such men should be; For I have seen more years, I’m sure, than ye.
Shame on you, generals! What are you doing? Love each other and be friends, like two men should; I’ve lived longer than both of you, I’m sure.
Ha, ha! how vilely doth this cynic rhyme!
Ha, ha! How poorly this critic rhymes!
Get you hence, sirrah; saucy fellow, hence!
Get out of here, you rascal; rude guy, get out!
Bear with him, Brutus; ’tis his fashion.
Let him be, Brutus; it’s just his way.
I’ll know his humour, when he knows his time: What should the wars do with these jigging fools? Companion, hence!
I’ll figure out his mood when he knows the right time: What do the wars have to do with these silly fools? Go away, companion!
Away, away, be gone.
Go away, go away, just leave.
Lucilius and Titinius, bid the commanders Prepare to lodge their companies to-night.
Lucilius and Titinius, tell the commanders To get ready to settle their troops for the night.
And come yourselves, and bring Messala with you Immediately to us.
And come yourselves, and bring Messala with you Right away, to us.
Lucius, a bowl of wine!
Lucius, bring me a glass of wine!
I did not think you could have been so angry.
I didn’t think you could be so angry.
O Cassius, I am sick of many griefs.
Oh Cassius, I’m overwhelmed with so many sorrows.
Of your philosophy you make no use, If you give place to accidental evils.
You’re not using your philosophy, If you let random misfortunes get to you.
No man bears sorrow better. Portia is dead.
No one handles sorrow better than I do. Portia is dead.
Ha! Portia!
Ha! Portia!
She is dead.
She’s dead.
How ’scaped I killing when I cross’d you so? O insupportable and touching loss! Upon what sickness?
How did I escape killing you when I was so close? Oh, what an unbearable and tragic loss! What did she die from?
Impatient of my absence, And grief that young Octavius with Mark Antony Have made themselves so strong:--for with her death That tidings came;--with this she fell distract, And, her attendants absent, swallow’d fire.
She couldn’t stand being apart from me, And the grief that young Octavius and Mark Antony Had become so powerful—when she heard the news of her death It drove her mad, And, with her attendants gone, she swallowed fire.
And died so?
And she died like that?
Even so.
Yes, exactly.
O ye immortal gods!
Oh, you immortal gods!
Speak no more of her. Give me a bowl of wine. In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius.
Don’t say any more about her. Give me a bowl of wine. With this, I put away all ill feelings, Cassius.
My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge. Fill, Lucius, till the wine o’erswell the cup; I cannot drink too much of Brutus’ love.
My heart is thirsty for that noble drink. Fill it, Lucius, until the wine spills over; I can’t drink too much of Brutus’ love.
Come in, Titinius!
Come in, Titinius!
Welcome, good Messala. Now sit we close about this taper here, And call in question our necessities.
Welcome, good Messala. Now let’s sit down close to this candle here, And discuss our urgent matters.
Portia, art thou gone?
Portia, has she gone?
No more, I pray you. Messala, I have here received letters, That young Octavius and Mark Antony Come down upon us with a mighty power, Bending their expedition toward Philippi.
No, not yet, I beg you. Messala, I’ve received letters here, That young Octavius and Mark Antony Are coming at us with a huge army, Directing their march toward Philippi.
Myself have letters of the selfsame tenor.
I have received letters with the same message.
With what addition?
What else did they say?
That by proscription and bills of outlawry, Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus, Have put to death an hundred senators.
That through outlawing and official decrees, Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus Have put a hundred senators to death.
Therein our letters do not well agree; Mine speak of seventy senators that died By their proscriptions, Cicero being one.
That’s not what my letters say; Mine say seventy senators died By their decrees, with Cicero being one.
Cicero one!
Cicero dead!
Cicero is dead, And by that order of proscription. Had you your letters from your wife, my lord?
Cicero is dead, And he was killed by that same proscription. Did you get any letters from your wife, my lord?
No, Messala.
No, Messala.
Nor nothing in your letters writ of her?
Was there nothing about her in your letters?
Nothing, Messala.
Nothing at all, Messala.
That, methinks, is strange.
That’s strange, I think.
Why ask you? hear you aught of her in yours?
Why do you ask? Did you hear anything about her in your letters?
No, my lord.
No, my lord.
Now, as you are a Roman, tell me true.
Now, as you are a Roman, tell me the truth.
Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell: For certain she is dead, and by strange manner.
Then, like a Roman, I will tell you the truth: She is definitely dead, and in a strange way.
Why, farewell, Portia. We must die, Messala: With meditating that she must die once, I have the patience to endure it now.
Well, goodbye, Portia. We must die, Messala: Knowing that she had to die eventually, I can now bear it with patience.
Even so great men great losses should endure.
Great men should bear great losses.
I have as much of this in art as you, But yet my nature could not bear it so.
I know how to do this as well as you, But my nature can’t bear it like you do.
Well, to our work alive. What do you think Of marching to Philippi presently?
Well, let’s focus on our work while we’re still alive. What do you think about marching to Philippi right now?
I do not think it good.
I don’t think it’s a good idea.
Your reason?
Why not?
This it is: ’Tis better that the enemy seek us: So shall he waste his means, weary his soldiers, Doing himself offence; whilst we, lying still, Are full of rest, defense, and nimbleness.
Here’s why: It’s better if the enemy comes after us: That way, they’ll waste their resources, tire out their soldiers, Hurt themselves; while we stay still, Rested, prepared, and quick.
Good reasons must, of force, give place to better. The people ’twixt Philippi and this ground Do stand but in a forced affection; For they have grudged us contribution: The enemy, marching along by them, By them shall make a fuller number up, Come on refresh’d, new-added, and encouraged; From which advantage shall we cut him off, If at Philippi we do face him there, These people at our back.
Good reasons must give way to better ones. The people between Philippi and here Are only pretending to support us; They’ve been unhappy with the taxes we’ve imposed: The enemy, marching by them, Will increase their numbers, And come at us refreshed, newly strengthened, and motivated; From that advantage, we’ll have the chance to cut them off, If we face them at Philippi, With these people at our back.
Hear me, good brother.
Listen to me, good brother.
Under your pardon. You must note beside, That we have tried the utmost of our friends, Our legions are brim-full, our cause is ripe: The enemy increaseth every day; We, at the height, are ready to decline. There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; Omitted, all the voyage of their life Is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat; And we must take the current when it serves, Or lose our ventures.
With your permission, let me add this: We’ve done everything we can with our allies, Our armies are full, and our cause is ready: The enemy grows stronger every day; We, at the peak, are about to fall. There is a time in men’s lives, When, if they act on opportunity, it leads to success; But if missed, their whole life Is stuck in struggle and failure. Right now, we are in that moment; We must act while the chance is here, Or risk losing everything.
Then, with your will, go on; We’ll along ourselves, and meet them at Philippi.
Then, if it’s your will, let’s go; We’ll go too, and meet them at Philippi.
The deep of night is crept upon our talk, And nature must obey necessity; Which we will niggard with a little rest. There is no more to say?
The night has come and interrupted our talk, And nature requires us to rest; We’ll make do with a little sleep. Is there nothing else to discuss?
No more. Good night: Early to-morrow will we rise, and hence.
No more. Good night: Tomorrow we rise early and leave.
Lucius!
Lucius!
My gown.
My robe.
Farewell, good Messala: Good night, Titinius. Noble, noble Cassius, Good night, and good repose.
Farewell, good Messala: Good night, Titinius. Noble, noble Cassius, Good night, and sleep well.
O my dear brother! This was an ill beginning of the night: Never come such division ’tween our souls! Let it not, Brutus.
Oh, my dear brother! This was a bad start to the night: May our hearts never be torn apart like this again! Please, Brutus, don’t let it happen.
Every thing is well.
Everything is fine.
Good night, my lord.
Good night, my lord.
Good night, good brother.
Good night, my good brother.
Good night, Lord Brutus.
Good night, Lord Brutus.
Farewell, every one.
Goodbye, everyone.
Give me the gown. Where is thy instrument?
Give me the robe. Where is your instrument?
Here in the tent.
Here, in the tent.
What, thou speak’st drowsily? Poor knave, I blame thee not; thou art o’er-watch’d. Call Claudius and some other of my men: I’ll have them sleep on cushions in my tent.
What, you’re speaking so sleepily? Poor fool, I don’t blame you; you’ve been watching too long. Call Claudius and some other of my men: I’ll have them sleep on cushions in my tent.
Varro and Claudius!
Varro and Claudius!
Calls my lord?
Did you call, my lord?
I pray you, sirs, lie in my tent and sleep; It may be I shall raise you by and by On business to my brother Cassius.
Please, sirs, lie down in my tent and sleep; I might need to wake you soon for business with my brother Cassius.
So please you, we will stand and watch your pleasure.
If it pleases you, we’ll stand and wait for your orders.
I will not have it so: lie down, good sirs; It may be I shall otherwise bethink me. Look, Lucius, here’s the book I sought for so; I put it in the pocket of my gown.
I won’t have it that way: lie down, good sirs; I might change my mind later. Look, Lucius, here’s the book I was looking for; I put it in the pocket of my gown.
I was sure your lordship did not give it me.
I was sure you didn’t give it to me, my lord.
Bear with me, good boy, I am much forgetful. Canst thou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile, And touch thy instrument a strain or two?
Bear with me, good boy, I’m very forgetful. Can you keep your eyes open for a while, and play a tune on your instrument?
Ay, my lord, an’t please you.
Yes, my lord, if it pleases you.
It does, my boy: I trouble thee too much, but thou art willing.
It does, my boy: I trouble you too much, but you’re willing.
It is my duty, sir.
It’s my duty, sir.
I should not urge thy duty past thy might; I know young bloods look for a time of rest.
I shouldn’t push your duty beyond what you can do; I know young people need their rest.
I have slept, my lord, already.
I’ve already slept, my lord.
It was well done; and thou shalt sleep again; I will not hold thee long: if I do live, I will be good to thee.
Well done; and you’ll sleep again; I won’t keep you long: if I live, I’ll be good to you.
This is a sleepy tune. O murderous slumber, Lay’st thou thy leaden mace upon my boy, That plays thee music? Gentle knave, good night; I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee: If thou dost nod, thou break’st thy instrument; I’ll take it from thee; and, good boy, good night. Let me see, let me see; is not the leaf turn’d down Where I left reading? Here it is, I think.
This is a sleepy tune. Oh, deadly sleep, Did you place your heavy club on my boy, Who plays this music for you? Good night, kind boy; I won’t be cruel enough to wake you: If you nod off, you’ll break your instrument; I’ll take it from you; and, good boy, good night. Let me see, let me see; isn’t the page turned over From where I left off? Here it is, I think.
How ill this taper burns! Ha! who comes here? I think it is the weakness of mine eyes That shapes this monstrous apparition. It comes upon me. Art thou any thing? Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil, That makest my blood cold and my hair to stare? Speak to me what thou art.
How poorly this candle burns! Ha! Who’s there? I think it’s just my eyes playing tricks on me That are making this horrible ghost appear. It’s coming toward me. Are you real? Are you some god, some angel, or some devil, That makes my blood run cold and my hair stand on end? Speak to me and tell me what you are.
Thy evil spirit, Brutus.
Your evil spirit, Brutus.
Why comest thou?
Why are you here?
To tell thee thou shalt see me at Philippi.
To tell you that you will see me at Philippi.
Well; then I shall see thee again?
Well, then, I’ll see you again?
Ay, at Philippi.
Yes, at Philippi.
Why, I will see thee at Philippi, then.
Fine, I’ll see you at Philippi, then.
Now I have taken heart thou vanishest: Ill spirit, I would hold more talk with thee. Boy, Lucius! Varro! Claudius! Sirs, awake! Claudius!
Now that I’ve regained my courage, you disappear: Evil spirit, I wish I could talk more with you. Boy, Lucius! Varro! Claudius! Gentlemen, wake up! Claudius!
The strings, my lord, are false.
The strings, my lord, are out of tune.
He thinks he still is at his instrument. Lucius, awake!
He thinks he’s still playing his instrument. Lucius, wake up!
My lord?
My lord?
Didst thou dream, Lucius, that thou so criedst out?
Did you dream, Lucius, that you cried out like that?
My lord, I do not know that I did cry.
My lord, I don’t know if I cried out.
Yes, that thou didst: didst thou see any thing?
Yes, you did: did you see anything?
Nothing, my lord.
No, my lord.
Sleep again, Lucius. Sirrah Claudius!
Go back to sleep, Lucius. Sirrah Claudius!
Fellow thou, awake!
Wake up, you there!
My lord?
My lord?
My lord?
My lord?
Why did you so cry out, sirs, in your sleep?
Why did you cry out like that, gentlemen, in your sleep?
Did we, my lord?
Did we, my lord?
Ay: saw you any thing?
Yes: did you see anything?
No, my lord, I saw nothing.
No, my lord, I saw nothing.
Nor I, my lord.
Nor I, my lord.
Go and commend me to my brother Cassius; Bid him set on his powers betimes before, And we will follow.
Go and tell my brother Cassius I send my greetings; Tell him to get his forces moving early, and we’ll follow.
It shall be done, my lord.
It’ll be done, my lord.