All of you gentlemen, alas, what can I say? Now that we’ve shaken hands, my credibility stands on such slippery ground that you must think me either a coward or a flatterer. Though I shake your hand last, I do not love you the least, good Trebonius. First, Marcus Brutus, I will shake your hand. How like a deer, strucken by many princes, Dost thou here lie! O world, thou wast the forest to this hart, And this indeed, O world, the heart of thee. Pardon me, Julius! Here wast thou bayed, brave hart Here didst thou fall and here thy hunters stand, Signed in thy spoil, and crimsoned in thy lethe. If then thy spirit look upon us now, Shall it not grieve thee dearer than thy death To see thy Antony making his peace, Shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes- Most noble!-in the presence of thy corse? Had I as many eyes as thou hast wounds, Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood, It would become me better than to close In terms of friendship with thine enemies. Gentlemen all, alas, what shall I say? My credit now stands on such slippery ground That one of two bad ways you must conceit me, Either a coward or a flatterer -That I did love thee, Caesar, O, ’tis true. Though last, not last in love, yours, good Trebonius. Next, Caius Cassius, do I take your hand. First, Marcus Brutus, will I shake with you.
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