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That helpless cry in the Tiber, 'Save me, Cassius, or I sink! that feeble cry from the sick man's bed in Spain, 'Give me some drink, Titinius! and all that pitiful display of weakness, moral and physical, at the would-be coronation, which Casca's report conveys so unsparingly the falling down in the street speechless, which Cassius emphasises with his scornful 'What? did CAESAR SWOON? all this makes but a part of the exhibition, which the lamentations of Mark Antony complete:
And by this time, finding himself struck by a great many hands, and looking round about him to see if he could force his way out, when he saw Brutus with his dagger drawn against him, he let go Casca's hand, that he had hold of, and, covering his head with his robe, gave up his body to their blows.
So divers running on a heap together to fly upon Cæsar, he looking about him to have fled, saw Brutus with a sword drawn in his hand ready to strike at him: then he let Casca's hand go, and casting his gown over his face, suffered every man to strike at him that would.
Then, as Cæsar turned and grasped Casca's arm, the whole murderous pack of them set upon him, crowding and jostling each other to drive their weapons into his body.
In appearance, he reminded one of no less remarkable a person than the Devil, for he bore the traditional nose and mouth of that gentleman, and his body was lean as Casca's; but he seemed at worst a Mephistopheles from the extravagance of the delivery of his sarcasms. The subject of discussion was the sermon. "Baptême, it is terrible!" exclaimed the cadaverous humorist.
'Ai, Adonai! No more wilt proud fingers point to the spot whereat entered not like 'Casca's envious dagger' that well-aimed cannon-ball which pierced the picture-gallery, punched 'Georgius Res' on the head, and frightened away forever the Hessians that were stabled there, fouling the nest of stout old John Witherspoon.