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Updated: May 3, 2025
Cæsar at the first simply refused their kindness and entreaties: but afterwards, perceiving they still pressed on him, he violently thrust them from him. Then Cimber with both his hands plucked Cæsar's gown over his shoulders, and Casca that stood behind him, drew his dagger first, and struck Cæsar upon the shoulder, but gave him no great wound.
At this some that were present laughed; and Publius Casca, he that gave the first wound to Caesar, said, "We do ill to jest and make merry at the funeral of Cassius. But you, O Brutus," he added, "will show what esteem you have for the memory of that general, according as you punish or preserve alive those who will scoff and speak shamefully of him."
Caesar snatching hold of the handle of the dagger, and crying out aloud in Latin, "Villain Casca, what do you?" he, calling in Greek to his brother, bade him come and help.
The people, however, loudly opposed it; and Casca happened to be sitting on the most prominent part of the rostrum, whose mind fear and shame were jointly agitating.
If he were Brutus he would put a wound in every tongue. The stones of Rome would mutiny. See what a rent the envious Casca paid. Brutus was Cæsar's angel. The right honourable gentleman concluded by saying that he and the audience had all fallen down." That is the report of a political speech in a modern, progressive, or American manner, and I wonder whether the Romans would have put up with it.
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: But I am arm'd And dangers are to me indifferent. Casca.
Brutus. Was the crown offered him thrice? Casca. Ay, marry, was't, and he put it by thrice, every time gentler than other; and at every putting-by mine honest neighbors shouted. Cassius. Who offered him the crown? Casca. Why, Antony. Brutus. Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca. Casca. I can as well be hanged as tell the manner of it: it was mere foolery; I did not mark it.
And that that was 'the humour of it. Yes, with all their philosophy, these plays are Plays and Poems still. There's no spoiling the 'tragical mirth' in them. Michael de Montaigne. Citizen. I fear there will a worse one come in his place. Cassius. He were no lion, were not Romans hinds. Casca. 'Tis Caesar that you mean: Is it not, Cassius? Cassius.
Hamlet. The Play's the thing. Brutus. Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca. Casca. I can as well be hanged as tell the manner of it. Posthumus. 'Shall's have a Play of this.
They shouted thrice. What was the last cry for? Casca. Why for that too. Brutus. Was the crown offered him thrice? Casca. Ay marry was't. And he put it by thrice, every time gentler than the other; and at every putting by, mine honest neighbours shouted. Cassius. Who offered him the crown? Casca. Why, Antony. Brutus. Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca. Casca.
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