Why, friends, you go to do you know not what: Wherein hath Caesar thus deserved your loves? Alas, you know not: I must tell you then: You have forgot the will I told you of. . . . . Here is the will, and under Caesar's seal. To every Roman citizen he gives, To every several man, seventy-five drachmas. . . . . Moreover, he hath left you all his walks, His private arbours and new-planted orchards, On this side Tiber; he hath left them you, And to your heirs for ever, common pleasures, To walk abroad, and recreate yourselves. Here was a Caesar! when comes such another?

See where she comes apparelled like the spring.

You cannot, sir, take from me any thing that I will more willingly part withal: except my life, except my life, except my life.

I shall show the cinders of my spirits Through the ashes of my chance.

As you from crimes would pardon'd be, Let your indulgence set me free.

More of your conversation would infect my brain.

If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge?