If you have tears, prepare to shed them now

 

     You all do know this mantle; I remember
     The first time ever Caesar put it on,
     'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent,
     That day he overcame the Nervii:--
     Look! in this place ran Cassius' dagger through:
     See what a rent the envious Caska made:
     Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd,
     And as he pluck'd his cursed steel away,
     Mark how the blood of Caesar followed it,
     As rushing out of doors, to be resolv'd
     If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no;
     For Brutus, as you know, was Caesars angel.
     Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar lov'd him:
     This was the most unkindest cut of all.
     For when the noble Caesar saw him stab,
     Ingratitude, more strong then traitors' arms,
     Quite vanquish'd him: then burst his mighty heart,
     And in his mantle, muffling up his face,
     Even at the base of Pompey's statue,
     Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell.
     O what a fall was there, my countrymen!
     Then I, and you, and all of us fell down,
     Whil'st bloody treason flourish'd over us.
     O now you weep, and I perceive you feel
     The dint of pity: These are gracious drops.
     Kind souls, what, weep you when you but behold
     Our Caesar's vesture wounded?

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[ agger, Mon 16 Jun, :22:49: /litteratur] - kommentar(er) - link

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