Julius Caesar

by William Shakespeare

Why dost thou lead these men about the streets? Second Commoner Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get myself into more work.

Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war, Forgets the shows of love to other men.

Men at some time are masters of their fates: The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, But in ourselves, that we are underlings.

Now is it Rome indeed and room enough, When there is in it but one only man.

Brutus had rather be a villager Than to repute himself a son of Rome Under these hard conditions as this time Is like to lay upon us.

Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look; He thinks too much: such men are dangerous.

That noble minds keep ever with their likes; For who so firm that cannot be seduced?