Come, you spirits That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here, And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full Of direst cruelty. Make thick my blood, Stop up th'access and passage to remorse, That no compunctious visitings of nature Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between Th'effect and it. Come to my woman's breasts, And take my milk for gall, you murd'ring ministers, Wherever in your sightless substances You wait on nature's mischief.
Portia. Why, know'st thou any harm's intended towards him? Soothsayer. None that I know will be, much that I fear may chance.
You take my house when you do take the prop That doth sustain my house; you take my life When you do take the means whereby I live.
Daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty.
There is not one among them but I dote on his very absence.
Is this the nature Whom passion could not shake? whose solid virtue The shot of accident nor dart of chance Could neither graze nor pierce?
All my mother came into mine eyes And gave me up to tears.
Adieu, adieu, adieu! remember me.
A soldier firm and sound of heart.
Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears. I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. The evil that men do lives after them; The good is oft interrèd with their bones— So let it be with Caesar.