Through this the son of a gun of a Brutus stabbed,
And when he plucked his cursed steel away,
Good gracious, how the blood of Cæsar followed it!
[Cheers, and cries of “Give us something on the Wilson bill!” “Hit him again;” etc.]
I came not, friends, to steal away your hearts;
I am no thief as Brutus is.
Brutus has a monopoly in all that business,
And if he had his deserts, he would be
In the State prison and don’t you forget it.
Kind friends, sweet friends, I do not wish to stir you up