Shrunk to this little measure? Fare thee well!
I know not, gentlemen, what you intend,
Who else must be let blood,[61] who else is rank:[62]
If I myself, there is no hour so fit
155As Cæsar's death's hour, nor no instrument
Of half that worth as those your swords, made rich
With the most noble blood of all this world.
I do beseech ye, if you bear me hard,
Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and smoke,
160Fulfil your pleasure. Live[63] a thousand years,