Oh pardon me thou bleeding piece of earth that I am meek and gentle with these butchers.  Thou art the ruins of the noblest man that ever lived in the tide of times.

Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood! And o’er thy wounds now do I prophesy, which like dumb mouths do ope their ruby lips to beg the voice and utt’rance of my tongue: a curse shall light upon the limbs of men. Blood and destruction shall be so in use, and dreadful objects so familiar, that mothers shall but smile when they behold their infants quarter’d with the hands of war. And Caesar’s spirit, raging for revenge, with Até by his side come hot from hell, shall in these confines with a monarch’s voice cry ‘Havoc!’, and let slip the dogs of war, that this foul deed shall smell above the earth with carrion men, groaning for burial.