Either there is a civil strife in heaven,
Or else the world, too saucy with the gods,
Incenses them to send destruction.
Indeed it is a strange-disposed time.
But men may construe things after their fashion,
Clean from the purpose of the thing themselves.
Now could I, Casca, name to thee a man
Most like this dreadful night,
That thunders, lightens, opens graves, and roars
As doth the lion in the Capitol
