Now is that noble vessel full of grief, That it runs over even at his eyes. (5.5.147-18)
—Countrymen, My heart doth joy that yet in all my life I found no man but he was true to me. I shall have glory by this losing day More than Octavius and Mark Antony By this vile conquest shall attain unto. So fare you well at once, for Brutus’s tongue Hath almost ended his life’s history. Night hangs upon mine eyes. My bones would rest, That have but labored to attain this hour. (5.5.38-46)
Free from the bondage you are in, Messala. The conquerors can but make a fire of him. For Brutus only overcame himself, And no man else hath honor by his death. (5.5.60-63)
This was the noblest Roman of them all. All the conspirators save only he Did that they did in envy of great Caesar. He only in a general honest thought And common good to all, made one of them. His life was gentle, and the elements So mixed in him that Nature might stand up And say to all the world, “This was a man.” (5.5.73-80)
According to his virtue let us use him, With all respect and rites of burial. Within my tent his bones tonight shall lie Most like a soldier, ordered honorably. So call the field to rest, and let’s away To part the glories of this happy day. (5.5.81-86)