ANTONYGood friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you upTo such a sudden flood of mutiny.They that have done this deed are honourable.What private griefs they have, alas, I know not,That made them do it. They’re wise and honourable,And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you.I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts.I am no orator, as Brutus is;But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man,That love my friend; and that they know full wellThat gave me public leave to speak of him.For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth,Action, nor utteranceThe final extremity, especially a fight pursued to the death., nor the power of speech,To stir men’s blood. I only speak right on.I tell you that which you yourselves do know,Show you sweet Caesar’s wounds, poor poor dumb mouths,And bid them speak for me. But were I Brutus,And Brutus Antony, there were an AntonyWould ruffle upto become turbulent, violent, or disorderly. your spirits, and put a tongueIn every wound of Caesar, that should moveThe stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.