1 No, sir, there are moe with him.
2 No, Caesar, we will answer on their charge.
3 No, it is Casca, one incorporate To our attempts.
4 No, this was he, Messala, But Cassius is no more.
5 Here is a mourning Rome, a dangerous Rome, No Rome of safety for Octavius yet.
6 No, Cassius, for the eye sees not itself But by reflection, by some other thing.
7 No, Caesar hath it not; but you, and I, And honest Casca, we have the falling-sickness.
8 No, Cassius, no: think not, thou noble Roman, That ever Brutus will go bound to Rome; He bears too great a mind.
9 No place will please me so, no means of death, As here by Caesar, and by you cut off, The choice and master spirits of this age.
10 No, sir, their hats are pluck'd about their ears, And half their faces buried in their cloaks, That by no means I may discover them By any mark of favour.