1 Thy master is a wise and valiant Roman; I never thought him worse.
2 He is at hand, and Pindarus is come To do you salutation from his master.
3 Octavius, then take him to follow thee, That did the latest service to my master.
4 I do not doubt But that my noble master will appear Such as he is, full of regard and honour.
5 And let our hearts, as subtle masters do, Stir up their servants to an act of rage, And after seem to chide 'em.'
6 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.
7 Men at some time are masters of their fates: The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, But in ourselves, that we are underlings.
8 Your master, Pindarus, In his own change, or by ill officers, Hath given me some worthy cause to wish Things done, undone: but, if he be at hand, I shall be satisfied.
9 Thus, Brutus, did my master bid me kneel; Thus did Mark Antony bid me fall down; And, being prostrate, thus he bade me say: Brutus is noble, wise, valiant, and honest; Caesar was mighty, bold, royal, and loving; Say I love Brutus and I honour him; Say I fear'd Caesar, honour'd him, and lov'd him.