1 Ill spirit, I would hold more talk with thee.
2 I am not gamesome: I do lack some part Of that quick spirit that is in Antony.
3 We all stand up against the spirit of Caesar, And in the spirit of men there is no blood.
4 I but believe it partly, For I am fresh of spirit, and resolv'd To meet all perils very constantly.
5 It is a creature that I teach to fight, To wind, to stop, to run directly on, His corporal motion govern'd by my spirit.
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 Seldom he smiles; and smiles in such a sort As if he mock'd himself and scorn'd his spirit That could be mov'd to smile at anything.
8 Good gentlemen, look fresh and merrily; Let not our looks put on our purposes, But bear it as our Roman actors do, With untired spirits and formal constancy.
9 But were I Brutus, And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue In every wound of Caesar, that should move The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.
10 Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass, Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron, Can be retentive to the strength of spirit; But life, being weary of these worldly bars, Never lacks power to dismiss itself.