Saturday, March 15, 2008

CAESAR. I could be well moved, if I were as you;
If I could pray to move, prayers would move me:
But I am constant as the northern star,
Of whose true-fix'd and resting quality
There is no fellow in the firmament.
The skies are painted with unnumber'd sparks;
They are all fire, and every one doth shine;
But there's but one in all that doth hold his place:
So in the world; 'tis furnished well with men,
An men are flesh and blood, and appreshensive;
Yet in the number I do know but one
That unassailable holds on his rank,
Unshaked of motion: and that I am he,
Let me a little show it, even in this;
That I was constant Cimber should be banish'd,
And constant do remain to keep him so.

CINNA. Oh Caesar,-
CAESAR. Hence! wilt thou lift up Olympus?
DECIUS. Great Caesar,-
CAESAR. Doth not Brutus bootless kneel?
CASCA. Speak, hands, for me!

(First Casca, then the other conspirators, and Marcus Brutus,
stab Caesar.)

CAESAR. Et tu, Brute? Then fall Caesar! (dies)

Beware the Ides of March, bitches.

My compatriots are out in Boise racing around just as I type this. I hope you made it hard on the soft bastards. I expect a full update once the hangovers wear off.

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