The Ides Of March Are Come. Soothsayer:

To Have Seen Much And To Have Nothing Is To Have Rich Eyes And Poor Hands.

This Look Of Thine Will Hurl My Soul From Heaven.

Out, You Tallow-face! You Baggage!

For Naught So Vile That On The Earth Doth Live But To The Earth Some Special Good Doth Give.

Think You A Little Din Can Daunt Mine Ears? Have I Not In My Time Heard Lions Roar? Have I Not Heard The Sea, Puffed Up With Winds, Rage Like An Angry Boar Chafed With Sweat? Have I Not Heard Great Ordinance In The Field, And Heaven's Artillery Thunder In The Skies? Have I Not In A Pitched Battle Heard Loud 'larums, Neighing Steeds, And Trumpets' Clang? And Do You Tell Me Of A Woman's Tongue, That Gives Not Half So Great A Blow To Hear As Will A Chestnut In A Farmer's Fire? Tush! Tush! Fear Boys With Bugs. Grumio: For He Fears None.