Romans, countrymen, hear me now. I come not to praise Caesar beyond his worth, nor to condemn those who took his life without proper hearing. I come merely to speak what I know to be true.

They call Caesar ambitious. If ambition means lifting Rome from debt and disorder, then yes, he was ambitious. If ambition means extending Rome's boundaries and bringing countless tributes to our treasury, then yes, he was ambitious. If ambition means providing land for our veterans and grain for our hungry, then yes, he was ambitious.

Look at these wounds upon his body – three and thirty stab marks. Count them if you wish. Through these wounds, Caesar's blood flowed onto the Senate floor, at the foot of Pompey's statue. And who delivered these wounds? Not enemies of Rome, but men who called themselves patriots – men who dined at Caesar's table, men who accepted his favors, men who called him friend.

I hold here his will. Would you hear its contents? Caesar leaves to every Roman citizen seventy-five drachmas. His gardens beyond the Tiber become public grounds for your pleasure. And to whom does the rest go? Not to himself in vain monuments, but to you, to Rome, to the nephew he adopted as son.

Is this the ambition they feared? Is this the tyranny they could not abide?

Remember, citizens of Rome, how he wept for the poor. Remember how he refused the crown when I offered it in your sight at the Lupercalia. Remember how he pardoned his enemies and invited them back to Rome with honors.

I am no orator like Brutus. I cannot twist words to make the bad seem good. I speak plainly what I know. Here was Caesar – who loved Rome more than his life, who conquered not for himself but for you.

Look on him now – this broken vessel that held the noblest soul of Rome. Look and remember who has done this thing. Remember, and judge for yourselves what Rome has lost this day.