I dreamt tonight that I did feast with Caesar,
And things unluckily charge my fantasy.
I have no will to wander forth of doors,
Yet something leads me forth.
Last night I dreamed I had a feast with Caesar, and bad omens are weighing on my imagination. I have no desire to go outside, yet something is driving me out the door.
I had this dream about feasting with Caesar last night, and now I've got this bad feeling stuck in my head. I don't even want to leave the house, but something's making me go anyway.
weird dream about caesar bad vibes stuck in my head dont wanna go out but something's pulling me
What is your name?
Tell us your name.
What's your name?
who r u
Whither are you going?
Where are you going?
Where are you headed?
where u going
Where do you dwell?
Where do you live?
Tell us where you're from.
where do u live
Are you a married man or a bachelor?
Are you married or single?
Got a wife, or are you free?
married or single
Shakespeare wrote the death of Cinna the poet from a single line in Plutarch: 'the people, mistaking him for the other Cinna who was one of Caesar's murderers, set upon him.' Plutarch gives it one sentence. Shakespeare gives it a scene, and the scene is doing something very precise. The name 'Cinna' is the play's connecting thread between conspiracy and innocent bystander: Cinna the conspirator carried the forged letters to Brutus in 1-3; now Cinna the poet carries the same name to his death in 3-3. Shakespeare has set this up deliberately. The repeated name is not accidental — it's the play's demonstration that category errors kill. Most historical mob violence doesn't target individuals; it targets categories. Jews. Tutsis. Kulaks. The individual is irrelevant to the mob's logic: they hold the name, the category condemns them, that's sufficient. The Fourth Citizen's line — 'his name's Cinna; pluck but his name out of his heart' — is frightening precisely because it is lucid. He isn't confused. He knows this is the wrong man. He has simply decided the name matters more than the man.
Answer every man directly.
Answer each man directly.
Answer each of us straight up.
answer us straight
Ay, and briefly.
Yes, and be brief.
Yeah, and keep it short.
and keep it short
Ay, and wisely.
Yes, and be wise.
Yeah, and think before you speak.
and be smart
Ay, and truly, you were best.
Yes, and truly, you'd better do it.
Yeah, and honestly, you should just do it.
yeah u better
What is my name? Whither am I going? Where do I dwell? Am I a married
man or a bachelor? Then, to answer every man directly and briefly,
wisely and truly. Wisely I say I am a bachelor.
What is my name? Where am I going? Where do I live? Am I married or single? So, to answer each man directly, briefly, wisely and truthfully: wisely I say I am a bachelor.
What's my name? Where am I going? Where do I live? Am I married or single? Okay, to answer you all straight, quick, and honest: I'm single.
name? where going? where i live? married? straight answer: im a bachelor
That’s as much as to say they are fools that marry; you’ll bear me a
bang for that, I fear. Proceed, directly.
That's the same as saying married people are fools; I'm afraid you'll hit me for that. Keep going, directly.
That's like saying people who marry are dumb, and I'm scared you're gonna punch me for it. Go on, keep talking straight.
so married ppl are fools? maybe punch me keep going tho
The mob's interrogation of Cinna — name? destination? dwelling? married or single? — plays initially as dark comedy. The precision of their bureaucratic questions is absurd: they are proceeding methodically through a questionnaire while standing in the street after a riot, covered in blood (presumably), on their way to burn the city. Cinna plays along because he has no choice, echoing their own adverbs back at them ('directly and briefly, wisely and truly'), answering each question carefully. The comedy is crucial to the scene's impact. If the mob had been savage from the first line, the audience would be afraid but not shocked. The joke gives the audience a half-second of relief — then takes it away permanently. When 'Cinna' falls out of his mouth, the comedy collapses instantly into violence. This tonal shift — from darkly funny to suddenly terrible — is one of Shakespeare's signature effects. It appears in Hamlet (the gravediggers), in King Lear (the Fool), and most brutally here. The laugh sets up the horror.
Directly, I am going to Caesar’s funeral.
To give you a direct answer: I'm heading to Caesar's funeral.
Straight up, I'm going to Caesar's funeral.
going to caesars funeral
As a friend, or an enemy?
Are you going as a friend or as an enemy?
You heading there as someone who supports us or against us?
friend or enemy
As a friend.
As a friend.
As a friend.
as a friend
That matter is answered directly.
That question is answered directly.
Okay, that's a straight answer.
answered
For your dwelling, briefly.
As for where you live, tell us briefly.
And where do you live? Just tell us quickly.
where u live
Briefly, I dwell by the Capitol.
Briefly, I live by the Capitol.
I live near the Capitol.
capitol area
Cinna is specifically a poet — and his death is specifically connected to his poetry, even if only sarcastically. 'Tear him for his bad verses' is one of Shakespeare's strangest jokes, but it has an undertow: in a world where names determine fate and crowds decide everything, what protection does artistic identity offer? None. 'I am Cinna the poet' is a profession of artistic identity, an assertion that being a maker of verse is a different thing from being a political actor. The mob dismisses the distinction. Shakespeare wrote this, presumably, as a working playwright in a world where plays were politically dangerous, where writers were sometimes imprisoned for their words, where the wrong word at the wrong moment could make you the wrong person. The death of Cinna the poet is the play's most direct acknowledgment that art offers no protection against violence. The poems don't save him. If anything, they provide the mob's secondary indictment.
Your name, sir, truly.
Your name, sir, tell us truthfully.
Your name, sir, and be truthful.
your name
Truly, my name is Cinna.
Truthfully, my name is Cinna.
It's Cinna, honestly.
im cinna
Tear him to pieces! He’s a conspirator.
Rip him apart! He's one of the conspirators.
Tear him to shreds! He's with the conspirators!
tear him up hes a conspirator
I am Cinna the poet, I am Cinna the poet.
My name is Cinna, a poet! Cinna the poet, that's who I am!
I'm a poet! My name is Cinna! A poet!
im cinna the poet not a conspirator
Tear him for his bad verses, tear him for his bad verses.
Tear him apart for his bad poetry, tear him apart for his bad poetry.
Rip him up for his terrible poems! Rip him up!
tear him for bad poetry
I am not Cinna the conspirator.
I'm not the Cinna who plotted against Caesar.
I'm not Cinna the conspirator!
wrong guy im just a poet
It is no matter, his name’s Cinna; pluck but his name out of his heart,
and turn him going.
It doesn't matter; his name is Cinna. Just tear the name Cinna out of his chest and send him on his way.
Doesn't matter. His name is Cinna. Just rip that name out of him and let him go.
doesnt matter hes cinna rip it out let him go
Tear him, tear him! Come; brands, ho! firebrands. To Brutus’, to
Cassius’; burn all. Some to Decius’ house, and some to Casca’s, some to
Ligarius’. Away, go!
Tear him, tear him! Come on, get torches, get firebrands! Go to Brutus's house, to Cassius's house, burn it all! Some to Decius's house, some to Casca's, some to Ligarius's house. Let's go!
Tear him up! Get the torches! Get the fire! Go to Brutus's place, Cassius's place, burn everything! Some go to Decius's, some to Casca's, some to Ligarius's. Move!
tear him get torches get fire to brutus cassius decius casca ligarius burn it all go
The Reckoning
This is the shortest scene in the play and one of the cruelest. Its job is to show what Antony's 'mischief afoot' actually looks like at ground level: the death of a completely innocent man for the crime of having the wrong name. The scene is darkly comic for a few lines — the mob's interrogation is almost bureaucratic — and then it is horrifying. Cinna the poet knows he is in danger, says his name anyway because he must, and is destroyed for it. The wrong Cinna dies. The right Cinna — the conspirator — will appear again later.
If this happened today…
A man named Harvey Weinstein — a teacher, completely unconnected to the producer — is walking down the street when a social media pile-on about the other Harvey Weinstein reaches fever pitch. Someone recognizes his name from a shared post. He explains repeatedly that he is a different Harvey Weinstein. The explanation makes no difference. The name is enough.