Next chapter podcasts. foster host of the feminist women's history comedy podcast vulgar history and every week i share the saga of a woman from history whose story you probably didn't already know and you will never forget after you hear it Sometimes we re-examine well-known people like Cleopatra or Pocahontas, sharing the truth behind their legends. Sometimes we look at the scandalous women you'll never find in a history textbook.
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Next Chapter Podcast presents the Play On Podcast series, Julius Caesar. Episode 1, Beware the Ides of March. For the best listening experience be sure to use your headphones or earbuds. Lend me your ears. What are you all doing? Tis not even the holiday. Don't you know? You ought not work on the Sabbath. Speak up! What is your job in the movement? Me, sir? I'm cutting wood to hold up posters.
Likely story. How come I don't see measuring tape and nail? And why are you decked out in your Sunday best? I just came back from the temple. You should have stayed there. Clearly God's not done. And you. What's your calling? Let me guess. It's arts and crafts. Uh, no, sir. I'm what you might call a foot soldier. Don't pull my leg. You a foot soldier with all that mouth?
I've only spoken when spoken to. I'm a foot soldier because I can walk for miles. I'm loyal and I won't stand for just anything. I bet he'll run at the first sign of danger. I beg your pardon, sir. Please, watch your mouth. I may just be a foot soldier, but I can certainly make you heal. Meaning what? Do you think you can best me? At best, sir, I can you lay prostrate. At worst, I'll bring you to your knees and make you kiss my ass. I'm a foot soldier, ergo, I'm quick on my feet.
This man's a dancer, light on his toes. So say the last man before I made him put his foot in his mouth. I am, sir, like fine leather to new boots. If you rub me the wrong way, I'll likely buck. That sounds like bull. Again, why are you men not somewhere kneeling or head bowed in God's house? Who tasked you with making posters when the procession is not for days? Well, frankly, sir, we were told if we made enough signs...
we would be allowed in the parade. Close enough to glimpse our king. Maybe even shake his hand and revel in the triumphs of the day. Revel? Why? What conquest does he bring home? You bricks, you stones, you nitwits should know better. Don't be do-nothings who do as the Romans do. Use your brains! Remember all the men who marched alongside King, using their bodies as battlements to protect him, and the children who climbed roofs peered through windows to get a look at the Great One.
while their fathers got hosed and chewed up by dogs. Remember the babies in their mother's arms, the elders who proudly set the whole damn day with anxious expectation. to see king and pompous stride march through the streets and when they got their glimpse and all did make a cataclysmic howl such that the drums in our ears did shake and for what Since the city was covered in blood? And now you stand there casket clean and your Sunday's best chest out.
proud like a peacock and on the holy day of all days with praise for our king on your tongue and none for the men whose bodies were laid slain none for their sons go home Run to your houses. Fall down on your knees. Pray to God to mitigate the curse that surely lights on this ingratitude. He's right. Go, good man, and likewise assemble all the poor men of your guild. Draw them to the river's banks and weep tears into its depths.
And not for our leader, but for those true kings whose bodies carry the heaviest burden. For those who will lose most if freedom never comes to us. Notice how their simple minds can't be moved. They scatter tongue-tied in their guiltiness. You go down that way toward downtown. This way shall I. Tear down king's placards if you should find them on post or post. Should we do that? The holiday is just days away. Should we not let there be peace until after then? What peace? We are at war.
Don't let images bearing King's name or the holidays distract our people's minds. I'll police the other streets and drive those who try to stop me for growing feathers that The plume king's crown must be plucked until he flies. Only a god can soar above men. After he falls, we can all rise and show the world that he is but a chicken, for chickens are better when fried. Calpurnia. Quiet! Caesar speaks! Calpurnia. I'm here, husband.
Stand here directly in Antonio's path where soon he'll run his course. Antonio! Caesar, my brother. Remember in your haste, Antonio, to always keep an eye on my Calpurnia. For the elders say that men become widowers when their wives are not treated or protected like fine jewel. I shan't forget, when Caesar says do this, it will be done. Let's hear music! Leave no note on play. Lisa? Yes, who called? Hold every noise! Be quiet! Quiet! Quiet!
Who is it from the fray that calls me out? I hear a tongue more shrill than all the music in this world, Christ Caesar. Speak. I am tuned to hear. Beware the Ides of Mark. What woman is this who speaks in Proverbs? An old woman begs you to beware, sir. Bring her here. Let me see her face. Old woman, step forward. Look upon King. What is this you say to me? Speak once again. Beware the Ides of March. You sound like a dreamer. And yet, you are the one who spoke of a dream.
Let's leave her. Come! Let's have us a race! Will you go to see the outcome of the race? I hadn't planned on it. I pray you do. Why? I am not sporty. I do lack some part of that exuberance that's in Antony. Let me not hinder, Cassius, your wishes. I'll leave you. Brutus, I have observed you recently, and find not in your eyes that gentleness and show of love that I had once relished. You bear too willful and too stern a hand over your friend that loves you.
Cassius, don't be deceived. If I've concealed any thoughts, I turn the contemplation of my brow. merely upon myself. Displeased am I of late with passions, ideas purely native to myself, which give some soil, perhaps, to my comportment. Therefore, Let not my good friends be distressed, among whose number caches I count you, nor construe any further my neglect than I, poor Brutus, am merely at war with myself.
and may forget to show love to my dearest friends. Then, Brutus, I have much misjudged your intent, and as such in this breast of mine have buried thoughts of great value. Worthy cogitations. Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face? No, Cassius, for the eye can't see itself but only by the reflection in other man's eyes.
Tis true. And it is very much lamented, Brutus, that you do lack such mirrors that could shine your hidden value into your own eyes, so that you might glimpse your own worth. I have heard where many of the most revered in Rome except immortal. king speaking of Brutus and groaning under this age's yoke have wished that noble Brutus had his eyes.
Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius, that you would have me seek into myself for that which in me I do not already see? Your vision may be blurry, but good Brutus is prepared to hear. And since you know you cannot see yourself so well as by reflection, I will be your mirror and will modestly reveal to you that of yourself which you yet know not of.
What is this roaring? I fear that the people are applauding King Caesar as if he were the son of God. Ah, do you fear it so? If so, then I believe you would have it otherwise. He is not God, Cassius. Yet I love him almost as much. But why do you detain me here so long? What is it that you would convey to me? If it pertains toward the general good, set honor in one eye and death in the other and I will look on the matter indifferently. God bless me so, since I love honor more than I fear.
There is more virtue in your veins than blood, Brutus. Even your face is noble. Because honor is the subject of my story. I only ask that you hear my side even though your loyalty to Caesar makes you impartial. Think of this life. But for my single self, I was born with as free a mind as he and so were you. We were reared on good...
home training and can see after ourselves and our families as much as he. In fact, the only difference I see became clear to me one blustery day when Caesar and I went boating. We found ourselves in the bowels of a storm. The waves were such that it tossed the boat into bits. So Caesar said to me, dare you now cash his... Leap in with me into this angry flood and swim to yonder point. Upon his word, fully clothed as I was, I plunged in and urged him to follow, which indeed he did.
The torrent roared, but we damned with the tide with lusty sinews cutting through its broil and stemming it with hearts of disputation. But... Well, before we reached the point proposed, he cried, Help me, Cassius, or I'll sink. And I did think of the holy writ.
when the Son of God walked upon a terrible sea and did bid Peter to follow. And it occurred to me that he was no God. In fact, he was less... than a king a wretched creature for unlike god's son he lacked faith and it was i who stood upon the sea as if i were in the storm's eye I carried his body to the shore and saved myself in him, but thou never to tell a soul. Oh, how he did shake. It is true.
This creature shook his craven lips did from their pinkness fly and that same eye whose gaze does all the world did lose its glimmer. I did hear him groan. I and that tongue of his that preaches fire and brimstone. Mark him and write. His speeches in their books. Alas, he cried, give me some drink. Like a sick girl. My God, it did astound me. A man of such a feeble temper should so catch the breath of the majestic world and claim the prize alone.
Another thunderous shout. I do believe that these ovations are for some new honors to be heaped on him. My man he stands astride the narrow world like a colossus and we piddlin men gulk beneath its huge legs and peep about to dig our own dishonorable graves. Men at some point are masters of their fate. The fault dear Brutus is not in our stars, but in ourselves that we are underlings. Brutus and Caesar.
What is it about a man who grew up with the world calling him king? Why must that name be sounded more than yours? Write them together. Isn't yours as true a name? Chew them in the mouth. Don't they sop the same saliva? Weigh them on the lips? Both are as heavy. Even conjure with them. Brutus will cast any spell that Caesar can. No man's name is greater than the others.
even if one skips more trippingly on the tongue or is more useful to pun. So, then why should Caesar grow so great? Age be damned! We are up to our necks in noble Negroes. This is our room indeed and there is room enough for all men to be kings. Oh you and I have heard our father say dear Brutus that Someday a king will come on a cloud with great glory and power, but that king is not. Here and there are no clouds, and glory is where he is bound, not what he brings. He is so easily not my king.
Listen, I know you love me, Cassius. That I have no doubt. And what I assume you are asking me to do, I have pondered before. But if you truly love me, then I implore that you say no more. I will consider what you have to say. I will with patience listen. and find a time both apt to hear and answer such grave things till then most noble friend chew upon this brutus had rather be a foreigner than to repute himself a son of Rome under these loath conditions as this time will likely lay upon us.
I am glad that my weak words have struck a chord, for if there is heat in Bruder's might, you be the one to serve the first blow. Quiet. The race is done. and the man of the hour is returning. Listen. As they pass by, tug Casco by the sleeve, and he will, in his surly fashion, spew what has emerged noteworthily today. I will do so. But look, your Cassius. The angry sparks on Caesar's furrowed brow and all the rest like chided schoolboys pout. Galpurnia's cheek is pale and Cicero looks with such
ferret, such fiery eyes, much like we've seen him in church being crossed and quarreled by some ministers. Casco will tell us what the matter is. Hi, this is Sally Cade Holmes, Managing Director of Next Chapter Podcasts, here to tell you about a pretty cool new offering from our friends at Apollo Podcasts. You can now find the Play On podcasts on Apollo Plus, a creator-owned platform where every subscriber helps audio fiction creators such as us.
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Antonio, Caesar, let me have men around me that are fat, with slicked-backed hair, the kind that sleep at night. That Cassius has a lean and hungry look. He thinks too much. Such men are dangerous. Fear him not. He's not dangerous. He's a noble man, even killed. I wish he were fatter. Though I fear him not. Yet if I were liable to fear, I do not know the man I should avoid as much as that spare Cassius. He reads much. He is a great observer, and he sees straight through the deeds of men.
He loves no plays, as you do, Antony. He hears no music. Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a way as if he mocked himself and scorned his spirit for being so moved to smile at anything. Such men as he are never at heart's peace while they behold a greater good than themselves, and therefore they are very dangerous. I rather tell you what is to be feared than what I fear. For always, I am Caesar. Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf, and tell me truly what you think of it.
You pulled me by the sleeve. Why? What's up yours? Tell us what transpired today that had Caesar looking so sad. Why, you were with him, were you not? If I was, would I be asking you what transpired? True. true let's see there was a crown offered him and being offered him caesar gave it back and instead waved his hand so then the people started shouting again
What was the second shout for? Why for that, too? They shouted three times. What was the last for? Why for that also? When some folks shout, it causes the spirit to move, and shouting begets shouting. Was the crown offered him thrice? Indeed it was. And he pushed it off thrice. Each time, gentler than the other. And every time, my brothers and sisters shouted,
Caesar is king! Who offered him the crown? Who? Antony. Tell us how it played out, gentle Casca. I might as well have monkeys fly out my ass as to tell how it played out. But I'll try. It was a good theater. I could not abide it. I saw Mark Anthony offer him a crown. Yet not a crown, really. It was one of those made of thorns. And as I mentioned...
He put it aside quickly, but held to it long enough to appease the people, though I know he would have gladly kept it. So Anthony offered it to him again, and he gave it back again. And again I felt he was quite loath to lay his digits off it. But then he was offered it the third time, and thrice he gave it back, equally nice. And still. As he refused it, the rabble roared and clapped their hands and threw up their sweaty kerchiefs and let out such a bouquet of hollering.
that he nearly fainted at the sound. And for my own part, I did dance a little, but stopped, for fear of opening my lips and inhaling the spirit that fell over that place and losing myself to it. But wait, hold on now. What? Did Caesar faint? He fell down in the pulpit, spoke in tongues, then was speechless. It's quite likely he has the falling sickness.
No, he has something. A malady. But it's unlike you and I and Honest Casca knows it. He knows Caesar is not like us. I'm not sure what you mean by that. But I am sure he fell down to his knees. If the brethren did not applaud or boo him accordingly as he pleased some and displeased others, like actors on the stage often do.
What said he once he came back to his senses? Indeed, before he fell down, when he perceived the people were ultimately glad he refused the crown, he threw off his cloth and asked me, to lay hands on him. Now, had he and I not been closer than a brother, I would have taken him at his word and might have gone to hell for striking a man of the cloth. But then it occurred to me,
that he wanted me to lay hands in prayer and not lay hands in fists. So I did, and that's when he fell. When he came to his senses again, he said, if he had done. or said anything amiss, he desired their worship to blame it on his being caught up in the spirit. That's when three or four working women where I stood cried. Blessings, brother preacher! And forgave him with all their hearts, since Baptists are not supposed to dance. But they could have cared less. Help!
If Caesar would have stabbed their mothers, they would have forgave him in a second breath and cursed their mothers' graves. And after that, he came away quietly? As a mouse in church. Did Cicero say anything? Yep, he spoke in foreign tongue. And he said? If any man told you he understood it, they would be a liar. It sounded Latin, but it was all Greek to me.
Yet, if I recall his body language, here is what I could decipher. Morellis and Flavius were punished for pulling down placards that celebrated the holiday. or broadcast Caesar's words. So beware how you treat him. The people won't put up with it. Will you dine with me tomorrow? Sure. If I still draw breath. And your wife can still cook. And if I mind, don't get jealous from me moaning at the taste of her meats. Good. Then I will expect you. Do so. Farewell.
Brothers. What kind of imbecile has he become? He was quick-witted when we were at school. As he is now, in the carrying out of any bold or worthy endeavor, however he puts on this vacuous form. His crudeness is the spice to do his wit, which gives men's stomach to digest his words with better appetite. Tomorrow, if you care to speak with me, I will come to your home. Or if you will, come to mine, and there I'll wait for you. I will do so. Till then, pray for the world.
Well Brutus, though you are noble, I yet see that your honorable still can be reshaped if forged in enough flame. Therefore, it's fitting that noble minds keep always with their own kind. For what man is so hard that he cannot be seduced? Caesar resents me for my assuredness, but he loved Brutus. If I were Brutus now and he were Cassius, he could not have swayed me, for unlike these men, I am made of an unbendable metal.
I will tonight throw several missives up at his window, each writ as if from a different hand to disguise their nature. They will convey the feelings of all. that Brutus is beloved and Caesar is ambitious. After this, his end will be assured. A new noble shall sit upon the throne, lest worse days endure.
The Play On Podcast series Julius Caesar was written by William Shakespeare and translated into modern English verse by Shashia Korump. All episodes were directed by Harry Lennox. Radio play by Marcus Gardner. The cast is as follows. Michael Pox as Julius Caesar. Glenn Davis as Mark Antony. Jeremy Tardy as Marcus Brutus. Lester Perry as Caius Cassius and Ligarius.
Megan Boone as Portia, Metellus Simba, and others. Janelle Kennedy as Calpurnia, Lucius, and others. Christopher May as Casca, Titinius, Volumnius, and others. James T. Alfred as Cicero. Merellus, Publius, Artemidorus, Lucius, Lepidus, and others. Namuna Cisse, as Octavius. Miracle Laurie, as Masalis, Decius Brutus, and others. Charlique Rowe. as Senna, Soothsayer, Senna the Poet, Pandarus, Dardanius, and others. Brandon Jones as Flavius, Trebonius, and others. Casting by the Telsey office.
Karen Castle, CSA. Voice and text coach, Julie Fogg. Original music composition, mix and sound design by Lindsay Jones. Sound engineering and mixing by Satoharu Yagi. Mix engineer and dialogue editor, Larry Walsh. Podcast mastering by Greg Cortez at New Monkey Studio. Coordinating producer Transcend Streaming, Kira Bowie and Liana Keyes. Executive producer Michael Goodfrey.
The Play On Podcast series, Julius Caesar, is produced by Next Chapter Podcasts and is made possible by the generous support of the Hitz Foundation. Visit nextchapterpodcasts.com for more about the Play On Podcast series. Visit PlayOnShakespeare.org for more about Play on Shakespeare.
Subscribe to Play on Premium on Apollo Plus for ad-free episodes and join our Patreon for exclusive merchandise and early commercial-free releases. Go to nextchapterpodcasts.com for our bonus content, where you'll find... And remember, beware the Ides of March. Join Play On Premium to get merch like t-shirts, hoodies, and coffee mugs, ad-free episodes, and bonus content video featuring interviews with the actors, producers, playwrights, and directors who brought it all to life.
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