He doth bestride the narrow world like a Colossus, and we petty men

[NoMoreMrNiceGuy]

Walk under his huge legs and peep about
To find ourselves dishonourable graves.
Men at some time are masters of their fates:
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings.

And why should Caesar be a tyrant then?
Poor man! I know he would not be a wolf,
But that he sees the Romans are but sheep:
He were no lion, were not Romans hinds.

Caesar, thou art revenged,
Even with the sword that kill'd thee.