This cannot be tolerated by a reasonable person, and such is not forgivable of Brutus, even if Caesar had been a tyrant.

Yet, Lepidus, it is this ingrate, this traitor, who was the leader of the conspiracy and who dealt the fatal blow. What, Brutus! You could strike the one who saved your life! What, you savage! Did not the sword fall from your hands when Caesar, seeing you approach him like the others, ceased to resist and even said to you with more tenderness than anger: "You too, my son!" What, these words did not touch your soul and you could kill Caesar! Oh no, Brutus, if you had a little justice, you should have abandoned such a wicked endeavor. You should have fought for Caesar, give him the life he gave you, or if you could not, erase your ingratitude with your blood and kill yourself over Caesar's body. But what am I doing, Lepidus? I get carried away by my grief. This image of Caesar’s death incites my sorrow and rage whenever it comes into my mind. Unfolding without prevision, I shift the topic of conversation. Let’s get back, in effect, to my initial intention and state that even if Caesar’s innocence might be questioned because of his deeds during his life, it is fully justified by what transpired during and after his death. The extraordinary care, the gods took to warn him of the impending calamity, attest to the purity of his soul. All those signs that emerged in the sky, those dreams that terrified me, the hand of that soldier that appeared enflamed, and the one who announced to him that the Ides of March would be fatal for him, as well as all the other ominous things that seemed to hinder the conspiracy, all this is enough to show that Caesar was no ordinary man.

If Caesar's death had been good for the Republic, the gods would not have supplied so many omens. They warn of impending disasters so that men might avoid them but they rarely send signs of encouragement. According to this logic, one could say that Brutus was also warned about his demise. The terrible specter of death that appeared to him twice was sent more as a punishment than to allow him a chance to escape the disaster that awaited him or to validate his scheme. 

And then who has ever worshipped dead tyrants? When they are alive, they are dreaded, but when they die, their bodies are dragged through the public squares, torn apart, the laws they established are changed, their statues are toppled. Their memory is reviled, and those who killed them live in safety and honour. But as for Caesar, even in death, he was shown respect. The mandates undertaken during his lifetime were respected by the Romans and appeared sacrosanct. His bloodstained toga and all perforated from the stab wounds touched the souls of every citizen with grief. His testament, which enriched all, was listened to as if it were from the father of the nation. The people built him a funeral pyre more glorious in his memory than if he received the most lavish funerals reserved for kings, for it was a testament of their affection and the same fire that consumed my dear Caesar. His phantom wished to ignite the houses of his murderers.