Plays of Shakespeare ...: With Introductions and NotesGinn, 1878 - 1 pagina's |
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Alarum art thou bear blood brother Brutus and Cassius Cæs Caius Cassius Calpurnia Capitol Casca Cass Cato cause CESAR Cicero Cinna Citizens Clitus conspirators countrymen crown dangerous death Decius deed dost doth Dyce enemy Enter BRUTUS Exeunt Exit eyes fear fire follow friends gentle Ghost give gods grief hand hath hear heart honour ides of March irony Julius Cæsar kill Lepidus Ligarius look lord Lucil Lucilius Lucius Marcus Marcus Brutus Mark Antony matter means Messala Metellus Cimber mighty mov'd night noble Brutus Octavius Peace Philippi Pindarus play Plutarch Poet Poet's Pompey Pompey's Portia Publius Re-enter Roman Rome SCENE Senators sense Shakespeare sick soldier speak speech spirit stand Strato streets sword tell thee thing thou art thought Titinius to-day traitors Trebonius Tyber unto Volumnius word wrong
Populaire passages
Pagina 482 - I am no orator, as Brutus is : But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man, That love my friend; and that they know full well That gave me public leave to speak of him. For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, To stir men's blood : I only speak right on ; I tell you that which you yourselves do know...
Pagina 438 - tis true, this god did shake ; His coward lips did from their colour fly, And that same eye whose bend doth awe the world Did lose his lustre : I did hear him groan : Ay, and that tongue of his that bade the Romans Mark him and write his speeches in their books, Alas, it cried, 'Give me some drink, Titinius,
Pagina 501 - And whether we shall meet again I know not. Therefore our everlasting farewell take : For ever, and for ever, farewell, Cassius ! If we do meet again, why, we shall smile ; If not, why then, this parting was well made.
Pagina 479 - tis his will : Let but the commons hear this testament, (Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read) And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds, And dip their napkins in his sacred blood ; Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, And, dying, mention it within their wills, Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy, Unto their issue.
Pagina 481 - O, what a fall was there, my countrymen ! Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, Whilst bloody treason flourished over us. O, now you weep; and, I perceive, you feel The dint of pity : these are gracious drops. Kind souls, what, weep you, when you but behold Our Caesar's vesture wounded?
Pagina 479 - Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition ? Yet Brutus says he was ambitious ; And sure he is an honourable man. I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, But here I am to speak what I do know. You all did love him once, not without cause ; What cause withholds you then to mourn for him ? O judgment ! thou art fled to brutish beasts, And men have lost their reason.
Pagina 478 - Caesar, not to praise him. The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones; so let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus hath told you Caesar was ambitious; if it were so, it was a grievous fault; and grievously hath Caesar answer'd it. Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest, for Brutus is an honourable man; so are they all, all honourable men, . . . come I to speak in Caesar's funeral.
Pagina 508 - This was the noblest Roman of them all : All the conspirators, save only he, Did that they did in envy of great Caesar; He only, in a general honest thought, And common good to all, made one of them. His life was gentle; and the elements So mix'd in him that Nature might stand up And say to all the world, This was a man!
Pagina 433 - And do you now put on your best attire ? And do you now cull out a holiday ? And do you now strew flowers in his way That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood ? Be gone ! Run to your houses, fall upon your knees, Pray to the gods to intermit the plague That needs must light on this ingratitude.
Pagina 496 - How ill this taper burns ! — Ha ! who comes here ? I think, it is the weakness of mine eyes, That shapes this monstrous apparition. It comes upon me : — Art thou any thing ? Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil, That mak'st my blood cold, and my hair to stare ? Speak to me, what thou art.