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Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up
To such a sudden flood of mutiny.
They that have done this deed are honorable;
What private griefs they have, alas! I know not,
That made them do it; they are wise and honorable,
And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you.
I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts;
I am no orator, as Brutus is;
But as you know me all, a plain blunt man,
That loves 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;
Show you sweet Cæsar's wounds, poor, poor dumb mouths,
And bid them speak for me: But were I Brutus,
And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony
Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue
In every wound of Cæsar, that should move
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.

From MACBETH.

84. Macbeth's Irresolution before the Murder of Duncan.

Act I. Sc. 7.

Macb. If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere well

It were done quickly: If the assassination
Could trammel up the consequence, and catch,
With his surcease, success; that but this blow
Might be the be-all and the end-all, here,
But here, upon this bank and shoal of time,
We'd jump the life to come. -- But in these cases,
We still have judgment here; that we but teach
Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return
To plague the inventor: This even-handed justice
Commends the ingredients of our poisoned chalice
To our own lips. He's here in double trust:
First, as I am his kinsman and his subject,
Strong both against the deed: then, as his host,
Who should against his murtherer shut the door,
Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan
Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been
So clear in his great office, that his virtues
Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against
The deep damnation of his taking-off:

And pity, like a naked new-born babe,
Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, horsed
Upon the sightless couriers of the air,
Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye,
That tears shall drown the wind. - I have no spur
To prick the sides of my intent, but only
Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself,
And falls on the other.

85. Witches. Act IV. Sc. I. A dark Cave. In the middle, a Caldron boiling. Thunder.

Enter the three Witches.
ist Witch. Thrice the brinded cat hath mewed.
2nd Witch. Thrice; and once the hedge-pig whined.
3rd Witch. Harpier cries:- - 'Tis time, 'tis time.
Ist Witch. Round about the caldron go;

In the poisoned entrails throw.
Toad, that under cold stone,
Days and nights hast thirty-one
Sweltered venom sleeping got,

Boil thou first i’ the charmed pot!
All.

Double, double, toil and trouble;

Fire burn, and caldron bubble. 2nd Witch. Fillet of a fenny snake,

In the caldron boil and bake :
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing,
For a charm of powerful trouble;

Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
All. Double, double, toil and trouble;

Fire burn, and caldron bubble.

D.-SONGS.

86. ARIEL'S SONG.
Where the bee sucks, there suck I;
In a cowslip's bell I lie:
There I couch when owls do cry,
On the bat's back I do fly
After summer merrily:
Merrily, merrily, shall I live now,
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.

The Tempest. Act V. Sc. 1.

87. THE FAIRY TO PUCK.

Over hill, over dale,

Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over pale,

Thorough flood, thorough fire,
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moon's sphere;
And I serve the fairy queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green:
The cowslips tall her pensioners be;
In their gold coats spots you see;
Those be rubies, fairy favors,

In those freckles live their savors :
I must go seek some dew-drops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.

Midsummer Night's Dream. Act II. Sc. 1.

88. Sonnet XCIX.
The forward violet thus did I chide;
Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells,
If not from my love's breath? The purple pride
Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells,
In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dyed.
The lily I condemnéd for thy hand,
And buds of marjoram had stolen thy hair :
The roses fearfully on thorns did stand,
One blushing shame, another white despair;
A third, nor red nor white, had stolen of both,
And to his robbery had annexed thy breath;
But for his theft, in pride of all his growth
A vengeful canker eat him up to death.

More flowers I noted, yet I none could see,
But sweet or color it had stolen from thee.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE SHAKSPEARIAN DRAMATISTS.

BEN JONSON. 1573–1637. (Manual, p. 152.) 89. FROM THE SAD SHEPHERD; OR, A TALE OF ROBIN HOOD.

Alken, an old Shepherd, instructs Robin Hood's men how to find a Witch,

and how she is to be hunted.

Alken. Within a gloomy dimble' she doth dwell,

Down in a pit o'ergrown with brakes and briars,
Close by the ruins of a shaken abbey,
Torn with an earthquake down unto the ground,
'Mongst graves, and grots, near an old charnel-house,
Where you shall find her sitting in her fourm,
As fearful, and melancholic, as that
She is about; with caterpillars' kells,
And knotty cobwebs, rounded in with spells.
Then she steals forth to relief, in the fogs,
And rotten mists, upon the fens and bogs,
Down to the drowned lands of Lincolnshire;
To make ewes cast their lambs, swine eat their farrow;
The housewife's tun not work, nor the milk churn;
Writhe children's wrists, and suck their breath in sleep;
Get vials of their blood; and where the sea
Casts up his slimy ooze, search for a weed
To open locks with, and to rivet charms,
Planted about her, in the wicked seat
Of all her mischiefs, which are manifold,

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The venomed plants
Wherewith she kills; where the sad mandrake grows,
Whose groans are deathful; the dead numbing nightshade;
The stupefying hemlock; adder's tongue,
And martegan; 2 the shrieks of luckless owls,
We hear, and croaking night-crows in the air;
Green-bellied snakes; blue fire-drakes in the sky;
And giddy flitter-mice with leather wings;

1 Dingle, or dell.

2 A kind of lily.

8 Bats.

87. THE FAIRY TO Puck.

Over hill, over dale,

Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over pale,

Thorough flood, thorough fire,
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moon's sphere;
And I serve the fairy queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green:
The cowslips tall her pensioners be;
In their gold coats spots you see;
Those be rubies, fairy favors,

In those freckles live their savors :
I must go seek some dew-drops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.

Midsummer Night's Dream, Act II. Sc. 1.

88. Sonner XCIX.

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The forward violet thus did I chide;
Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells,
If not from my love's breath? The purple pride
Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells,
In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dyed.
The lily I condemnéd for thy hand,
And buds of marjoram had stolen thy hair :
The roses fearfully on thorns did stand,
One blushing shame, another white despair;
A third, nor red nor white, had stolen of both,
And to his robbery had annexed thy breath;
But for his theft, in pride of all his growth
A vengeful canker eat him up to death.

More flowers I noted, yet I none could see,
But sweet or color it had stolen from thee.

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