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I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal;
For it must seem their guilt.

[Exit. Knocking heard. MACB. Whence is that knocking? How is 't with me, when every noise appalls me? What hands are here! Ha! they pluck out mine eyes!

Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood Clean from my hand? No; this my hand will rather

The multitudinous seas incarnardine,
Making the green
-one red.

Re-enter LADY MACBETH.

LADY M. My hands are of your color; but I

shame

To wear a heart so white. [Knocking.] I hear a knocking

At the south entry :- retire we to our chamber:

A little water clears us of this deed:
How easy is it, then!

THE REMORSE.

LADY MACBETH. Naught 's had, all 's spent, Where our desire is got without content: 'Tis safer to be that which we destroy, Than, by destruction, dwell in doubtful joy. Enter MACBETH.

How, now, my lord? why do you keep alone,
Of sorriest fancies your companions making;
Using those thoughts, which should indeed have

died

:

Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep
In the affliction of these terrible dreams,
That shake us nightly better be with the dead,
Whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace,
Than on the torture of the mind to lie
In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave;
After life's fitful fever, he sleeps well;
Treason has done his worst: nor steel, nor poison,
Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing,
Can touch him farther!

And make our faces vizards to our hearts, Disguising what they are.

LADY M.

Come on; Gentle my lord, sleek o'er your rugged looks; Be bright and jovial among your guests to-night. MACB. So shall I, love; and So, I pray, be Let your remembrance apply to Banquo; Present him eminence, both with eye and tongue; Unsafe the while, that we

you:

Must lave our honors in these flattering streams;

Come, seeling night, Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day; And with thy bloody and invisible hand Cancel, and tear to pieces, that great bond Which keeps me pale !- Light thickens; and the crow

Makes wing to the rooky wood:

Good things of day begin to droop and drowse; Whiles night's black agents to their prey do rouse.

Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the olden time,
Ere human statute purged the gentle weal;
Ay, and since too, murders have been performed
Too terrible for the ear: the times have been,
That, when the brains were out, the man would die,
And there an end; but now, they rise again,
With twenty mortal murders on their crowns,
And push us from our stools: this is more strange
Than such a murder is.

Can such things be, And overcome us like a summer's cloud, Without our special wonder? You make me strange Even to the disposition that I owe, When now I think you can behold such sights, And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks, When mine are blanched with fear.

With them they think on? Things without When I behold

remedy,

Should be without regard: what's done, is done.
MACB. We have scotched the snake, not killed it:
She'll close, and be herself; whilst our poor malice
Remains in danger of her former tooth.
But let the frame of things disjoint,
Both the worlds suffer,

--

Seyton! I am sick at heart, - Seyton, I say! — This push Will cheer me ever, or disseat me now. I have lived long enough my way of life Is fallen into the sear, the yellow leaf; | And that which should accompany old age, As honor, love, obedience, troops of friends, I must not look to have; but, in their stead, Curses, not loud, but deep, mouth-honor, breath, Which the poor heart would fain deny, but dare not.

How does your patient, doctor?

DOCTOR. Not so sick, my lord, As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies, That keep her from her rest. MACB. Cure her of that Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased; Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow; Raze out the written troubles of the brain; And, with some sweet oblivious antidote, Cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff, Which weighs upon the heart?

DocT.

Therein the patient

Must minister to himself.

MACB. Throw physic to the dogs, — I'll none of it.

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SHAKESPEARE.

What is that noise ? [A cry within of women. You all can witness when that she went forth

SEYTON. It is the cry of women, my good lord. It was a holiday in Rome; old age

Mace. I have almost forgot the taste of fears : Forgot its crutch, labor its task, — all rau, The time has been, my senses would have cooled And mothers, turning to their daughters, cried, To hear a night-shriek : and my fell of hair “There, there's Lucretia !” Now look

ye

where Would at a dismal treatise rouse, and stir,

she lies! As life were in't: I have supped full with horrors; That beauteous flower, that innocent sweet rose, Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts, Torn up by ruthless violence, - gone! gone! gone ! Cannot once start me. Wherefore was that cry? Say, would you seek instruction ? would ye ask SEY. The queen, my lord, is dead.

What ye should do ? Ask ye yon conscious walls, MACB. She should have died hereafter ; Which saw his poisoned brother, There would have been a time for such a word. Ask yon deserted street, where Tullia drove To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,

O'er her dead father's corse, 't will cry, Revenge ! Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, Ask yonder senate-house, whose stones are purple To the last syllable of recorded time;

With human blood, and it will cry, Revenge ! And all our yesterdays have lighted fools Go to the tomb where lies his murdered wife, The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle ! And the poor queen, who loved him as her son, Life's but a walking shadow ; a poor player, Their unappeased ghosts will shriek, Revenge ! That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, The temples of the gods, the all-viewing heavens, And then is heard no more : it is a tale

The gods themselves, shall justify the cry, Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, And swell the general sound, Revenge ! Revenge ! Signifying nothing.

And we will be revenged, my countrymen ! Brutus shall lead you on ; Brutus, a name Which will, when you 're revenged, be dearer to

him LUCIUS JUNIUS BRUTUS'S ORATION

Than all the noblest titles earth can boast. OVER THE BODY OF LUCRETIA. Brutus your king !-- No, fellow-citizens !

If mad ambition in this guilty frame Would you know why I summoned you to- Had strung one kingly fibre, yea, but one, gether?

By all the gods, this dagger which I hold Ask ye what brings me here ? Behold this dagger, Should rip it out, though it intwined my heart. Clotted with gore! Behold that frozen corse ! Now take the body up. Bear it before us See where the lost Lucretia sleeps in death ! To Tarquin's palace ; there we 'll lightourtorches, She was the mark and model of the time, And in the blazing conflagration rear The mould in which each female face was formed, A pile, for these chaste relics, that shall send The very shrine and sacristy of virtue !

Her soul amongst the stars. On! Brutus leads Fairer than ever was a form created

JOHN HOWARD PAYNE. By youthful fancy when the blood strays wild, And never-resting thought is all on fire ! The worthiest of the worthy! Not the nymph Who met olil Numa in his hallowed walks,

ANTONY'S ORATION OVER THE BODY And whispered in his ear her strains divine,

OF CAESAR.
Can I conceive beyond her;. the young choir
Of vestal virgins bent to her. 'T is wonderful

JULIUS CÆSAR."
Amid the darnel, hemlock, and base weeds, ANTONY. Omighty Cæsar! dost thou lie so low?
Which now spring rife from the luxurious com- Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils,
post

Shrunk to this little measure ?- Fare thee well. Spread o'er the realm, how this sweet lily rose, How from the shade of those ill-neighboring plants

TO THE CONSPIRATORS. Her father sheltered her, that not a leaf

I doubt not of your wisdom. Was blighted, but, arrayed in purest grace,

Let each man render me his bloody hand : She blooined unsullied beauty. Such perfections First, Marcus Brutus, will I shake with you ; Might have called back the torpid breast of age Next, Caius Cassius, do I take your hand ;To long-forgotten rapture ; such a mind Now, Decius Brutus, yours;—now yours, Metellus; Might have abashed the boldest libertine Yours, Cinna ; — and, my valiant Casca, yours ; -And turned desire to reverential love

Though last, not least in love, yours, good TreAnd holiest affection ! O my countrymen !

bonius.

you !

FROM

a

O judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts,
And men have lost their reason!-- Bear with me;
My heart is in the coffin there with Cæsar,
And I must pause till it come back to me.

But yesterday, the word of Cæsar might
Have stood against the world: now lies he there,
And none so poor to do him reveience.
O masters! if I were disposed to stir
Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage,
I should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong,
Who, you all know, are honorable men :

I will not do them wrong; I rather choose
To wrong the dead, to wrong myself, and you,
Than I will wrong such honorable men.
But here's a parchment, with the seal of Cæsar,
I found it in his closet, - 't is 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 Cæsar'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.

4 CITIZEN. We 'll hear the will: read it, Mark
Antony.
CITIZENS. The will, the will! we will hear
Cæsar's will.

ANT. Have patience, gentle friends, I must not read it;

It is not meet you know how Cæsar loved you.
You are not wood, you are not stones, but men;
And, being men, hearing the will of Cæsar,
It will inflame you, it will make you mad:
'Tis good you know not that you are his heirs,
For if you should, O, what would come of it!

--

4 CIT. Read the will; we'll hear it, Antony; You shall read us the will, - Cæsar's will. ANT. Will you be patient? Will you stay a while?

Gentlemen all, — alas! what shall I say?
My credit now stands on such slippery ground,
That one of two bad ways you must conceit me,
Either a coward or a flatterer.

That I did love thee, Cæsar, O, 't is true:
If, then, thy spirit look upon us now,
Shall it not grieve thee dearer than thy death,
To see thy Antony making his peace,
Shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes,
Most noble in the presence of thy corse?
Had I as many eyes as thou hast wounds,
Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood,
It would become me better, than to close
In terms of friendship with thine enemies.
Pardon me, Julius! - Here wast thou bayed, brave
hart;

Here didst thou fall; and here thy hunters stand,
Signed in thy spoil, and crimsoned in thy lethe.
O world, thou wast the forest to this hart;
And this, indeed, O world, the heart of thee. -
How like a deer, stricken by many princes,
Dost thou here lie?

TO THE PEOPLE.

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your

ears;

I come to bury Cæsar, 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 Cæsar. The noble Brutus
Hath told you Cæsar was ambitious :
If it was so, it was a grievous fault;
And grievously hath Cæsar answered it.
Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest,
(For Brutus is an honorable man ;
So are they all, all honorable men,)
Come I to speak in Cæsar's funeral.
He was my friend, faithful and just to me :
But Brutus says he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honorable man.

He hath brought many captives home to Rome,
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill:
Did this in Cæsar seem ambitious?

When that the poor have cried, Cæsar hath wept :
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honorable man.
You all did see that on the Lupercal
I thrice presented him a kingly crown,
Which he did thrice refuse was this ambition?
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;
And, sure, he is an honorable 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?

I have o'ershot myself to tell you of it.
I fear I wrong the honorable men
Whose daggers have stabbed Cæsar; I do fear it.
4 CIT. They were traitors: honorable men!
CIT. The will! the testament !

2 CIT. They were villains, murderers: the will!
read the will!

ANT. You will compel me, then, to read the
will?

Then make a ring about the corse of Cæsar,
And let me show you him that made the will.
Shall I descend? and will you give me leave?
CITIZENS. Come down.

ANT. Nay, press not so upon me; stand far off.
CITIZENS. Stand back; room; bear back.
ANT. If you have tears, prepare to shed them

now.

SHAKESPEARE.

FROM

You all do know this mantle : I remember To every Roman citizen he gives,
The first time ever Cæsar put it on ;

To every several man, seventy-five drachmas. "T was on a summer's evening, in his tent; 2 Cit. Most noble Cæsar ! — we'll revenge his That day he overcame the Nervii :

death. Look, in this place ran Cassius' dagger through : 3 Cir. O royal Cæsar ! See what a rent the envious Casca made :

Axt. Hear me with patience. Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabbed ; CITIZENS. Peace, ho ! And, as he plucked his cursed steel away, Ant. Moreover, he hath left you all his walks, Mark how the blood of Cæsar followed it, His private arbors, and new-planted orchards, As rushing out of doors, to be resolved

On this side Tiber; he hath left them you, If Brutus so unkindly knocked, or no;

And to your heirs forever, common pleasures, For Brutus, as you know, was Cæsar's angel: To walk abroad, and recreate yourselves. Judge, O you gods, how dearly Cæsar loved Here was a Cæsar! when comes such another? him !

i Cit. Never, never ! Come away, away! This was the most unkindest cut of all ; We 'll burn his body in the holy place, For when the noble Cæsar saw him stab, And with the brands fire the traitors' houses. Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms, Take up the body. Quite vanquished him : then burst his mighty

heart;
And, in his mantle muffling up his face,

BEATRICE CENCI.
Even at the base of Pompey's statua,
Which all the while ran blood, great Cæsar fell.

THE CENCI." 0, what a fall was there, my countrymen !

BEATRICE.

0, Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, My God! can it be possible I have Whilst bloody treason fourished over us. To die so suddenly ? So young to go 0, now you weep; and, I perceive, you feel Under the obscure, cold, rotting, wormy ground ! The dint of pity : these are gracious drops.

To be nailed down into a narrow place ; Kind souls, what, weep you when you but behold To see no more sweet sunshine ; hear no more Our Cæsar's vesture wounded ? Look you here, Blithe voice of living thing; muse not again Here is himself, marred, as you see, with traitors. Upon familiar thoughts, sad, yet thus lost,

How fearful ! Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir

LUCRETIA. you up

Child, perhaps To such a sudden flood of mutiny.

It will be granted. We may all then live They that have done this deed are honorable ;

To make these woes a tale for distant years ; What private griefs they have, alas, I know not, 0, what a thought! It gushes to my heart That made them do it;— they are wise and Like the warm blood. honorable,

BEATR.

Yet both will soon be cold. And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. O, trample out that thought! Worse than despair, I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts ; Worse than the bitterness of death, is hope ; I am no orator, as Brutus is ;

It is the only ill which can find place But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man, Upon the giddy, sharp, and narrow hour That love my friend ; and that they know full | Tottering beneath us. Plead with the swift frost well

That it should spare the eldest flower of spring ; That gave me public leave to speak of him : Plead with awakening earthquake, o'er whose For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth,

couch Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, Even now a city stands, fair, strong, and free ; To stir men's blood : I only speak right on; Now stench and blackness yawns, like death. I tell you that which you yourselves do know ; 0, plead Show you sweet Cæsar's wounds, poor, poor dumb With famine, or wind-walking pestilence, mouths,

Blind lightning, or the deaf sea, not with man! And bid them speak for me : but were I Brutus, Cruel, cold, formal man ! righteous in words, And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony In deeds a Cain. No, mother, we must die, Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue

Since such is the reward of innocent lives,
In every wound of Cæsar, that should move Such the alleviation of worst wrongs.
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.

And whilstourmurderers live, and hard, cold men,

Smiling and slow, walk through a world of tears Here is the will, and under Cæsar's seal : To death as to life's sleep, 't were just the grave

.

Were some strange joy for us. Death,

Come, obscure | O balmy breath, that dost almost persuade Justice to break her sword! One more, one

And wind me in thine all-embracing arms!
Like a fond mother hide me in thy bosom,
And rock me to the sleep from which none wake.

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.

OTHELLO'S DESPAIR.

FROM "OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE."
THE LAMENTATION.
O, NOW, forever
Farewell the tranquil mind! farewell content!
Farewell the pluméd troop, and the big wars,
That make ambition virtue! O, farewell!

Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump,
The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife,
The royal banner, and all quality,
Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war!
And, O you mortal engines, whose rude throats
The immortal Jove's dread clamors counterfeit,
Farewell! Othello's occupation 's gone!

Had it pleased Heaven

To try me with affliction; had he rained
All kinds of sores, and shames, on my bare head;
Steeped me in poverty to the very lips;
Given to captivity me and my utmost hopes;
I should have found in some part of my soul
A drop of patience: but, alas, to make me
A fixed figure, for the time of scorn

To point his slow unmoving finger at !-
Yet could I bear that too; well, very well:
But there, where I have garnered up my heart,
Where either I must live, or bear no life,
The fountain from the which my current runs,
Or else dries up; to be discarded thence!

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THE MURDER.

It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul,
Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars!
It is the cause. Yet I'll not shed her blood;
Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow,
And smooth as monumental alabaster.
Yet she must die, else she 'll betray more men.
Put out the light, and then - Put out the light!
If I quench thee, thou flaming minister,
I can again thy former light restore,
Should I repent me:- but once put out thy light,
Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature,
I know not where is that Promethean heat,
That can thy light relume. When I have plucked
thy rose,

I cannot give it vital growth again,

It needs must wither:- I'll smell it on the tree. [Kissing her.

more:

Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee,
And love thee after:-one more, and this the last:
So sweet was ne'er so fatal. I must weep,
But they are cruel tears: this sorrow's heavenly:
It strikes, where it doth love.

THE REMORSE.

Behold, I have a weapon;

A better never did itself sustain
Upon a soldier's thigh: I have seen the day,
That, with this little arm and this good sword,
I have made my way through more impediments
Than twenty times your stop: -but, O vain boast!
Who can control his fate? 't is not so now. —

Be not afraid, though you do see me weaponed;
Here is my journey's end, here is my butt,
And very sea-mark of my utmost sail.
Do you go back dismayed? 't is a lost fear;
Man but a rush against Othello's breast,
And he retires: - where should Othello go?-
Now, how dost thou look now? Oill-starred wench!
Pale as thy smock! when we shall meet at compt,
This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven,
And fiends will snatch at it. Cold, cold, my girl!
Even like thy chastity.

O cursed, cursed slave! Whip me, ye devils,
From the possession of this heavenly sight!
Blow me about in winds! roast me in sulphur!
Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire!
O Desdemona! Desdemona! dead! Oh! Oh! Oh!

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