143.

The assassins of Cæsar allow his friend Mark Antony to deliver a public uneral oration. They go away, and leave him alone with the body.

Antony. O, pardon me, thou piece of bleeding earth, That I am meek and gentle with these butchers! Thou art the ruins of the noblest man

That ever livèd in the tide of times.

Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood!
Over thy wounds now do I prophesy,—

Which, like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips,
To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue;—
A curse shall light upon the limbs of men;
Domestic fury, and fierce civil strife,
Shall cumber all the parts of Italy;
Blood and destruction shall be so in use,
And dreadful objects so familiar,

That mothers shall but smile, when they behold
Their infants quartered with the hands of war;
All pity choked with custom of fell deeds;
And Cæsar's spirit, ranging for revenge,

I

With Até by his side, come hot from hell,
Shall in these confines, with a monarch's voice,
Cry "Havock!" and let slip the dogs of war;
That this foul deed shall smell above the earth
With carrion men, groaning for burial.

W. SHAKESPEARE.

144.

Brutus Addresses the Roman People after the Assassination of Cæsar. ROMANS, Countrymen, and lovers! hear me for my cause, and be silent that you may hear: believe me for mine honour, and have respect to mine honour, that you may believe: censure me in your wisdom, and awake your senses, that you may the better judge. If there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of Cæsar's, to him I say, that Brutus' love to Cæsar was no less than his. If then that friend demand, why Brutus rose against Cæsar, this is my answer:-Not that I loved Cæsar less, but that I

I The goddess of all evil and discord.

loved Rome more. Had you rather Cæsar were living, and die all slaves, than that Cæsar were dead, to live all free men? As Cæsar loved me, I weep for him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I honour him; but, as he was ambitious, I slew him. There is tears for his love, joy for his fortune, honour for his valour, and death for his ambition. Who is here so base, that would be a bondman? If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is here so rude, that would not be a Roman? If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is here so vile, that will not love his country? If any, speak; for him have I offended. I pause for a reply.

Then none have I offended. I have done no more to Cæsar than you shall do to Brutus. The question of his death is enrolled in the Capitol: his glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy; nor his offences enforced, for which he suffered death.

Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony; who, though he had no hand in his death, shall receive the benefit of his dying, a place in the commonwealth; as which of you shall not? With this I depart;--that, as I slew my best lover for the good of Rome, I have the same dagger for myself, when it shall please my country to need my death.

W. SHAKESPEARE.

145.

Mark Antony's Oration over the Dead Body of Cæsar.

Ant. 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 interrèd with their bones;
So let it be with Cæsar. The noble Brutus
Hath told you Cæsar was ambitious :
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Cæsar answered 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 Cæsar's funeral.
He was my friend, faithful and just to me:
But Brutus says he was ambitious,

And Brutus is an honourable 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 honourable 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 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!-Bear with me;
My heart is in the coffin there with Cæsar,
And I must pause till it come back to me.

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But yesterday the word of Cæsar might Have stood against the world: now lies he there, And none so poor to do him reverence.

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 honourable men.
I will not do them wrong; I rather choose
To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you,
Than I will wrong such honourable men.

But here's a parchment with the seal of Cæsar ;—
I found it in his closet, '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 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.

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If you have tears, prepare to shed them now.
You all do know this mantle: I remember
The first time ever Cæsar put it on ;
'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent,
That day he overcame the Nervii.-

Look, in this place ran Cassius' dagger through :
See what a rent the envious Casca made:
Through this, the well-belovèd Brutus stabbed ;
And, as he plucked his cursèd steel away,
Mark how the blood of Cæsar followed it,
As rushing out of doors, to be resolved
If Brutus so unkindly knocked, or no ;
For Brutus, as you know, was Cæsar's angel :
Judge, O you gods, how dearly Cæsar loved him!
This was the most unkindest cut of all;

For when the noble Cæsar saw him stab,
Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms,

Quite vanquished him; then burst his mighty heart;
And, in his mantle muffling up his face,

Even at the base of Pompey's statue,

Which all the while ran blood, great Cæsar fell.
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 Cæsar's vesture wounded? Look you here;
Here is himself, marred, as you see, with traitors.

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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 honourable :
What private griefs they have, alas, I know not,
That made them do it: they are wise and honourable,
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 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 ;
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.

146.

W. SHAKESPEARE.

Inscriptions supposed to be found in and near a Hermit's Cell.

HOPES, what are they?-Beads of morning
Strung on slender blades of grass;

Or a spider's web adorning

In a strait and treacherous pass.

What are fears but voices airy?

Whispering harm where harm is not;
And deluding the unwary

Till the fatal bolt is shot!

What is glory?—in the socket

See how dying tapers fare!

What is pride?—A whizzing rocket
That would emulate a star.

What is friendship?-do not trust her,
Nor the vows which she has made;
Diamonds dart their brightest lustre
From a palsy-shaken head.

What is truth?-a staff rejected;
Duty? an unwelcome clog;
Joy?-a moon by fits reflected
In a swamp or watery bog: