Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods. XXI.-Brutus' Harangue on the Death 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 loved Rome more. Had you rather Cæsar were living, and die all slaves; than that Cæsar were dead, to live all freemen? 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 are tears for his love, joy for his fortune, honour for his valour, and death for his ambition.-Who's here so base that would be a bondman? if any, speak; for him I have offended. Who's here so rude, that would not be a Roman? if any, speak; for him I have offended. Who's here so vile, that will not love his country? if any, speak; for him I have offended.-I pause for a reply None! 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, mourn'd 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. XXII.-Antony's Oration over Cæsar's Body 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 : Sc let it be with Cæsar! Noble Brutus Huth told you, Cæsar was ambitious. If it were so, it was a grievous fault; And grievously hath Cæsar 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 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, When that the poor have cried, Cæsar hath wept I thrice presented him a kingly crown; Which he did thrice refuse: Was this ambition? And sure, he is an honourable man. I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke; You all did love him once; not without cause'; Have stood against the world! Now lies he there Let but the commons hear this testament, And dip their napkins in his sacred blood- Unto their issue. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. "Twas on a summer's evening in his tent, That day he overcame the Nervii Look! In this place ran Cassius' dagger through— Through this the well beloved Brutus stabb'd ; Quite vanquished him! Then burst his mighty heart, E'en at the base of Pompey's statue, (Which all the while ran blood) great Cæsar fell. Good friends! Sweet friends! Let me not stir you up 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 reason 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, 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 XXIII.-Falstaff's Soliloquy on Honour. OWE heaven a death! 'Tis not due yet; and I would be loath to pay him before his day. What need I be so forward with him that calls not on me? Well, 'tis no matterhonour pricks me on. But how, if honour pricks me off when I come on? How then? Can honour set to a leg? No; or an arm? No; or take away the grief of a wound? No. Honour hath no skill in surgery, then? No. What is honour? A word. What is that word honour? Air; a trim reckoning. Who hath it? He that died a Wednesday. Doth he feel it? No. Doth he hear it? No. Is it insensible then? Yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living? No. Why? Detraction will not suffer it. Therefore, I'll none of it. Honour is a mere 'scutcheon--and so ends my catechism. XXIV. Part of Richard III's Soliloquy, the night preceding the Battle of Bosworth. 'TIS now the dead of night, and half the world Is with a lonely solemn darkness hung; Yet I (so coy a dame is sleep to me) With all the weary courtship of My care-tir'd thoughts, can't win her to my bed, Though e'en the stars do wink, as 'twere, with overwatching. I'll forth, and walk awhile. The air's refreshing, And the ripe harvest of the new-mown hay Gives it a sweet and wholesome odour. How awful is this gloom! And hark! from camp to camp The hum of either army stilly sounds, That the fix'd sentinels almost receive The secret whispers of each other's watch! Steed threatens steed in high and boasting neighings, Piercing the night's dull ear. Hark! From the tents The armorers, accomplishing the knights, With clink of hammers closing rivets up, Give dreadful note of preparation: while some, With patience sit, and inly ruminate The morning's danger. By yon Heaven, my stern Who, like a foul and ugly witch, does limp So tediously away. I'll to my couch, And once more try to sleep her into morning. XXV.-The World compared to a Stage ALL the world's a stage; And all the men and women, merely players. Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. And then the whining School-boy; with his satchel, Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the Justice; And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts |