A Thousand and One Gems of English Poetry

honourable;

And dip their napkins in his sacred blood; | They, that have done this deed, are
Yea, beg a hair of him for memory,
And, dying, mention it within their wills,
Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy,
Unto their issue.

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-beloved Brutus stabb'd;

And, as he pluck'd his cursed steel away, Mark how the blood of Cæsar followed it!

As rushing out of doors, to be resolv'd
If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no.
For Brutus, as you know, was Cæsar's
angel:

Judge, O you gods! how dearly Cæsar lov'd him!

This was the most unkindest cut of all; For, when the noble Cæsar saw him stab, Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms,

Quite vanquish'd 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.

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.

come not, friends, to steal away your hearts;

I am no orator, as Brutus is;

But, as you know me all, a plain blunt

THE QUARREL OF BRUTUS
AND CASSIUS.

Cas. Come, Antony, and young Oc. tavius, come,

Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius,
For Cassius is a-weary of the world;
Hated by one he loves; braved by his
brother ;

Checked like a bondman; all his faults observed,

Good Friends, sweet friends, let me not Set in a note-book, learn'd, and conn'd

by rote,

To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep

My spirit from mine eyes!-There is my | He, only, in a general honest thought, And common good to all, made one of them.

dagger,

And here my naked breast; within, a heart

Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold;

If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth; I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart:

Strike, as thou didst at Cæsar; for, I

know,

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!"

When thou didst hate him worst, thou MACBETH'S MENTAL STRUGGLE

lovedst him better

Than ever thou lovedst Cassius.

Bru.

Sheath your dagger.

Be angry when you will, it shall have scope;

Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour.

O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb,
That carries anger, as the flint bears fire;
Who, much enforcéd, shows a hasty
spark,

And straight is cold again.
Cas.

Hath Cassius lived To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus,

When grief, and blood ill-tempered, vexeth him?

Bru. When I spoke that, I was illtempered too.

Cas. Do you confess so much? give me your hand. Bru. And my heart too.

Cas.

O Brutus !

Bru. What's the matter? Cas. Have you not love enough to bear with me, When that rash humour, which my mother gave me, Makes me forgetful?

Bru. Yes, Cassius; and, henceforth, When you are over-earnest with your Brutus,

He'll think your mother chides, and leave

you so.

ANTONY'S DESCRIPTION OF

BRUTUS.

THIS was the noblest Roman of them all;
All the conspirators, save only he,
Did that they did in envy of great Cæsar;

Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim | The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief

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

candle!

Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player,

That struts and frets his hour upon the
stage,

To prick the sides of my intent, but only And then is heard no more; it is a tale
Vaulting ambition, which o'er-leaps it-Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
self,
Signifying nothing.

And falls on the other side.-How now?

what news?

Lady. He has almost supp'd; why THE REPOSE OF THE GRAVE, have you left the chamber?

Macb. Hath he asked for me?
Lady.
Know you not he has?
Mach. We will proceed no further in
this business :

He hath honour'd me of late; and I have
bought

Golden opinions from all sorts of people, Which would be worn now in the newest gloss,

Not cast aside so soon.

Lady.
Was the hope drunk
Wherein you dress'd yourself? hath it
slept since?

And wakes it now, to look so green and
pale

At what it did so freely? From this time Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard

To be the same in thine own act and

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 further.

THE VISIONARY DAGGER.
Is this a dagger which I see before me,
The handle toward my hand? Come,
let me clutch thee.

I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
To feeling as to sight? or art thou but
A dagger of the mind; a false creation,
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
I see thee yet, in form as palpable
As this which now I draw.

Thou marshall'st me the way that I was
going;

And such an instrument I was to use.
Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other

senses,

Or else worth all the rest; I see thee still, And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood,

Which was not so before.-There's no
such thing:

It is the bloody business, which informs
Thus to mine eyes.

REMORSE.

WHENCE is that knocking?

How is 't with me, when every noise appals me?

What hands are here? Ha! they pluck | I must not look to have; but in their

out mine eyes!

Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood