I have not kn'own/ when his affections/ swayed
Mor'e than his rea'son. But, 'tis a common pro'of,
That low'liness is young ambition's lad'der ;
(Whereto the climber up'wards turns his fa'ce ;)
B’ut, when he once atta'ins the utmost rosund,
He then unto the la'dder turns his ba'ck,
Loo'ks in the clo’uds, scorning the base degrees
By whi'ch/ he did asce'nd: so Cæsar m'ay.
Theʼn, les't he m’ay, preve'nt. And, since the quarrel
Will bear no co'lour, for the thing he is',
Fashion it th'us,-th’at wha't he is, augme'nted,
Would run to the’se, and the se-extre'mities :
And there'fore, thi’nk him as a se’rpent's e'gg/
Whi'ch hatc'hed/ woʻuld, as his kin'd, grow mischievous ;
And k'ill-him/ in the she'll.

APPEAL OF BRUTUS TO THE ROMAN PEOPLE, ON THE DEATH OF CÆSAR.

SHAKSPEARE. RO'MANS, countrymen, and lo'vers ! hear' me for my cause', and be si'lent, that you may he'ar. Belie've me, for mine hon'our, and have respect' to mine hoʻnour, that

you may believe'. Cen'sure me/ in your wis'dom, and awake your sen'ses, that you may the better judge'. If there be any in this asse'mbly, any dear friend of Ca'sar's, to him' I say', that Bruîtus'* love to Cæ'sar, was no le'ss than his. If then that friend demand, why Bruotus rose against Cæsar, this is my answer: Not that I loved Cæʻsar less', but that I loved Roomě moʻre. Had you rather Cæsar were li'ving, and die all sla“ves; than that Cæsar were dead', to live all free'men ? As Cæsar lo'ved me, I weep' for him ; as he was for'tunate, I rejoice' at it; as he was va'liant, I ho'nour him; but, as he was ambi'tious, I slew him. There are tear's/ for his love', joy' for his fortune, ho'nour for his va’lour, but death/ for his ambiotion. Who's here-so base', that would be a bond'man? If any',

speak'; for him' have I offend'ed. Who's here so rude', that would not be a Ro'man ? If a'ny, speak'; for hin' have I offen'ded. Who's here so vile, that will not love his cou’ntry ?* If any', speak'; for him have I offen'ded. -I pause' for a reply

No ne ?—then none' have I offe’nded – I have done no more to Ce'sar, than you should do to Brutus. The question of his death') is enrolled in the Ca'pitol : his gl'ory not exten'uated, wherein he was wor'thy: nor his offeʼnces enfor'ced, for wh'ich he suffered de ath'.

Here comes his body, mourn'ed/ by Mark Antony: wh’o, though he had no hand in his death', shall receive the be“nefit of his d’ying (a pl'ace/ in the com’monwealth ;) as whic'h of you/ sh'all not? With th'is/ I depart', that, as I slew my best lo'ver/ for the good of Rome', I have the same dag'ger for my self, when it shall please' my coun'try to nee'd my death'.

Concluding

tone.

ANTONY'S FUNERAL ORATION OVER

CÆSAR'S BODY.

SHAKSPEARE.
FRIENDS', Ro'mans, Country'men, lend' me your ears'.
I come to bu'ry Cæsar,, not to praise him.
The e’vil) that men do/ lives after them;
The goood/ is oft interredt with their bones';
So let it be'/ with Cæ'sar. The noble Brutus
Hath told you, Cæsar was ambi'tious :
If it weré-so, it was a grievous fa'ult;
And grie'vously/ hath Cæsar an'swered it.
Here', under leave of Brutus, and the rest',
(For Brutus is an ho'nourable man',
So are they all', all' ho'nourable men')
Come I to speak in Cæsar's fu'neral.
He was my friend', faithful and just to mé';

But Bru'tus says, he was ambi'tious ;
And Brutus is an hon'ourable man.
He hath brought many captives home to Rome',
Whose ran'soms/ did the g'eneral-coffers fill';
Did this' in Cæsar seem amb'itious ?
When that the poor' have crised, Cæ'sar hath wept';
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff :-
Yet Bru'tus says, he was ambi'tious ;
And Brutus is an ho'nourable man.
You all did see', that, on the Lu'percal,
I thrice presented him a kingly crown';
Which he did thrice refuse'.- Was this' ambition ?
Yet Bru'tus says, he wa's ambitious ;
And sure' he is an hoʻnourable 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 ca'use.)
What cause withholds you, then, to moʻurn for him ?
O judgʻment ! thou art fled to the brutish beasts,
And men' have lost their rea'son.—Bea'r with me,-
My hear't/ is in the coffin there with Cæ'sar,
And I must pause'/ till it come back' to me.
If
you
have tears',

, prepare to she'd them now.
You all do know this man'tle : I remember
The first time ever Cæsar put it on',
('Twas on a summer's evening in his tent',)
That day' he overcame the Ner'vii-
Look'! in this place ran Cas'sius' dagger thro'ugh;
See what a rent| the envious Ca’sca ma'de !
Through this the well-beloved Brutu's stabbed ;
And, as he plucked his cursed steel away,
Mark how the blood of Cæ“sar foʻllowed-it !
(As rushing out of doors', to be resolved,
If Bru^tus/ so unkindly knock'ed, or no',
For Brutus, as you know, was Cæ'sar's an'gel.)
Judge', Oye gods'! how dearly Cæsar loved him ;
Th'is, this was the unkindest cu't of a'll ;
For, when the noble Cæsar saw him' stab,
Ingra'titude (more strong than trai tor's arms')
Quite vanq'uished him ; then burst his mighty he'art;
And, in his man'tle, muffling up his face',
(Even at the base of Pompey's statue,

Which all the while ran blood) great Cæsar fell' ;
O wha't a fall was there', my coun’trymen !
Then I, and you', and all of us fell down',
While bloody trea'son/ f'ourished o'ver us.
O! now you weep'; and, I perceive', you feel
The dint of pity'; these are gra'cious dr'ops.
Kind soʻuls ;* whať ! we'ep you when you but behold
Our Cæsar's ves'ture wounded ? look

you

here'! Here is himself, m'arred (as you see') by trai tors.

Good friends', swe^et friends, let me not stir you up
To any sudden flood' of mu'tiny.
They that have done this deed are ho‘nourable.
What pri vate griefs they have', alas' ! I know not,
That made them do' it; they are wi“se and hownourable ;
And will', no doubt', with rea‘son answer you.
I come not', friends', to steal away' your hearts';
I am no orator, as Bru'tus is :
But, as you know me all', a plain', blunt' man',
That lov'e my friend'; and that/ they know full well,
That gave me public leave to speak' of him :
For Ī have neither w'it, nor wo'rds, nor wor'th,
Action, nor utterance, nor the poswer of spee'ch,
To stir men's blo'od; I only speak right on':
I tell you that', which

you yourselves' do know';
Show you sweet Cæsar's wounds', (poo'r, poʻor/ dumb'mouths' !)
And bid them' speak for mé':- But, were I Bru' tus,
And Brutus Anotony, there were' an Antony
Would rufile up your spi'rits, and put a tongue
In e'very-wound of Ca'sar, that should move
The stołnes of Rome', to ris'e and muotiny.

There is a liquid sound of the k, c, and g hard, before the vowels a and i, which gives a smooth and elegant sound to the words in which they occur, and which distinguishes the polite pronunciation of London, from that of every other part of the island. This pronunciation is nearly as if the a and i were preceded by e. Thus kind is pronounced as if written ke-ind ; card, as ke-ard; and regard, as re-ge-ard. The words that require this liquid sound, are sky, kind, guide, girl, garden, guise, guile, card, cart, guard, and regard, &c. ; these, and their compounds, are nearly all of the words where this sound occurs ; but these are so much in use, as to be sufficient to mark a speaker as either coarse or elegant, as he adopts or neglects it.

This sound is taken notice of by Steele, in his English Grammar, so long ago as the reign of Queen Anne.

F 5

QUARREL OF BRUTUS AND CASSIUS.

SHAKSPEARE. Cas. That you have wron'ged-me, doth appesar/ in this', You have condem'ned and no'ted Lucius Pe'lla For taking bri'bes here of the Sa'rdians ; Where'in my let'ter (praying on his side, Because I knew the m'an) was slig'hted-of.

Bru. You wronged yourse'lf, to write in such a case.

Cas. In such a time as th'is, it is not me'et,
That

every nice o‘ffence, should bear its co'mment.
Bru. Yet let me te'll you, Ca’ssius, you yourse'lf
Are much condem'ned to have an itching paʻlm,
To s'ell and mar't-your-offices/ for gold,
To u'ndeser'vers.

Cas. I' an itching palm ?
You know that you are Brutus/ that spake th'is,
Or', by the go'ds, this spee'ch/ were else your

last'.
Bru. The name of Caʻssius/ honours this corr'uption,
And cha'stisement/ doth therefore hi'de its head.

Cas. Chasotisement !
Bru. Remember Marc'h, the i’des-of-March/ remem'ber!
Did not great Julius bleed for jusotice-sake ?
What villain touched his bo'dy, that did sta'b,
And no't for jusotice ? Wh'at ! shall one of us',
That struck the fore'most man of all this wor'ld,
(But for supporting* ro'bbers), shall we no'w
Contaminate our fingers with base bri'bes,
And sell the mighty me'ed of our large hoʻnours
For so much tra'sh as may be grasped th’us ?
I'd rather be a do'g, and bay the mo'on,
Than su'ch a R'oman.

Cas. Br’utus, ba'y not moe,
I'll not endu're it ; you forg'et-yourself,
To hedg'e-me-in ; I am a sol'dier, I',