Mark Antony's Oration.

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!-Noble Brutus
Hath told you, Cæsar was ambitious-
If it was 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,
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 hast 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 as 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 his testament-
Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read,—
And they will 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!

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 follow'd it!-
As rushing out of doors, to be resolved
If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no;

For Brutus, as you know, was Cæsar's angel!-
Judge, O ye gods, how dearly Cæsar loved him!
This, this was the unkindest cut of all;

For when the noble Cæsar saw him stab!-
Ingratitude, more strong than traitor's 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!
Oh, what a fall was there, my countrymen!
Then I, and you, and all of us, fell down;
Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us!
Oh, 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-marr'd, as you see, by traitors!-

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 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 loves his 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!

Shylock justifying his Meditated Revenge.

Ibid

If it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced me, and hindered me of half a million! laughed at my losses, mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated my enemies! And what's his reason? I am a Jew! Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands? organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? Is he not fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same summer and winter, as a Christian is? If you stab us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that! If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian example? Why, Revenge! The villany you teach me I will execute; and it shall go hard, but I will better the instruction.

Ibid.

Tell.

SCALING yonder peak!

I saw an eagle, wheeling near its brow
O'er the abyss. His broad expanded wings
Lay calm and motionless upon the air,
As if he floated there, without their aid,
By the sole act of his unlorded will
That buoy'd him proudly up!-Instinctively
I bent my bow!-yet kept he rounding still
His aëry circle, as in the delight

Of measuring the ample range beneath,
And round about, absorb'd, he heeded not

The death that threaten'd him!-I couldn't shoot!
'Twas liberty!-I turned my bow aside
And let him soar away!

When I wedded thee

The land was free!-O with what pride, I us'd
To walk these hills, and look up to my God
And bless him that it was so!-It was free!-
From end to end, from cliff to lake, 'twas free!-
Free as our torrents are, that leap our rocks,
And plough our vallies, without asking leave;
Or as our peaks, that wear their caps of snow,
In very presence of the regal sun!

How happy was I in it then!-I lov'd

Its very storms!-Yes, Emma!—I have sat

In my boat, at night, when down the mountain gorge
The wind came, roaring-sat in it, and ey'd
The thunder breaking from his cloud, and smil'd
To see him shake his lightnings o'er my head,
And think I had no master, save his own!
You know the jutting cliff, round which a track
Up hither winds, whose base is but the brow
To such another one?-O'ertaken there
By the mountain blast I've laid me flat along,
And while gust followed gust more furiously,
As if 'twould sweep me o'er the horrid brink,
And I have thought of other lands, whose storms
Are summer-flaws to those of mine, and just
Have wish'd me there; the thought that mine was free
Has check'd that wish, and I have rais'd my head,
And cried, in thraldom, to that furious wind,
Blow on! This is the land of liberty!

Knowles.

Brutus and Cassius.

Cas. That you have wrong'd me doth appear in this: You have condemn'd and noted Lucius Pella, For taking bribes here of the Sardians; Wherein, my letters, praying on his side, Because I knew the man, were slighted off.

Bru. You wrong'd yourself, to write in such a case. Cas. In such a time as this, it is not meet That every nice offence should bear its comment. Bru. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself Are much condemn'd to have an itching palm; To sell and mart your offices for gold, To undeservers.

Cas. I an itching palm?

You know that you are Brutus that speak this,
Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last.
Bru. The name of Cassius honours this corruption,
And chastisement doth therefore hide his head.

Cas. Chastisement!

Bru. Remember March, the ides of March remember! Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake? What villain touch'd his body, that did stab, And not for justice? What! shall one of us, That struck the foremost man of all this world, But for supporting robbers; shall we now Contaminate our fingers with base bribes? And sell the mighty space of our large honours, For so much trash as may be grasped thus?I'd rather be a dog, and bay the moon, Than such a Roman.

Cas. Brutus, bay not me,

I'll not endure it: you forget yourself,
To hedge me in; I am a soldier, I,
Older in practice, abler than yourself
To make conditions.

Bru. Go to; you're not, Cassius.
Cas. I am.

Bru. I say, you are not.

Cas. Urge me no more, I shall forget myself; Have mind upon your health, tempt me no further. Bru. Away, slight man!

Cas. Is't possible?