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Cit. The will, the will; we will hear Cesar's will. Ant. Have patience, gentle friends, I must not read it; It is not meet you know how Cesar lov'd you. You are not wood, you are not stones, but men; And, being men, hearing the will of Cesar, It will inflame you, it will make you mad : "Tis good you know not that you are his heirs; For if you should, O, what would come of it!
4 Cit. Read the will; we will hear it, Antony; You shall read us the will; Cesar's will.
Ant. Will you be patient? Will you stay awhile?
I have o'ershot myself, to tell you of it.
I fear I wrong the honorable men,
Whose daggers have stabb'd Cesar: I do fear it.
4 Cit. They were traitors: Honorable men!
Cit. The will! the testament!
2 Cit. They were villains, murderers: The will! read the will!
Ant. You will compel me then to read the will?—
Then make a ring about the corpse of Cesar,
And let me shew you him that made the will.
Shall I descend? And will you give me leave?
Cit. Come down.
2 Cit. Descend.
[He comes down from the Pulpit.
3 Cit. You shall have leave. 4 Cit. A ring; stand round.
1 Cit. Stand from the hearse, stand from the body. 2 Cit. Room for Antony ;-most noble Antony.
Ant. Nay, press not so upon me; stand far off.
Cit. Stand back! room! bear back!
Ant. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. You all do know this mantle: I remember
The first time ever Cesar 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 Cesar follow'd it!
As rushing out of doors, to be resolv'd
If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no;
For Brutus, as you know, was Cesar's angel:
Judge, O you gods, how dearly Cesar lov'd him!
This was the most unkindest cut of all:
For when the noble Cesar 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 Cesar fell.
O, what a fall was there, my countrymen!
Then I, and you, and all of us fell down,
Whilst bloody treason flourish'd 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 Cesar's vesture wounded? Look you here,
Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors.
1 Cit. O piteous spectacle!
2 Cit. O noble Cesar!
3 Cit. O woeful day!
4 Cit. O traitors, villains!
1 Cit. O most bloody sight!
2 Cit. We will be revenged: revenge; about,-seek,— burn,-fire,-kill,-slay!-let not a traitor live.
Ant. Stay, countrymen.
1 Cit. Peace there:-Hear the noble Antony.
2 Cit. We'll hear him, we'll follow him, we'll die with him. Ant. Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up To such a sudden flood of mutiny.
They, that have done this deed, are honorable;
What private griefs they have, alas, I know not,
That made them do it; they are wise and honorable,
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 Cesar'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 Cesar, that should move
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.
BURIAL OF IMOGEN BY THE PEASANTS, BELARIUS, ARVIRAGUS, AND guiderius.
Enter ARVIRAGUS, bearing IMOGEN, as dead, in his arms.
Bel. Look, here he comes!
And brings the dire occasion in his arms,
Of what we blame him for.
Arv. The bird is dead
That we have made so much on. I had rather
Have skipp'd from sixteen years of age to sixty;
To have turned my leaping time into a crutch,
Than have seen this.
Guid. Oh sweetest, fairest lily!
My brother wears thee not the one half so well,
As when thou grew'st thyself.
Bel. O, melancholy!
Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? find
The ooze, to shew what coast thy sluggish crare
Might easiliest harbor in ?-Thou blessed thing!
Jove knows, what man thou might'st have made; but I,
Thou dy'st, a most rare boy, of melancholy !-
How found you him?
Arv. Stark, as you see;
Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber,
Not as death's dart, being laughed at: his right cheek
Reposing on a cushion.
Arv. O' the floor,
His arms thus leagu'd. I thought he slept; and put
My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudeness
Answered my steps too loud.
Guid. Why, he but sleeps:
If he be gone, he 'll make his grave a bed;
With female fairies will his tomb be haunted,
And worms will not come to thee.
Arv. With fairest flowers,
Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele,
I'll sweeten thy sad grave. Thou shalt not lack
The flower, that 's like thy face, pale primrose; nor
The azur'd hair-bell, like thy veins; no, nor
The leaf of eglantine, whom, not to slander,
Out-sweeten'd not thy breath. The ruddock would,
With charitable bill (O bill, sore-shaming
Those rich-left heirs, that let their fathers lie
Without a monument!) bring thee all this;
Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none,
To winter-ground thy corse.-
Guid. Pr'ythee have done;
And do not play in wench-like words with that
Which is so serious. Let us bury him,
And not protract with admiration what
Is now due debt. To the grave.
Arv. Say, where shall we lay him?
Guid. By good Euriphile, our mother.
Arv. Be 't so:
And let us Polydore, though now our voices
Have got the mannish crack, sing him to the ground,
As once our mother; use like note, and words,
Save that Euriphile must be Fidele.
I cannot sing; I'll weep and word it with thee:
For notes of sorrow out of tune, are worse
Than priests and fanes that lie.
Arv. We'll speak it then.
Bel. Great griefs, I see, medicine the less: for Cloten
Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys;
And, though he came our enemy, remember,
He was paid for that: though mean and mighty, rotting
Together, have one dust; yet reverence,
(That angel of the world) doth make distinction
Of place 'tween high and low. Our foe was princely;
And though you took his life, as being our foe,
Yet bury him as a prince.
Guid. Pray you, fetch him hither.
Thersites' body is as good as Ajax,
When neither are alive.
Arv. If you 'll go fetch him,
We'll say our song the whilst.—Brother begin.
[Exit BELARIUS. Guid. Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to the East; My father hath a reason for 't.
Arv. "T is true.
Guid. Come on then, and remove him.
Arv. So, begin.
Guid. Fear no more the heat o' the sun,
Nor the furious winter's rages;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages:
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.
Arv. Fear no more the frown o' the great,
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;
Care no more to clothe, and eat;
To thee the reed is as the oak:
The sceptre, learning, physic, must
All follow this, and come to dust.
Guid. Fear no more the lightning-flash,
Arv. Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;
Guid. Fear not slander, censure rash;
Arv. Thou hast finish'd joy and moan.
Both. All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee, and come to dust.
Guid. No exorciser harm thee!
Arv. Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Guid. Ghost, unlaid, forbear thee!
Arv. Nothing ill come near thee!
Both. Quiet consummation have!
And renowned be thy grave!
Re-enter BELARIUS, with the body of CLOTEN.
Guid. We have done our obsequies: Come lay him down. Bel. Here's a few flowers, but about midnight, more: The herbs, that have on them cold dew o' the night, Are strewings fitt'st for graves.-Upon their faces:You were as flowers, now wither'd: even so These herb'lets shall, which we upon you strew.— Come on, away. Apart upon our knees. -The ground, that gave them first, has them again: Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain.
A part of the heath, with a hovel.
Kent. Here is the place, my lord; good my lord, enter. The tyranny of the open night's too rough For nature to endure.
Lear. Let me alone.
Kent. Good my lord, enter here.
Lear. Wilt break my heart?
Kent. I'd rather break mine own; good my lord, enter. Lear. Thou think'st 'tis much, that this contentious storm Invades us to the skin: so 'tis to thee;
But where the greater malady is fix'd,
The lesser is scarce felt. Thou'dst shun a bear;
But if thy flight lay toward the raging sea,
Thou'dst meet the bear i'the mouth. When the mind's free
The body's delicate: the tempest in my mind
Doth from my senses take all feeling else,
Save what beats there.-Filial ingratitude!
Is it not, as this mouth should tear this hand,
For lifting food to't?-But I will punish home;
No, I will weep no more.-In such a night,
To shut me out:-Pour on; I will endure!-