To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart,
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate,
Whereof by parcels she had something heard,
But not distinctively. I did consent,
And often did beguile her of her tears,
When I did speak of some distressful stroke
That my youth suffer'd. My story being done,
She gave me for my pains a world of sighs.

She said, in truth, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange;
'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful -

She wish'd she had not heard it-yet she wish'd
That heaven had made her such a man. She thank'd me,

And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her,

I should but teach him how to tell my story,

And that would woo her. On this hint I spake.
She loved me for the dangers I had pass'd;
And I loved her, that she did pity them.
This only is the witchcraft I have used.

SHAKSPERE.

SHYLOCK MEDITATING REVENGE.

Hath not a Jew

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? 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

Ꮓ

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.

SHAKSPERE.

SOLILOQUY OF RICHARD III.

Now is the winter of our discontent

Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
And all the clouds, that lower'd upon our house,
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.

Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;
Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front;
And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds,
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber,
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.

But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass,
I, that am rudely stamp'd and want love's majesty,
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable,
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them;
Why I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to see my shadow in the sun,

And descant on mine own deformity:

And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,
To entertain these fair, well-spoken days,
I am determined to prove a villain,
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams,
To set my brother Clarence, and the king,
In deadly hate the one against the other:
And, if king Edward be as true and just,
As I am subtle, false, and treacherous,

This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up,
About a prophecy, which says - that G.

Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be.

Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here Clarence comes.

SHAKSPERE.

MARCELLUS' SPEECH TO THE MOB.

WHEREFORE rejoice? that Cæsar comes in triumph!

What conquest brings he home?

What tributaries follow him to Rome?

То

grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels?

You blocks! you stones! you worse than senseless things!
Oh, you hard hearts! you cruel men of Rome!
Knew ye not Pompey? Many a time and oft
Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements,
To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops
Your infants in your arms and there have sat

The live-long day, with patient expectation,

To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome?
And, when you saw his chariot but appear,
Have you not made an universal shout,
That Tiber trembled underneath his banks,

To hear the replication of your sounds,
Made in his concave shores?

And do you now put on your best attire?
And do you now cull out a holiday?

And do you now strew flowers in his way,
That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood?
Begone!

Run to your houses! fall upon your knees!
Pray to the gods to intermit the plagues,
That needs must light on this ingratitude!

SHAKSPERE.

BRUTUS ON CESAR'S DEATH.

ROMANS, Countrymen, and Lovers! — hear me for my cause; and be silent, that you may hear. Believe me for mine honor; and have respect to mine honor, 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's 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 honor him; but, as he was ambitious, I slew him! There are tears for his love, joy for his fortune, honor for his valor, and death for his ambition! Who's here so base, that would be a bondman? if any, speak! for him have I offended. Who's here so rude, that would not be a Roman? if any, speak! for him have I offended. Who's here so vile, that will not love his country? if any, speak! for him have I offended. - I pause for a reply.

None? then none have I offended! Cæsar, than you should do to Brutus.

I have done no more to 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, mourned 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.

SHAKSPERE.

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

And grievously hath Cæsar answer'd it !
Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest ·
For Brutus is an honorable man!

So are they all! all honorable 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 honorable 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 honorable man!