Gentlemen all, -alas! what shall I say?
My credit now stands on such slippery ground,
That one of two bad ways you must conceit me,
Either a coward or a flatterer.

That I did love thee, Cæsar, O, 't is true:
If, then, thy spirit look upon us now,
Shall it not grieve thee dearer than thy death,
To see thy Antony making his peace,
Shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes,
Most noble in the presence of thy corse?
Had I as many eyes as thou hast wounds,
Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood,
It would become me better, than to close
In terms of friendship with thine enemies.
Pardon me, Julius !- Here wast thou bayed, brave
hart;

Here didst thou fall; and here thy hunters stand,
Signed in thy spoil, and crimsoned in thy lethe.
O world, thou wast the forest to this hart;
And this, indeed, O world, the heart of thee. -
How like a deer, stricken by many princes,
Dost thou here lie?

TO THE PEOPLE.

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. The noble Brutus
Hath told you Cæsar was ambitious :
If it was so, it was a grievous fault;
And grievously hath Cæsar answered 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 Caesar 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.
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 honorable 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 art fled to brutish beasts,
And men have lost their reason!— Bear with me;
My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar,
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 to 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 honorable men : I will not do them wrong; I rather choose To wrong the dead, to wrong myself, and you, Than I will wrong such honorable men. But here's a parchment, with the seal of Cæsar, I found it in his closet, 't is his will: Let but the commons hear this testament, (Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read,) And they would 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.

4 CITIZEN. We 'll hear the will: read it, Mark Antony.

CITIZENS. The will, the will! we will hear Cæsar's will.

ANT. Have patience, gentle friends, I must not read it;

It is not meet you know how Cæsar loved you.
You are not wood, you are not stones, but men ;
And, being men, hearing the will of Cæsar,
It will inflame you, it will make you mad :
'T is 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'll hear it, Antony; You shall read us the will, Cæsar's will.

ANT. Will you be patient? Will you stay a while?

I have o'ershot myself to tell you of it.
I fear I wrong the honorable men
Whose daggers have stabbed Cæsar; 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 corse of Cæsar, And let me show you him that made the will. Shall I descend? and will you give me leave? CITIZENS. Come down.

ANT. Nay, press not so upon me; stand far off. CITIZENS. 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 Cæsar put it on ;
"T was 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 stabbed;
And, as he plucked his cursed steel away,
Mark how the blood of Cæsar followed it,
As rushing out of doors, to be resolved
If Brutus so unkindly knocked, or no;
For Brutus, as you know, was Cæsar's angel:
Judge, O you gods, how dearly Cæsar loved
him!

This was the most unkindest cut of all;
For when the noble Cæsar saw him stab,
Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms,
Quite vanquished him: then burst his mighty
heart;

And, in his mantle muffling up his face,
Even at the base of Pompey's statua,
Which all the while ran blood, great Cæsar fell.
O, what a fall was there, my countrymen !
Then I, and you, and all of us fell down,
Whilst bloody treason flourished 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 Cæsar's vesture wounded? Look you here,
Here is himself, marred, as you see, with traitors.

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 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.

Here is the will, and under Cæsar's seal :

It will be granted. We may all then live
To make these woes a tale for distant years;
O, what a thought! It gushes to my heart
Like the warm blood.

BEATR.
Yet both will soon be cold.
O, trample out that thought! Worse than despair,
Worse than the bitterness of death, is hope;
It is the only ill which can find place
Upon the giddy, sharp, and narrow hour
Tottering beneath us. Plead with the swift frost
That it should spare the eldest flower of spring;
Plead with awakening earthquake, o'er whose

couch

Even now a city stands, fair, strong, and free;
Now stench and blackness yawns, like death.
O, plead

With famine, or wind-walking pestilence,
Blind lightning, or the deaf sea, not with man!
Cruel, cold, formal man righteous in words,
In deeds a Cain. No, mother, we must die,
Since such is the reward of innocent lives,
Such the alleviation of worst wrongs.
And whilst our murderers live, and hard, cold men,
Smiling and slow, walk through a world of tears
To death as to life's sleep, 't were just the grave

Were some strange joy for us. Death,

And wind me in thine all-embracing arms!
Like a fond mother hide me in thy bosom,
And rock me to the sleep from which none wake.

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.

OTHELLO'S DESPAIR.

FROM "OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE." THE LAMENTATION.

O, NOW, forever

Farewell the tranquil mind! farewell content! Farewell the pluméd troop, and the big wars, That make ambition virtue! O, farewell! Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump, The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife, The royal banner, and all quality,

Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war! And, O you mortal engines, whose rude throats The immortal Jove's dread clamors counterfeit, Farewell! Othello's occupation's gone!

Had it pleased Heaven

To try me with affliction; had he rained
All kinds of sores, and shames, on my bare head;
Steeped me in poverty to the very lips;
Given to captivity me and my utmost hopes;
I should have found in some part of my soul
A drop of patience: but, alas, to make me
A fixed figure, for the time of scorn
To point his slow unmoving finger at !
Yet could I bear that too; well, very well:
But there, where I have garnered up my heart,
Where either I must live, or bear no life,
The fountain from the which my current runs,
Or else dries up; to be discarded thence!

THE MURDER.

-

It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul,
Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars!
It is the cause. — Yet I'll not shed her blood;
Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow,
And smooth as monumental alabaster.
Yet she must die, else she 'll betray more men.
Put out the light, and then- Put out the light!
If I quench thee, thou flaming minister,
I can again thy former light restore,
Should I repent me:- - but once put out thy light,
Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature,
I know not where is that Promethean heat,
That can thy light relume. When I have plucked

thy rose,

more:

Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee,
And love thee after:-one more, and this the last:
So sweet was ne'er so fatal. I must weep,
But they are cruel tears: this sorrow's heavenly:
It strikes, where it doth love.

THE REMORSE.

Behold, I have a weapon;

A better never did itself sustain
Upon a soldier's thigh: I have seen the day,
That, with this little arm and this good sword,
I have made my way through more impediments
Than twenty times your stop:-but, O vain boast!
Who can control his fate? 't is not so now. -

Be not afraid, though you do see me weaponed;
Here is my journey's end, here is my butt,
And very sea-mark of my utmost sail.
Do you go back dismayed? 't is a lost fear;
Man but a rush against Othello's breast,
And he retires: - where should Othello go?-
Now, how dost thou look now? Oill-starred wench!
Pale as thy smock! when we shall meet at compt,
This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven,
And fiends will snatch at it. Cold, cold, my girl!
Even like thy chastity. -
O cursed, cursed slave! Whip me, ye devils,
From the possession of this heavenly sight!
Blow me about in winds! roast me in sulphur!
Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire !-
O Desdemona! Desdemona! dead! Oh! Oh! Oh!

Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees
Their medicinal gum. Set you down this;
Where a malignant and a turbaned Turk
And say, besides,
that in Aleppo once,
Beat a Venetian, and traduced the state,
I took by the throat the circumcised dog,
And smote him- thus. [Stabs himself.

SHAKESPEARE.

THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM.

T WAS in the prime of summer time,
An evening calm and cool,

And four-and-twenty happy boys

Came bounding out of school;

There were some that ran, and some that leapt Like troutlets in a pool.

Away they sped with gamesome minds

And souls untouched by sin;

To a level mead they came, and there
They drave the wickets in:
Pleasantly shone the setting sun
Over the town of Lynn.

Like sportive deer they coursed about,
And shouted as they ran,
Turning to mirth all things of earth

As only boyhood can;

But the usher sat remote from all,
A melancholy man !

His hat was off, his vest apart,

To catch heaven's blessed breeze;

For a burning thought was in his brow,
And his bosom ill at ease;

So he leaned his head on his hands, and read
The book between his knees.

Leaf after leaf he turned it o'er,

Nor ever glanced aside,

For the peace of his soul he read that book

In the golden eventide;
Much study had made him very lean,
And pale, and leaden-eyed.

At last he shut the ponderous tome;
With a fast and fervent grasp
He strained the dusky covers close,
And fixed the brazen hasp:
"O God! could I so close my mind,
And clasp it with a clasp !"

Then leaping on his feet upright,

Some moody turns he took,

Now up the mead, then down the mead,

And past a shady nook,

And, lo he saw a little boy

That pored upon a book.

"My gentle lad, what is 't you read, Romance or fairy fable?

Or is it some historic page,

Of kings and crowns unstable?"

The young boy gave an upward glance, -
"It is "The Death of Abel.'"

The usher took six hasty strides,
As smit with sudden pain,
Six hasty strides beyond the place,

Then slowly back again;
And down he sat beside the lad,

And talked with him of Cain;

“And well,” quoth he, "I know for truth Their pangs must be extreme

Woe, woe, unutterable woe!

Who spill life's sacred stream.

For why? Methought, last night I wrought A murder, in a dream!

"One that had never done me wrong,

A feeble man and old;

I led him to a lonely field,

The moon shone clear and cold: Now here, said I, this man shall die, And I will have his gold!

"Two sudden blows with a ragged stick,

And one with a heavy stone,

One hurried gash with a hasty knife, -
And then the deed was done :
There was nothing lying at my feet
But lifeless flesh and bone!

"Nothing but lifeless flesh and bone,
That could not do me ill;
And yet I feared him all the more
For lying there so still :

There was a manhood in his look
That murder could not kill!

"My head was like an ardent coal, My heart as solid ice;

My wretched, wretched soul, I knew, Was at the Devil's price.

A dozen times I groaned, the dead Had never groaned but twice.

66

'And now, from forth the frowning sky, From the heaven's topmost height,

I heard a voice, the awful voice

Of the blood-avenging sprite : "Thou guilty man! take up thy dead, And hide it from my sight!'

"And I took the dreary body up,

And cast it in a stream,
The sluggish water black as ink,
The depth was so extreme :
My gentle boy, remember, this
Is nothing but a dream!

"Down went the corse with a hollow plunge, And vanished in the pool;

Anon I cleansed my bloody hands,

And washed my forehead cool, And sat among the urchins young,

That evening, in the school.

"O Heaven! to think of their white souls, And mine so black and grim !

I could not share in childish prayer,
Nor join in evening hymn;
Like a devil of the pit I seemed,
'Mid holy cherubim !

"And Peace went with them, one and all,
And each calm pillow spread;

But Guilt was my grim chamberlain,
That lighted me to bed,

And drew my midnight curtains round
With fingers bloody red!

"All night I lay in agony,

In anguish dark and deep;

My fevered eyes I dared not close,
But stared aghast at Sleep;
For Sin had rendered unto her
The keys of hell to keep!
"All night I lay in agony,

From weary chime to chime;

With one besetting horrid hint

"Heavily I rose up, as soon

As light was in the sky,

And sought the black accurséd pool
With a wild, misgiving eye;
And I saw the dead in the river-bed,
For the faithless stream was dry.

"Merrily rose the lark, and shook
The dew-drop from its wing;

But I never marked its morning flight,
I never heard it sing,

For I was stooping once again
Under the horrid thing.

"With breathless speed, like a soul in chase, I took him up and ran;

There was no time to dig a grave

Before the day began,

In a lonesome wood, with heaps of leaves, I hid the murdered man!

"And all that day I read in school,

But my thought was otherwhere;
As soon as the midday task was done,
In secret I was there,
And a mighty wind had swept the leaves,
And still the corse was bare!
"Then down I cast me on my face,

And first began to weep,
For I knew my secret then was one
That earth refused to keep, -
Or land or sea, though he should be
Ten thousand fathoms deep.
"So wills the fierce avenging sprite,
Till blood for blood atones!
Ay, though he 's buried in a cave,

And trodden down with stones,
And years have rotted off his flesh, -
The world shall see his bones!

"O God! that horrid, horrid dream Besets me now awake!

Again again, with dizzy brain,

The human life I take;

-