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You all do know this mantle : I remember To
every Roman citizen he gives, The first time ever Cæsar put it on ;
To every several man, seventy-five drachmas. 'T was on a summer's evening, in his tent; 2 Cit. Most noble Cæsar ! — we'll revenge his That day he overcame the Nervii :
death. Look, in this place ran Cassius' dagger through : 3 Cit. O royal Cæsar ! See what a rent the envious Casca made:
ANT. Hear me with patience. Through this the well-belovéd Brutus stabbed ; CITIZENS. Peace, ho ! And, as he plucked his cursed steel away, ANT. Moreover, he hath left you all his walks, Mark how the blood of Cæsar followed it, His private arbors, and new-planted orchards, As rushing out of doors, to be resolved
On this side Tiber; he hath left them you, If Brutus so unkindly knocked, or no;
And to your heirs forever, common pleasures, For Brutus, as you know, was Cæsar's angel: To walk abroad, and recreate yourselves. Judge, O you gods, how dearly Cæsar loved Here was a Cæsar! when comes such another ? him !
1 Cit. Never, never ! Come away, away! This was the most unkindest cut of all ; We'll burn his body in the holy place, For when the noble Cæsar saw him stab,
And with the brands fire the traitors' houses. Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms, Take up the body. Quite vanquished him : then burst his mighty
0, Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, My God ! can it be possible I have Whilst bloody treason flourished over us. To die so suddenly? So young to go 0, now you weep; and, I perceive, you feel Under the obscure, cold, rotting, wormy ground / The dint of pity : these are gracious drops.
To be nailed down into a narrow place ; Kind souls, what, weep you when you but behold To see no more sweet sunshine ; hear no more Our Cæsar's vesture wounded ? Look you here, Blithe voice of living thing; muse not again Here is himself, marred, as you see, with traitors. Upon familiar thoughts, sad, yet thus lost,
How fearful ! Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir
LUCRETIA. you up
Child, perhaps To such a sudden flood of mutiny.
It will be granted. We may all then live They that have done this deed are honorable ;- To make these woes a tale for distant years ; What private griefs they have, alas, I know not, 0, what a thought! It gushes to my heart That made them do it ; – they are wise and Like the warm blood. honorable,
Yet both will soon be cold. And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. O, trample out that thought! Worse than despair, I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts ;
Worse than the bitterness of death, is hope ; I am no orator, as Brutus is ;
It is the only ill which can find place But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man, Upon the giddy, sharp, and narrow hour That love my friend ; and that they know full Tottering beneath us. Plead with the swift frost well
That it should spare the eldest flower of spring; That gave me public leave to speak of him : Plead with awakening earthquake, o'er whose For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth,
couch Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, Even now a city stands, fair, strong, and free; To stir men's blood : I only speak right on; Now stench and blackness yawns, like death. I tell you that which you yourselves do know; 0, plead Show you sweet Cæsar's wounds, poor, poor dumb With famine, or wind-walking pestilence, mouths,
Blind lightning, or the deaf sea, not with man! And bid them speak for me : but were I Brutus, Crnel, cold, formal man ! righteous in words, And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony In deeds a Cain. No, mother, we must die, Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue
Since such is the reward of innocent lives,
And whilstourmurderers live, and hard, cold men,
Smiling and slow, walk through a world of tears Here is the will, and under Cæsar's seal :- To death as to life's sleep, 't were just the grave
Were some strange joy for us. Come, obscure , o balmy breath, that dost almost persuade
Justice to break her sword ! - One more, one
So sweet was ne'er so fatal. I must weep,
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.
Behold, I have a weapon ;
A better never did itself sustain
Upon a soldier's thigh : 1 have seen the day,
That, with this little arm and this good sword, Farewell the tranquil mind ! farewell content !
I have made my way through more impediments Farewell the pluméd troop, and the big wars,
Than twenty times your stop: — but, О vain boast! That make ambition virtue! O, farewell !
Who can control his fate? 't is not so now,Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump, Be not afraid, though you do see me weaponed; The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife,
Here is my journey's end, here is my butt, The royal banner, and all quality,
And very sea-mark of my utmost sail. Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war ! Do you go back dismayed ? 't is a lost fear; And, O you mortal engines, whose rude throats
Man but a rush against Othello's breast, The immortal Jove's dread clamors counterfeit,
And he retires : - where should Othello go! Farewell ! Othello's occupation 's gone !
Now, how dost thou look now? O ill-starred wench!
Pale as thy smock ! when we shall meet at compt, Had it pleased Heaven
This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven, To try me with affliction ; had he rained
And fiends will snatch at it. Cold, cold, my girl ? All kinds of sores, and shames, on my bare head ;
Even like thy chastity.
O cursed, cursed slave ! - Whip me, ye devils, I should have found in some part of my soul
From the possession of this heavenly sight!
Blow me about in winds ! roast me in sulphur! A drop of patience : but, alas, to make me
Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire ! A fixed figure, for the time of scorn
O Desdemona! Desdemona! dead! Oh! Oh! Oh!
Soft you ; a word or two, before you go.
I have done the state some service, and they know Or else dries up; to be discarded thence !
No more of that. — I pray you, in your letters, THE MURDER.
When you shall these unlucky deeds relate, It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul,
Speak of me as I am ; nothing extenuate,
Nor set down aught in malice : then, must you Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars !. It is the cause. - Yet I 'll not shed her blood ;
speak Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow,
Of one that loved, not wisely, but too well ;
Of one not easily jealous, but, being wrought, And smooth as monuinental alabaster. Yet she must die, else she 'll betray more men.
Perplexed in the extreme ; of one, whose hand,
Like the base Indian, threw a pearl away, Put out the light, and then Put out the light! Richer than all his tribe ; of one, whose subdued If I quench thee, thou flaming minister,
eyes, I can again thy former light restore,
Albeit unused to the melting mood, Should I repent me: - but once put out thy light, Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature, Their medicinal gum. Set you down this ; I know not where is that Promethean heat,
And say, besides, - that in Aleppo once, That can thy light relume. When I have plucked Where a malignant and a turbaned Turk thy rose,
Beat a Venetian, and traduced the state, I cannot give it vital growth again,
I took by the throat the circumcised dog, It needs must wither:- I'll smell it on the tree.
And smote him - thus. [Stabs himself. (Kissing her.
THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM.
And, long since then, of bloody men,
Whose deeds tradition saves ; And lonely folk cut off unseen,
And hid in sudden graves ; And horrid stabs, in groves forlorn ;
And murders done in caves ; And how the sprites of injured men
Shriek upward from the sod ;
To show the burial clod;
Are seen in dreams from God.
'T was in the prime of summer time,
An evening calm and cool,
Came bounding out of school;
Like troutlets in a pool.
And souls untouched by sin ;
They drave the wickets in :
Over the town of Lynn.
And shouted as they ran,
As only boyhood can ;
A melancholy man !
To catch heaven's blessed breeze ;
And his bosom ill at ease ;
The book between his knees.
Nor ever glanced aside,
In the golden eventide ;
And pale, and leaden-eyed.
With a fast and fervent grasp
And fixed the brazen hasp :
And clasp it with a clasp !”
Some moody turns he took, -
And past a shady nook,
That pored upon a book. “My gentle lad, what is 't you read,
Romance or fairy fable ?
Of kings and crowns unstable ?"
“It is “The Death of Abel.'" The usher took six hasty strides,
As smit with sudden pain,
Then slowly back again ;
And talked with him of Cain;
He told how murderers walk the earth
Beneath the curse of Cain,
And flames about their brain ;
Its everlasting stain ! "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 !
A feeble man and old ;
The moon shone clear and cold :
And I will have his gold !
And one with a heavy stone,
And then the deed was done :
But lifeless flesh and bone !
That could not do me ill;
For lying there so still :
That murder could not kill ! “And, lo! the universal air
Seemed lit with ghastly flame, -
Were looking down in blame;
And called upon his name.
Such sense within the slain;
The blood gushed out amain !
Was scorching in my brain !
“My head was like an ardent coal,
My heart as solid ice ;
Was at the Devil's price.
Had never groaned but twice.
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 cast it in a stream, -
The depth was so extreme :
Is nothing but a dream ! “Down went the corse with a hollow plunge,
And vanished in the pool ;
And washed my forehead cool,
That evening, in the school. “O Heaven! to think of their white souls,
And mine so black and grim !
Nor join in evening hymn;
'Mid holy cherubim !
And each calm pillow spread ;
That lighted me to bed,
With fingers bloody red ! “ All night I lay in agony,
In anguish dark and deep;
But stared aghast at Sleep;
The keys of hell to keep ! “All night I lay in agony,
From weary chime to chime;
That racked me all the time,
Fierce impulse unto crime,
All other thoughts its slave ! Stronger and stronger every pulse
Did that temptation crave, Still urging me to go and see
The dead man in his grave !
“Heavily I rose up, as soon
As light was in the sky,
With a wild, misgiving eye ;
For the faithless stream was dry. “Merrily rose the lark, and shook
The dew-drop from its wing;
I never heard it sing,
Under the horrid thing. “With breathless speed, like a soul in chase,
I took him up and ran ;
Before the day began,
I hid the murdered man !
But my thought was otherwhere;
In secret I was there,
And still the corse was bare !
And first began to weep,
That earth refused to keep, –
Ten thousand fathoms deep.
Till blood for blood atones!
And trodden down with stones,
The world shall see his bones !
Besets me now awake!
The human life I take;
Like Cranmer's at the stake.
Will wave or mould allow;
It stands before me now !”
Huge drops upon his brow.
The urchin's eyelids kissed,
Through the cold and heavy mist;
With gyves upon his wrist.