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He hath brought many captives home to Rome,
Whofe ranfoms did the general coffers fill:
Did this in Cæfar feem ambitious?

When that the poor have cried, Cæfar hath wept :
Ambition fhould be made of Herner stuff.
Yet Brutus fays he was ambitious ;
And Brutus is an honourable man.
You all did fee, that, on the Lupercal,
thrice prefented him a kingly crown;

Which he did thrice refufe: was this ambition?
Yet Brutus fays he was ambitious;
And, fire, he is an honourable man.

I fpeak not to difprove what Brutus spoke ;
But here I am to speak what I do know.
You all did love him once; not without caufe:
What cause with-holds you then to mourn for him?
judgment hou art fled to brutish beasts,
And men have loft their reason-Bear with me:
My heart is in the coffin there with Cæfar;
And I muft pause till it come back to me.
But yesterday the word of Cæfar might
Have stood against the world: now lies he there,
And none fo poor to do him reverence.
O Mafters! if I wère difpos'd to stir

Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage,
I fhould do Brutus wrong, and Caffius wrong;
Who, you all know, are honourable men..
I will not do them wrong: I rather choose
To wrong the dead,
the dead, to wrong myself and you,
Than I will wrong fuch honourable men.
But here's a parchment, with the feal of Cæfar:
I found it in his clofet: 'tis his will,

Let but the commons hear this testament,.
(Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read),
And they would go and kifs dead Cæfar's wounds,
And dip their napkins in his facred blood;

Yea, beg a hair of him for memory,

And, dying, mention it within their wills,
Bequeathing it as a rich legacy

Unto their iffue.

If you have tears, prepare to fhed them now. You all do know this mantle: I remember

The

The first time ever Cæfar put it on ;
'Twas on a fummer's evening in his tent,
That day he overcame the Nervii-

Look! in this place ran Caffius' dagger through-
See what a rent the envious Cafca made-
Through this the well-beloved Brutus ftabb'd;
And as he pluck'd his cursed steel away,
Mark how the blood of Cæfar follow'd it!-
This, this was the unkindeft cut of all:
For when the noble Cæfar faw him stab,
Ingratitude, more strong than traitors arms,

Quite vanquifh'd him: then burft his mighty heart;
And, in his mantle muffling up his face,

Even at the base of Pompey's ftatue

(Which all the white ran blood)-great Cæfar fell.
what a fall was there, my countrymen!
Then I, and you, and all of us, felt down;
Whilft bloody treafon flourish'd over us.
O, now you weep; and I perceive you feel
The dint of pity: these are gracious drops.
Kind fouls! what, weep you when you but behold
Our Cæfar's vefture wounded?-look you here!
Here is himself-marr'd as you fee, by traitors.-
Good friends! fweet friends! let me not ftir you up
To fuch a fudden 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 wife and honourable, ·
And will no doubt, with reafon 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 fpeak of him :
For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth,
Action, nor utt'rance, nor the power of speech,
To ftir mens blood; I only fpeak right on.
I tell you that which you yourfelves do know;

Show you fweet Cafar's wounds, poor, poor dimb

mouths,

And bid them speak for me.

But, were

Brutus,

Would

And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony.
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Would ruffle up your fpirits, and put a tongue
In every wound of Cæfar, that should move
The ftones of Rome to rife and mutiny.

XXIII. Falstaff's Defcription of his Soldiers.

IF I be not afham'd of my foldiers, I am a fowced gurnet. I have mifus'd the King's prefs damnably. I have got in exchange of an hundred and fifty foldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I prefs me none but good householders, yeomen's fons; inquire me out còntracted bachelors, fuch as have been afked twice on the banns; fuch a commodity of warm flaves, as had as lief hear the devil as a drum; fuch as fear the report of a culverin, worse than a ftruck deer or a hurt wild-duck. I prefs me none but fuck toafts in butter, with hearts in their bellies no bigger than pins' heads; and they bought out their services: and now my whole charge confists of flaves as ragged as Lazarus in the painted cloth, where the glutton's dogs licked his fores; difcarded unjuft fervingmen, younger fons to younger brothers, revolted tapsters, and oftlers trade-fallen, the cankers of a calm world and a long peace; and fuch have I to fill up the rooms of them that have bought out their services, that? you would think. I had a hundred and fifty tattered prodigals, lately come from fwine-keeping, from eating. draff and hufks. A mad fellow met me on the way, and told me, I had unloaded all the gibbets, and prefs'd the dead bodies. No eye hath feen fuch fcare-crows. I'll not march through Coventry with them, that's flat. Nay, and, the villains march wide betwixt the legs, as if they had gyves on; for indeed I had the most of them out of prison. There's but a flirt and a half in all my company, and the half-fhirt is two napkins tacked together, and thrown over the fhoulders like a herald's coat without fleeves; and the fhirt, to say the truth, stolen from my hoft of St Albans, or the red-nofed inn-keeper of Daintry. But that's all one, they'll find linen enough. on every hedge,

XXIV. Falstaff's Soliloquy on Honour.

WE Heaven a death!-'Tis not due yet; and I would be loath to pay him before his day. What need I

be

be fo forward with him that calls not on me?-Well, 'tis no matter honour pricks ine on. But how if honour

по.

prick me off when I come on? how then? Can honour fet to a leg? no: or an arm? no: or take away the grief of a wound? no. Honour hath no skill in furgery then? What is honour? a word. What is that word honour air; a trim reckoning. Who hath it?, he that died a Wednesday. Doth he feel it? no. Doth he hear it no. Is it infenfible then? yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living? no. Why detraction will not fuffer it. Therefore, I'll none of it. Honour is a mere 'fcutcheon-and fo ends my catechifm.

XXV. Part of Richard IIId's foliloquy the Night preceding the Battle of Bofworth.

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IS now the dead of night, and half the world
Is with a lonely folemn darkness hung;

Yet 1 (fo coy a dame is fleep to me)

With all the weary courtship of

My care-tir'd thoughts, can't win her to my bed, Though ev'n the stars do wink, as 'twere, with over

watching.

I'll forth and walk a while. The air's refreshing,

And the ripe harveft of the new-mown hay

Gives it a sweet and wholefome odour.

How awful is this gloom

camp

and hark! from camp to.

The hum of either army ftilly founds,

That the fix'd centinels almoft receive

The fecret whispers of each other's watch:

Steed threatens fteed in high and boaftful neighings, Piercing the night's dull ear.-Hark! from the tents, The armourers, accomplishing the knights,

With clink of hammers clofing rivets up,

Give dreadful note of preparation; while fome,.
Like facrifices, by their fires of watch,

With patience fit, and inly ruminate

The morning's danger. By yon Heav'n, my ftern
Impatience chides this tardy-gated night,
Who, like a foul and ugly witch, does limp
So tedioufly away. I'll to my couch,
And once more, try to fleep her into morning.

XXVI. TH

XXVI. The World compared to a Stage.

ALL the world's a stage;

And all the men and women, merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; And one man, in his time, plays many parts, His acts being feven ages. At first, the Infant; Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.—— And, then, the whining School-boy; with his fatchel And fhining morning-face, creeping, like fnail, Unwillingly to fchool-And, then, the Lover; Sighing like furnace; with a woeful ballad

Made to his mistrefs' eye-brow.-Then, a Soldier ; -
Full of ftrange oaths, and bearded like the pard;
Jealous in honour; fudden and quick in quarrel;
Seeking the bubble reputation

Even in the cannon's mouth.-And, then, the Justice;
In fair round belly, with good capon lin'd;
With eyes fevere, and beard of formal-cut;
Full of wife faws and modern iuftances:

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And fo he plays his part. The fixth age shifts
Into the lean and flipper'd Pantaloon;

With fpectacles on nofe, and pouch on fide;
His youthful hofe, well fav'd, a world too-wide
For his fhrunk thank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his found.-Laft fcene of all,
That ends this ftrange eventful history,
Is fecond Childifhnefs, and mere Oblivion;
Sans teeth, fans eyes, fans tafte, fans every thing

APPENDIX

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