Critical Essays on Dramatic Poetry

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L. Davis and C. Reymers, 1761 - 274 psl.
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15 psl. - Had you rather Caesar were living and die all slaves, than that Caesar were dead, to live all free men? As Caesar loved me, I weep for him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I honour him : but, as he was ambitious, I slew him. There is tears for his love; joy for his fortune; honour for his valour; and death for his ambition.
16 psl. - 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.
15 psl. - Romans, countrymen, and lovers ! hear me for my cause, and be silent, that you may hear : believe me for mine honour, and have respect to mine honour, 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 Caesar's, to him I say that Brutus' love to Caesar was no less than his.
14 psl. - I am inclined to think, this opinion proceeded originally from the zeal of the partizans of our author and Ben Jonson ; as they endeavoured to exalt the one at the expence of the other.
16 psl. - CESAR'S Body. Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony : who, though he had no hand in his death, shall receive the benefit of his dying...
71 psl. - Moi-même, pour tout fruit de mes soins superflus, Maintenant je me cherche, et ne me trouve plus': Mon arc, mes javelots, mon char, tout m'importune...
11 psl. - How beautiful is death, when earn'd by virtue ! Who would not be that youth ? what pity is it That we can die but once to serve our country...
71 psl. - Dans le fond des forets votre image me suit. La lumiere du jour, les ombres de la nuit, Tout retrace a mes yeux les charmes que j'evite. Tout vous livre a 1'envi le rebelle Hippolyte.
11 psl. - Tis Rome requires our tears. The mistress of the world, the seat of empire, The nurse of heroes, the delight of gods, That humbled the proud tyrants of the earth, And set the nations free, Rome is no more.
103 psl. - Ant. How I lov'd Witnefs ye days and nights, and all ye hours, That danc'd away with down upon your feet, As all your bus'nefs were to count my paffion. One day paft by and nothing faw but love; Another came and ftill 'twas only love : The funs were weary'd out with looking on And I untir'd with loving. I faw you ev'ry day, and all the day, And ev'ry day was ftill but as the firft, So eager was I ftill to fee you more. Vent. 'Tis all too true. Ant. Fulvia my wife grew jealous, As (he indeed had reafon,...

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