« AnkstesnisTęsti »
Which now suits with it. While I threat he lives :
O, PARDON me, thou piece of bleeding earth!
gentle with these butchers ! Thou art the ruins of the noblest man That ever lived in the tide of times. Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood! Over thy wounds now do I prophesy,Which, like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips, To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue, A curse shall light upon the limbs of men ; Domestic fury, and fierce civil strife, Shall cumber all the parts of Italy: Blood and destruction shall be so in use, And dreadful objects so familiar, That mothers shall but smile, when they behold Their infants quarter'd by the hands of war ; All pity choked with custom of fell deeds : And Cæsar's spirit, ranging for revenge, With Até* by his side, come hot from hell, Shall in these confines, with a monarch's voice, Cry, "Havock," and let slip the dogs of war.
* The goddess of revenge an 1 destruction.
Antony's funeral Oration over Cæsar's Body.
FRIENDS, Romans, Countrymen, lend me your ears;
If you have tears, prepare to shed them now.
away, Mark how the blood of Cæsar follow'd it,
ANTONY'S FUNERAL ORATION OVER CÆSAR'S BODY.
As rushing out of doors, to be resolved
you but behold
Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up To any sudden 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 wise and honourable, 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 moye The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.
Address to the Mummy in Belzoni's Exhibition.*
HORACE SMITH, THE immortal author, jointly with his brother, James, of “ Rejected Addresses ;" born Dec. 31st, 1779; died at Tunbridge Wells, July 12th, 1849.
And hast thou walked about (how strange a story!)
In Thebes' street three thousand years ago?
And time had not begun to overthrow
Thou hast a tongue ; come, let us hear its tune:
Revisiting the glimpses of the moon.
To whom should we assign the Sphynx's fame?
Of either pyramid that bears his name?
By oath to tell the secrets of thy trade-
In Memnon's statue, which at sunrise play'd ?
Has hob-a-nobbed with Pharaoh, glass to glass,
Or doff'd thine own to let Queen Dido pass,
Has any Roman soldier mauld and knuckled,
* The answer to this poem will be given shortly.
ti. e., the grandest portion of the city of Thebes, just as the Capitol was the name of the most splendid portion of Rome.
I i.e., Egyptian Thebes, as distinguished from Boeotian Thebes, which had only seven gates.
§ i.e., a free-mason, one of those who were forbidden to reveal the secrets of their craft. They were possessed of great influence in the middle ages, but in latter times morality and friendly association, rather than architecture, form the chief objects of the fraternity.