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XXI.-Brutus Harrangue on the Death of Cesar.-IB.

ROMANS, Countrymen and Lovers !-Here me for my cause ; and be silent, that you may hear. Beliere me for mine honor; and have respect to mine honor, 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 Cesar's, to him, I say, that Brutus' love to Cesar was no less than his. If, then, that friend demand why Brutus rose against Cesar, this is my answer: not that I luved Cesar less, but that I loved Rome more. Had

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rather Cesar were living, and die all slaves ; than that Cesar were dead, to live all freemen ? As Cesar loved me, I weep for him ; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I honor him ; but, as he was ambitious, I slew him. There are tears for his love, joy for his fortune, honor for his valor, and death for his ambition. -Who's here so base, that would be a bondman ? JE any, speak; for him I have offended. Who's here so rude, that would not be a Romaa ? If any, speak; for bim i have offended. Who's here so vile, that will not lore his couutry? If any, speak; for him I have offended. I pause for a reply

None! Then none have I oftended. I have done no more to Cesar than you shall do to Brutus. The question of his death is enrolled in the Capitol ; his glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy; nor his offences enforced, for which he suffered death.

Here comes his body, mouro'd by Mark Antony; who, though he had no hand in his dealli, sball receivo the benefit of his dying, a place in the cominonwealth ; as wbich of you shall not? With this I depart-hat 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.
XXII. Antony's Oration over Cesar's Body.

FRIENDS, Roinans, Countrymen! Lend me your ears.
I come to bury Cesar, not to prai e him.
The evil that men do, lives afier tiem;
The good is oft interred with their bones :

So let it be with Cesar! Noble Brutus-
Hath told you, Cesar was ambiticus.
If it were so, it was a grievous fault;
And grievously hath Cesar answer'd it.
Here under leave of Brutus, and the rest,
(F r Brutus is an honorable man,
so are they all, ail honorable men)
Comel to speak in Cesar's funeral-

He was my friend, faithful and just to me:
Bu Bruius says he was ambitious;

A:( Brutus is an honorable man. He hath brought many captives home to Rome, Whose rarsoms did the general coffers fill: Did this in Cesar seem ambitious ? When that the poor have cried, Cesar hath wept! Imbition should be made of sterner stuff. Yet Bruius says he was ambitious; Ard 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?

judgment! Thou art fled to brurish beasts, And men have lost their reason. Bear with me: My heart is in the coffin there with Cesar; And I must pause till it come back to me.

But yesterday the word, Cesar, might Have stood against the world ! now lies he there, And none so poor to do him reverence. O Martei ! If I were dispos'd to stir Yuur 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 theni wrong-1 rather choose To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you, Than I will a rong such honorable men. But here's a parchment, with the seal of Cesar; I found it in his closet : 'uis his will. Lrt but the commons hear this testament, (Which, pardon me I do not mean to read) And they would go and kiss dead Cesar's wounds, And dip their napkins in his sacred blood Yea, big a hair of him for memory, And, dying, mention it within their wills, Beqocathirg it, as a rich legacy,

Unto their issue.---

If you have tears, prepare to shed tjer-low,
You all do know this mantle: I reinembur
The first time ever Cesar put it on ;
'Twas on a summer's evening in his tent,
That day he overcome the Nerviim
Look! in this place ran Cosius' dagger through-
See what a rent the envious Casca madena
Through this the weil beloveci Buius stabb'd;
And, as he pluck'd his cursed steel away,
Mark how the b'o d of Cesar follow'd it!
This, was the unkin est cut of ali !
For when the noble Cesar saw him sab,
Ingratitude, neres:rong than traitor's arms,
Quite vanquisi'd him! Then burst his niglity leart,
And in his mantle mufiling up his face,
E'en at the base of l'omupey's statue,
(Which ail the while ran blood) great Cesar fell.
♡ what a fall was there, my countrymen!
Then I, and you, and all of us, fell down ;
Whilst bloody treason flourishid 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 behold
Our Cesar's vesture wounded ? Look you here!
Here is himself-marr'd, as you see, by traitors.

Good friends! Sweet friends! Let me not stir you up
To such a sudden flood of mutiny!
They that have done this deed are honorable!
Whát private griefs they have, alas, I know not,
That made them do it! They are wise and honorables
And will, no doubt, with reason answer you.

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 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 Cesar'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 tongne
In every wound of Cesar, that should move
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.

XXIII.-Falstoff's Soliloquy on Honor.-HENRY IV.

OWE hea' en a death ; 'Tis not due yet ; and I would be loth to pay him before his day. What need I be so forward with him that calls not on me? Well, 'lis no matter-honor pricks me on.-But how, if honor prick me off when I come on? How then ? Can honor set to a leg ? No; or an arm ? No; or take away the grief of a wound ? No. Honor hath no skill in surgery, then ? No. What is honor ? A word. What is that word hon. or ? Air; a trim reckoning. Who hath it? He that died a Wednesday. Doth he feel it? No. Doth he hear iti No. Is it insensible, then ? Yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living ? No. Why? Detraction will not suffer it. Therefore, I'll none of it. Honor is a mere 'seutcheonand so ends

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catechism. XXIV.- Part of Richard IIId's Soliloquy the night preeeding the Battle of Bosworth.

TRAGEDY OF RICHARD III.
'TIS now the dead of night, and half the world
Is with a lonely solemn darkness hung;
Yet I (so coy a dame is sleep to me)
With all the weary courtship of
My care tir'd thoughts, can't win her to my bed, Eing:
Though e'en the stars do wink,as' twere, with over waiche
I'll forth, and walk awhile. The air's refreshing,
And the ripe harvest of the new mown hay
Gives it a sweet and wholesome odor.
How awful is this gl om! and hark! From camp to camp
The hum of either army stilly sounds,
That the fix'd sentinels almost receive
The secret whisper of each other's watch!
Steed threatens s:eed in high and boasting neighings,
Piercing the night's dull ear. Hark! From the tents,
The armorers, accomplishing the knights,
With clink of hamniers closing rivets up,
Give dreadful note of preparation : while some,
Like sacrifices, by their fires of watch,
With patience sit, and inly ruminate
The morning's danger. By yon heaven, my stern
Impatience chides this tardy gated night,
Who, like a foul and ugly witch, does limp
So tediously away. I'll 10 my couch,
And once more try to sleep her mto morning

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XXV. The World compared to a Stage.

AS YOU LIKE IT

ALL the world is a stage;
And all the men and women, merely players.
They have their exits and their entrances ;
And one roan, in his time, plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the Infant;
Mewling and paking in the nurse's arnis.
And then the whining Schoolboy; with his satchel,
And shining morning face, creeping like a snail,
Unwillingly to school. And, then the Lover,
Sighing like furnace; with a woeful ballad
Made to his Mistress' eyebrow. Then, a Soldier ;
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard;
Jealous in honor ; sudden and quick in quarrel;
Seeking the bubble, reputation,
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then, the Jus ice's
In fair round belly, with good capon lin'd;
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut;
Full of wise saws and modern instances :
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon ;
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side ;
His youthful hose weil sav'd a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
Pand whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second Childishness, and mere Oblivion ;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing,

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