And proudly neigh, my charger grey!-oh! thy chest is broad and ample! Thy hoofs shall prance o'er the fields of France, and the pride of her heroes trample! What boots old Europe's boasted fame, on which she builds reliance, When the North shall launch its avalanche on her works of art and science? Hath she not wept her cities swept by our hordes of trampling stallions, And tower and arch crushed in the march of our barbarous battalions? Can we not wield our fathers' shield? the same war-hatchet handle? Do our blades want length, or the reapers strength, for the harvest of the Vandal? Then proudly neigh, my gallant grey, for thy chest is strong and ample; And thy hoofs shall prance o'er the fields of France, and the pride of her heroes trample! SECTION V.-THE DRAMA. I.-BRUTUS AND CASSIUS. William Shakspere was born at Stratford-on-Avon, Warwickshire, in 1564, and died in 1616. He has been deservedly called the "Prince of Dramatists." Cas. THAT you have wronged me doth appear in this : You have condemned and noted Lucius Pella, For taking bribes here of the Sardians; Bru. You wronged yourself, to write in such a case. Cas. I an itching palm? You know that you are Brutus that speak this, Cas. Chastisement! Bru. Remember March, the Ides of March remember! Did not great Julius bleed for Justice' sake? What villain touched his body, that did stab, And not for justice? What! shall one of us, That struck the foremost man in all this world, But for supporting robbers; shall we now Contaminate our fingers with base bribes, And sell the mighty space of our large honours For so much trash as may be grasped thus? Cas. Brutus, bay not me, I'll not endure it: you forget yourself, Bru. Go to; you're not, Cassius. Bru. I say you are not. Cas. Urge me no more, I shall forget myself; Have mind upon your health, tempt me no further. Cas. Is't possible? Bru. Hear me, for I will speak. Must I give way and room to your rash choler? Shall I be frighted when a madman stares? Cas. O ye gods! ye gods! must I endure all this? Bru. All this? ay, more: Fret till your proud heart break; Go, show your slaves how choleric you are, And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge? Cas. Is it come to this? Bru. You say you are a better soldier: Let it appear so; make your vaunting true, And it shall please me well. For mine own part, I shall be glad to learn of noble men. Cas. You wrong me every way, you wrong me, Brutus ; I said, an elder soldier, not a better: Did I say better? Bru. If you did, I care not. Cas. When Cæsar lived, he durst not thus have moved me. Bru. Peace, peace; you durst not so have tempted him. Cas. I durst not? Bru. No. Cas. What! durst not tempt him? Bru. For your life you durst not. Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love; I may do that I shall be sorry for. Bru. You have done that you should be sorry for. For I am armed so strong in honesty, For certain sums of gold, which you denied me; And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring To you for gold to pay my legions, Which you denied me: was that done like Cassius? Cas. I denied you not. Bru. You did. Cas. I did not: he was but a fool That brought my answer back.-Brutus hath rived my heart: A friend should bear his friend's infirmities, But Brutus makes mine greater than they are. Bru. I do not, till you practise them on me. Bru. I do not like your faults. Cas. A friendly eye could never see such faults. Bru. A flatterer's would not, though they do appear As huge as high Olympus. Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come, Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius, For Cassius is aweary of the world: Hated by one he loves; braved by his brother; I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart: When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him better Than ever thou lovedst Cassius. Bru. Sheathe your dagger: Be angry when you will, it shall have scope; Cas. Hath Cassius lived To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill-tempered too. Cas. O Brutus! Bru. What's the matter? Cas. Have you not love enough to bear with me, When that rash humour which my mother gave me Makes me forgetful? Bru. Yes, Cassius; and from henceforth, When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so, |