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You came in arms, to spill mine enemies' blood,
But now in arms, you strengthen it with yours:
The grappling vigor and rough frown of war,
Is cold in amity and painted peace,

And our oppression hath made up this league:

Arm! arm you heavens, against these perjured kings!
A widow cries: be husband to me, heavens !

Let not the hours of this ungodly day

Wear out the day in peace; but, ere sunset,
Set arméd discord 'twixt these perjured kings!
Hear me, O, hear me !

O, Lymoges! O, Austria! thou dost shame

That bloody spoil; thou slave, thou wretch, thou coward •
Thou little valiant, great in villainy !

Thou ever strong, upon the stronger side!

Thou fortune's champion, that dost never fight
But when her humorous ladyship is by

To teach thee safety! Thou cold-blooded slave,
Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side?
Been sworn my soldier? bidding me depend
Upon thy stars, thy fortune, and thy strength?
And dost thou now fall over to my foes?
Thou wear a lion's hide! doff it for shame,
And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs.

SHAKSPEARE.

THE PASSING OF THE RUBICON.

A GENTLEMAN, Mr. President, speaking of Cæsar's benevolent disposition, and of the reluctance with which he entered into the civil war, observes, "How long did he pause upon the brink of the Rubicon?" How came he to the brink of that river! How dared he cross it! Shall private men respect the boundaries of private property, and shall a man pay no respect to the boundaries of his country's rights? How dared he cross that river! Oh, but he paused upon the brink! He should have perished upon the brink ere he had crossed it! Why did he pause? Why does a man's heart palpitate when he is on the point of committing an unlawful deed? Why does the very murderer, his victim sleeping before him, and his glaring eye taking the measure of the blow, strike wide of the mortal part? Because of conscience! 'T was that made Cæsar pause upon the brink

of the Rubicon. Compassion! What compassion? The com passion of an assassin, that feels a momentary shudder as his weapon begins to cut! Cæsar paused upon the brink of the Rubicon! What was the Rubicon? The boundary of Cæsar's province. From what did it separate his province ? From his country. Was that country a desert? No; it was cultivated and fertile, rich and populous! Its sons were men of genius, spirit, and generosity! Its daughters were lovely, susceptible, and chaste! Friendship was its inhabitant! Love was its inhabitant! Domestic affection was its inhabitant! Liberty was its inhabitant! All bounded by the stream of the Rubicon ! What was Cæsar, that stood upon the bank of that stream? A traitor, bringing war and pestilence into the heart of that country. No wonder that he paused-no wonder if, his imagination wrought upon by his conscience, he had beheld blood instead of water, and heard groans instead of murmurs! No wonder, if some gorgon horror had turned him into stone upon the spot But, no! he cried, The die is cast!" He plunged he and Rome was free no more!

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KNOWLES.

!

LAS CASAS DISSUADING FROM BATTLE.

Is then the dreadful measure of your cruelty not yet com plete? Battle! Gracious Heaven! against whom? Against a king, in whose mild bosom your atrocious injuries, even yet, have not excited hate! but who, insulted or victorious, still sues for peace. Against a people, who never wronged the living being their Creator formed; a people, who, children of innocence! received you as cherished guests, with eager hospitality and confiding kindness. Generously and freely did they share with you their comforts, their treasures, and their homes you repaid them by fraud, oppression, and dishonor. These eyes have witnessed all I speak; as gods you were received as

fiends you have acted.

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Pizarro, hear me! Hear me, chieftains! And thou, Allpowerful! whose thunder can shiver into sand the adamantine rock, - whose lightnings can pierce to the core of the riven and quaking earth, O! let thy power give effect to thy servant's words, as thy Spirit gives courage to his will! Do not, I implore you, chieftains, countrymen, do not, I implore you, renew the foul barbarities your insatiate avarice has inflicted on this wretched, unoffending race! But hush, my sighs!-- fall

- not to curse,

not, ye drops of useless sorrow!-heart-breaking anguish, choke not my utterance. All I entreat is, send me once more to those you call your enemies. O let me be the messenger of penitence from you; I shall return with blessings and peace from them. Elvira, you weep! - Alas! does this dreadful crisis move no heart but thine? Time flies -- words are unavailing the chieftains declare for instant battle. O God! thou hast anointed me thy servant. but to bless my countrymen: yet now my blessing on their force were blasphemy against thy goodness. No! I curse your purpose, homicides! I curse the bond of blood, by which you are united. May fell division, infamy, and rout, defeat your projects, and rebuke your hopes! On you, and on your children, be the peril of the innocent blood which shall be shed this day! I leave you, and forever! No longer shall these aged eyes be seared by the horrors they have witnessed. In caves- in forests, will I hide myself; with tigers and with savage beasts, will I commune; and when at length we meet again, before the blessed tribunal of that Deity whose mild doctrines and whose mercies ye have this day renounced, then shall you feel the agony and grief of soul which now tear the bosom of your weak accuser.

SHERIDAN.

RIENZI'S ADDRESS TO THE ROMANS

FRIENDS,

I come not here to talk. Ye know too well
The story of our thralldom. We are slaves!
The bright sun rises to his course, and lights
A race of slaves!
Falls on a slave.
By the full tide of

He sets, and his last beam
Not such as, swept along
power, the conqueror leads

To crimson glory and undying fame;

But base ignoble slaves-slaves to a horde
Of petty despots, feudal tyrants; lords,

Rich in some dozen paltry villages;

Strong in some hundred spearmen, only great
In that strange spell, a name.

Each hour, dark fraud,

Or open rapine, or protected murder,

Cry out against them. But this very day,

Au honest man — my neighbor;-there he stands ;--
Was struck-struck like a dog - by one who wore

The badge of Ursini; because, forsooth,
He tossed not high his ready cap in air,
Nor lifted up his voice in servile shouts,
At sight of that great ruffian. Be we men,
And suffer such dishonor?-men, and wash not
The stain away in blood? Such shames are common.
I have known deeper wrongs, I that speak to ye.
I had a brother once, a gracious boy,

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Full of all gentleness, of calmest hope,

Of sweet and quiet joy. Oh, how I loved
That gracious boy! Younger by fifteen years:
side;

Brother at once and son! He left

my

A summer-bloom on his fair cheeks, a smile
Parting his innocent lips. In one short hour,
The pretty harmless boy was slain! I saw
His corse, his mangled corse; and then I cried
For vengeance
Rouse ye, Romans! rouse ye, slaves
Have ye brave sons ?-look in the next fierce brawl
To ee them die. Have ye fair daughters? - look
To see them live, torn from your arms— distained,
Dishonored; and if ye dare to call for justice,
Be answered with the lash! Yet this is Rome
That sat on her seven hills, and from her throne
Of beauty ruled the earth! And we are Romans!

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No; let us rise at once, gird on our swords,
And, at the head of our remaining troops,
Attack the foe; break through the thick array
Of his thronged legions, and charge home upon him.
Perhaps some arm more lucky than the rest

May reach his heart, and free the world from bondage.
Rise, fathers, rise! 't is Rome demands your help;
Rise, and revenge her slaughtered citizens,
Or share their fate! The corpse of half her senate
Manure the fields of Thessaly, while we
Sit here, deliberating in cold debates,
If we should sacrifice our lives to honor,

Or wear them out in servitude and chains.
Rouse up, for shame! our brothers of Pharsalia
Point at their wounds, and cry aloud, "To battle!'
Great Pompey's shade complains that we are slow,
And Scipio's ghost walks unrevenged amongst us!

ADDISON.

CÆSAR'S TRIUMPHS.

To form a just estimate of Cæsar's aims, Mr. President, look to his triumphs after the surrender of Utica - Utica, more honored in being the grave of Cato, than Rome in having been 'he cradle of Cæsar.

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You will read, sir, that Cæsar triumphed four times. First, for his victory over the Gauls; secondly, over Egypt; thirdly, over Pharnaces; lastly, over Juba, the friend of Cato. His first, second, and third triumphs were, we are told, magnificent. Before him marched the princes and noble foreigners of the countries he had conquered his soldiers, crowned with laurels, followed him; and the whole city attended with acclamations. This was well? - the conqueror should be honored. His fourth triumph approaches as magnificent as the former ones. does not want its royal captives, its soldiers crowned with laurels, or its flushed conqueror, to grace it; nor is it less honored by the multitude of its spectators: - but they send up no shout of exultation; they heave loud sighs; their cheeks are frequently wiped; their eyes are fixed upon one object, that engrosses all their senses their thoughts their affections - it is the statue of Cato! carried before the victor's chariot! It represents him rending open his wound, and tearing out his bowels; as he did in Utica, when Roman liberty was no more! Now, ask if Cæsar's aim was the welfare of his country!-Now, doubt if he was a man governed by a selfish ambition! Now, question whether he usurped, for the mere sake of usurping! He is not content to triumph over the Gauls, the Egyptians, and Pharnaces; he must triumph over his own countrymen! He is not content to cause the statue of Scipio and Petrius to be carried before him, but he must be graced by that of Cato! He is not content with the simple effigy of Cato; he must exhibit that of his suicide! He is not satisfied to insult the Romans with triumphing over the death of liberty; they must gaze upon the representation of her expiring agonies, and mark the writhings of her last -fatal struggle!

KNOWLES.

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