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Cas. Why man, he doth bestride the narrow world
Like a Coloffus ! and we petty men
Walk under his huge legs, and peep

To find ourselves dishonourable graves.
Men at some times are mafters of their fates;
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our ftars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings.
Brutus -and Cæsar-what should be in that Cæfar ?
Why should that name be founded

more than
Write them together: yours is as fair a name :
Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well,
Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with 'em,
Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Cæsar.
Now, in the names of all the gods at once,
Upon what meats does this our Cæsar feed,
That he is grown fo great? Age, thou art shamed ;
Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods.
When went there by an age, since the great flood,
But it was fam'd with more than with one man ?
When could they say, till now, that talk'd of Rome,
That her wide walls encompass’d but one man?

you and I have heard our fathers say,
There was a Brutus, one that would have brook'd
Th'eternal devil to keep his flate in Rome
As easily as a king.

Bru. That you do love me, I am nothing jealous : What


would work me to, I have some aim: How I have thought of this, and of these times, I shall recount hereafter: for this present, I would not (so with love I might entreat you) farther mov'd. What


have said,
I will confider; what you have to say,
I will with patience hear; and find a time
Both meet to hear, and answer such high things.
Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this:


Be any

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Brutus had rather be a villager,
Than to repute himself a son of Rome
Under such hard conditions as this time
Is like to lay upon us.
Cas. I am glad that my

weak words
Have struck but thus much mow of fire from Brutus.



Bel. A goodly day! not to keep house, with such,
Whose roof's as low as ours : fee! boys, this gate
Instructs you how t'adore the heav'ns; and bows you
To morning's holy office. Gates of monarchs
Are arch'd so high, that giants may jet through,
And keep their impious turbans on, without
Good-morrow to the fun. Hail, thou fair Heav'n!
We houfe i' th' rock, yet use thee not so hardly
As prouder livers do.

GUID. Hail, Heav'n!
Arv. Hail, Heav'n!

Bel. Now for our mountain sport, up to'yond' hill, Your legs are young. I'll tread these flats. Consider, When


above perceive me like a crow,
That it is place which lessens and sets off;
And ycu may then revolve what tales I told you,
Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war;
That service is not service, so being done,
But being so allow'd. To apprehend thus,
Draws us a profit from all things we see ;
And often to our comfort shall we find
The harded beetle in a safer hold,
Than is the full wing'd eagle. Oh, this life
Is nobler than attending for a check :


Richer, than doing nothing for a bauble ;
Prouder, than ruftling in unpaid for filk.
Such gain the cap of him, that makes them fine,
Yet keeps his book uncross’d:--no life to ours.

Guid. Out of your proof you speak; we, poor, un fledgid,
Have never wing'd from view o'th' neft; nor know
What air's from home. Haply this life is best,
If quiet life is beft; sweeter to you,
That have a sharper known; well corresponding

your ftiff age : but unto us, it is
A cell of ign'ranee ; travelling abed;'
A prifon, for a debtor that not dares
To ftride a limit.

Arv. What should we speak of,
When we are old as you ? When we shall hear
The rain and wind beat dark December? how,
In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse
The freezing hours away? M'e have seen nothing;
We're beaftly; fubtle as the fox for prey,
Like warlike as the wolf, for what we eat,
Our valour is to chase what Alies: our cage
We make a choir, as doth the prison’d bird,
And fing out bondage freely.

Bel. How you speak!
Did you but know the city's usuries,
And felt them knowingly; the art o'th'court,
As hard to leave, as keep; whose top to climi),
Is certain falling; or so Nipp’ry that
The fear's as bad as falling; the toil of war;
A pain that only seems to seek out danger
l'th' name of fame and honour; which dies i' th' search,
And hath as oft a Nand'rous epitaph,
As record of fair act; nay, many time,
Doth ill deferve, by doing well; what's worse,
Must curt'ly at the censure. -Oh, boys, this story
L 4



The world might read in me: my body's mark'd
With Roman swords; and my report was once
First with the best of note. Cymbeline lov'd me ;
And when a soldier was the theme, my name
Was not far off: then was I as a tree,
Whofe boughs did bend with fruit. But in one night,
A storm, or robbery, call it what you will,
Shook down my mellow hangings, nay my leaves ;
And left me bare to weather.

Guim. Uncertain favour !

Bei. My fault being nothing, as I have told you ofs, But that two villains (whose false oaths prevail'd Before my perfect honour) fwore to Cymbeline I was confed'rate with the Romans : so Follow'd


banishinent; and, this twenty years,
This rock and these demesnes have been my world ;
Where I have liv'd at honeft freedom, paid
More pious debts to Heaven, than in all
The fore-end.of my time-Bus, up to th' mountains it
This is not hunter's language ; he that strikes
The venison first, fall be the lord o'ih' feast;
To him the other two shall minifter,
And we will fear no poison, which attends
In place of greater ftate.
I'll meet you in the vallies.





Dear 'Sensibility! fource inexhausted of all that's precious in our joys, or coftly in our forrows! thou chainest thy martyr down upon his bed of straw, and it is thou who liftest him up to Heaven. Eternal Fountain of our feelings ! It is here I trace thee, and this is thy divinity which ftirs within me : not, that in some fad and fickening moments, my foul thrinks back upon herself, and startles at detruction'-mere pomp of words ! - but that I feel some generous joys and generous cares beyond myself-all comes from thee, great, great Sensorium of the world! which vibrates, if a hair of our head but falls upop the ground, in the remoteft defert of thy creation. Touched with thee, Eugenius draws my curtain when I languish; hears my tale of symptoms, and blames the weather for the disorder of his nerves. Thou givelt a portion of it some. times to the roughest peasant who traverses the bleakest mountains. He finds the facerated lamb of another's fock. This moment I behold him leaning with his head against his sook, with piteous inclination looking down upon it.LS


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