صور الصفحة
PDF
النشر الإلكتروني

In cradle of the rude imperious surge;
And in the visitation of the winds,

Who take the ruffian billows by the top,

Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them
With deaf'ning clamours in the slipp'ry clouds,
That, with the hurly, death itself awakes?
Can'st thou, O partial Sleep, give thy repose
To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude,
And, in the calmest and the stillest night,
With all appliances and means to boot,

Deny it to a King ?-Then, happy low, lie down!
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.

FROM RICHARD III.

ACT I. SC. 5.

CLARENCE'S DREAM.

Brakenbury. Why looks your grace so heavily to-day?
Clarence. O, I have passed a miserable night,

So full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams,
That, as I am a Christian faithful man,
I would not spend another such a night

Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days;
So full of dismal terror was the time.

Brak. What was your dream, my Lord? I pray you
tell me.

Clar. Methought that I had broken from the Tower,
And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy,1

And in my company my brother Glo'ster,

Who from my cabin tempted me to walk

Upon the hatches. Thence we look'd tow'rd England,
And cited up a thousand heavy times,

During the wars of York and Lancaster,
That had befallen us. As we pac'd along

Upon the giddy footing of the hatches,

Methought that Glo'ster stumbled; and in falling
Struck me, that sought to stay him, overboard
Into the tumbling billows of the main.

O, Lord, methought what pain it was to drown!
What dreadful noise of waters in my ears!
What sights of ugly death within mine eyes!
Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks;
A thousand men that fishes gnaw'd upon;
Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,
Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels.

Some lay in dead men's skulls; and in those holes,
Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept,

The Duchess of Burgundy was the sister of Clarence, Gloucester, and Edward IV. Her court was, therefore, the natural resort of the Yorkist party.

As 'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems,
That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep,
And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by.
Brak. Had you such leisure in the time of death
To gaze upon the secrets of the deep?

Clar. Methought I had; and often did I strive
To yield the ghost; but still the envious flood
Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth
To find the empty, vast, and wand'ring air,
But smother'd it within my panting bulk,
Which almost burst to belch it in the sea.
Brak. Awak'd you not with this sore agony?
Clar. O, no, my dream was lengthened after life.
O then began the tempest to my soul.

I pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood,
With that grim ferryman which poets write of,
Unto the kingdom of perpetual night.

The first that there did greet my stranger soul,
Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick,1
Who cried aloud-"What scourge for perjury
Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence ?"
And so he vanish'd. Then came wand'ring by
A shadow like an angel, with bright hair
Dabbled in blood, and he shriek'd out aloud-
"Clarence is come, false, fleeting, perjur'd Clarence,
That stabb'd me in the field by Tewkesbury;
Seize on him, furies, take him to your torments !"-
With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends
Environ'd me, and howléd in mine ears
Such hideous cries, that with the very noise
I, trembling, wak'd; and for a season after
Could not believe but that I was in hell:
Such terrible impression made my dream.
Brak. No marvel, Lord, that it affrighted you;
I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it.

Clar. Ah! Brakenbury, I have done those things
That now give evidence against my soul,

For Edward's sake; and, see, how he requites me!
O God! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee,
But thou wilt be aveng'd on my misdeeds,

Yet execute thy wrath on me alone:

O, spare my guiltless wife, and my poor children!
-I pr'ythee, Brakenbury, stay by me;

My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.

The king-maker.

2 Prince Edward, the son of Henry VI.

FROM JULIUS CESAR.

ACT III. SC. 2.

MARK ANTONY'S ORATION OVER THE BODY OF CÆSAR.

Ant. Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears.
I come to bury Cæsar, not to praise him.

The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interréd with their bones;1
So let it be with Cæsar! Noble Brutus

Hath told you Cæsar was ambitious:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Cæsar answer'd it.
Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest,-
For Brutus is an honourable man,

So are they all, all honourable men,—
Come I to speak in Cæsar's funeral.

He was my friend, faithful and just to me;
But Brutus says he was ambitious;

And Brutus is an honourable man.

He hath brought many captives home to Rome,
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill;

Did this in Cæsar seem ambitious?

When that the poor have cried, Cæsar hath wept ;
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff;

Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honourable 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 honourable 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?
O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts,
And men have lost their reason. Bear with me,
My heart is in the coffin there with Cæsar,
And I must pause 'till it come back to me.

But yesterday the word of Cæsar might

Have stood against the world; now lies he there,
And none so poor to do him reverence.

O masters! if I were dispos'd to stir

Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage,
I should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong,

1 Compare Henry VIII. Act IV. Sc. 2.

Men's evil manners live in brass; their virtues

We write in water.

2 The feast of Lycan Pan. See Adam's Roman Antiquities (Boyd), p. 237-270.

Who, you all know, are honourable men.
I will not do them wrong: I rather chuse
To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you,
Than I will wrong such honourable men.

But here's a parchment, with the seal of Cæsar,-
I found it in his closet,-'tis his will;
Let but the commons hear this testament,
Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read,

And they would go and kiss dead Cæsar's wounds,
And dip their napkins in his sacred blood;
Yea, beg a hair of him for memory,

And dying, mention it within their wills,
Bequeathing it as a rich legacy

Unto their issue.

*

If you have tears, prepare to shed them now.
You all do know this mantle; I remember
The first time ever Cæsar put it on;
'Twas on a summer's evening in his tent,
That day he overcame the Nervii.

Look! in this place ran Cassius' dagger through ;
See what a rent the envious Casca made;

Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd;
And, as he pluck'd his cursed steel away,

Mark how the blood of Cæsar follow'd it !—
As rushing out of doors, to be resolv'd

If Brutus so unkindly knock'd or no.

For Brutus, as you know, was Cæsar's angel:

Judge, oh you Gods! how dearly Cæsar lov'd him! This was the most unkindest cut of all;

For when the noble Cæsar saw him stab,

Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms,

Quite vanquish'd him; then burst his mighty heart; And, in his mantle muffling up his face,

Even at the base of Pompey's statue,

Which all the while ran blood, great Cæsar fell.
O, what a fall was there, my countrymen !
Then I, and you, and all of us fell down;
Whilst bloody treason flourish'd 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 but behold
Our Cæsar'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 honourable. What private griefs' they have, alas! I know not,

1 Grievances; causes of resentment.

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 give me public leave to speak of him;
For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth,
Action nor utt'rance, 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 move
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.1

ACT. IV. SC. 3.

THE QUARREL OF BRUTUS AND CASSIUS.

Cas. That you have wronged me, doth appear in this,You have condemned and noted2 Lucius Pella,

For taking bribes here of the Sardians;

Wherein, my letter, praying on his side,
Because I knew the man,3 was slighted off.

Bru. You wronged yourself to write in such a case.
Cas. In such a time as this it is not meet

That every nice1 offence should bear his comment.
Bru. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself
Are much condemned to have an itching palm ;--
To sell and mart your offices for gold

To undeservers.

Cas. I an itching palm?

You know that you are Brutus that speak this;

Or, by the Gods, this speech were else your last.

Bru. The name of Cassius honours this corruption,
And chastisement doth therefore hide its head.

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,

1 Our space compels, in this extract, the omission of the interspersed dialogue of the plebeians; this omission detracts greatly from the effect of the oration. The productions of Shakespeare's imagination are so "all compact," that the beauties of particular passages are obscured when deprived of the lights reflected from the context; and this is peculiarly the case with extracts from Julius Cæsar.

2 Marked with disgrace; for the "Censoria Nota." See Adam's Roman Antiquities (Boyd), p. 109. ♦ Petty.

Wonderfully in accordance with the represented character of Cassius. 5 i. e. Granting that there might be villains among the conspirators.

K

« السابقةمتابعة »