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?
Oh, 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 comes 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.
Oh, masters! if I were disposed to stir
Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage,
I should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong,
Who, you all know, are honourable men.
I will not do them wrong; I rather choose
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,

ANTONY'S FUNERAL ORATION ON CESAR. 263

Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy,

Unto their issue.

4 Cit. We'll hear the will: read it, Mark Antony. Cit. The will, the will! we will hear Cæsar's will. Ant. Have patience, gentle friends, I must not read it:

It is not meet you know how Cæsar loved you.
You are not wood, you are not stones, but men ;
And, being men, hearing the will of Cæsar,
It will inflame you, it will make you mad:
'Tis good you know not that you are his heirs;
For, if you should, oh, what would come of it!
4 Cit. Read the will; we will hear it, Antony:
You shall read the will: Cæsar's will.

Ant. Will you be patient? Will you stay awhile! I have o'ershot myself to tell you of it.

I fear I wrong the honourable men,

Whose daggers have stabbed Cæsar: I do fear it. 4 Cit. They were traitors: honourable men! Cit. The will! the testament!

2 Cit. They were villains, murderers; the will! Read the will!

Ant. You will compel me then to read the will ? Then make a ring about the corpse of Cæsar, And let me show you him that made the will. Shall I descend? and will you give me leave? Cit. Come down.

2 Cit. Descend. [He comes down from the Pulpit.]

Ant. 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-belovèd Brutus stabb'd;
And, as he pluck'd his cursèd steel away,

Mark how the blood of Cæsar follow'd it;
As rushing out of doors, to be resolved
If Brutus so unkindly knock'd or no;
For Brutus, as you know, was Cæsar's angel.
Judge, O you gods, how dearly Cæsar loved him!
This was the most unkindest cut of all:

For when the noble Cæsar saw him stab,
Ingratitude, more strong than traitor's 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.
Oh, what a fall was there, my countrymen!
Then I, and you, and all of us, fell down,
Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us.
Oh, 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,
1 Cit. Oh, piteous spectacle!

2 Cit. We will be revenged: revenge; about,Seek, burn, fire, kill, slay!-let not a traitor live. Ant. 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

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 gave me public leave to speak of him,
For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth,
Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech,

VANITY OF HUMAN NATURE.

265

To stir men's blood: I only speak right on; 'I tell you that which you yourselves do know; Show you sweet Caesar'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.

UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE.
W. SHAKSPEARE.

UNDER the greenwood tree
Who loves to lie with me,

And tune his merry note

Unto the sweet bird's throat-
Come hither, come hither, come hither!
Here shall he see

No enemy

But winter and rough weather.

Who doth ambition shun,
And loves to live i' the sun,
Seeking the food he eats

And pleased with what he gets-
Come hither, come hither, come hither!
Here shall he see

No enemy

But winter and rough weather.

VANITY OF HUMAN NATURE.

W. SHAKSPEARE.

THESE our actors,

As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air:

And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself;
Yea, all which it inherit shall dissolve;
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made of, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.

WE ARE SEVEN.

W. WORDSWORTH.

A SIMPLE child, with notions dim, that lightly draws its breath,

And feels its life in every limb-what should it know of Death!

I met a little cottage girl, she was eight years old she

said;

Her hair was thick with many a curl that clustered round her head.

She had a rustic woodland air, and she was wildly

clad;

Her eyes were fair, and very fair; her beauty made me glad.

"Sisters and brothers, little maid, how many may you be?"

"How many? Seven in all," she said, and, wondering, looked at me.

"And where are they? I pray you tell." She answered, "Seven are we,

And two of us at Conway dwell, and two are gone to

sea.

"Two of us in the churchyard lie, my sister and my

brother,

And in the churchyard cottage I dwell near them with my mother."