William Shakespeare - Continued

O pardon me, thou piece of bleeding earth,
That I am meek and gentle with these butchers!
Thou art the ruins of the noblest man
That ever lived in the tide of times.

Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood!
Over thy wounds now do I prophesy,—
Which like dumb mouths do ope their ruby lips,
To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue,—
A curse shall light upon the limbs of men ;
Domestic fury, and fierce civil strife,
Shall cumber all the parts of Italy:
Blood and destruction shall be so in use,
And dreadful objects so familiar,

That mothers shall but smile when they behold
Their infants quartered with the hands of war;
All pity choked with custom of fell deeds:
And Cæsar's spirit ranging for revenge,
With Até by his side, come hot from hell,
Shall in these confines, with a monarch's voice,
Cry, Havoc!" and let slip the dogs of war;
That this foul deed shall smell above the earth
With carrion men, groaning for burial.

-From "Julius Cæsar," Act III., Scene 1.

BRUTUS ON THE DEATH OF CÆSAR Brutus-Romans, countrymen, and lovers! Hear me for my cause; and be silent, that you may hear. Believe me for mine honor; and have respect to mine honor that you may believe. Censure me in your wisdom; and awake your senses, that you may the better judge. If there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of Cæsar's,- to him I say, that Brutus's love to Cæsar was no less than his. If, then, that friend demand why Brutus rose against Cæsar, this is my answer: Not that I loved Cæsar less, but that I loved Rome more. Had you rather Cæsar were living, and die all slaves, than that Cæsar were dead, to live all freemen? As Cæsar loved me, I weep for him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I honor him, but as he was ambitious, I slew him. There are tears, for his love; joy, for his fortune honor, for his valor; and death, for his ambition! Who is here so base, that would be a bondman? If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is here so rude, that would not be a Roman? If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is here so vile that will not love his country? If any, speak; for him have I offended. I pause for a reply

Citizens-None, Brutus, none !

Then none have I offended. I have done done no more to Cæsar than you shall do to Brutus. The question of his death is enrolled in the Capitol; his glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy; nor his offenses enforced, for which he suffered death.

Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony; who, though he had no hand in his death, shall receive the benefit of his dying, a place in the commonwealth: As which of you shall not? With this I depart: That, as I slew my best lover for the good of Rome, I have the same dagger for myself, when it shall please my country to need my death.

ANTONY'S FUNERAL ORATION OVER CÆSAR

Antony- 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 interrèd with their bones:
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 answered it!
Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest,—-
For Brutus is an honorable man!

So are they all! all honorable 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 honorable 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 honorable 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 honorable 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 disposed to stir
Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage,
I should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong,
Who, you all know, are honorable men !-

I will not do them wrong: I rather choose
To wrong the dead, to wrong myself, and you,
Than I will wrong such honorable 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! -

William Shakespeare - Continued
Through this, the well-beloved Brutus stabbed
And, as he plucked his cursed steel away,
Mark how the blood of Cæsar followed it 1
As rushing out of doors, to be resolved
If Brutus so unkindly knocked, or no
For Brutus, as you know, was Cæsar's angel.
Judge, O ye 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 traitors' arms,
Quite vanquished 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 flourished 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, marred, as you see, by traitors.*

To such a sudden flood of mutiny:

They that have done this deed are honorable :
What private griefs they have, alas! I know not,
That made them do it; they are wise, and honor-
able,

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 power of speech,
To stir men's blood. I only speak right on:
I tell you that which you yourselves do know:
Show your 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 in mutiny.

HAMLET TO THE PLAYERS

Hamlet-Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue; but, if you mouth it, as many of our players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. Nor, do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus: but use all gently; for, in the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness. Oh! it offends me to the soul, to hear a robustious, periwig-pated fellow, tear a passion to tatters, -to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings; who, for the most part, * With traitors" in Valpy and other texts.

are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb show and noise. I would have such a fellow whipped for o'erdoing Termagant; it out-Herods Herod. Pray you avoid it.

Be not too tame, neither, but let your own discretion be your tutor; suit the action to the word, the word to the action; with this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature; for anything so overdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first and now, was and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to Nature; to show virtue her own feature; scorn her own image; and the very age and body of the time, his form and pressure. Now, this overdone, or come tardy off, though it make the unskillful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve; the censure of which one must, in your allowance, o'erweigh a whole theatre of others. O! there be players that I have seen play, - and heard others praise, and that highly, not to speak it profanely, that, neither having the accent of Christians, nor the gait of Christian, pagan, nor man, have so strutted and bellowed, that I have thought some of Nature's journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abominably! - From Hamlet, Act III., Scene 2.

LADY MACBETH MEDITATING MURder Lady Macbeth-Glamis thou art, and Cawdor and shalt be

What thou art promised:-Yet do I fear thy nature;

It is too full o' the milk of human kindness, To catch the nearest way. Thou wouldst be great;

Art not without ambition, but without

The illness should attend it. What thou wouldst highly,

That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false, And yet wouldst wrongly win; thou'dst have, great Glamis,

That which cries: Thus thou must do, if thou have it;

And that which rather thou dost fear to do,
Than wishest should be undone." Hie thee
hither,

That I may pour my spirits in thine ear:
And chastise with the valor of my tongue
All that impedes thee from the golden round,
Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem
To have thee crown'd withal.
What is your
tidings?

That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
Under my battlements. Come, come you spirits
That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here;
And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full
Of direst cruelty! make thick my blood,
Stop up the access and passage to remorse,
That no compunctious visitings of nature
Shake my fell purpose nor keep peace between
The effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts,
And take my milk for gall, you murd'ring
ministers,

Wherever in your sightless substances
You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick
night,

And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell! That my keen knife see not the wound it makes;

MACBETH'S MURDER SOLILOQUY.

Macbeth - If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere well

It were done quickly; if the assassination
Could trammel up the consequence, and catch,
With his surcease, success!-that but this blow
Might be the be-all and the end-all here!-
But here, upon this bank and shoal of time,-
We'd jump the life to come.— But, in these cases,
We still have judgment here; that we but teach
Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return
To plague the inventor; this even-handed Justice
Commends the ingredients of our poisoned chalice
To our own lips. He's here in double trust:
First, as I am his kinsman and his subject,
Strong both against the deed; then, as his host,
Who should against his murderer shut the door,
Not bear the knife myself. Besides this, Duncan
Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been
So clear in his great office, that his virtues
Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against
The deep damnation of his taking-off;
And pity, like a naked newborn babe,
Striding the blast; or heaven's cherubim, horsed
Upon the sightless couriers of the air,
Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye,
That tears shall drown the wind.-I have no spur
To prick the sides of my intent, but only
Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself,
And falls!*

- From Macbeth," Act I., Scene 7.

MACBETH IN THE DAGGER VISION

Macbeth-Is this a dagger which I see before me,

The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee:

I have thee not; and yet I see thee still.
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
To feeling as to sight? or art thou but
A dagger of the mind,—a false creation,
Proceeding from the heat-oppressèd brain?

I see thee yet, in form as palpable
As this which now I draw!

Thou marshal'st me the way that I was going;
And such an instrument I was to use!
Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses,
Or else worth all the rest: I see thee still!
And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood,
Which was not so before! There's no such thing:
It is the bloody business which informs
Thus to mine eyes.- Now o'er the one half world
Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse
The curtained sleep; now witchcraft celebrates
Pale Hecate's offerings; and withered Murder,
Alarumed by his sentinel, the wolf,

* And falls on the other," in the accepted texts.

William Shakespeare - Continued

Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace,

With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design

Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set earth,
Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear
Thy very stones prate of my whereabout;
And take the present horror from the time
Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he lives:
Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives.
[A bell rings.

I go, and it is done; the bell invites me.
Hear it not, Duncan! for it is a knell
That summons thee-to heaven or to hell!

- From "Macbeth," Act II., Scene 1.

OTHELLO'S DEFENSE BEFORE THE SENATE Othello-Most potent, grave, and reveiend signiors,

My very noble and approved good masters,That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter, It is most true; true, I have married her; The very head and front of my offending Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech,

And little blessed with the soft phrase of peace; For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith,

Till now some nine moons wasted, they have used
Their dearest action in the tented field;
And little of this great world can I speak,
More than pertains to feats of broil and battle;
And therefore little shall I grace my cause,

In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious patience,

I will a round unvarnished tale deliver

Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what charms,

What conjuration, and what mighty magic (For such proceeding I am charged withal), I won his daughter.

I do beseech you,

Send for the lady to the Sagittary,
And let her speak of me before her father:

If you do find me foul in her report,
The trust, the office, I do hold of you,

Not only take away, but let your sentence
Even fall upon my life.

Ancient, conduct them; you best know the place.
And, till she come, as truly as to heaven

I do confess the vices of my blood,
So justly to your grave ears I'll present
How I did thrive in this fair lady's love,
And she in mine.

Her father loved me; oft invited me;
Still questioned me the story of my life
From year to year; the battles, sieges, fortune,
That I have passed.

I ran it through, even from my boyish days,
To the very moment that he bade me tell it.
Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances;

Of moving accidents by flood and field;

Of hair-breadth 'scapes i' the imminent deadly breach;

Of being taken by the insolent foe

And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence, And portance. In my travel's history (Wherein of antres vast, and deserts idle, Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven,

It was my hint to speak), such was the process;And of the Cannibals that each other eat,

The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads Do grow beneath their shoulders. These things to hear

Would Desdemona seriously incline;

But still the house affairs would draw her thence;
Which ever as she could with haste despatch,
She'd come again, and with a greedy ear
Devour up my discourse; which I observing,
Took once a pliant hour; and found good means
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart,
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate,
Whereof by parcels she had something heard,
But not intentively. I did consent:
And often did beguile her of her tears,
When I did speak of some distressful stroke
That my youth suffered. My story being done,
She gave me for my pains a world of sighs;
She swore,-In faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing
strange;

'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful;

She wished she had not heard it; yet she wished
That Heaven had made her such a
man; she
thanked me;
And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her,
I should but teach him how to tell my story,
And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake:
She loved me for the dangers I had passed;
And I loved her that she did pity them.
This only is the witchcraft I have used;
Here comes the lady, let her witness it.

From Othello, Act I., Scene 3.

LEAR IN THE TEMPEST

Lear-Blow, wind, and crack your cheeks! rage, blow!

You cataracts, and hurricanoes, spout

Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks!

You sulphurous and thought-executing fires, Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts, Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder,

Strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world!
Crack nature's molds, all germens spill at once,
That make ungrateful man!

Rumble, thy bellyful! Spit, fire! spout rain;
Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters:
I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness,
I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children,
You owe me no subscription; why then let fall
Your horrible pleasure; here I stand, your slave,
A poor, infirm, weak, and despised old man--
But yet I call you servile ministers,

That have with two pernicious daughters join'd
Your high-engendered battles 'gainst a head
So old and white as this. O! O! 'tis foul!
Let the great gods,

That keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads, Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch,

That hast within thee undivulged crimes, Unwhipp'd of justice; hide thee, thou bloody hand.

Thou perjured, and thou simular man of virtue,
That art incestuous. Caitiff, to pieces shake,
That under covert and convenient seeming
Hast practiced on man's life. Close pent-up guilts
Rive your concealing continents, and cry
These dreadful summoners grace.-I am a man,
More sinn'd against, than sinning.

- From "King Lear," Act III., Scene 2.

"HAIL, HORRORS, HAIL ! »

IS THIS the region, this the soil, the clime,
Said then the lost Archangel,- this the seat
That we must change for heav'n? this mournful
gloom

For that celestial light? be it so, since he,
Who now is Sov'reign, can dispose and bid
What shall be right: farthest from him is best,
Whom reason hath equal'd, force hath made su-
preme

Above his equals. Farewell, happy fields,
Where joy forever dwells: hail horrors; hail
Infernal world; and thou profoundest hell
Receive thy new possessor; one who brings
A mind not to be changed by place or time.
The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a heav'n of hell, a hell of heav'n.
What matter where, if I be still the same,
And what I should be, all but less than he
Whom thunder hath made greater? here at least
We shall be free; th' Almighty hath not built
Here for his envy, will not drive us hence :
Here we may reign secure, and in my choice
To reign is worth ambition, though in hell:
Better to reign in hell, than serve in heav'n.
But wherefore let we, then, our faithful friends,
Th' associates and copartners of our loss,
Lie thus astonish'd on th' oblivious pool,
And call them not to share with us their part
In this unhappy mansion; or once more
With rallied arms to try what may be yet
Regain'd in heav'n, or what more lost in hell?
-From "Paradise Lost," Book I.

SATAN TO THE FALLEN ANGELS ABJECT and lost lay these, covering the flood, Under amazement of their hideous change. He call'd so loud, that all the hollow deep Of hell resounded: Princes, Potentates, Warriors, the flow'r of heav'n, once yours, now lost,

If such astonishment as this can seize

Eternal spirits; or have ye chosen this place
After the toil of battle to repose

Your wearied virtue, for the ease you find
To slumber here, as in the vales of heav'n?
Or in this abject posture have ye sworn
To adore the conqueror ? who now beholds
Cherub and Seraph rolling in the flood
With scatter'd arms and ensigns, till anon
His swift pursuers from heav'n gates discern
Th' advantage, and descending tread us down
Thus drooping, or with linkèd thunderbolts
Transfix us to the bottom of this gulf,-
Awake, arise, or be for ever fall'n.

SATAN ADDRESSES THE COUNCIL of War
HIGH on a throne of royal state, which far
Outshone the wealth of Ormus and of Ind,
Or where the gorgeous East with richest hand
Show'rs on her kings barbaric pearl and gold,
Satan exalted sat, by merit raised
To that bad eminence; and, from despair
Thus high uplifted beyond hope, aspires
Beyond thus high, insatiate to pursue
Vain war with heav'n, and by success untaught
His proud imaginations thus display'd.

Powers and Dominions, Deities of heav'n,
For since no deep within her gulf can hold
Immortal vigor, though oppress'd and fall'n,
I give not heav'n for lost : from this descent
Celestial virtues rising will appear

More glorious and more dread, than from no fall,
And trust themselves to fear no second fate.
Me though just right and the fix'd laws of heav'n
Did first create your leader, next free choice,
With what besides, in council or in fight,
Hath been achieved of merit; yet this loss,
Thus far at least recover'd, hath much more
Establish'd in a safe unenvied throne,
Yielded with full consent. The happier state
In heav'n, which follows dignity, might draw
Envy from each inferior; but who here