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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.
1 Pleb. Methinks there is much reason in his

sayings.
2 Pleb. If thou consider rightly of the matter,
Cæsar has had great wrong.

3 Pleb. Has he, masters ? I fear, there will a worse come in his place. 4th Pleb. Mark'd ye his words? He would not take

the crown: Therefore, 't is certain, he was not ambitious.

1 Pleb. If it be found so, some will dear abide it. 2 Pleb. Poor soul! his eyes are red as fire with

weeping. 3 Pleb. There's not a nobler man in Rome than

Antony. 4 Pleb. Now mark him! he begins again to speak.

Ant. 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;
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 would wrong such honourable men.
But here's a parchment, with the seal of Cæsar ;
I found it in his closet, ’t is 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.

4 Pleb. We'll hear the will: read it, Mark Antony. All. The will, the will; we will hear Cæsar's wil). Ant. Have patience, gentle friends; I must not

read it: It is not meet you know how Cæsar lov'd 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. ’T is good you know not that you are his heirs ; For if you should, O what will come of it?

4 Pleb. Read the will; we will hear it, Antony: You shall read us the will — Cæsar's will !

Ant. Will you be patient? will you stay a while ? I have o'ershot myself, to tell you of it: I fear I wrong the honourable men, Whose daggers have stabb’d Cæsar: I do fear it.

4 Pleb. They were traitors. Honourable men ! All. The will! the testament ! 2 Pleb. 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 ?

All. Come down. 2 Pleb. Descend.

[He comes down from the pulpit. 3 Pleb. You shall have leave. 4 Pleb. A ring! stand round ! 1 Pleb. Stand from the hearse! stand from the body! 2 Pleb. Room for Antony! most noble Antony ! Ant. Nay, press not so upon me: stand far off. All. Stand back! room! bear back !

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. ’T was 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 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 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 flourished over us. 0, 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, with traitors.

1 Pleb. 0 piteous spectacle !
2 Pleb. O noble Cæsar!
3 Pleb. O woeful day!
4 Pleb. O traitors ! villains !
1 Pleb. O most bloody sight!

2 Pleb. We will be revenged! Revenge! AboutSeek — burn-fire— kill— slay—let not a traitor live!

Ant. Stay, countrymen. 1 Pleb. Peace, there! Hear the noble Antony. 2 Pleb. We'll hear him, we'll follow him, we'll die

with him.
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,
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.

SHAKSPERE.

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE, ACT 1., SCENE 3.

Venice.- A council chamber. Duke. Fetch Desdemona hither. [Exeunt two or three. Oth. Ancient, conduct them; you best know the place.

[Exit Iago. 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.

Duke. Say it, Othello.

Oth. Her father loved me; oft invited me; Still question’d me the story of my life, From year to year; the battles, sieges, fortunes, That I have pass’d. I ran it through, even from my boyish days, To the very moment that he bade me tell it, Wherein I spake 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 desarts idle, Rough quarries, rocks, and hills, whose heads touch'd

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

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