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DRAMATIC EXTRACTS.

SPEECHES AND SOLILOQUIES

I.-BRUTUS ON THE DEATH OF CESAR.-Shakspeare. ROMANS, Countrymen and Lovers!--Hear me. for my cause; and be silent that you may hear. Believe me, for mine honour; and have respect to mine honour, 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' 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 honour him; but as he was ambitious, I slew him! There are tears for his love, joy for his fortune, honour for his valour, and death for his ambition!Who's here so base, that would be a bondman? if any, speak! for him have I offended. Who's here so rude, that would not be a Roman? if any, speak! for him have I offended. Who's here so vile, that will not love his country? if any, speak! for him have I offended.- -I pause for a reply.

None? then none have I offended!I have done no more to Cæsar, than you should do to Brutus. The question of his death is enrolled in the Capitol; his glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy; nor his offences 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.

II.-MARK ANTONY ON THE DEATH OF CESAR.-Shakspeare.

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 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 as 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 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 will 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 stabbed!
And, as he plucked his cursed steel away,
Mark how the blood of Cæsar followed it!-
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, this was the 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!-

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 reason 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 loves his 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!

III.-RICHMOND ENCOURAGING HIS SOLDIERS.-Shakspeare.

THUS far into the bowels of the land
Have we marched on without impediment.
Richard, the bloody and devouring boar,
Whose ravenous appetite has spoiled your fields,
Laid this rich country waste, and rudely cropped
Its ripened hopes of fair posterity,

Is now even in the centre of the isle.

Thrice is he armed who hath his quarrel just;

And he but naked, though locked up in steel,
Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted:
The very weight of Richard's guilt shall crush him-
Then, let us on, my friends, and boldly face him!
In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man
As mild behaviour and humanity;

But, when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Let us be tigers in our fierce deportment!
For me, the ransom of my bold attempt
Shall be this body on the earth's cold face;
But, if we thrive, the glory of the action
The meanest soldier here shall share his part of.
Advance your standards, draw your willing swords,
Sound drums and trumpets, boldly and cheerfully;
The words "St. George, Richmond, and Victory!"

IV.-HENRY V. TO HIS SOLDIERS AT THE SIEGE OF HARFLEUR.

Shakspeare.

ONCE more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;

Or close the wall up with our English dead!

In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man

As modest stillness and humility:

But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favoured rage;
Then, lend the eye a terrible aspect;

Let it pry through the portage of the head,
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it,
As fearfully as doth a gallèd rock

O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swilled with the wild and wasteful ocean.-
Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit
To his full height! Now on! you noblest English,
Whose blood is fetched from fathers of war-proof;
Fathers, that, like so many Alexanders,

Have, in these parts, from morn till even fought,
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument!
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game's a-foot;
Follow your spirit; and upon this charge,
Cry, Heaven for Harry, England, and St. George!

V.-CLARENCE'S DREAM.-Shakspeare.

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.

Methought that I had broken from the Tower
And was embarked to cross to Burgundy,-
And in my company my brother Glo'ster;
Who from my cabin tempted me to walk

Upon the hatches. Thence we looked toward England,
And cited up a thousand heavy times
During the wars of York and Lancaster,
That had befallen us. As we passed 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.

Oh, Heaven! methought what pain it was to drown!
What dreadful noise of waters in mine ears!
What sights of ugly death within mine eyes!
I thought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks;
A thousand men that fishes gnawed 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,
As 'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems,
That wooed the slimy bottom of the deep,

And mocked the dead bones that lay scattered by.
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 wandering air;
But smothered it within my panting bulk,
Which almost burst to belch it in the sea.
Yet 'waked I not with this sore agony-
Ah no; my dream was lengthened after life:
O then began the tempest of my soul!
I passed, methought, the melancholy flood,
With that grim ferryman whom 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,
Who cried aloud,- "What scourge for perjury
Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?"
And so he vanished. Then came wandering by
A shadow like an angel, with bright hair
Dabbled in blood; and he shrieked out aloud,
"Clarence is come, false, fleeting, perjured Clarence,
That stabbed me in the field by Tewkesbury:
Seize on him, furies, take him to your torments !"–
With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends
Environed me, and howlèd in mine ears
Such hideous cries, that with the very noise
I, trembling, waked; and for a season after
Could not believe but that I was in hell:
Such terrible impression made my dream.

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