But he, though

2. Semi-chorus. blind of sight, Despised and thought extinguished quite,

With inward eyes illuminated,
His fiery virtue roused

From under ashes into sudden flame,
Not as an evening dragon came,
Assailant on the perchèd roosts
And nests in order ranged

Of tame villatic fowl; but as an eagle His cloudless thunder bolted on their heads.

So virtue given for lost,
Depressed, and overthrown, as
seemed,

Like that self-begotten bird
In the Arabian woods imbost,
That no second knows nor third,
And lay ere while a holocaust,
From out her ashy womb now
teemed,

Revives, reflourishes, then vigorous

AT the king's gate the subtle noon Wove filmy yellow nets of sun; Into the drowsy share too soon

The guards fell one by one.

Through the king's gate, unquestioned then,

A beggar went, and laughed, "This brings

Me chance, at last, to see if men
Fare better, being kings."

The king sat bowed beneath his

crown,

Propping his face with listless hand; Watching the hour-glass sifting down Too slow its shining sand.

"Poor man, what wouldst thou have of me?"

The beggar turned, and pitying, Replied, like one in dream, "Of thee, Nothing. I want the king."

Uprose the king, and from his head Shook off the crown, and threw it

by.

"O man! thou must have known,"

he said.

"A greater king than I."

As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me,

A man of such a feeble temper should

So get the start of the majestic world,
And bear the palm alone.
Why, man, he doth bestride the
narrow world,

Like a Colossus; and we petty men Walk under his huge legs, and peep about

To find ourselves dishonorable graves. Men at some time are masters of their fates;

The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars

But in ourselves, that we are underlings.

Brutus and Cæsar: What should be in that Cæsar?

Why should that name be sounded more than yours?

Write them together, yours is as fair a name;

Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well;

Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with them,

Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Cæsar.

Now in the names of all the gods at once,

Upon what meat doth this our Cæsar feed,

That he is grown so great? Age, thou art shamed:

Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods!

When went there by an age, since the great flood,

But it was famed with more than with one man?

When could they say, till now, that talked of Rome,

That her wide walls encompassed but one man?

Now is it Rome indeed, and room enough,

When there is in it but one only

ANTONY OVER THE DEAD

Antony.

BODY OF CÆSAR.

- FRIENDS, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears:

I come to bury Cæsar, not to praisehim.

The evil that men do lives after them; The good is oft interred with their bones;

So let it be with Cæsar. The 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 Caesar's funeral.
He was my friend, faithful and just

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 rever

ence.

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.

Citizen. We'll hear the will;
Read it, Mark Antony.

Citizen. The will, the will; we will hear Cæsar's will.

Antony. 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

Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up

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 honorable,

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,

power of speech,

nor the

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,