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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-
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 disprovewhat 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, 2
And men have lost their reason !-Bear with me ; 3.-
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.4

1 To disprove, Réfuter._? O judgment ! thou art fled to brutish beasts, 0 bon sens, tu es devenu le partage des brutes.--3 Bear with me, Excusez-moi; pardonnez-moi.

-4 And none so poor to do him reverence, Et il ne commande plus le respect de personne, pas même du dernier des mortels.

O masters ! if I were disposed to stir
Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage,
I should do Brutus wrong, 1 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 2 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 3_
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 4
If Brutus so unkindly knocked, 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 :5

1 I should do Brutus wrong, Je serais injuste envers Brutus.--2 Let but the commons hear this testament.-Si le peuple entendait ce testament. -3 The Nervii, Les Nerviens.-4 To be resolved, Pour s assurer,-5 This was the most unkindest cut of all, De tous les coups qui lui furent portés, celui-là fut le plus cruel.

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 mufiling 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, with traitors.

Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up
To any 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 loved 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 ;3 I only speak right on : 4
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,

I Treason flourished, La trahison était triomphante._? And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you, Et je ne doute pas qu'ils ne vous donnent de bonnes raisons pour se justifier.---3 To stir men's blood, Pour émouvoir.–4 I only speak right on, Je ne sais que parler sans art.

And Brutus Antony, there were an Antonyl
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.

SHAKESPEARE, " Julius Cæsar.

1564-1616.

THE ALPS AT SUNSET.
THE moon is up, and yet it is not night;
Sunset divides the sky with her; .... a sea
Of glory streams along 2 the Alpine height
Of blue Friuli’s mountains ; heaven is free
From clouds, but of all colours seems to be
Melted to one vast iris of the west,
Where the day joins the past eternity ;

While, on the other hand, meek Dian's crest
Floats through the azure air, .... an island of the blest !

A single star is by her side, and reigns
With her o'er half the lovely heaven : but still
Yon sunny sea heaves brightly, and remains
Rolld o'er the peak of the far Rhætian hill
As day and night contending were, until
Nature reclaim'd her order-gently flows
The deep-dyed Brenta, where their hues instil

Th' odorous purple of a new-born rose,
Which streams upon her stream, and glass'd within it glows.

Fill'd with the face of heaven, which, from afar,
Comes down upon the waters : all its hues,
From the rich sunset to the rising star
Their magical variety diffuse :

i There were an Antony, Il y aurait un Antoine. _? A sea of glory streams along, Un occan de lumière baigne.

The cause of strife removed so rarely well,
“There take, (says Justice,) take ye each a shell ;
We thrive at Westminster on? fools like you :
'Twas a fat oyster- live in peace-adieu.”

A. POPE. 1688–1744.

THE LAST MINSTREL.
THE way was long, the wind was cold,
The Minstrel was infirm and old,
His wither'd cheek and tresses gray
Seem'd to have known a better day;
The harp, his sole remaining joy,
Was carried by an orphan boy.
The last of all the bards was he,
Who sung of border chivalry,
For well-a-day! their date was fled, 2
His tuneful brethren 3 all were dead,
And he, neglected and oppress’d,
Wish'd to be with them, and at rest. 4
No more5 on prancing palfrey borne,
He caroll'd light as lark at morn:
No longer courted and caress’d,
High placed in hall, a welcome guest,
He pour'd to lord and lady gay,
The unpremeditated lay ; 6
Old times were changed, old manners gone,
A stranger fill’d the Stuart's throne,
A wandering harper scorn'd and poor,

i We thrive on, Nous nous engraissons aux dépens de. -2 Their date was fled, Leur temps était passé. -3 His tuneful brethren, Ses frères en poésie.—4 To be with them, and at rest, Reposer avec eux pour toujours.--5 No more, Ce n'était plus le temps où.–6 Unpremeditated lay, Des vers improvisés.—7 A wandering harper scorn'd and poor, Errant avec sa harpe, pauvre et méprisé.

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