Macd. If it be mine,

Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it. Rosse. Let not your ears despise my tongue for

ever,

Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound, That ever yet they heard.

Macd. Hum! I guess at it.

Rosse. Your castle is surpris'd, your wife and babes

Savagely slaughter'd: to relate the manner,
Were on the quarry of these murther'd deer
To add the death of you.

Mal Merciful Heav'n!

What man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows, Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak, Whispers the o'erfraught heart, and bids it break. Macd. My children too!

Rosse. Wife, children, servants, all that could be found.

Macd. And I must be from thence! My wife kill'd too!

Rosse I've said.

Mal. Be comforted.

Let's make us med'cines of our great revenge,
To cure this deadly grief.

Macd. He has no children.

Did

ones!

All my pretty

you say all? What all? Oh, hell-kite! All? Mal, Endure it like a man.

Macd. I shall do so;.

But I must also feel it as a man.

I cannot but remember such things were,
That were most precious to me. Did Heav'n look

on,

And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff,
They were all struck for thee! naught that I am,
Not for their own demerits, but for mine,
Fell Slaughter on their souls. Heav'n rest them

now!

Mal. Be this the whetstone of your sword, let

grief

Book viij. Convert to wrath; blunt not the heart, enrage it. Macd. O,I could play the woman with mineeyes, And braggart with my tongue. But gentle heav'n! Cut short all intermission: front to front,

Bring thou this fiend of Scotland and myself; Within my sword's length set him, if he 'scape, Then Heav'n forgive him too!

Mal. This tune goes manly.

Come, go we to the king, our power is ready;
Our lack is nothing but our leave. Macbeth
Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above
Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer you
may;

The night is long that never finds the day.

SHAKESPEARE.

CHA P. XXIV.

Antony's Soliloquy over Caesar's body.

pardon me, thou bleeding piece of 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 line 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 quarter'd by the hands of war;
All pity chok'd with custom of fell deeds;.
And Caesar's spirit, ranging for revenge,
With Ate by his side, come hot from hell,
Shall in these confines, with a monarch's voice,
Cry, Havock! and let slip the dogs of war.
SHAKESPEARE.

CHA P. X X V.

Antony's funeral oration over Cæsar's body.

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 interred 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 answer'd 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 cry'd, Caesar, 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 with-holds 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,

Book viij. And I must pause till it come back to me.'

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 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 resolv'd,
If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no:
For Brutus, as you know, was Cæsar's angel.
Judge, oh ye gods! how dearly Cæsar lov'd him;
This, this was the 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.
Oh what a fall was there, my countrymen!
Then I and you, and all of us fell down
Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us.
O, 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
Out Cæsar's vesture wounded? look you here!
Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, by 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 honour

able;

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 my friends: 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 utt'rance, 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.

SHAKESPEARE.

СНА Р. X X V I.

The Quarrel of Brutus and Cassius.

Cas. THAT you have wrong'd me doth appear in

this,

You have condemn'd and noted Lucius Pella,
For taking bribes here of the Sardians;
Wherein my letter (praying on his side,
Because I knew the man) was slighted of.
Bru. You wrong'd yourself to write in such a

case.

Cas. In such a time as this it is not meet That ev'ry nice offence should bear its comment. Bru. Yet let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself Are much condemn'd to have an itching palm, To sell and mart your offices for gold, To undeservers.

Cas. I an itching palm?

You know, that you are Brutus that spake this, Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last. Bru. The name of Cassius honours this cor

ruption,

And chastisement doth therefore hide its head.
Cas. Chastisement!-