Of falling into nought? Why shrinks the soul 'Tis Heaven itself that points out an hereafter, Eternity!-thou pleasing-dreadful thought! Through what new scenes and changes must we pass ! Through all her works-He must delight in virtue ;' But when? or where? This world was made for Cæsar. I'm weary of conjectures-this must end them. [Laying his hand on his sword.] Thus am I doubly arm'd. My death and life, My bane and antidote, are both before me. This in a moment, brings me to an end; But this informs me I shall never die ! The soul, secur'd in her existence, smiles At the drawn dagger, and defies its point.The stars shall fade way, the sun himself Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years; But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth, Unhurt amid the war of elements, The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds! Addison. Douglas's Account of Himself. My name is Norval: on the Grampian hills And Heaven soon granted what my sire denied. The road he took; then hasted to my friends, We fought and conquer'd! Ere a sword was drawn, I left my father's house, and took with me Home. Brutus on the Death of Cæsar. 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 liv ing, 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 bond man? 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.77 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.A Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony; who, though he had no hand in his death, shall re ceive the benefit of his dying, a place in the com monwealth; 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. l ba♬ Shakspeare. Hamlet's Soliloquy on Death. To be or not to be ?-that is the question. And, by opposing, end them ?-To die-to sleep- Devoutly to be wish'd. To die-to sleep To sleep?-perchance to dream!-ay, there's the rub! For, in that sleep of death, what dreams may come, For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, Shakspeare. Cardinal Wolsey's Speech to Cromwell. CROMWELL, I did not think to shed a tear, And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention C C And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour, \ } / Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve the King. There take an inventory of all I have; To the last penny, 'tis the King's. My robe, I dare now call my own. O Cromwell! Cromwell! Shakspeare. Lady Randolph's Soliloquy, Lamenting the Death of her Husband and Child YE woods and wilds! whose melancholy gloom 11 £. Accords with my soul's sadness, and draws forth all The voice of sorrow from my bursting heart 7/ Farewell a while. I will not leave you long shit bi For, in your shades, I deem some spirit dwells,osti"?? Who, from the chiding stream, or groaning oak,day A Still hears and answers to Matilda's moan.mf toŸ Oh Douglas! Douglas! if departed ghosts bak Are e'er permitted to review this world, bbs ST Within the circle of that wood thou art ng soluft I And, with the passion of immortals, hear'st |