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.
1 Pleb. Methinks there is much reason in his

sayings.
2 Pleb. If thou consider rightly of the matter,
Cæsar has had great wrong.

3 Pleb. Has he, masters ? I fear, there will a worse come in his place. 4th Pleb. Mark'd

ye

his words? He would not take the crown: Therefore, 't is certain, he was not ambitious.

1 Pleb. If it be found so, some will dear abide it.
2 Pleb. Poor soul! his eyes are red as fire with

weeping:
3 Pleb. There's not a nobler man in Rome than

Antony.
4 Pleb. Now mark him! he begins again to speak.

Ant. But yesterday, the word of Cæsar might
Have stood against the world: now lies he there,
And none so poor to do him reverence.
O masters ! if I were dispos’d 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 would wrong such honourable men.
But here's a parchment, with the seal of Cæsar ;
I found it in his closet, ’t is 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.

4 Pleb. We'll hear the will: read it, Mark Antony. All. The will, the will ; we will hear Cæsar's wil). Ant. Have patience, gentle friends; I must not

read it:
It is not meet you know how Cæsar lov'd you.
You are not wood, you are not stones, but men;
And, being men, hearing the will of Cæsar,
It will inflame you — it will make you

mad.
’T is good you know not that you are his heirs ;
For if you should, O what will come of it?

4 Pleb. Read the will; we will hear it, Antony: You shall read us the will Cæsar's will !

Ant. Will you be patient ? will you stay a while ? I have o'ershot myself, to tell you

of it: I fear I wrong the honourable men, Whose daggers have stabb’d Cæsar: I do fear it.

4 Pleb. They were traitors. Honourable men! All. The will! the testament ! 2 Pleb. They were villains—murderers! The will !

read the will ! Ant. You will compel me, then, to read the will ? Then make a ring about the corpse of Cæsar, And let me show you him that made the will. Shall I descend ! and will you give me leave ?

All. Come down.
2 Pleb. Descend.

[He comes down from the pulpit.
3 Pleb. You shall have leave.
4 Pleb. A ring! stand round !
1 Pleb. Stand from the hearse! stand from the body!
2 Pleb. Room for Antony! most noble Antony !
Ant. Nay, press not so upon me: stand far off.
All. Stand back! room! bear back!

Ant. 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. ’T was 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 resolved If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, 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; 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 ! O, what a fall was there, my countrymen ! Then I, and you, and all of us fell down ; Whilst bloody treason flourished 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

Our Cæsar's vesture wounded ? Look

you

here! Here is himself! marr'd, as you see, with traitors.

1 Pleb. O piteous spectacle !
2 Pleb. O noble Cæsar!
3 Pleb. O woeful day!
4 Pleb. O traitors! villains !
1 Pleb. O most bloody sight!

2 Pleb. We will be revenged ! Revenge! AboutSeek — burn-fire-kill-slay-let not a traitor live!

Ant. Stay, countrymen. 1 Pleb. Peace, there ! Hear the noble Antony. 2 Pleb. We'll hear him, we'll follow him, we 'll die

with him. Ant. 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 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, 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.

SHAKSPERE.

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE, ACT I., SCENE 3.

Venice.- A council chamber. Duke. Fetch Desdemona hither. [Exeunt two or three. Oth. Ancient, conduct them; you best know the place.

[Exit Iago. And, till she come, as truly as to heaven I do confess the vices of my blood, So justly to your grave ears I 'll present How I did thrive in this fair lady's love, And she in mine.

Duke. Say it, Othello.

Oth. Her father loved me; oft invited me; Still question’d me the story of my life, From year to year; the battles, sieges, fortunes, That I have pass’d. I ran it through, even from my boyish days, To the very moment that he bade me tell it, Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances, Of moving accidents by flood and field; Of hair-breadth 'scapes, i' the imminent deadly breach; Of being taken by the insolent foe, And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence, And portance in my travel's history: Wherein of antres vast, and desarts idle, Rough quarries, rocks, and hills, whose heads touch'd

heaven, It was my hint to speak, such was the

process; And of the Cannibals that each other eat; The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads Do grow beneath their shoulders.

These things to hear