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Was this ambition?

You all did see, that, on the Lupercal,
I thrice presented him a kingly crown,
Which he did thrice refuse.
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.

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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 will. 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. 2 Pleb.

3 Pleb.

4 Pleb. 1 Pleb.

2 Pleb.

Come down.
Descend.

Ant.

All.

[He comes down from the pulpit.

You shall have leave.

A ring! stand round!

Stand from the hearse! stand from the body! Room for Antony! most noble Antony! Nay, press not so upon me: stand far off. 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.

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Duke. Fetch Desdemona hither. [Exeunt two or three. Oth. Ancient, conduct them; you best know the

[Exit Iago.

place.

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.

hear

These things to

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