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By any indirection. I did fend
To you for gold to pay my legions ;
Which you denied me. Was that done like Caffius ?
Should I have answer'd Caius Caffius fo ?
When Marcus Brutus grows fo covetous,
To lock fuch rascal counters from his friends,
Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts.
Dash him in pieces.

Caf. I denied you not.
Bru. You did.

Caf. I did not : he was but a fool
That brought my anfwer back. --Brutus hath riv'd my

heart. A friend should bear a friend's infirmities

;
But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.
Bru, I do not. Still

you practise them on me.
Gaf. You love me not.
Bru. Ldo not like your faults.
Caf. A friendly eye could never see such faults.

Bru. Aflatterer's would not, though they did appear As huge as high Olympus.

Caf. Come, Antony! and young Octavius, come
Revenge yourselves alorie on Calhus:
For Caffius is a-weary of the world.
Hated by one he loves; brav'd by his brother; -
Check'd like a bondman; all his faults observ'de
Set in a note-book, learn'd and conn'd. by rote,
To caft into my teeth.—There is my dagger,
And here my naked breaft-within, a hearts.
Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold:
If that thou needft a Roman's, take it forth :
I that denied thee gold, will give my heart.
Strike as thou-didst at Cæsar; for I know,
When thou didst hate him worst, thou lov'dst him better
Than ever thou lov'dit Caffius,

Bru. Sheath your dagger,
Be angry when you will, it hall have scope : :
Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour...
O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb

That carries anger as the flint bears fire ;
Who, much inforced; thews a hasty spark, ,
And Itraight is cold again.

Caf. Hath Caffius liy'd
To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus,
When grief and blood ill-temper'd vexeth him!

Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill-temper'd too.
Caf. Do you confefs fo mach? give me your hand,
Bru. And my heart too.

[Embracing
Gaf. O Brutus !
Bru. What's the matter?
Caf. Have you not love enough to bear with me,
When that rash humour which my mother gave me,
Makes me forgetful?

Bru. Yes, Caffius : and, from henceforth, When you are over-earneft with your Brutus, He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so.

II. SPEECHES AND SOLILOQUIES.

1. Hanilet's Advice to the Players. SPEAT

PEAK the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to

you ; trippingly on the tongue. But if you mouth it, as many of our players do, I had as lief the town. crier had spoke my lines. And, do not saw the air too much with your hand; but use all gentlý: for in the very torrent, tempeft, and, as I may lay, whirlwind of your passion, you muft acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothiness. Oh! it offends me to the soul, to hear a robuste ous periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rays, to split the ears of the groundlings; who (for the molt part) are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb shows and noise. Pray, you avoid it.

Be got too tame neither : but let your own discretion be your tutor. Suit the action to the word, the word to the action ; with this fpecial observante, that you o'erStep not the inodesły of nature : for any thing to overdone, is from the purpose of playing ; whose end is--to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature ; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time, his form and pressure. Now, this overdone or come tardy of, though it make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve; the censure of one of which, muft, in your allowance, o'erweigh a whole theatre of others. Oh! there be players that I have seen play, and heard others praise, and that highly, that, neither having the accent of christian, nor the gait of christian, pagan, nor man, have so ftrutted and bellowed, that I have thought some of Nature's journeymen had made men, and not made them well; they inítated humanity fo abominably.

fure

II. Douglas's Account of Himself. MY

name is Norval. On the Grampian hills

My father feeds his flocks; a frugal swain, Whose constant cares were to increase his tore, And keep his only fon, myself, at home. For I had heard of battles, and I long'd To follow to the field some warlike ford; And heav'n soon granted what my fire denied, This moon, which rose last night round as my field, Had not yet fill'd her horns, when, by her light, A band of fierce barbarians, from the hills, Rulh'd, like a torrent, down upon the vale, Sweeping our flocks and herds. The shepherds filed For safety and for succour. I alone, With bended bow and quiver full of arrows, Hověr'd about the enemy, and mark'a The road he took : then halted to my friends s Whom, with a troop of fifty chosen men, I met advancing. The pursuit I led, Till we o'ertook the spoil-encumber'd foe. We fought--and conquer'd. Ere a sword was drawn, An arrow from my bow had pierc'd their chief, Who wore that day the arms which now I wear. Returning home in triumph, I disdain'd The lhepherd's Nothful life ; and, having heard That our good king had funimon’d his bold peers To lead their warriours to the Carron fide, I left my father's house, and took with me A chosen fervant to conduct my Iteps Yon trembling coward, who forsook his master. Journeying with this intent, I pats’d these towers; And, heaven-directed, came this day to do The happy deed that gilds my humble name.

HI. Douglas's Account of the Hermit. BENEATH a mountain's brow, the most remote

And inaccessible by shepherds trod, In a deep cave, dug by no mortal liand, A hermit liv'd; a melancholy man, Who was the wonder of our wand'ring swains. Austere and lonely, cruel to himself, Did they report him; the cold earth his bed, Water his drink, his food the shepherd's alms. I went to see him; and my heart was touch'd With reverence and pity. Mild he spake ; And, entering on discourse, such stories told, As made me oft revisit his fad cell. For he had been a soldier in his youth ; And fought in famous battles, when the peers Of Europe, by the bold Godfredo led, Against th' ufurping infidel display'd The blessed crols, and won the Holy Land. Pleas'd with my admiration, and the fire His speech struck from me, the old man would flake His years away, and act his young encounters : Then, having show'd his wounds, he'd fit hiin down, And, all the live-long day discourse of war. To help my fancy, in the smooth green turf He cut the figures of the marshalld hosts ; Describ'd the motions, and explain'd the use, Of the deep column, and the lengthen'd line Tbe square, the crescent, and the phalanx firm: For, all that Saraceni or Christiap knew Of war's vast art, was to this hermit known.

IV. Sempronius's Speech for War, MY voice is still for war.

Gods! can a Roman senate long debate Which of the two to choose, slavery or death? No let us rise at once, gird on our swords, And, at the head of our remaining troops, Attack the foe, break through the thick array Of bis throng'd legions, and charge home upon hin. Perhaps some arm more lucky than the rest May reach his heart, and free the world from bondage.

Rise, Fathers, rise: 'tis Rome demands your help:
Rile, and revenge her faughter'd citizens,
Or share their fate. The corpfe of half her fenate
Manure the fields of Thessaly, while we
Sit here, deliberating in cold debates
If we should sacrifice our lives to honour,
Or wear them out in servitude and chains.
Rouse up, for shame! Our brothers of Pharsalia
Point at their wounds, and cry aloud, To battle :
Great Pompey's shade complains that we are slow;
And Scipio's ghost walks unreveng'd amongst use ·

V. Lucius's Speech for Peace.
My thoughts, I must confess, are turn’d on peace.

Already have our quarrels fill'd the world
With widows and with orphans : Scythia mourns
Our guilty wars; and earth's remoteft regions
Lie half unpeopled by the feuds of Rome :
'Tis time to fheath the sword and spare mankind.
It is not Cæsar, but the gods, my Fathers !
The gods declare against us and repel
Our vain attempts. To urge the foe to battle
(Prompted by blind revenge and wild despair)
Were to refuse th' awards of Providence,
And not to rest in Heaven's determination.
Already have we town our love to Rome;
Now let us show submission to the gods.
We took up arms, not to revenge ourselves,
But free the commonwealth. When this end fails,
Arms have no further use. Our country's cause,

That drew our swords, now wrests them from our hands,
And bids us not delight in Roman blood,
Unprofitably fbed. What men could do
Is done already. - Heaven and earth will witness
If Rome must fall, that' we are innocent,

VI. Hotspur's Account of the Fop.
MY liege, I did deny no prisoners.

But I remember when the fight was done, When I was dry with rage

and

extreme toil, Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, Came their a certain lord ; neat; trimly dressid ;

Freth

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