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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
Dafh him in pieces.

Caf. I denied you not.

Bru. You did.

Caf. I did not: he was but a fool

That brought my answer back.-Brutus hath riv'd my heart..

A friend fhould bear a friend's infirmities ;
But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.
Bru. I do not. Still you practise them on me.
Caf. You love me not.

Bru. Ldo not like your faults.

Caf. A friendly eye could never fee fuch faults. Bru. A flatterer's would not, though they did appear As huge as high Olympus.

Caf. Come, Antony! and young Octavius, come Revenge yourselves alone on Caffius:

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 obferv'd,
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 breast--within, a heart
Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold:
If that thou needst a Roman's, take it forth:
I that denied thee gold, will give my heart.
Strike as thou didst at Cæfar; for I know,

When thou didst hate him worft, thou lov'dst him better
Than ever thou lov'dst Caffius.

Bru. Sheath your dagger.

Be angry when you will, it fhall have scope: :
Do what you will, difhonour fhall be humour.
O Caffius, you are yoked with a lamb
That carries anger as the flint bears fire;
Who, much inforced; fhews a hafty fpark,
And ftraight is cold again.

Caf.

Caf. Hath Caffius liv'd

To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus,
When grief and blood ill-temper'd vexeth him!
Bru. When I fpoke that, I was ill-temper'd too.
Caf. Do you confefs fo much? 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-earnest with your Brutus, He'll think your mother chides, and leave you fo.

II. SPEECHES AND SOLILOQUIES.

SP

I. Hamlet's Advice to the Players.

PEAK the fpeech, 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 towncrier had spoke my lines, And, do not faw the air too much with your hand; but use all gently: for in the very torrent, tempeft, and, as I may fay, whirlwind of your paffion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothnefs. Oh! it offends me to the foul, to hear a robuste ous periwig-pated fellow tear a paffion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings; who (for the most part) are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb fhows and noife. Pray, you avoid it.

Be not 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 obfervante, that you o'erStep not the modefty of nature: for any thing fo overdone, is from the purpose of playing; whofe end is-to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature; to fhow virtue her own feature, fcorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time, his form and preffure. Now, this overdone or come tardy of, though it make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve; the cen

fure

fure 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 praife, and that highly, that, neither having the accent of chriftian, nor the gait of chriftian, pagan, nor man, have fo ftrutted and bellowed, that I have thought fome of Nature's journeymen had made men, and not made them well; they imfftated humanity fo abominably.

H. Douglas's Account of Himself.

MY name is Norval. On the Grampian hills
My father feeds his flocks; a frugal fwain,
Whofe constant cares were to increase his store,
And keep his only fon, myfelf, at home.
For I had heard of battles, and I long'd
To follow to the field fome warlike lord;
And heav'n foon granted what my fire denied.
This moon, which rofe 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,
Rufh'd, like a torrent, down upon the vale,
Sweeping our flocks and herds. The fhepherds filed
For fafety and for fuccour. I alone,

With bended bow and quiver full of arrows,
Hover'd about the enemy, and mark'd
The road he took: then hafted to my friends;
Whom, with a troop of fifty chofen men,
I met advancing. The purfuit I led,

Till we o'ertook the spoil-encumber'd foe.

We fought-and conquer'd. Ere a fword 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 difdain'd

The fhepherd's flothful 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 houfe, and took with me
A chofen fervant to conduct my steps-
Yon trembling coward, who forfook his master.
Journeying with this intent, I pafs'd thefe 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 inacceffible by fhepherds trod,

In a deep cave, dug by no mortal hand,
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 fhepherd's alms.
I went to fee him; and my heart was touch'd
With reverence and pity. Mild he spake;
And, entering on difcourfe, fuch ftories told,
As made me oft revifit his fad cell. -

For he had been a foldier 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 cross, and won the Holy Land..
Pleas'd with my admiration, and the fire

His fpeech ftruck from me, the old man would fhake
His years away, and act his young encounters:
Then, having fhow'd his wounds, he'd fit him 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 marshall'd hosts;
Defcrib'd the motions, and explain'd the ufe,
Of the deep column, and the lengthen'd line
The fquare, the crefcent, and the phalanx firm:
For, all that Saracen or Christian knew
Of war's vaft art, was to this hermit known.

IV. Sempronius's Speech for War.

MY voice is ftill for war.

Gods! can a Roman fenate long debate
Which of the two to choose, flavery or death?
No-let us rife at once, gird on our fwords,
And, at the head of our remaining troops,
Attack the foe, break through the thick array
Of his throng'd legions, and charge home upon him.
Perhaps fome arm more lucky than the reft

May reach his heart, and free the world from bondage.

Rife, Fathers, rife: 'tis Rome demands your help:
Rife, and revenge her slaughter'd citizens,
Or fhare their fate. The corpfe of half her fenate
Manure the fields of Theffaly, while we
Sit here, deliberating in cold debates

If we should facrifice our lives to honour,
Or wear them out in fervitude and chains.
Roufe up, for shame! Our brothers of Pharfalia
Point at their wounds, and cry aloud, Te battle:
Great Pompey's fhade complains that we are flow;
And Scipio's ghoft walks unreveng'd amongst us..
V. Lucius's Speech for Peace.

MY thoughts, I must confefs, are turn'd on pease.
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 fword and spare mankind.
It is not Cæfar, 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 refufe th' awards of Providence,
And not to rest in Heaven's determination.
Already have we shown our love to Rome;
Now let us fhow fubmiffion to the gods.
We took up arms, not to revenge ourselves,
But free the commonwealth. When this end fails,
Arms have no further ufe. Our country's caufe,

That drew our fwords, now wrests them from our hands,
And bids us not delight in Roman blood

Unprofitably fhed. What men could do

Is done already. Heaven and earth will witness
If Rome must fall, that we are innocent.

VI. Hotfpur's Account of the Fop.

MY liege, I did deny no prifoners.

But I remember when the fight was done, When I was dry with rage and extreme toil, Breathless and faint, leaning upon my fword, Came their a certain lord; neat; trimly dress'd;

Fresh

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