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Fetching mad bounds, bellowing, and neighing loud-
Which is the hot condition of their blood-

If they perchance but hear a trumpet sound,
Or any air of music touch their ears,

You shall perceive them make a mutual stand,
Their savage eyes turned to a modest gaze,

By the sweet power of music. Therefore, the poet
Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods;
Since nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage,
But music for the time doth change his nature.
The man that hath no music in himself,

Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils;
The motions of his spirit are dull as night,
And his affections dark as Erebus:

Let no such man be trusted.

Merchant of Venice, Act V. œ.1.

Ghost-scene in Hamlet.

HAMLET. The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold.

HORATIO. It is a nipping and an eager air.

HAM. What hour now?

HOR. I think it lacks of twelve.

MARCELLUS. No, it is struck.

HOR. Indeed? I heard it not. It then draws near the season

Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk. [Noise of warlike music within. What does this mean, my lord?

HAM. The king doth wake to-night, and takes his rouse,

Keeps wassail, and the swaggering up-spring reels;

And as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down,

The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out

The triumph of his pledge.

HOR. Is it a custom?

HAM. Ay, marry, is 't:

But to my mind-though I am native here,

And to the manner born-it is a custom

More honoured in the breach than the observance.

This heavy-headed revel, east and west,

Makes us traduced, and taxed of other nations;

They clepe us drunkards, and with swinish phrase

Soil our addition; and, indeed, it takes

From our achievements, though performed at height,"
The pith and marrow of our attribute.

So, oft it chances in particular men,

That for some vicious mole of nature in them,
As in their birth (wherein they are not guilty,

Since nature cannot choose his origin),

By the o'ergrowth of some complexion,

Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason;
Or by some habit, that too much o'er-leavens

The form of plausive manners; that these men,
Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect;
Being nature's livery, or fortune's star,
Their virtues else, be they as pure as grace,.
As infinite as man may undergo,

Shall in the general.censure take corruption

From that particular fault: The dram of base)
Doth all the noble substance often dout,

To his own scandal.

E. L. v. 1-11

Enter GHOST.

HOR. Look, my lord, it comes !

HAM. Angels and ministers of grace defend us !--
Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damned,

Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from hell,
Be thy intents wicked, or charitable,

Thou com'st in such a questionable shape,

That I will speak to thee. I'll call thee. Hamlet,

King, Father, Royal Dane; Oh, answer me;
Let me not burst in ignorance! but tell
Why thy canonised bones, hearsed in death,
Have burst their cerements! why the sepulchre,
Wherein we saw thee quietly inurned,
Hath oped his ponderous and marble jaws,
To cast thee up again! What may this mean,
That thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel,
Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon,
Making night hideous; and we fools of nature,
So horribly to shake our disposition,

With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls ?

Say, why is this? Wherefore? What should we do?

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HOR. No, by no means.

HAM. It will not speak: then I will follow it.
HOR. Do not, my ford.

HAM. Why, what should be the fear?

I do not set my life at a pin's fee;

And, for my soul, what can it do to that,

Being a thing immortal as itself?

It waves me forth again.-I'll follow it.

[Ghost beckons Hamlet.

[Holding Hamlet.

HOR. What if it tempt you toward the flood, my lord, Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff,

That beetles o'er his base into the sea;

And there assume some other horrible forin,

Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason,

And draw you into madness? Think of it.

The very place puts toys of desperation,

Without more inotive, into every brain,

That looks so many fathoms to the sea,
And hears it roar beneath.

HAM. It waves me still.-Go on, I'll follow thee.
Hamlet's Soliloquy on Death.

To be, or not to be, that is the question-
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,

And, by opposing, end them? To die-to sleep--
No more; and, by a sleep, to say we end
The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to !--'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To dic-to sleep-

To sleep!-perchance to dream!-ay, there's the rub:
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,.

Act I. se. 4

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life:

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin ? Who would fardels bear,
To groan and sweat under a weary life;
But that the dread of something after death-
That undiscovered country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns-puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have,
Than fly to other that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution

Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought;
And enterprises of great pith and moment,
With this regard, their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.

Mark Antony over Cæsar's Body.

Act III. sc. 1.

ANTONY. Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears.
I come to bury Cæsar, not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their bones;
So let it be with Cæsar. Noble Brutus
Hath told you Cæsar was ambitious;
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Cæsar answered it.
Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest-
For Brutus is an honourable man,

So are they all, all honourable men-
Come I to speak in Cæsar's funeral,

He was my friend, faithful and just to me;
And Brutus says he was ambitious;

And Brutus is an honourable man.

He hath brought many captives home to Rome.
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill.

Did this in Cæsar seem ambitious?

When that the poor have cried, Cæsar hath wept;
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:

Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;

And Brutus is an honourable man.

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.

1ST Cir. Methinks there is much reason in his sayings.

2D CIT. If thon consider rightly of the matter,

Cæsar has had great wrong.

3D CIT. Has he, masters? I fear there will a worse come in his place. 4TH CIT. Marked ye his words? He would not take the crown; Therefore, 'tis certain he was not ambitious.

1ST CIT. If it be found so, some will dear abide it.

2D CIT. Poor soul! his eyes are red as fire with weeping.

3D CIT. There's not a nobler man in Rome than Antony.
4TH CIT. 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.

Oh, masters! if I were disposed 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 will wrong such honorable men.

But here's a parchment, with the seal of Cæsar:
I found it in his closet; 'tis 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.

4TH CIT. 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 loved 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.
'Tis good you know not that you are his heirs;
For if you should, oh, what would come of it!

4TH CIT. 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 stabbed Cæsar. I do fear it.

4TH CIT. They were traitors. Honourable men!

ALL. The will! the testament!

2D CIT. 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 Caesar,

And let me shew you him that made the will.

Shall I descend? And will you give me leave?

ALL. Come down.

2D CIT. Descend.

3D CIT. You shall have leave.

4TH CIT. A ring! Stand round.

[He comes down from the pulpit.

1ST CIT. Stand from the hearse, stand from the body.
2D CIT. Room for Autony-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;

'Twas 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 stabbed;
And, as he plucked his cursed steel away,
Mark how the blood of Cæsar followed it!
As rushing out of doors, to be resolved
If Brutus so unkindly knocked, 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,

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Quite vanquished 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.
Oh, what a fall was there, my countrymen!
Then I, and you, and all of us fell down,

Whilst bloody treason flourished over us.

Oh, 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, marred, as you see, with traitors.

1ST CIT. O piteous spectacle!

2D CIT. O noble Cæsar!

3D CIT. O woful day!

4TH CIT. O traitors! villains!

1ST CIT. O most bloody sight!

2D CIT. We will be revenged! Revenge! About-seek-burn-fire

kill-slay! Let not a traitor live!

Julius Caesar, Act III. sc. 2.

Bolingbroke's Entry into London.

DUKE OF YORK and the DUCHESS.

DUCH. My lord, you told me you would tell the rest,
When weeping made you break the story off

Of our two cousins coming into London.

YORK. Where did I leave?

DUCH. At that stop, my lord,

Where rude misgoverned hands, from windows' tops,
Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard's head.

YORK. Then as I said, the duke, great Bolingbroke→→

Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed,

Which his aspiring rider seemed to know

With slow, but stately pace, kept on his course,

While all tongues cried: God save thee, Bolingbroke!
You would have thought the very windows spake,

So many greedy looks of young and old

Through casements darted their desiring eyes
Upon his visage; and that all the walls,
With painted imagery, had said at once:
Jesu preserve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke!
Whilst he, from one side to the other turning,
Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed's neck,
Bespake them thus: I thank you, countrymen.
And thus still doing, thus he passed along.

DUCH. Alas, poor Richard ! where rode he the whilst ?

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