Sult. What book? what is it called?

Hasw." The Christian Doctrine." There you will find all I have done was but my duty.

Sult. Your words recall reflections that distract me; nor can I bear the pressure on my mind, without confessing-1 am a Christian. MRS. INCHBALD.

LESSON CLXVIII.

Soliloquy of Macbeth, when going to murder Duncan, king of Scotland.

1.

Is this a dagger which I see before me,

The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee:
I have thee not; and yet I see thee still.

Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible

To feeling, as to sight? or art thou but
A dagger of the mind; a false creation,
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?

2. I see thee yet, in form as palpable
As this which now I draw.

3.

Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going;
And such an instrument I was to use.

Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses,
Or else worth all the rest: I see thee still;

And on thy blade and dudgeon* goutst of blood,
Which was not so before.-There's no such thing;
It is the bloody business, which informs

Thus to mine eyes.

Now o'er the one half world,
Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse
The curtained sleep; now witchcraft celebrates
Pale Hecate's offerings; and withered murder,
Alarmed by his sentinel, the wolf,

Whose howls his watch, thus, with his stealthy pace,
With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design
Moves like a ghost.-Thou sure and firm-set earth,
Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear
The very stones prate of my where-about,

Haft, handle. † Drops. [gouttes, French.] "Gut for drop is still used in Scotland by physicians." Johnson. The diphthong ou in gouts has the sound of oo, as in croup and group.

And take the present horror from the time,

Which now suits with it.—While I threat, he lives;
Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives.

I go, and it is done; the bell invites me,—
Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell

That summons thee to heaven, or to hell

SHAKSPEARE.

LESSON CLXIX.

Quarrel of Brutus and Cassius.

Cassius. That you have wrong'd me doth appear in this, You have condemn'd and noted Lucius Pella,

For taking bribes here of the Sardians;

Wherein my letters (praying on his side,
Because I knew the man) was slighted of.

Brutus. You wrong'd yourself to write in such a case.
Cas. At such a time as this, it is not meet

That every nice offence should bear its comment,
Bru. Yet let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself
Are much condemned to have an itching palm,
To sell and mart your offices for gold,
To undeservers.

Cas. I an itching palm!

You know that you are Brutus that speak this,
Or, be assured, this speech were else your last.

Bru. The name of Cassius honours this corruption, And chastisement doth therefore hide its head.

Cas. Chastisement!

Bru. Remember March, the Ides of March remember! Did not great Julius bleed for justice sake?

What villain touch'd his body, that did stab,
And not for justice? What! shall one of us,
That struck the foremost man of all this world,
But for supporting robbers; shall we now
Contaminate our fingers with base bribes?
And sell the mighty meed of our large honours
For so much trash as may be grasped thus?
I had rather be a dog and bay the moon,
Than such a Roman.

Cas. Brutus, bay not me,

I'll not endure it; you forget yourself,
To hedge me in; I am a soldier, I,
Older in practice, abler than yourself
To make conditions.

Bru. Go to; you are not, Cassius.
Cas. I am.

Bru. I say you are not.

Cas. Urge me no more, I shall forget myself— Have mind upon your health-tempt me no further. Bru. Away, slight man!

Cas. Is it possible?

Bru. Hear me, for I will speak.

Must I give way and room to your rash choler?
Shall I be frighted when a mad man stares?

Cas. Must I endure all this?

Bru. All this! Aye, more. Fret till your proud heart

breaks.

Go tell your slaves how choleric you are,

And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge?
Must I observe you? Must I stand and crouch
Under your testy humour? Be assured,
You shall digest the venom of your spleen,
Though it do split you; for, from this day forth,
I'll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter,
When you are waspish.

Cas. Is it come to this?

Bru. You say you are a better soldier:

Let it appear so; make your vaunting true,

And it shall please me well. For my own part,

I shall be glad to learn of noble men.

Cas. You wrong me every way! you wrong me, Brutus; I said an elder soldier, not a better:

Bru. Peace, peace, you durst not so have tempted him.

Cas.

Bru.

Cas.

I durst not?

No.

What, durst not tempt him!
Bru. For your life you durst not.

Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love;
I may do what I shall be sorry for.

Bru. You have done what you should be sorry
There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats;
For I am arm'd so strong in honesty,

That they pass by me, as the idle wind,

Which I respect not.

I did send to you

For certain sums of gold, which you denied me;
For I can raise no money by vile means.

-I had rather coin my heart,

And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring
From the hard hand of peasants their vile trash,
By any indirection. I did send

To you for gold to pay my legions,

for.

Which you denied me; was that done like Cassius?
Should I have answered Caius Cassius so?

When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous,

To lock such villain counters from his friends,
Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts,

Dash him to pieces.

Cas. I denied you not.

Bru. You did.

Cas. I did not; he was but a fool

That brought my answer 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 practice them on me.
Cas. You love me not.

Bru. I do not like your faults.

Cas. A friendly eye could never see such faults. Bru. A flatterer's would not, though they do Appear as huge as high Olympus.

Cas. Come, Anthony, and young Octavius, come! Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius;

For Cassius 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'd;
Set in a note-book, learn'd and conn'd by rote,
To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep
My spirit from my eyes! There is my dagger,
And here my naked breast! within, a heart
Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold!
If that thou need'st 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'dst Cassius.

Bru. Sheathe your dagger;

Be angry when you will, it shall have scope;
Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour.
Oh, Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb,
That carries anger, as the flint bears fire;
Which much enforc'd, shows a hasty spark,
And straight is cold again.

Cas. Hath Cassius liv'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.

Cas. Do you confess so much? Give me your hand.
Bru. And my heart too.

Cas. O Brutus!

Bru. What's the matter?

Cas. Have you not love enough to bear with me,
When that rash humour that my mother gave me,
Makes me forgetful?

Bru. Yes, Cassius, and from henceforth,
When you are over earnest with your Brutus,
He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so.

LESSON CLXX.

Soliloquy on the Immortality of the Soul.

SCENE.-CATO, alone, sitting in a thoughtful posture:-in his hand PLATO's book on the Immortality of the Soul:—a drawn sword on the table by him.

Cato. It must be so-Plato, thou reasonest well!Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire,

This longing after immortality?

Or, whence this secret dread and inward horror,
Of falling into nought? Why shrinks the soul
Back on herself, and startles at destruction?
Tis the divinity that stirs within us;