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Think of this life; but, for my single self

I had as lief not be, as live to be
In awe of such a thing as I myself.
I was born free as Cæsar; so were
you:

We both have fed as well; and we can both

Endure the winter's cold, as well as he.

For once upon a raw and gusty day, The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores,

Cæsar said to me, "Dar'st thou, Cassius, now

Leap in with me into this angry flood, And swim to yonder point?" Upon

the word,

Accoutred as I was, I plunged in, And bade him follow: so, indeed, he did.

The torrent roared, and we did buffet it

With lusty sinews; throwing it aside, And stemming it with hearts of controversy.

But ere we could arrive the point proposed, Cæsar cried,

I sink."

66

Help me, Cassius, or

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To find ourselves dishonorable graves. Men at some time are masters of their fates;

The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars

But in ourselves, that we are underlings.

Brutus and Cæsar: What should be in that Cæsar?

Why should that name be sounded more than yours?

Write them together, yours is as fair a name;

Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well;

Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with them,

Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Cæsar.

Now in the names of all the gods at once,

Upon what meat doth this our Cæsar feed,

That he is grown so great? Age, thou art shamed:

Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods!

When went there by an age, since the great flood,

But it was famed with more than with one man?

When could they say, till now, that talked of Rome,

That her wide walls encompassed but one man?

Now is it Rome indeed, and room enough,

When there is in it but one only man,

O! you and I have heard our fathers

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ANTONY OVER THE DEAD

BODY OF CESAR.

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. The 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 honorable man;
So are they all, all honorable men ;)
Come I to speak in Cæsar's funeral.
He was my friend, faithful and just

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And I must pause till it come back

to me.

But yesterday, the word of Cæsar might

Have stood against the world: now lies he there,

And none so poor to do him rever

ence.

O 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 honorable

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.

Citizen. We'll hear the will;
Read it, Mark Antony.

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Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up

To such a sudden flood of mutiny. They that have done this deed are honorable;

What private griefs they have, alas, I know not,

That made them do it; they are wise and honorable,

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,

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Dauphin. Your grace shall par-
don me, I will not back;

I am too high-born to be propertied,
To be a secondary at control,
Or useful serving-man and instru-
ment,

To any sovereign state throughout the world.

Your breath first kindled the dead coal of wars,

Between this chástised kingdom and myself,

And brought in matter that should feed this fire;

And now 'tis far too huge to be blown out

With that same weak wind which enkindled it.

You taught me how to know the face of right, Acquainted me with interest to this land,

Yea, thrust this enterprise into my heart;

And come you now to tell me, John

hath made

His peace with Rome? What is that peace to me?

I, by the honor of my marriage-bed, After young Arthur, claim this land for mine;

And, now it is half conquered, must I back,

Because that John hath made his peace with Rome?

Am I Rome's slave? What penny hath Rome borne, What men provided, what munition sent,

To underprop this action? Is't not I, That undergo this charge? Who else but I,

And such as to my claim are liable, Sweat in this business, and maintain this war?

Have I not heard these islanders shout out,

Vive le roy! as I have banked their towns?

Have I not here the best cards for the game,

To win this easy match played for a crown?

And shall I now give o'er the yielded set?

No, on my soul, it never shall be said.

Outside or inside, I will not re

turn

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