3. Had you rather Cæsar were living, and die all slaves, than that Cæsar were dead, to live all freemen? As Cæsar loved me, I weep for him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I honour him ; but, as he was ambitious, I slew him.

4. There are tears for his love, joy for his fortune, honour for his valour, and death—for his ambition. Who's here so base, that he would be a bondman? If any,--speak; for him have I offended.

5. Who's here so rude, that he would not be a Roman? If, any,-speak; for him have I offended. Who's here so vile, that he will not love his country? If any,--speak; for him have I offended. I pause for a reply

6. None? Then none have I offended. I have done no more to Cæsar than you shall do to Brutus. And, as I slew my best lover for the good of Rome, I reserve the same dagger for myself, whenever it shall please my country to need my death.

ANTONY'S SPEECH OVER THE BODY OF CÆSAR.

FRIENDS, ROMANS, COUNTRYMEN,
LEND

4. When that the poor hath cried, Cæsar hath wept :
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff.
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honourable man.

5. 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.

6. 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 judgement ! Thou art fled to brutish beasts,
And men have lost their reason.-

7. Bear with me :
My heart is in the coffin there with Cæsar ;
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 revérence.

8. 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 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 honourable men.

9. 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, 1 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.

10. 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;

when you

'Twas on a summer's evening in his tent,
That day he overcame the Nerviï-
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!

11. “This, this was the unkindest cut of all.
For, when the noble Cæsar saw him stab,
Ingratitude, more strong than traitor's arms,
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.

12. O what a fall was there, my countrymen ! Then I, and you, and all of us, fell down; Whilst bloody treason flourished over us. 0, now you weep; and I perceive you feel The dint of pity !—These are gracious drops. Kind souls! What, weep you

but behold Our Cæsar's vesture wounded ? Look

you

here ! Here is himself-marred, as you see, by traitors.

13. Good friends! Sweet friends! Let me not stir you up
To such a sudden flood of mutiny!
They that have done this deed are honourable !
What private griefs they have, alas, I know not,
That made them do it! They are wise and honourable,
And will, no doubt, with reason answer you.

14. 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 publick leave to speak of him ;
For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth,
Action, nor utterance, nor power of speech,
To stir men's blood-

15. 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,
And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony

Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue
In every wound of Cæsar, that should move
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.

ROLLA AND ALONZO.

Enter Rolla, disguised as a monk. Rolla. INFORM me, friend, is Alonzo, the Peruvian, confined in this dungeon ?

Sentinel. He is.
Rol. I must speak with him.
Sent. You must not.
Rol. He is my friend.
Sent. Not if he were your brother.
Rol. What is to be his fate ?
Sent. He dies at sunrise.
Rol. Ha ! then I am come in time-
Sent. Just to witness his death.

Rol. (Advancing towards the door.) Soldier-I must speak with him.

Sent. (Pushing him back with his gun.) Back ! back ! it is impossible.

Rol. I do entreat you but for one moment.
Sent. You entreat in vain-my orders are most strict.

Rol. Look on this wedge of massy gold! Look on these precious gems ! In thy land they will be wealth for thee and thine beyond thy hope or wish. Take them; they are thine :- let me but pass one moment with Alonzo.

Sent. Away! Wouldst thou corrupt me? Me, an old Castilian ! -I know my duty better.

Rol. Soldier, hast thou a wife?
Sent. I have.
Rol. Hast thou children ?
Sent. Four, honest, lovely boys.
Rol. Where didst thou leave them ?

Sent. In my native village, in the very cot where I was born.

Rol Dost thou love thy wife and children ?

Sent. Do I love them? God knows my heart, - I do.

Rol. Soldier, imagine thou wert doomed to die a cruel death in a strange land—What would be thy last request ?

Sent. That some of my comrades should carry my dying blessing to my wife and children.

Rol. What if that comrade was at thy prison door, and should there be told, thy fellow-soldier dies at sunrise, yet thou shalt not for a moment see nor shalt thou bear his dying blessing to his poor children, or his wretched wife, what wouldst thou think of him who thus could drive thy comrade from the door ?

Sent. How?

Rol. Alonzo has a wife and child ; and I am come but to receive for her, and for her poor babe, the last blessing of my friend.

Sent. Go in. (Erit sentinel.)
Rol. (Calls.) Alonzo! Alonze!

(Enter Alonzo, speaking as he conies in.)
Alon. How! Is my hour elapsed ? Well, I am ready.
Rol. Alonzo, -know me!
Alon. Rolla !. How didst thou pass the guard ?«

Rol. There is not a moment to be lost in words. This disguise I tore from the dead body of a friar, as I passed our field of battle. It has gained me entrance to thy dungeon; now take it thou, and fly.

Alon. And Rolla-
Rol. Will remain here in thy place.

Alon. And die for me ! No! Rather eternal tortures rack me.

Rol. I shall not die, Alonzo. It is thy life Pizarro seeks, not Rolla's; and thy arm may soon deliver me from prison. Or, should it be otherwise, I am as a blighted tree in the desert; nothing lives beneath my shelter. Thou art a husband and a father ; the being of a lovely wife and helpless infant depend upon thy life. Go, go, Alonzo; not to save thyself, but Cora and thy child.

Alon. Urge me not thus, my friend—I am prepared to die „n peace.

Rol. To die in peace; devoting her you've sworn to live for to madness, misery and death!

Alon. Merciful heavens !