May violets spring!-I tell thee, churlish priest,
A minist'ring angel shall my sister be,
When thou liest howling.

This same

Grave-digger. A pestilence on him for a mad rogue! he poured a flagon of Rhenish on my head once. skull, sir, was Yorick's skull, the king's jester.

Ham. This ?

Grave-digger. E'en that.

[Takes the skull.

Ham. Alas poor Yorick !-I knew him, Horatio: a fellow of infinite jest; of most excellent fancy; he hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in

my imagination it is! my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols ? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now to mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen ? Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour* she must come; make her laugh at that.

JULIUS CESAR.

CONTEMPT OF CASSIUS FOR CESAR.

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 Tyber 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,
Accouter'd as I was, I plunged in,

And bade him follow: so, indeed, he did.
The torrent roar'd; 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 cry'd, Help me, Cassius, or I sink.
I, as Eneas, our great ancestor,

Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder

* Complexion.

The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tyber Did I the tired Cæsar: and this man

Is now become a god: and Cassius is

A wretched creature, and must bend his body,
If Cæsar carelessly but nod on him.

He had a fever when he was in Spain,

And when the fit was on him I did mark

How he did shake: 'tis true, this god did shake:
His coward lips did from their colour fly;

And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the world,
Did lose its lustre: I did hear him groan :
Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans
Mark him, and write his speeches in their books,
Alas, (it cried,) Give me some drink, Titinius,
As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me,
A man of such a feeble temper* should
So get the start of the majestic world,
And bear the palm alone.

ANTONY'S FUNERAL ORATION.

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 answer'd it.
Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest,
(For Brutus is an honourable man;
So they are all, all honourable men,)
Come I to speak in Cæsar's funeral.

He was my friend, faithful and just to me:

*Temperament.

But 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 comes 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 reverence.*

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.

But here's a parchment with the seal of Cæsar,

* The meanest man is now too high to do reverence to 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.

*

*

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 stabb'd,
And, as he pluck'd his cursed steel away,
Mark how the blood of Cæsar follow'd it;
As rushing out of doors, to be resolved
If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, 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 traitor's arms,
Quite vanquish'd him: then burst his mighty heart;
And, in his mantle muffling up his face,

Even at the base of Pompey's statua,†

Which all the while ran blood, great Cæsar fell.

O, what a fall was there, my countrymen !
Then I, and you, and all of us, fell down,
Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us.