The evil that men do lives after them,

The good is oft interréd 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 are they all, all honourable men,)
Come I to speak in Cæsar's funeral.
He was my friend, faithful and just to me:
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 come back to me.

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 follow'd 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, oh ye gods, how dearly Cæsar lov'd 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 statue,

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 flourished over us.
O, 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, marr'd, as you see, with traitors.

Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up To any 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.

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,
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.

22. HAMLET'S SOLILOQUY ON HIS MOTHER'S MARRIAGE.

O that this too too solid flesh would melt,
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew!

Or, that the Everlasting had not fix'd

His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God, O God
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable,

Seem to me all the uses of this world.

Fie on't! oh fie! 'tis an unweeded garden,

That grows to seed; things rank, and gross in nature,
Possess it merely. That it should come to this!
But two months dead! nay, not so much; not two-
So excellent a king; that was, to this,

Hyperion to a satyr: so loving to my mother,
That he permitted not the winds of heaven

Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth,
Must I remember ?-why, she would hang on him,
As if increase of appetite had grown

By what it fed on: yet within a month

Let me not think on't-Frailty, thy name is woman-
A little month! or ere these shoes were old,

With which she followed my poor father's body,
Like Niobe, all tears; why she, even she—

(O God! a beast, that wants discourse of reason,
Would have mourn'd longer)-married with my uncle,
My father's brother; but no more like my father,
Than I to Hercules. Within a month-

Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears
Had left the flushing in her galled eyes—

It is not, nor it cannot come to good:
But break my heart; for I must hold my tongue.

23. 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 wish'd. To die ;—to sleep ;—
To sleep! perchance to dream,-aye, there's the rub
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
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-
(The undiscover'd country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns) puzzles the will;
And makes us rather bear these ills we have,
Than fly to others 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 ci action.

24. SOLILOQUY OF THE KING IN HAMLET.
O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven;
It hath the primal eldest curse upon't-
A brother's murder !-Pray can 1 not:
Though inclination be as sharp as will,
My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent:
And, like a man to double business bound,
I stand in pause where I shall first begin,
And both neglect. What if this cursed hand

Were thicker than itself with brother's blood?
Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens,
To wash it white as snow? Whereto serves mercy,
But to confront the visage of offence?

And what's in prayer, but this two-fold force-
To be forestalléd, ere we come to fall,

Or pardon'd, being down? Then I'll look up;
My fault is past. But, O, what form of prayer
Can serve my turn? Forgive me my foul murder!-
That cannot be; since I am still possess'd
Of those effects for which I did the murder,
My crown, mine own ambition, and my queen.
May one be pardon'd and retain the offence?
In the corrupted currents of this world,
Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice;
And oft 'tis seen, the wicked prize itself
Buys out the law. But 'tis not so above:
There is no shuffling, there the action lies
In its true nature, and we ourselves compell'd
E'en to the teeth and forehead of our faults,
To give in evidence. What then? What rests?
Try what repentance can: what can it not?
Yet what can it, when one can not repent?
O wretched state! O bosom, black as death!
O limèd soul, that, struggling to be free,
Art more engaged! Help, angels! make assay!
Bow, stubborn knees! and, heart with strings of steel,
Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe;

All may be well.

25.

INGRATITUDE.

Blow, blow, thou winter-wind,

Thou art not so unkind

As man's ingratitude.

Thy tooth is not so keen,

Because thou art not seen,

Although thy breath be rude.

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
Thou dost not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot: