59. CATO ON THE SOUL'S IMMORTALITY.

[CATO is seated with Plato's treatise in his hand, and beside him his sword. The expression should be solemn, and the declamation of a lofty and dignified character.]

T must be so! Plato, thou reasonest well:

IT

Else whence this fond desire, this pleasing hope,
This longing after immortality?

Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror
Of falling into naught? Why shrinks the soul
Back on herself, and shudders at destruction?
"Tis the divinity that stirs within us;
"Tis heaven itself that points out a hereafter,
And intimates eternity to man!—

Eternity thou pleasing, dreadful thought!—
Through what variety of untried being,

Through what new forms and changes must we pass?
The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me;
But shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon it.
Here will I hold :-If there's a Power above,-
And that there is all Nature cries aloud

Through all her works,-He must delight in virtue;
And that which He delights in must be happy:
But when? or how? This world was made for Cæsar.
I'm weary of conjectures; this must end 'em!

[Taking up the sword.]
Thus am I doubly arm'd: my life and death,
My bane and antidote, are both before me.
This, in a moment, brings me to an end;
But this assures me I shall never die!
The soul, secure in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point.
The stars shall fade away, the Sun himself.
Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years,—
Thou still shalt flourish in eternal youth,

Unhurt amidst the war of elements,

The wreck of matter and the crush of worlds!

ADDISON.

60. MARC ANTONY'S APOSTROPHE TO CÆSAR'S BODY.

[This apostrophe is a fine practice in intonation and powerful and impassioned declamation. The speaker should commence in the deep, solemn tone of grief; making a burst of passion as he prophesies the curse that is to follow; and increase in energy till he reach the climax at the close.]

PARDON me, thou bleeding piece of earth,

That I am meek and gentle with these butchers; Thou art the ruins of the noblest man

That ever lived in the tide of times!

Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood!
Over thy wounds now do I prophesy,-
Which, like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips,
To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue,
A curse shall light upon the limbs of men;
Domestic fury and fierce civil strife
Shall cumber all the parts of Italy;
Blood and destruction shall be so in use,
And dreadful objects so familiar,

That mothers shall but smile, when they behold
Their infants quarter'd with the hands of war;
All pity chok'd with custom of fell deeds;-
And Cæsar's spirit, ranging for revenge,
With Até by his side, come hot from hell,
Shall in these confines, with a monarch's voice,
Cry Havoc, and let slip the dogs of war;
That this foul deed shall smell above the earth
With carrion men groaning for burial!

SHAKSPEARE

61. SCENE FROM JULIUS CESAR.

BRUTUS-CASSIUS.

Cas. Will you go see the order of the course?

Bru. Not I.

Cas. I pray you, do.

Bru. I am not gamesome; I do lack some part
Of that quick spirit that is in Antony.

Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires;
I'll leave you.

Cas. Brutus, I do observe you now of late;
I have not from your eyes that gentleness
And show of love, as I was wont to have:
You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand
Over your friend that loves you.

Bru. Cassius,

Be not deceived: If I have veil'd my look,
I turn the trouble of my countenance
Merely upon myself. Vexed I am,

Of late, with passions of some difference,
Conceptions only proper to myself,

Which give some soil, perhaps, to my behaviors;
But let not therefore my good friends be grieved;
Among which number, Cassius, be you one;
Nor construe any further my neglect,

Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war,
Forgets the shows of love to other men.

Cas. Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion;
By means whereof, this breast of mine hath buried
Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations.-
Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face?
Bru. No, Cassius, for the eye sees not itself,

But by reflection, by some other things.

Cas. 'Tis just:

And it is very much lamented, Brutus,

That you have no such mirror, as will turn
Your hidden worthiness into your eye,

That you might see your shadow. I have heard,
Where many of the best respect in Rome-
Except immortal Cæsar-speaking of Brutus,-
And groaning underneath this age's yoke,
Have wished that noble Brutus had his eyes.

Bru. Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius, That you would have me seek into myself

For that which is not in me?

Cas. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepared to hear:
And, since you know you cannot see yourself
So well as by reflection, I, your glass,
Will modestly discover to yourself

That of yourself which you yet know not of.
And be not jealous of me, gentle Brutus:
Were I a common laugher, or did use
To stale with ordinary oaths my love
Το every new protester: if you know
That I do fawn on men, and hug them hard,
And, after, scandal them: or if you know
That I profess myself in banqueting

To all the rout, then hold me dangerous.

Bru. What means this shouting? I do fear the people

Choose Cæsar for their king.

Cas. Ay, do you fear it?

Then must I think, you would not have it so.

Bru. I would not, Cassius; yet I love him well:

But wherefore do you hold me here so long?
What is it that you would impart to me?
If it be aught towards the general good,
Set honor in one eye, and death i' the other,
And I will look on both indifferently:
For let the gods so speed me, as I love
The name of honor more than I fear death.

Cas. I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus,

As well as I do know your outward favor.
Well, honor is the subject of my story.-

I cannot tell what you and other men
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 his 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 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 cried, "Help me, Cassius, or I sink."
I-as Eneas, our great ancestor,

Did from the flames of Troy, upon his shoulder,
The old Anchises bear, so, from the waves of Tiber,
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 carelessy 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 color 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.

Bru. Another general shout!

I do believe that these applauses are