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Ar last, with easy roads, he came to Leicester,
Lodged in the abbey; where the reverend Abbot,
With all his convent, honourably received him;
To whom he gave these words: "O FATHER Abbot,
So went to bed; where eagerly his sickness
Pursued him still; and three nights after this,
About the hour of eight (which he himself
Foretold should be his last), full of repentance,
Continual meditations, tears and sorrows,
He gave his honours to the world again,
His blessed part to Heaven, and slept in peace.



THIS Cardinal,

Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly
Was fashioned to much honour from his cradle.
He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one;
Exceeding wise, fair-spoken, and persuading;
Lofty and sour to those that loved him not,
But, to those men that sought him, sweet as summer,
And though he were unsatisfied in getting,
(Which was a sin), yet in bestowing, madam,
He was most princely: ever witness for him
Those twins of learning that he raised in you,
Ipswich and Oxford! one of which fell with him,
Unwilling to out-live the good that did it;

The other, though unfinished, yet so famous,
So excellent in art, and still so rising,
That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue.
His overthrow heaped happiness upon him,
For then, and not till then, he felt himself,
And found the blessedness of being little,
And, to add greater honours to his age
Than man could give him, he died fearing God.



AND these few precepts in thy memory
See thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue,
Nor any unproportion'd thought his act.
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.
The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel;
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
Of each new-hatch'd, unfledged comrade. Beware
Of entrance to a quarrel: but, being in,
Bear't that the opposed may beware of thee.
Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice:

Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment:
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,

But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy:
For the apparel ofts proclaims the man,

And they in France, of the best rank and station,
Are of a most select and generous chief in that.
Neither a borrower nor a lender be:

For loan oft loses both itself and friend;
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.

This above all,-to thine own self be true;
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
Farewell; my blessing season this in thee!



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 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.

1 Citizen. Methinks, there is much reason in his sayings.

2 Cit. If thou consider rightly of the matter, Cæsar has had great wrong.

3 Cit.

Has he, masters?

I fear there will a worse come in his place.

4 Cit. Mark'd ye his words? He would not take the crown;

Therefore, 'tis certain, he was not ambitious.

1 Cit. If it be found so, some will dear abide it. 2 Cit. Poor soul! his eyes are red as fire with weeping.

3 Cit. There's not a nobler man in Rome, than Antony.

4 Cit. Now mark him, he begins again to speak. Ant. 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 dispos'd 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,
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.

4 Cit. We'll hear the will: Read it, Mark Antony. Citizens. The will, the will; we will hear Cæsar's will.

Ant. Have patience, gentle friends, I must not read it;

It is not meet you know how Cæsar lov'd you.
You are not wood, you are not stones, but men;
And, being men, hearing the will of Cæsar,
It will inflame you, it will make you mad :
'Tis good you know not that you are his heirs ;
For if you should, O, what would come of it!
4 Cit. Read the will; we will hear it, Antony;
You shall read us the will; Cæsar's will.

Ant. Will you be patient? Will you stay awhile?
I have o'ershot myself to tell you of it.
I fear I wrong the honourable men,

Whose daggers have stabb'd Cæsar: I do fear it. 4 Cit. They were traitors: Honourable men! Cit. The will! the testament !

2 Cit. They were villains, murderers: The will! read the will!

Ant. You will compel me then to read the will? Then make a ring about the corpse of Cæsar, And let me shew you him that made the will. Shall I descend? And will you give me leave? Cit. Come down.

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