Canst thou, O partial sleep! give thy repose
To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude,
And in the calmest and most stillest night,
With all appliances and means to boot,
Deny it to a king? Then, happy low, lie down;
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
'MONGST all your virtues
I see not charity written, which some call
The first-born of religion; I wonder
I can not see it in yours. Believe it, sir,
There is no virtue can be sooner miss'd,
Or later welcomed; it begins the rest,
And sets them all in order.
A THOUSAND hearts are great within my bosom;
Advance our standards; set upon our foes;
Our ancient word of courage, fair St. George,
Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons!
Upon them! Victory sits upon our helms!
CLXIX.-BERNARDO'S REVENGE.
WHAT tents gleam on the green hill-side, like snow in the sunny beam?
What gloomy warriors gather there, like a surly mountain stream?
These, for Bernardo's vengeance, have come like a stormy blast, The rage of their long cherished hate on a cruel king to cast.. "Smiters of tyranny!” cries their chief, “see yonder slavish host, We shall drench the field with their craven blood, or freedom's
You know I come for a father's death, my filial vow to pay,
Then let the 'Murdered Sancho!' be your battle-cry to-day.
On, on! for the death of the tyrant king!" Hurrah!" was
"We follow thee to victory, or follow thee to die!"
The battle-field-the charge-the shock-the quivering struggle
The rout-the shout!-while lightnings flash from Bernardo's angry brow.
The chieftian's arm has need of rest, his brand drips red with
But one last sacrifice remains ere his work of toil is o'er.
The king, who looked for victory, from his large and welltrained host,
Now flies for safety from the field, where all his hopes are lost;
But full in front, with blood-red sword, a warrior appears,
And the war-cry, "Murdered Sancho!" rings in the tyrant's ears.
"Ha! noble king, have we met at last?" with scornful lip he
"Don Sancho's son would speak with you once more before he
Your kindness to my sainted sire is graven on my heart,
And I would show my gratitude once more before we part.
Draw! for the last of Sancho's race is ready for your sword;—
Bernardo's blood should flow by him by whom his sire's was
poured!
What wait you for, vile, craven wretch? it was not thus you stood
When laying out your fiendish plans to spill my father's blood.
Draw! for I will not learn from you the assassin's coward trade.
I scorn the lesson you have taught—unsheathe your murder-
ous blade!"
Roused by Bernado's fiery taunts, the king at length engaged; He fought for life, but all in vain; unequal strife he waged! Bernardo's sword has pierced his side-the tyrant's reign is o'er— "Father, I have fulfilled my vow, I thirst for blood no more."
CLXX. CATILINE'S LAST HARANGUE TO HIS ARMY.
BRAVE Comrades, all is ruined! I disdain
To hide the truth from you. The die is thrown!
And now, let each that wishes for long life
Put up his sword, and kneel for peace to Rome.
Ye are all free to go. What! no man stirs!
Not one! A soldier's spirit in you all?
Give me your hands! (This moisture in my eyes
Is womanish-'t will pass.) My noble hearts!
Well have you chosen to die! For, in my mind,
The grave is better than o'erburthen'd life;
Better the quick release of glorious wounds,
Than the eternal taunts of galling tongues;
Better the spear-head quivering in the heart,
Than daily struggle against Fortune's curse;
Better, in manhood's muscle and high blood
To leap the gulf, than totter to its edge
In poverty, dull pain, and base decay.
Once more, I say, are ye resolved?
Then, each man to his tent, and take the arms
That he would love to die in, for, this hour
We storm the Consul's camp! A last farewell!
When next we meet, we'll have no time to look
How parting clouds a soldier's countenance.
Few as we are, we'll rouse them with a peal
That shall shake Rome!
Now to your cohorts' heads; the word's "Revenge!"
SOLILOQUY OF KING RICHARD III.
GIVE me another horse, bind up my wounds!
Have mercy, Jesu!-soft: I did but dream.
O coward conscience, how thou dost afflict me!
The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight.
Cold, fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.
What do I fear? Myself? There's none else by;
Richard loves Richard: that is, I am I.
Is there a murderer here? No: yes; I am.
Then fly. What! from myself? Great reason why:
Lest I revenge. What! Myself upon myself?
Alack, I love myself. Wherefore? for any good
That I myself have done unto myself?
Oh, no! alas, I rather hate myself
For hateful deeds committed by myself!
I am a villain: yet I lie: I am not.
Fool, of thyself speak well-fool, do not flatter-
My conscience hath a thousand several tongues,
And every tongue brings in a several tale;
And every tale condemns me for a villain.
Perjury, perjury in the high'st degree;
Murder, stern murder, in the direst degree,
All several sins, all used in each degree,
Throng to the bar, crying all, “Guilty, guilty!"
I shall despair. There is no creature loves me;
And if I die, no soul shall pity me;
Nay; wherefore should they? since that I myself
Find in myself no pity to myself.
Methought the souls of all that I had murder'd
Came to my tent, and every one did threat
To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard.
CLXXI. QUARREL OF BRUTUS AND CASSIUS.
Cassius. That you have wrong'd me doth appear in this:
You have condemn'd and noted Lucius Pella
For taking bribes here of the Sardians,
Wherein my letters, praying on his side,
Because I knew the man, were slighted off.
Brutus. You wrong'd yourself to write in such a case.
Cassius. In such a time as this, it is not meet
That every nice offense should bear his comment.
Brutus.-Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself
Are much condemn'd to have an itching palm,
To sell and mart your offices for gold
You know that you are Brutus that speak this, Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last. Brutus.-The name of Cassius honors this corruption,
And chastisement doth therefore hide his head. Cassius.-Chastisement!
Brutus.-Remember March, the Ides of March remember!
Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake?
What villain touch'd his body, that did stab,
And not for justice? What, shall one of us,
That struck the foremost man of all this world
But for supporting robbers; shall we now
Contaminate our fingers with base bribes,
And sell the mighty space of our large honors
For so much trash as may be grasped thus?
I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon
Than such a Roman.
Brutus, bay not me.
I'll not endure it: you forget yourself,
To hedge me in; I am a soldier, I,
Older in practice, abler than yourself
To make conditions.
Cassius.-I am.
Brutus.-I say you are not.
Go to; you are not, Cassius.
Cassius.-Urge me no more, I shall forget myself;
Have mind upon your health, tempt me no further.
Brutus.-Away, slight man!
Cassius. Is't possible?
Hear me, for I will speak.
Must I give way and room to your rash choler?
Shall I be frighted when a madman stares?
Cassius. O ye gods! ye gods! must I endure all this?
Brutus. All this? Ay, more; fret till your proud heart break;
Go, show your slaves how choleric you are,
And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge?
Must I observe you? Must I stand and crouch
Under your testy humor? By the gods,
You shall digest the venom of your spleen,
Though it do split you; for, from this day forth
I'll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter,
When you are waspish.
Cassius.-Is it come to this?
Brutus. You say you are a better soldier:
Let it appear so; make your vaunting true,
And it shall please me well; for mine own part
I shall be glad to learn of noble men.
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