And bade him follow: so, indeed, he did.
The torrent roared, 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 Æneas, 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 tiréd 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 his 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

For some new honours that are heaped on Cæsar.

Cas. Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world.

Like a colossus; and we petty men

Walk under his huge legs, and peep about
To find ourselves dishonourable graves.

Men at some time are masters of their fates:
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings.
Brutus, and Cæsar: what should be in that

Cæsar?

Why should that name be sounded more than

yours?

Write them together, yours is as fair a name;
Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well;
Weigh them, it is as heavy; - conjure with 'em,
Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Cæsar.
Now, in the names of all the gods at once,
Upon what meat doth this our Cæsar feed,

That he is grown so great? Age, thou art

shamed!

Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods!

When went there by an age, since the great

flood,

But it was famed with more than with one man ? When could they say, till now, that talked of Rome,

That her wide walls encompassed but one man? Now is it Rome indeed, and room enough, When there is in it but one only man.

O, you and I have heard our fathers say,

There was a Brutus once that would have

brooked

The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome
As easily as a king.

Bru. That you do love me, I am nothing jealous;

What you would work me to, I have some aim;
How I have thought of this, and of these times,
I shall recount hereafter: for this present,
I would not, so with love I might entreat you,
Be any further moved. What you have said,
I will consider; what you have to say,

I will with patience hear, and find a time
Both meet to hear and answer such high
things.

Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this:
Brutus had rather be a villager

Than to repute himself a son of Rome

Under these hard conditions as this time

Is like to lay upon us.

OTHELLO'S ADDRESS TO THE SENATORS, FROM "OTHELLO"

Most potent, grave, and reverend seigniors, My very noble and approved good masters, That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter, It is most true; true, I have married her: The very head and front of my offending Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech,

And little bless'd with the soft phrase of peace; For since these arms of mine had seven years'

pith,

Till now some nine moons wasted, they have used

Their dearest action in the tented field,

And little of this great world can I speak,

More than pertains to feats of broil and battle, And therefore little shall I grace my cause

In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious patience,

I will a round, unvarnished tale deliver

Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what charms,

What conjuration, and what mighty magic,
For such proceeding I am charged withal,
I won his daughter.

Her father loved me; oft invited me;
Still question'd me the story of my life,
From year to year, the battles, sieges, fortunes,
That I have pass'd.

I ran it through, even from my boyish days,
To the very moment that he bade me tell it;
Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances,
Of moving accidents by flood and field,

Of hair-breadth 'scapes i' the imminent deadly breach.

Of being taken by the insolent foe

And sold to slavery, of my redemption thence And portance in my travel's history:

Wherein of antres vast and deserts idle,

Rough quarries, rocks and hills whose heads touch heaven,

It was my hint to speak, such was the process ; And of the Cannibals that each other eat,