If some poor wandering child of thine
Have spurn'd, to-day, the voice divine;
Now, Lord, the gracious work begin,
Let him no more lie down in sin.
Watch by the sick; enrich the poor
With blessings from thy boundless store:
Be every mourner's sleep to-night
Like infant's slumbers, pure and light.
Come near, and bless us when we wake,
Ere through the world our way we take;
Till in the ocean of thy love
We lose ourselves in heaven above.
139. MARK ANTONY'S ORATION.
FRIENDS, Romans, Countrymen! lend me your
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!-Noble Brutus
Hath told you, Cæsar was ambitious-
If it was 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 at 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 hast 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!
But yesterday, the word of Cæsar might
Have stood against the world- now lies he there,
And none so poor as do him reverence!
O masters! if I were disposed 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 his testament
Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read, -
And they will 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,
If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. You all do know this mantle?
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 stabb'd!
And, as he pluck'd 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 knock'd, or no;
For Brutus, as you know, was Cæsar's angel!.
Judge, O ye gods, how dearly Cæsar loved him!
This, this was the 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!
Oh, what a fall was there, my countrymen!
Then I, and you, and all of us, fell down;
Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us!
Oh, 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, by traitors!
Good friends! sweet friends! let me not stir you up To such a 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 loves his 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!
140. THE FAME OF HORATIUS COCLES.
[From LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME.]
him of the corn land,
That was of public right,
As much as two strong oxen
Could plough from morn till night:
And they made a molten image,
And set it up on high,
And there it stands unto this day
To witness if I lie.
It stands in the Comitium,
Plain for all folk to see,
Horatius in his harness,
Halting upon one knee;
And underneath is written,
In letters all in gold,
How valiantly he kept the bridge
In the brave days of old.
And in the nights of winter,
When the cold north winds blow,
And the loud howling of the wolves
Is heard amidst the snow;
When round the lonely cottage
Roars loud the tempest's din,
And the good logs of Algidus
Roar louder yet within;
When the oldest cask is open'd,
And the largest lamp is lit;
When the chestnuts glow in the embers,
And the kid turns on the spit;
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