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Gò, show your slàves how choleric you arc,
And make your bòndmen tremble. Must 'I búdge?
Must I observe yoú? must 'I stand and crouch
Under your testy humour? By the gods,
You shall digest the venom of your spléen,
Though it do split you; for, from this day forth,
I'll use you for my mìrth, yea, for my laughter,
When you are waspish.

Cas. Is it come to this?

Bru. You say, you are a bètter soldier:
Let it appear so; make your vaunting trúe,
And it shall please me wèll. For mine own part,
I shall be glad to learn of abler mèn.

Cas. You wrong me every way; you wròng me, Brutus; I said an elder soldier, not a bétter.

Did I

say bétter?

Bru. If you did, I càre not.

Cas. When Cæsar lived, he durst not thus have moved me. Bru. Peace, peace; you durst not so have tempted him. Cas. I' durst not?

Bru. Nò.

Cas. What? durst not tempt hím?

Bru. For your life you durst not.

Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love;

I mày do that I shall be sòrry for.

Bru. You have done that you should be sorry for.
There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats;
For I am armed so strong in honesty,

That they pass bý meꞌ as the idle wind,
Which I respect not. I did send to you
For certain sums of góld, which you denied me;-

For I can raise no money by vìle means:
By heaven, I had rather coin my heart,

And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring
From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash
By any indirection! I did send

To you for gold to pay my légions,

Which you denied me. Was that done like Cassius?


Should I have answered Caius Cássius so?
When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous,
To lock such rascal counters from his friends,
Be ready, gods, with all your thúnderbolts,
Dàsh him to pieces!

Cas. 'I denied you nòt.

Bru. You did.

Cas. I did not: he was but a fòol

That brought my answer back.-Brutus hath rived my heart:

A friend should bear his friend's infírmities,

But Brùtus makes míne greater than they àre.
Bru. I dò not, till you practise them on mè.
Cas. You love me not.

Bru. I do not like your fáults.

Cas. A friendly eye could never sèe such faults.
Bru. A flatterer's would not, though they did appear
As húge as high Olympus.

Cas. Come, A'ntony, and young Octavius, come;
Revenge yourselves alòne on Cassius,

For Cassius is a-weary of the world:

Háted by one he lòves; bráved by his brother;
Chécked like a bòndman; all his faults observed,
Set in a nòte-book, learned, and conned by róte,
To cast into my teeth. Oh, I could weep
My spírit from mine eyes!—Thère is my dágger,
And here my naked breast! withín, a heart
Dearer than Plutus' míne, richer than gòld:
If that thou béest a Roman, take it forth;
'I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart:
Strike, as thou didst at Cæsar; for I know,

When thou didst hate hìm wórst, thou lovèdst him bétter

Than ever thou lovedst Càssius.

Bru. Sheathe your dagger:

Be angry when you wíll, it shall have scòpe;
Do what you will, dishonour shall be hùmour.
O Cassius, you are yòked with a lámb
That carries ánger as the flint bears fìre;
Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spárk,


And straight is còld again.

Cas. Hath Cassius lived

To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus,
When grief, and blood ill-tempered, véxeth him?
Bru. When I spoke that, I' was ill-tempered too.
Cas. Do you confess so múch? give me your hand.
Bru. And my heart too.

Cas. O Brútus!—

Bru. What's the matter?

Cas. Have you not lòve enough to bear with me, When that rash humour which my mother gave me Makes me forgetful?

Bru. Yès, Cassius; and, from henceforth, When you are over-earnest with your Brútus, He'll think your mòther chides, and leave you so.



[RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN, distinguished as a statesman, wit, and dramatist, was born at Dublin in 1751, and died in 1816. He was returned to Parliament as member for the borough of Stafford, and attained distinguished celebrity as an orator. He made the grandest display of his eloquence during the impeachment of Warren Hastings. His writings are chiefly dramatic.]

HAD a stranger, at this time, gone into the province of Oude, ignorant of what had happened since the death of Sujah Dowla, that man, who, with a savage heart, had still great lines of character, and who, with all his ferocity in war, had still, with a cultivating hand, preserved to his country the riches which it derived from benignant skies and a prolific soil-if this stranger, ignorant of all that had happened in the short interval, and observing the wide and general devastation, and all the horrors of the scene-of plains unclothed and brown-of vegetables! burnt up and extinguished-of villages depopulated and in ruin-of temples unroofed and perishing-of reservoirs broken down and dry-he would naturally inquire, what war has thus laid waste the fertile fields of this once beautiful' and


opulent country-what civil dissensions have happened, thus to tear asunder and separate the happy societies' that once possessed those villages-what disputed succession, what religious rage, has, with unholy violence, demolished those temples, and disturbed fervent but unobtruding piety, in the exercise of its duties?

What merciless enemy has thus spread the horrors of fire and sword-what severe visitation of Providence has dried up the fountain, and taken from the face of the earth every vestige of verdure? Or, rather, what monsters' have stalked over the country, tainting and poisoning, with pestiferous breath, what the voracious appetite' could not devour? To such questions, what must be the answer? No wars have ravaged these lands and depopulated these villages, no civil discords! have been felt-no disputed succession—no religious rage-no merciless enemy-no affliction of Providence, which, while it scourged for the moment, cut off the sources of resuscitation-no voracious and poisoning monsters-no, all this' has been accomplished by the friendship, generosity, and kindness of the English nation. They have embraced us with their protecting arms, and, lo! those are the fruits of their alliance. What, then, shall we be told that, under such circumstances, the exasperated feelings of a whole people, thus goaded and spurred on to clamour and resistance, were excited' by the poor and feeble influence of the Begums!

When we hear the description of the paroxysm, fever, and delirium, into which despair had thrown the natives, when on the banks of the polluted Ganges, panting for death, they tore more widely open' the lips of their gaping wounds, to accelerate their dissolution; and, while their blood was issuing, presented their ghastly eyes to heaven, breathing their last and fervent prayer, that the dry earth' might not be suffered to drink their blood, but' that it might rise up to the throne of God, and rouse the eternal Providence to avenge the wrongs of their country,-will it be said that this was brought about by the incantations of these Begums in their secluded Zenana? or that they

could inspire this enthusiasm and this despair into the breasts of a people' who felt no grievance, and had suffered no torture? What motive, then, could have such influence in their bosom? What motive? That which Nature, the common parent, plants in the bosom of man, and which, though it may be less active in the Indian' than in the Englishman, is still congenial with, and makes part of his being that feeling which tells him, that man was never made to be the property of man; but that when, through pride and insolence of power, one human creature' dares to tyrannize over another, it is a power usurped, and resistancel is a duty-that feeling which tells him that all power is delegated for the good, not for the injury of the people, and that when it is converted from the original purpose, the compact is broken, and the right' is to be resumedthat principle' which tells him, that resistance to power usurped' is not merely a duty' which he owes to himself and to his neighbour, but a duty! which he owes to his God, in asserting and maintaining the rank' which he gave him in the creation, to that common God, who, where he gives the form of man, whatever may be the complexion, gives also the feelings and the rights of man-that principle, which neither the rudeness of ignorance can stifle, nor the enervation of refinement' extinguish-that principle, which makes it base for a man' to suffer! when he ought to act, which, tending to preserve to the species' the original designations of Providence, spurns at the arrogant distinctions of man, and vindicates the independent qualities of his race.



THE isles of Greece, the isles of Greece!

Where burning Sappho loved and sung,
Where grew the arts of war and peace-

Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung!
Eternal summer gilds them yet,
But all, except their sun, is set

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