It must be by his death. And for my part
I know no personal cause to spurn at him,
But for the general. He would be crowned.
How that might change his nature, there's the question.
It is the bright day that brings forth the adder,
And that craves wary walking. Crown him that,
And then I grant we put a sting in him
That at his will he may do danger with.
Th' abuse of greatness is when it disjoins
Remorse from power. And to speak truth of Caesar,
I have not known when his affections swayed
More than his reason. But 'tis a common proof

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 dishonorable 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. I, ii
"Brutus" and "Caesar." What should be in that "Caesar"?
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;

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 dishonorable 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 Caesar: what should be in that Caesar?
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,

This was the noblest Roman of them all:
All the conspirators, save only he,
Did that they did in envy of great Caesar;
He only, in a general honest thought
And common good to all, made one of them.

His life was gentle, and the elements
So mix'd in him that Nature might stand up
And say to all the world "This was a man!"

Cowards die many times before their deaths;
The valiant never taste of death but once.
Of all the wonders that I yet have heard,
It seems to me most strange that men should fear;
Seeing that death, a necessary end,
Will come when it will come.

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears;
I come to bury Caesar, 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 Caesar. The noble Brutus
Hath told you Caesar was ambitious:
If it were so, it were a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Caesar 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 to speak in Caesar's funeral.
He was my friend, faithful and just to me:

2.
Begin unto my God with timbrels,
Sing unto my Lord with cymbals:
Tune unto him psalm and praise:
Exalt him, and call upon his name.
3.
For the Lord is the God that breaketh the battles:
For in his armies in the midst of the people
He delivered me out of the hand of them that persecuted me.
4.
Asshur came out of the mountains from the north,
He came with ten thousands of his host,
The multitude whereof stopped the torrents,
And their horsemen covered the hills.
5.
He said that he would burn up my borders,

A THWART the sod which is treading for God the Poet paced with his splendid eyes;
Paradise-verdure he stately passes to win to the Father of Paradise,
Through the conscious and palpitant grasses of intertangled relucent dyes.

The angels a-play on its fields of Summer (their wild wings rustled his guides' cymars)
Looked up from disport at the passing comer, as they pelted each other with handfuls of stars;
And the warden-spirits with startled feet rose, hand on sword, by their tethered cars.

Virtue may unlock hell, or even
A sin turn in the wards of Heaven,
(As ethics of the text-book go,)
So little men their own deeds know,
Or through the intricate mêlee
Guess witherward draws the battle-sway;
So little, if they know the deed,
Discern what therefrom shall succeed.
To wisest moralists 'tis but given
To work rough border-law of Heaven,
Within this narrow life of ours,
These marches 'twixt delimitless Powers.
Is it, if Heaven the future showed,
Is it the all-severest mode
To see ourselves with the eyes of God?

The Parish Poor-Officers

These souls, my lord, assembled at the bar,
That look so bluff and seem so fat and fair,
Were, upon earth, appointed to secure
Their parish rights, and to subsist the poor,
By well dispensing to the needy crew
Those charities by gift or claim their due,
That what good Christians for their succour spared
Might be amongst the hungry wretches shared.
Instead of this they basely proved unjust,
Filled their own bags, and falsified their trust;
Drowned half the parish charity in wine,