Classic Poem

Ladies, our Master chose a dreadful play,
With base intent to drive you all away,
But bravely stand your ground and fear him not;
I'll tell the secret, and betray the plot.

Thunder and lightning first begin the night;
Let not this trick your tender hearts affright;
One drum unbraced the thunder's roar supplies,
And pounded rosin in blue flashes flies:
A harmless noise, where no dire bolt is thrown,
And lightning much less dang'rous than your own.
Witness those eyes, which through my bosom dart;
How shall I bear them? O my bleeding heart!

Next you shall see a murdered king. What then?
In two hours more you'll see him live again.
Though sev'ral daggers seem to pierce his breast,
Upon my honor they're but wounds in jest.
And all the blood that streams along the floor
Is but a bladder of sheep's blood—no more.

When you shall see the rabble on our stage
Tear the dunce laureate, Cinna, in a rage,
Kind-hearted ladies, do not weep for him;
The poet's safe and sound in every limb.

The thing I fear will work your fancies most
Is the phantasma—Julius Caesar's ghost—
Which to the life he acts in every view,
Yet he's no more a ghost than one of you;
Though he stalks jointless, though he looks so pale,
'Tis all a sham; we drudged his face with meal.

When trumpets sound, and drums begin to rattle,
And gen'rals march in sullen pomp to battle,
Be not dismayed at the tremendous sight,
Nor think in earnest they intend to fight.
They only fight to jest behind the scene;
Though hundreds fall, there's not one mortal slain,
And each mama shall have her child again.
Thus far through tenderness I undeceive you;
Ladies, adieu—how loath am I to leave you!