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This instrument our Maitre d' Hote
Most carefully concealed beneath his coat;
And seeking instantly the Frenchman's station,

Addressed him with the usual salutation.
Our Frenchman bowing to his thread bare knees,

Determined while the iron's hot to strike it,
Pat with his lesson answers—“Vat you please ?".
But scarcely had he let the sentence slip,
Than round his shoulders twines the pliant whip;
“ Sare, Sare ! ah, misericorde, Monsieur !

Oh dear Monsieur, vat 'make you use me so?

Vat call you dis?”-“ Ah don't you know, That's what I please,” says Bonny,“ how d’ye like it! Your friend, althougli I paid dear for his funning, Deserved the goose he gained Sir, for his cunning; But you, Monsieur, or else my time I'm wasting, Are goose enough—and only wanted basting."

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FRIENDS, Romans, Countrymen !~lend me your ears,
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 were so, it was a grievous fault;
And grievously hath Cæsar answered it.
Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest,

1 (For Brutus is an honourable man, So are they all, all honourable men,) Come I to speak in 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 art 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 to 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 this testament,
(Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read,)
And they would 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,

Unto their issue.

If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. You all do know this mantle : I remember 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 stabbed ; And, as he plucked his cursed steel away, Mark how the blood of Cæsar followed it !As rushing out of doors, to be resolved, If Brutus so unkindly knocked, 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 vanquished 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. O what a fall was there, iny countrymen! . Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, Whilst bloody treason flourished over us. O, 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, marred, as you see, by traitors.

Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up To any 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,
? hat love my 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

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.

LOCHIEL'S WARNING. Wizard. Lochiel, Lochiel ! beware of the day When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array ! For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight, And the clans of Culloden are scattered in fiyht. They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom and crown; Woe, woe to the riders that trample them down! Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain, And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain. But hark! through the fast-Aashing lightning of war, What steed to the desert flies frantic and far? 'Tis thine, oh Glenullin ! whose bride shall await, Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the gate. A steed comes at morning: no rider is there; But its bridle is red with the sign of despair. Weep, Albin ! to death and captivity led! Oh weep ! but thy tears cannot number the dead : For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave, Cullodeu ! that reeks with the blood of the brave.

Lochiel. Go, preach to the coward, thou death

telling seer! Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear, Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight, This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright. Wizard. Ha! laughest thou, Lochiel, my vision to

scorn ? Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn ! Say, rushed the bold eagle exultingly forth, From his home, in the dark-rolling clouds of the north? Lo ! the death-shot of foemen outspeeding, he rode Companionless, bearing destruction abroad ; But down let him stoop from his havock on high ! Ah! home let him speed,- for the spoiler is nigh. Why flames the far summit? Why shoot to the blast, Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast? "Tis the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven From his eyry, that beacons the darkness of heaven. Oh, crested Lochiel ! the peerless in might, Whose banners arise on the battlements' height, Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to burn; Return to thy dwelling ! all lonely return ! For the blacknees of ashes shall mark where it stood, And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing brood.

Lochiel. False Wizard, avaunt! I have marshalled

my clan,

Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms are one !
They are true to the last of their blood and their breath,
And like reapers descend to the harvest of death.
Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock !
Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the rock !
But woe to his kindred, and woe to his cause,
When Albin her claymore indignantly draws ;
When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd,
Clanranald the dauntless, and Moray the proud,
All plaided and plumed in their tartan array-

Wizard. --Lochiel, Lochiel ! beware of the day

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