Ven.

'Twas too presuming
To say I would not but I dare not leave you ;
And 'tis unkind in you to chide me hence
So soon, when I so far have come to see you.

Ant. Now thou hast seen me, art thou satisfied?
For, if a friend, thou hast beheld enough ;
And, if a foe, too much.

Ven. Look, emperor, this is no common dew,
I have not wept these forty years; but now

My mother comes afresh into my eyes;

I cannot help her softness.

Ant. Sure there's contagion in the tears of friends;

See, I have caught it too.

Believe me, 'tis not

For my own griefs, but thine-nay, father

Ven. Emperor !

Ant. Emperor! why that's the style of victory. The conqu'ring soldier, red with unfelt wounds, Salutes his general so: but never more

Shall that sound reach my ears.

I lost a battle.

Ant. Thou favour'st me, and speak'st not half thou

think'st;

For Julius fought it out, and lost it fairly:

But Antony

(Well, thou wilt have it)—like a coward fled,

Fled while his soldiers fought; fled first, Ventidius.
Thou long'st to curse me, and I give thee leave.

I know thou cam'st prepared to rail.

I did.

Ven.
Ant. I'll help thee-I have been a man, Ventidius.
Ven. Yes, and a brave one: but-

I know thy meaning.

Ant.
But I have lost my reason, have disgraced
The name of soldier, with inglorious ease.
In the full vintage of my flowing honours
Sate still, and saw it prest by other hands.
Fortune came smiling to my youth, and woo'd it,
And purple greatness met my ripen'd years.

Ven. You are too sensible already

Of what you've done, too conscious of your failings;
And like a scorpion, whipt by others first
To fury, sting yourself in mad revenge.
G

Ant. Dost thou think me desperate

Without just cause? No, when I found all lost
Beyond repair, I hid me from the world,
And learnt to scorn it here; which now I do
So heartily, I think it is not worth

The cost of keeping.

Ven.

Cæsar thinks not so;

He'll thank you for the gift he could not take.
You would be kill'd like Tully, would you? Do
Hold out your throat to Cæsar, and die tamely.
Ant. No, I can kill myself; and so resolvc.

Ven. I can die with you too, when time shall serve;
But fortune calls upon us now to live,

To fight, to conquer.

Ant.

Sure thou dream'st, Ventidius.
Ven. No, 'tis you dream; you sleep away your hours
In desperate sloth, miscall'd philosophy.

Up, up, for honour's sake; twelve legions wait you
And long to call you Chief. By painful journies

I led 'em, patient both of heat and hunger,

Down from the Parthian marches to the Nile.

'Twill do you good to see their sun-burnt faces,

Their scarr'd cheeks, and chopt hands; there's virtue in 'em. Ant. Where left you them?

Ant. Why didst thou mock my hopes with promised aids, To double my despair? They're mutinous.

Ven. There's but one way shut up-how came I hither?

My soldiers to demand a reason of

My actions. Why did they refuse to march?

Ven. They said they would not fight for Cleopatra.
Ant. What was't they said?

Ven. They said they would not fight for Cleopatra. Why should they fight, indeed, to make her conquer, And make you more a slave?

Ant.

Ven.

You grow presumptuous.
I take the privilege of plain love to speak.
Ant. Plain love! Plain arrogance, plain insolence!
Thy men are cowards; thou an envious traitor;
Who, under seeming honesty, hast vented
The burden of thy rank, o'erflowing gall.
O, that thou wert my equal; great in arms
As the first Cæsar was, that I might kill thee,
Without stain to my honour!

Ven.
You may kill me.
You have done more already; call'd me traitor.
Ant. Art thou not one?

Ven.
For showing you yourself,
Which none else durst have done. But had I been,
That name, which I disdain to speak again,

I needed not have sought your abject fortunes,
Come to partake your fate, to die with you.
What hindered me t' have led my conqu'ring eagles,
To fill Octavius' bands? I could have been

A traitor then-a glorious, happy traitor;
And not have been so call'd.

Ant.

I've been too passionate.

Ven.

Forgive me, soldier ;

You thought me false;

Thought my old age betray'd you. Kill me, sir;
Pray kill me; yet you need not-your unkindness
Has left your sword no work.

Ant.

I did not think so;

I said it in my rage: pr'ythee, forgive me.
Why didst thou tempt my anger, by discovery
Of what I could not hear?

Ven.

No prince but you Could merit that sincerity I used;

Nor durst another man have ventured it.

Ant. Thou shalt behold me once again in iron; And, at the head of our old troops, that beat

The Parthians, cry aloud, Come, follow me!

Ven. O, now I hear my emperor! In that word

Octavius fell. Methinks you breathe
Another soul; your looks are more divine;
You speak a hero, and you move a god,

my soul's up in arms,
Once again

Ant. O, thou hast fir'd me!
And mans each part about me.
The nobleness of fight has seized me.
Come on, my soldier ;

I long

Our hearts and arms are still the same.
Once more to meet our foes; that thou and I,
Like Time and Death, marching before our troops,
May taste fate to 'em; mow 'em out a passage,
And, ent'ring where the utmost squadrons yield,
Begin the noble harvest of the field.

SECTION XXIV.

EXTRACT FROM MR. WEBSTER'S SPEECH IN REPLY TO

MR. HAYNE.

THE eulogium pronounced on the character of the state of South Carolina, by the honourable gentleman, for her revolutionary and other merits, meets my hearty concurrence. I shall not acknowledge, that the honourable member goes before me in regard for whatever of distinguished talent or distinguished character, South Carolina has produced. I claim part of the honor, I partake in the pride of her great names. I claim them for countrymen, one and all. The Laurens, the Rutledges, the Pinckneys, the Sumpters, the Marions-Americans, all-whose fame is no more to be hemmed in by state lines, than their talents and patriotism were capable of being circumscribed within the same narrow limits. In their day and generation, they served and honoured the country, and the whole country and their renown is of the treasures of the whole country, Him, whose honoured name the gentleman himself bears→→ does he suppose me less capable of gratitude for his patriotism, or sympathy for his sufferings, than if his eyes had first opened upon the light in Massachusetts, instead of South Carolina? Sir, does he suppose it is in his power to exhibit a Carolina name so bright as to produce envy in my bosom? No, sir; increased gratification and delight, rather.

Sir, I thank God, that if I am gifted with little of the spirit which is said to be able to raise mortals to the skies, I have yet none, as I trust, of that other spirit, which would drag angels down. When I shall be found, sir, in my place

here, in the Senate, or elsewhere, to sneer at public merit, because it happened to spring up beyond the little limits of my own state, or neighbourhood: when I refuse, for any such cause, or for any cause, the homage due to American talent, to elevated patriotism, a sincere devotion to liberty and the country; or if I see an uncommon endowment of heaven; if I see extraordinary capacity and virtue in any son of the South-and if moved by local prejudice, or gangrened by state jealousy, I get up here to abate the tithe of a hair from his just character and just fame, may my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth! Sir, let me recur to pleasing recollections-let me indulge in refreshing remembrance of the past-let me remind you that in early times no states cherished greater harmony, both of principle and of feeling, than Massachusetts and South Carolina. Would to God, that harmony might again return. Shoulder to shoulder they went through the revolution-hand in hand they stood round the administration of Washington, and felt his own great arm lean on them for support. Unkind feeling, if it exists, alienation and distrust, are the growth, unnatural to such soils, of false principles since sown. They are weeds, the seeds of which that same great arm never scattered.

Mr. President, I shall enter on no encomium upon Massachusetts-she needs none. There she is-behold her, and judge for yourselves. There is her history-the world knows it by heart. The past, at least is secure. There is Boston, and Concord, and Lexington, and Bunker Hill— and there they will remain forever. The bones of her sons, fallen in the great struggle for independence, now lie mingled with the soil of every state from New England to Georgia; and there they will lie for ever. And, sir, where American liberty raised its first voice, and where its youth was nurtured and sustained, there it still lives, in the strength of its manhood, and full of its original spirit. If discord and disunion shall wound it-if party strife and blind ambition shall hawk at and tear it-if folly and madness-if uneasiness, under salutary and necessary restraint, shall succeed to separate it from that Union, by which alone its existence is made sure, it will stand, in the end, by the side of that cradle in which its infancy was rocked; it will stretch forth its arm with whatever vigour it may still retain, over the friends who gather round it; and it will fall at last, if fall it must, amidst the proudest monuments of its own glory, and on the very spot of its origin.