Bru. Peace, peace; you durst not so have tempted him. Cas. I durst not! Bru. No. Cas. What? durst not tempt him? Bru. For your life, you durst not. Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love; I may do that I shall be sorry 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 by me as the idle wind, For certain sums of gold, which you denied me; And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring To you for gold to pay my legions, Which you denied me: was that done like Cassius? When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous, Cas. I denied you not. Bru. You did. Cas. I did not:-he was but a fool That brought my answer back. Brutus hath rived my heart; A friend should bear his friend's infirmities, But Brutus makes mine greater than they are. Bru. I do not like your faults. Cas. A friendly eye could never see such faults. appear As huge as high Olympus. Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come. Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius. For Cassius is aweary of the world: Hated by one he loves; braved by his brother; When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him better Than ever thou lovedst Cassius. Bru. Sheathe your dagger: Be angry when you will, it shall have scope; Cas. Hath Cassius lived To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, When grief or blood ill-tempered vexeth him? Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill-tempered too. Cas. O Brutus! Bru. What's the matter? Cas. Have you not love enough to bear with me, Bru. Yes, Cassius; and from henceforth, THE HOUR OF PRAYER. (MRS. HEMANS.) Child, amidst the flowers at play, Traveler, in the stranger's land, Warrior, that from battle won, Henry the Fourth, on his accession to the French throne, was opposed by a large part of his subjects, under the Duke of Mayenne, with the assistance of Spain and Savoy, and, from the union of these several nations, their army was called the army of the league." In March, 1590, he gained a decisive victory over that party, at Ivry, a small town in France. Before the battle, he said to his troops, "My children, if you lose sight of your colors, rally to my white plume.—you will always find it in the path to honor and glory." His conduct was answerable to his promise. Nothing could resist his impetuous valor, and the leaguers underwent a total and bloody defeat. In the midst of the rout, Henry followed, crying, Save the French !" and his clemency added a number of the enemy to his own army. Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are! And glory to our sovereign liege, King Henry of Navarre. Now let there be the merry sound of music and the dance, Through thy corn-fields green and sunny vines, O pleasant land of France! And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters, Again let rapture light the eye of all thy mourning daughters. As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy, For cold, and stiff, and still are they who would thy walls annoy. Hurrah! hurrah! a single field hath turned the chance of war; Hurrah! hurrah! for Ivry, and King Henry of Navarre! *Pronounced E-vree. Oh! how our hearts were beating, when at the dawn of day, We saw the army of the League drawn out in long array; With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel peers, And Appenzel's stout infantry, and Egmont's Flemish spears! There, rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our land! And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his hand! And, as we looked on them, we thought of Seine's empurpled flood, And good Coligni's* hoary hair, all dabbled with his blood; And we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate of war, To fight for his own holy name, and Henry of Navarre. The king is come to marshal us, in all his armor drest, And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest. He looked upon his people, and a tear was in his eye; He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high. Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from wing to wing, Down all our line, a deafening shout, "God save our Lord, the King!" "And if my standard-bearer fall, and fall full well he may, For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray, Press where you see my white plume shine, amid the ranks of war, And be your oriflamme,† to-day, the helmet of Navarre." * Coligni, (pronounced Co-leen-yee.) a venerable old man, was one of the victims in the massacre of St. Bartholomew. † Oriflamme, (pronounced or-ree-flam,) the French standard. |