| Caius Lucius |
When Julius Caesar, whose remembrance yet |
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Lives in men's eyes and will to ears and tongues |
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Be theme and hearing ever, was in this Britain |
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And conquer'd it, Cassibelan, thine uncle,-- |
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Famous in Caesar's praises, no whit less |
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Than in his feats deserving it--for him |
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And his succession granted Rome a tribute, |
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Yearly three thousand pounds, which by thee lately |
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Is left untender'd. |
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| Queen |
That opportunity
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Which then they had to take from 's, to resume |
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We have again. Remember, sir, my liege, |
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The kings your ancestors, together with |
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The natural bravery of your isle, which stands |
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As Neptune's park, ribbed and paled in |
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With rocks unscalable and roaring waters, |
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With sands that will not bear your enemies' boats, |
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But suck them up to the topmast. A kind of conquest |
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Caesar made here; but made not here his brag |
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Of 'Came' and 'saw' and 'overcame: ' with shame-- |
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That first that ever touch'd him--he was carried |
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From off our coast, twice beaten; and his shipping-- |
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Poor ignorant baubles!-- upon our terrible seas, |
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Like egg-shells moved upon their surges, crack'd |
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As easily 'gainst our rocks: for joy whereof |
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The famed Cassibelan, who was once at point-- |
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O giglot fortune!--to master Caesar's sword, |
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Made Lud's town with rejoicing fires bright |
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And Britons strut with courage. |
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| Cymbeline |
You must know, |
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Till the injurious Romans did extort |
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This tribute from us, we were free: Caesar's ambition, |
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Which swell'd so much that it did almost stretch |
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The sides o' the world, against all colour here |
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Did put the yoke upon 's; which to shake off |
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Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon |
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Ourselves to be. We do say then to Caesar, |
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Our ancestor was that Mulmutius which |
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Ordain'd our laws, whose use the sword of Caesar |
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Hath too much mangled; whose repair and franchise |
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Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed, |
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Though Rome be therefore angry: Mulmutius made our
laws, |
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Who was the first of Britain which did put |
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His brows within a golden crown and call'd |
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Himself a king. |
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| Cymbeline |
Thou art welcome, Caius. |
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Thy Caesar knighted me; my youth I spent |
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Much under him; of him I gather'd honour; |
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Which he to seek of me again, perforce, |
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Behoves me keep at utterance. I am perfect |
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That the Pannonians and Dalmatians for |
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Their liberties are now in arms; a precedent |
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Which not to read would show the Britons cold: |
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So Caesar shall not find them. |
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| Cloten |
His majesty bids you welcome. Make |
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pastime with us a day or two, or longer: if |
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you seek us afterwards in other terms, you |
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shall find us in our salt-water girdle: if you |
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beat us out of it, it is yours; if you fall in |
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the adventure, our crows shall fare the better |
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for you; and there's an end. |
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