Sc. 1.
Thy steady temper, Portius,
Can look on guilt, rebellion, fraud, and Caesar,
In the calm lights of mild philosophy.
Act i. Sc. 1.
'Tis not in mortals to command success,
But we'll do more, Sempronius: we'll deserve it.
Act i. Sc. 1.
'Tis pride, rank pride, and haughtiness of soul;
I think the Romans call it Stoicism.
Act i. Sc. 1.
Were you with these, my prince, you'd soon forget
The pale unripened beauties of the North.
Act ii. Sc. 1.
My voice is still for war.
Gods! can a Roman Senate long debate
Which of the two to choose, slavery or death?
Act iv. Sc. 1.
The woman that deliberates is lost.
Act iv. Sc. 2.
When vice prevails, and impious men bear sway,
The post of honor is a private station.
Act v. Sc. 1.
It must be so.--Plato, thou reasonest well.
Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire,
This longing after immortality?
* * * * *
'Tis the Divinity that stirs within us;
'Tis Heaven itself that points out an hereafter,
And intimates Eternity to man.
Act v. Sc. I.
I'm weary of conjectures.
Act v. Sc. 1.
The soul secured in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point.
Act v. Sc. 1.
The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds
* * * * *
_The Campaign_.
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