I come to bury Cæsar, not to praise him.”
Sam.—I say, Tommy, what are you bla-a-a-a-r-ting about; have you lost your calf?
Tom.—“The evil that men do lives after them,
The good is oft interred with their bones;
So let it be with Cæsar.”
[He is again brought to a stand by Sam, who is standing behind him, mimicking his gestures in a ludicrous manner.]
Now, Sam, I tell you to stop your monkey shines; if you don’t, I’ll make you!
Sam.—You stop spouting about Cæsar, then, and let me have my say. You needn’t think you can cheat me out of my rights because you wear higher heeled shoes than I do.
Tom.—I can tell you one thing, sir,—nothing but your size saves you from a good flogging.
Sam.—Well, that is a queer coincidence, for I can tell you that nothing but your size saves you from a good dose of Solomon’s grand panacea. [To the audience.] I don’t know what can be done with such a long-legged fellow,—he’s too big to be whipped, and he isn’t big enough to behave himself. Now, all keep still, and let me begin again: “My name is Norval—”