ANTONYS EULOGY FOR JULIUS CAESAR Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears!

I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. The evil that men do lives after them, The good is oft interred with their bones; So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus(85) Hath told you Caesar was ambitious; If it were so, it was a grievous fault, And grievously hath Caesar answer'd it. Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest For Brutus is an honorable man;(90) So are they all, all honorable men Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. He was my friend, faithful and just to me; But Brutus says he was ambitious, And Brutus is an honorable man.(95) He hath brought many captives home to Rome, Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill. Did this in Caesar seem ambitious? When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept; Ambition should be made of sterner stuff.(100) Yet Brutus says he was ambitious, And Brutus is an honorable man. You all did see that on the Lupercal I thrice presented him a kingly crown, Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition?(105) Yet Brutus says he was ambitious, And sure he is an honorable man. I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, But here I am to speak what I do know. You all did love him once, not without cause;(110) What cause withholds you then to mourn for him? O judgement, thou art fled to brutish beasts, And men have lost their reason. Bear with me; My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, And I must pause till it come back to me. But yesterday the word of Caesar might Have stood against the world. Now lies he there, And none so poor to do him reverence.(130) O masters! If I were disposed to stir Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, I should do Brutus wrong and Cassius wrong, Who, you all know, are honorable men. I will not do them wrong; I rather choose(135) To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you, Than I will wrong such honorable men. But here's a parchment with the seal of Caesar; I found it in his closet, 'tis his will. but let the commons hear this testament (140) Which, pardon me, I do not mean to

read And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds And dip their napkins in his sacred blood, Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, And, dying, mention it within their wills,(145) Bequeathing it as a rich legacy Unto their issue. Have patience, gentle friends, I must not read it;(150) It is not meet you know how Caesar loved you. You are not wood, you are not stones, but men; And, being men, hearing the will of Caesar, It will inflame you, it will make you mad. 'Tis good you know not that you are his heirs,(155) For if you should, O, what would come of it!

The Anatomy of a Filipino By: Prof. Felix Bautista

I like to think that I am a Filipino, that I am as Good, a Filipino as Anyone. My heart thrills, when, I Hear, the National anthem, being played. And my Blood Rises, when, I see our flag, Fluttering in the breeze. And Yet, I find myself asking, How Filipino Am I, Really? My First Name is American. My Last Name Is Chinese. When I am with Girlfriends or more correctly, when, I am with my Friends, who happen to be girls - I talk to them in English. If they are thirsty, I buy them, a Bottle of American coke. If they are hungry, I treat them, to an Italian Pizza pie. And when, I have the money, I give them a real Chinese Lauriat. Considering all these, considering my taste, for many things foreign, what right do I have, to call myself, a Filipino? Should I not call myself, a culture orphan? The illegitimate child of many races? Rightly or wrongly, whether we like it or not, we are the end products, of our history, fortunately or unfortunately, our history is a co-mingling, of polyglot influences. Malayan and Chinese. Spanish and British. American and Japanese. This is historic fact, we can not ignore, a cultural reality we can not escape, form to believe otherwise is to indulge in fantasy. I must confess, I am an extremely confused, and Bewildered young man. Wherever I am, whatever I may be doing, I am Bombarded, on all sides, by people who want, me to search for my national identity. Tell me the Language I speak should be replaced, by Filipino; they urge me to do away with things foreign to act and think, and buy Filipino.

Even in art, I am getting bothered and Bewildered. The Writer should use Filipino, as his medium, the nationalists cry. The Painter should use his genius, in portraying themes purely Filipino, they demand. The Composer should exploit, endless Possibilities, of the haunting kundiman, they insist. All these sound wonderful. But Rizal used Spanish, when he wrote, Noli and Fili. Was he less of a nationalist, because of it? Must the artist, to be truly Filipino, paint with the juice of the duhat? And must he draw picture of topless Muslim women or Igorot warriors in G-String? And if the composer, desert, the kundiman, and he writes song faithful to the spirit of the Youths of today, does he become Unfilipino? We are what we are today, because of our History. In our veins, pulses blood with traces of Chinese and Spanish and American, but It does not stop, being a Filipino, because of these. Out culture, is tinges with foreign, influences, but it has become rich therely. This mingling, in fact could speed us on the road, to national greatness, look at America, it is a great country, and yet it is the melting pot of Italian, and German, British, and French, or Irish and Swedish. Filipinism, after all, is in the heart. If that heart beats faster, because the Philippines is making progress, if it Fills, with compassion because its people are suffering, then it belongs to a true Filipino, and it throbs, with pride, in our past, if it pulses with awareness, of the present , if it beats with a faith in the future, then we could ask, for nothing, more all other things are Unimportant. I have, an American First Name. And I have, a Chinese Last Name. And I am proud, very, very proud, - because Underneath these names beats A Filipino Heart