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He was perfum-ed like a milliner;

And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held
A pouncet-box, which ever and anon

He gave his nose, and took 't away again-
Who therewith angry, when it next came there,
Took it in snuff;—and still he smiled and talked :
And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by,
He called them untaught knaves, unmannerly,
To bring a slovenly, unhandsome corse
Betwixt the wind and his nobility.

With many holiday and lady-terms

He questioned me; among the rest, demanded
My prisoners in your Majesty's behalf.

I then, all smarting with my wounds, being galled*
To be so pestered with a popinjay,

Out of my grief, and my impatience,

Answered neglectingly, I know not what;

He should, or should not; for he made me mad,
To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet

And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman,

Of guns, and drums, and wounds, (God save the mark!)

And telling me, the sovereign'st thing on earth
Was parmaceti, for an inward bruise;

And that it was great pity, so it was,

This villainous saltpetre should be digged
Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,
Which many a good tall fellow had destroyed
So cowardly; and, but for these vile guns,
He would himself have been a soldier.

* Warburton's correction.

HOTSPUR.

In Henry IV. II. 3.

Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know,
And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate.

HOTSPUR AND GLENDOWER.

In Henry IV. III. I.

I can call spirits from the vasty deep!
Why so can I, or so can any man—

But will they come when you do call for them?

How

HENRY IV.'S SOLILOQUY ON SLEEP.

Second Part. III. I.

many thousand of my poorest subjects
Are at this hour asleep! O gentle sleep,
Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down,
And steep my senses in forgetfulness?

Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs,
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,

And hushed with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber
Than in the perfumed chambers of the great,
Under the canopies of costly state,

And lulled with sounds of sweetest melody?
O thou dull god! Why liest thou with the vile
In loathsome beds, and leav'st the kingly couch
A watch-case, or a common 'larum-bell?
Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast,
Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains
In cradle of the rude imperious surge?

And in the visitation of the winds,

Who take the ruffian billows by the top,

Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them
With deafening clamour in the slippery shrouds,
That, with the hurly, death itself awakes,--
Canst thou, O partial Sleep, give thy repose
To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude?
And, in the calmest and most stillest night,
With all appliances and means to boot,
Deny it to a king? Then, happy low ! lie down ;
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.

PORTIA.

In The Merchant of Venice. IV. I.

The quality of Mercy is not strained,
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed;
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes;
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes
The thron-ed monarch better than his crown.
His sceptre shews the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,

Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
But mercy is above this sceptered sway,-
It is enthron-ed in the hearts of kings;
It is an attribute to God himself;

And earthly power doth then shew likest God's,
When mercy seasons justice.

OTHELLO'S RELATION OF HIS COURTSHIP TO

THE SENATE.

Act I. Scene 3.

r;

Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors,
My very noble, and approved good masters ;—
That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter,
It is most true; true I have married her
The very head and front of my offending
Hath this extent; no more. Rude am I in my speech,
And little blest with the soft phrase of peace ;
For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith,
Till now, some nine moons wasted, they have used
Their dearest action in the tented field!

And little of this great world can I speak,

More than pertains to feats of broil and battle;
And therefore little shall I grace my cause,

In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious patience,

will a round unvarnished tale deliver,

Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what charms,

What conjuration, and what mighty magic,-

For such proceeding I am charged withal,-
I won his daughter-

Her father loved me, oft invited me ;
Still questioned me the story of my life,

From year to year; the battles, sieges, fortunes,
That I have past.

I ran it through, e'en from my boyish days,
To the very moment that he bade me tell it :
Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances,
Of moving accidents by flood and field;

Of hair-breadth 'scapes, i' the imminent deadly breach;
Of being taken by the insolent foe,

And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence,
And portance in my travel's history;

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Wherein of antres vast and deserts idle,

Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven,

It was my hint to speak,-such was the process;
And of the Cannibals that each other eat,
The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads.
Do grow beneath their shoulders. This to hear
Would Desdemona seriously incline :

But still the house-affairs would draw her thence;
Which ever as she could with haste despatch,

She'd come again, and with a greedy ear

Devour up my discourse; which I observing,

Took once a pliant hour; and found good means
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart,
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate,
Whereof by parcels she had something heard,
But not intentively; I did consent,

And often did beguile her of her tears,

When I did speak of some distressful stroke,
That my youth suffered. My story being done,
She gave me for my pains a world of sighs;

She swore in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange; 'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful!

She wished she had not heard it, yet she wished

That heaven had made her such a man ;--she thanked

me,

And bade me,-if I had a friend that loved her,
I should but teach him how to tell my story,
And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake;
She loved me for the dangers I had past,
And I loved her, that she did pity them.

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