Elegant Extracts: Or, Useful and Entertaining Pieces of Poetry

remedy

Should be without regard: what's done, is done.
Macb. We have fcotch'd the fnake, not kill'd it;
She'll clofe, and be herself, whilft our poor malice
Remains in danger of her former tooth.
But let the frame of things disjoint, both the
worlds fuffer,

Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and fleep
In the affliction of thefe terrible dreams
That hake us nightly. Better be with the dead,
Whom we, to gain our place, have fent to peace,
Than on the torture of the mind to lie
In reftlefs ecftaly.-Duncan is in his grave;
After life's fitful fever, he fleeps well;
Treafon has done his worst: nor fteel, nor poifon,
Malice domeftic, foreign levy; nothing
Can touch him farther 1

O, full of fcorpions is my mind, dear wife!
Thou know'ft that Banquo and his Fleance lives.
Lady. But in them nature's copy's not eterne.
Macb. There's comfort yet, they are affailable;
Then be thou jocund: ere the bat hath flown
His cloister'd fight; ere, to black Hecate's fum-

mons,

The fhard-borne beetle, with his drowsy hums,
Hath rung night's yawning peal, there fhall be

A deed of dreadful note.

[done

Lady. What's to be done?
Macb. Be innocent of the knowledge, deareft
chuck,

Till thou applaud the deed. Come, fealing night,
Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day;
And, with thy bloody and invisible hand,
Cancel, and tear to pieces, that great bond
Which keeps me pale! Light thickens; and the
Makes wing to the rooky wood: [crow
Good things of day begin to droop and drowse;
While night's black agents to their preys do
roufe.

Scene, a Room of State. Banquet prepared. Mac.
beth, Lady, Roje, Lenox, Lords, and Attendants.
Lady. My royal lord,

You do not give the cheer: the feast is fold, That is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a making, 'Tis given with welcome: to feed were beft at

home;

From thence, the fauce to meat is ceremony;
Meeting were bare without it.

Macb. Here had we now our country's ho
nour roof'd,

Were the grac'd perfon of our Banquo prefent;
Whom may I rather challenge for unkindnes,
Than pity for mischance.
Roffe. His abfence, Sir,

[The Ghost of Banquo rifes, and fits in
Macbeth's place.

Mach. Sweet remembrancer !-
Now, good digeftion wait on appetite,
And health on both!

Len. May't please your highness fit ?

Lays blame upon his promife. Please it your
highner's

To grace us with your royal company?
Macb. The table's full! [Starting
Len. Here is a place referv'd, Sir.
Macb. Where?

Len. Here, my good lord.
What is 't that moves your highness?
Mach. Which of you have done this?
Lords. What, my good lord?
Macb. Thou can'ft not fay, I did it: never
Thy gory locks at me.

[Chake Roffe. Gentlemen, rife; his highnefs is not well Lady. Sit, worthy friend :-my lord is often

thus,

And hath been from his youth: pray you, keep
The fit is momentary; upon a thought [lear;
He will again be well: if much you note bim,
You fhall offend him, and extend his paffion!
Feed, and regard him not.-Are you a man?
[To Mach. afde.

Macb. Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on
Which might appal the devil.

Lady. O proper stuff!

[that

This is the very painting of your fear: [4
This is the air-drawn dagger, which, you faid,
Led you to Duncan. O thefe flaws and ftarts
(Impoftors to true fear) would well become
A woman's ftory at a winter's fire,
Authoriz'd by her grandam. Shame itself!
Why do you make fuch faces ? when all's done;
You look but on a tool.

Macb. Pr'ythee fee there!
Behold! look! lo! how fay you?

[Pointing to the Gl
Why, what care I? if thou canst nod, fpeak too.
If charnel-houfes and our graves muft fend
Thofe, that we bury, back-our monuments
Shall be the maws of kites. [The Ghoft vanifa
Lady. What! quite unmann'd in folly?
Macb. If Iftand here, I faw him.
Lady. Fie, for fhame!
[olden time.

Macb. Blood hath been fhed ere now, it
Ere human ftatute purg'd the gen'ral weal;
Ay, and fince too, murders have been perform's
Too terrible for the ear; the times have been,
That, when the brains were out, the man woul
With twenty mortal murders on their crowns,
And there an end: but now they rife again, [dic;
And push us from our fools: this is more strange

Than fuch a murder is.

Lady. My worthy lord,
Your noble friends do lack you.
Macb. I do forget

Do not mufe at me, my most worthy friends;
I have a ftrange infirmity, which is nothing
To thofe that know me. Come, love and health
to us all;
Then I'll fit down: give me fome wine, fill full:

I drink

pproach thou like the rugged Ruffian bear, he arm'd rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger; ike any fhape but that, and my firm nerves all never tremble; or, be alive again, nd dare me to the defert with thy fword; trembling I inhibit thee, proteft me he baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow ! real mockery, hence! Why, fo-being gone, [The Ghoft vanishes. m a man again.-Pray you, fit ftili. [The Lords rife. Lady. You have difplac'd the mirch, broke the good meeting

With moft admir'd diforder. Mach. Can fuch things be, nd overcome us like a fummer's cloud, ithout our special wonder? You make me en to the difpofition that I owe, [ftrange hen now I think you can behold fuch fights, nd keep the natural ruby of your cheeks, Then mine are blanch'd with fear. Roffe. What fights, my lord? Lady. I pray you, fpeak not; he grows worfe

and worse;

veftion enrages him at once, good-night: and not upon the order of your going,

ut go at once. Len. Good night, and better health ttend his majefty!

Lady. A kind good night to all. [Exeunt Lords. Mach. It will have blood, they fay; blood [fpeak;

will have blood:

tones have been known to move, and 'trees to ugurs, and understood relations, have

y magpies, and choughs, and rooks, brought he fecret'it man of blood. [forth,

As juftice, verity, temperance, ftableness,
Bounty, perfeverance, mercy, lowlinefs,
Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude,
have no relifh of them: but abound
In the divifion of each feveral crime,
Acting in many ways. Nay, had 1 pow'r, I should
Pour the fweet milk of concord into hell,
Uproar the univerfal peace, confound
All unity on earth.

Macd. O Scotland! Scotland !

Mal. If fuch a one be fit to govern, speak ; I am as I have spoken.

Macd. Fit to govern!

Malcolm's Character of himself.

Mal. But I have none; the king-becoming

graces,

No, not to live.--O nation miferable,
With an untitled tyrant, bloody-fceptred,
When fhalt thou fee thy wholefome days again ?
Since that the trueft iffue of thy throne
By his own interdiction ftands accurft,
And does blafpheme his breed? Thy royal father
Was a moft fainted king; the queen, that bore
Oft'ner upon her knees than on her feet, [thee,
Died ev'ry day fhe liv'd. Fare thee well!
Thefe evils thou repeat'ft upon thyfelf,
Have banifh'd me from Scotland. O my breast,
Thy hope ends here!

Mal. Macduff, this noble paffion,
Child of integrity, hath from my foul
Wip'd the black fcruples, reconcil'd my thoughts
To thy good truth and honour. Devilish Macbeth,
By many of thefe trains hath fought to win me
Into his pow'r ; and modeft wildom plucks me
From over-credulous hatte; but God above
Deal between thee and me! for even now
I put myself to thy direction, and
Unfpeak mine own detraction; here abjure
The taints and blames I laid upon myself,
For ftrangers to my nature.
I am yet
Unknown to woman; never was for worn ;
Scarcely have coveted what was mine own;
At no time broke my faith: would not betray
The devil to his fellow; and delight
No lefs in truth than life; my firft falfe-speaking
Was this upon myself. What I am truly,
Is thine, and my poor country's, to command.
An oppreffed Country.

That would be howl'd out in the defert air, Where hearing fhould not latch them.

Macd. What concern they?

The general caufe? or is it a fee-grief,

Due to fome fingle breast?

Roffe. No mind that's honeft

Deftifed Old Age.

I have liv'd long enough: my way of life Is tall'n into the fear, the yellow leaf: And that which fhould accompany old age, As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, I inuft not look to have: but in their flead,

But in it fhares fome woe; tho' the main part Curfes, not loud, but deep, mouth-honour,breath,

Pertains to you alone.

Macd. If it be mine,

Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it.
Roffe. Let not your ears despise my tongue for

ever,

Which shall poffefs them with the heaviest found,
That ever yet they heard.

Macd. Humph! I guess at it. [babes
Roffe. Your caftle is furpris'd; your wife and
Savagely flaughter'd; to relate the manner,
Were, on the quarry of these murder'd deer,
To add the death of you.

Mal. Merciful Heaven!

What,man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows;
Give forrow words: the grief that does not speak,
Whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it
Macd. My children too?
[break.
Roffe. Wife, children, fervants, all that could

be found.

Macd. And I must be from thence! my wife
Roffe. I have faid.
[kill'd too?

Mal. Be comforted:

Let's make us med'cines of our great revenge,
To cure this deadly grief.

Macd. He has no children -All my pretty

ones ?

Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare

not.

Difeafes of the Mind incurable.

Canft thou not minister to a mind difeas'd ; Pluck from the memory a rooted forrow; Raze out the written troubles of the brain; And, with fome fweet oblivious antidote, Cleanfe the stuff'd bofom of that perilous ftuff, Which weighs upon the heart?

Reflections on Life.

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the laft fyllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking fhadow; a poor player, That ftruts and frets his hour upon the ftage, And then is heard no more: it is a tale, Told by an ideot, full of found and fury, Signifying nothing.

§. 30. OTHELLO. SHAKSPEARE.
Preferment.

Did you fay all? what, all! O hell-kite! all?'Tis the curfe of fervice;
What, all my pretty chickens, and their dam,
At one fell fwoop?

Mal. Difpute it like a man.
Macd. I fhall do fo;

But I muft alfo feel it as a man :

I cannot but remember fuch things were,
That were most precious to me. Did Heaven

look on,

And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff,
They were all ftruck for thee! Naught that I am,
Not for their own demerits, but for mine,
Fell flaughter on their fouls: heaven reft them

now!

Mal. Be this the whetstone of your fword; let grief Convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it. Macd. O, I could play the woman with mine eyes, [Heaven, And braggart with my tongue! But, gentle Cut fhort all intermiffion: front to front Bring thou this fiend of Scotland, and myself; Within my fword's length set him; if he 'fcape, Heaven forgive him too!

Mal. This tune goes manly. Come, go we to the king; our pow'r is ready; Our lack is nothing but our leave; Macbeth Is ripe for fhaking, and the powers above Put on their inftruments. Receive what cheer you may;

The night is long that never finds the day.

[Exeunt.

Not by the old gradation, where each second Preferment goes by letter and affection,

Stood heir to the first.

In difpraife of Honey.

We cannot all be matters, nor all mafters Cannot be truly follow'd. You shall mark Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave, That, doating on his own obfequious bondage, Wears out his time, much like his master's ass, For nought but provender; and, when he is old, cashier'd:

Whip me fuch honeft knaves. Others there are, Who, trimm'd in forms and visages of duty, Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves: And throwing but shows of fervice on their lords, Do well thrive by them; and when they have

lin'd their coats,

Do themselves homage: thefe fellows have some foul,

And fuch a one do I profess myself.
For, fir,

It is as fure as you are Roderigo,
Were I the Moor, I would not be Iago:
In following him, I follow but myself;
Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty,
But feeming fo, for my peculiar end :
But when my outward action doth demonftrate
The native act and figure of my heart
In compliment extern, 'tis not long after
But I will wear my heart upon my fleeve,
For doves to peck at: I am not what I feem.

Love the fole Motive of Othello's marrying.
For I know, Iago,

But that I love the gentle Defdemona,
I would not my unhoufed free condition
Put into circumfcription and confine,
For the fea's worth.

Othello's Relation of his Courtship to the Senate.
Moft potent, grave, and reverend figniors,
My very noble and approv'd good mafters-
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
fpeech,

And little bleft with the fet phrafe of peace;
For fince these arms of mine had seven years pith,
Till now, fome nine moons wafted, they have us'd
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 fhall I grace my cause,
In fpeaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious
patience,

I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver,
Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what
charms,

What conjuration, and what mighty magic,
(For fuch proceeding I am charg'd withal)
I won his daughter with.
Her father

Lov'd me; oft invited me ; ftill queftion'd me
The ftory of my life, from year to year;
The battles, fieges, fortunes, that I have pafs'd.
I ran it through, even from my boyish days,
To the very moment that he bade me tell it,
Wherein I pake of moft difaftrous chances,
Of moving accidents by flood and field;
Of hair-breadth 'fcapes i' the imminent deadly
breach;

Of being taken by the infolent foe,
And fold to flavery; of my redemption thence;
And portance in my travel's hiftory.

These things to hear

Would Defdemona feriously incline;
But ftill the house affairs would draw her thence;
Which ever as she could with haste dispatch,
she'd come again, and with a greedy ear
Devour up my difcourfe: which I obferving,
Took once a pliant hour; and found good means
Todraw from her a prayer of earnest heart,
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate,
Whereof by parcels the had fomething heard,
But not intentively: I did confent;
And often did beguile her of her tears,
When I did fpeak of fome diftrefsful Atroke,
That my youth fuffer'd. My story being done,
egave me for my pains a world of fighs:
She wore-in faith,'twas strange, 'twas paffing
ftrange;

Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful-
She with'd fhe had not heard it; yet the wifh'd
That Heaven had made her such a man :-fhe
thank'd me ;

And bade me, if I had a friend that lov'd her,
I should but teach him how to tell my story,
And that would woo her. Upon this hint I fpake
She lov'd me for the dangers I had pass'd;
And I lov'd her, that the did pity them.
Perfect Content.

O my foul's joy!
If after ev'ry tempeft come fuch calms,
May the winds blow till they have waken'd death,
And let the labouring bark climb hills of feas,
Olympus high; and duck again as low
As hell's from heaven! If I were now to die,
Twere now to be most happy; for, I fear,
My foul hath her content fo abfolute,
That not another comfort like to this
Succeeds in unknown fate.

A Lover's Exclamation. Excellent wretch! perdition catch my foul, But I do love thee! and when I love thee not, Chaos is come again.

Othello's firft Sufpicion.

Think, my lord! by Heaven he echoes me, As if there were fome monster in his thought Too hideous to be fhewn.-Thou doft mean fomething;

I heard thee fay but now-thou lik'st not that-
When Caffio left my wife; what didft not like;
And when I told thee-he was of my counsel,
In my whole courfe of wooing: thou criedt
"Indeed!"

And didft contract and purfe thy brow together,
As if thou then hadft fhut up in thy brain
Some horrible conceit: if thou dost love me
Shew me thy thought.

lag. My lord, you know I love you.
Oth. I think thou doft;

breath

And for I know thou'rt full of love and honefty,
And weigh'ft thy words before thou giv'ft them
[more:
Therefore, thefe ftops of thine fright me the
For fuch things in a false, disloyal knave

Are tricks of cuftom; but, in a man that's juff,
They are close denotements working from the
That paffion cannot rule.
[heart.

The Tortures of Jealousy.

Enter Othello.

On horror's head horrors accumulate :
Do deeds to make heaven weep, all earth amaz'd,
For nothing canft thou to damnation add,
Greater than that.

Iago. O grace! O Heaven defend me!
Are you a man? have you a foul, or fenfe?
God be wi'you: take mine office.-O wretched
That liv'ft to make thine honefty a vice! [fool,
O monftrous world! take note,take note, Owald,
To be direct and honeft, is not fafe.
I thank you for this profit; and, from hence,
I'll love no friend, fince love breeds fuch offence.
Oth. Nay, ftay-thou shouldst be honeft.
Iago. I thould be wife; for honefty's a fool,
And lofes that it works for.

Oth. By the world,

I think my wife be honeft, and I think the is not
I think that thou art juft, and think thou art t

lago. Look where he comes! not poppy, nor I'll have fome proof. My name, that was as fre

mandragora,

Nor all the drowsy fyrups of the world,
Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep
Which thou ow'dft yesterday.

Oth. Ha! ha! falfe to me? to me? [that.
Iago. Why, how now, general? no more of
Oth. Avaunt! begone! thou haft fet me on

the rack:

I fwear 'tis better to be much abus'd,
Than but to know 't a little.

Iago. How now, my lord?

Oth. What fenfe had I of her ftolen hours of
I faw it not, thought it not, it harm'd not me:
I flept the next night well, was free and merry;
I found not Caffio's kiffes on her lips:
He that is robb'd, not wanting what is ftolen,
Let him not know it, and he's not robb'd at all.
Lago. I am forry to hear this.

As Dian's vifage, is now begrim'd and black
As mine own face. If there be cords, or knives,
Poifon, or fire, or fuffocating streams,
I'll not endure it.-Would I were satisfied!
Othello's Story of the Handkerchief.
That handkerchief

Did an Egyptian to my mother give;
She was a charmer, and could almost read
The thoughts of people; he told her, while fa
kept it,

[luft?Twould make her amiable, and fubdue my fa
Entirely to her love; but if the loft it, [ter
Or made a gift of it, my father's eye
Should hold her loathly, and his fpirits fhould hur
After new fancies. She, dying, gave it me;
And bid me, when my ftate would have merive,
To give it her. I did fo; and take heed of t
Make it a darling, like your precious eye;
To lofe 't or givet away, were fuch perdit
As nothing else could matter.-

Oth. I had been happy, if the general camp,
Pioneers and all, had tasted her sweet body,
So I had nothing known: O now, for ever,
Farewell the tranquil mind! Farewell content
Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars,
That make ambition virtue! O farewell!

Farewell the neighing fteed, and the fhrill trump,
The fpirit-ftirring drum, the ear-piercing fife,
The royal banner; and all quality,

Pride, pomp, and circumftance of glorious war!
And, O you mortal engines, whofe rude throats
Th' immortal Jove's dread clamours counterfeit,
Farewell! Othello's occupation 's gone
Iago. Is 't poffible, my lord?

Oth. Villain, be fure thou prove my

whore;

love

Be fure of it; give me the ocular proof;
[Catching hold on him.
Or by the worth of mine eternal foul,
Thou hadft better have been born a dog,
Than answer my wak'd wrath.
Iago. Is it come to this?
Oth. Make me to fee it; or, at the leaft, fo
That the probation bear no hinge, nor loop,
To hang a doubt on: or, woe upon thy life!
Iago, My noble lord-

[prove it,

Oth. If thou doft flander her, and torture me, Never pray more: abandon all remorse :

-There's magic in the web of it:
A Sibyl, that had number'd in the world
The fun to make two hundred compaffes,
In her prophetic fury few'd the work:
The worms were hallow'd that did breed the f
And it was dyed in mummy, which the skilf
Conferv'd of maidens' hearts.

A Lover's Computation of Time. What! keep a week away? feven days nights?

Eight-fcore eight hours? and lovers abfent bon
More tedious than the dial eight score times?
O weary reckoning!

Othello's Speech, after having received the Maz
date when confirmed in his Sufpicions.
Ay, you did with that I would make her turn
Sir, the can turn, and turn, and yet go on,
And turn again; and the can weep, fir, weepi
And the 's obedient, as you fay-obedient-
Very obedient-Proceed you in your tears.
Concerning this, fir-O well painted paffion ↑
I am commanded home :-get you away;
And will return to Venice-hence, avaunt!
I'll fend for you anon.-Sir, I obey the mandate,

Ex. De
Caffic

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