fhall have my place. And-Sir, to night, | And will not hear it: what committed t
ntreat that we may fup together.
Impudent ftrumpet !
are welcome, Sir, to Cyprus-
= and monkies !

Def. By Heaven, you do me wrong!
Oth. Are you not a ftrumpet?
Def. No, as I am a Chriftian.
If to preferve this veffel for my lord,
From any other foul, unlawful touch,
Be not to be a ftrumpet, I am none.
Oth. What, not a whore?
Def. No, as I fhall be faved.
Ofb. Is it poffible?

[Exit Othello.

His pathetic Upbraiding of bis Wife. - Upon my knees, what doth your fpeech erstand a fury in your words, [import? ot your words.

-. Why, what art thou?

Your wife, my lord; your true and loyal wife.

5. Come, fwear it; damn thyself;
being like one of heaven, the devils them-I
felves

ld fear to feize thee: therefore be doubler thou art honeft.

(damn'd;

. Heaven doth truly know it.

5. Heaven truly knows thou art falfe as hell.

Def. O Heaven forgive us !
Otb. I cry you mercy, then;
took you for that cunning whore of Venice
That married with Othello.

Enter Othello, with a Light and Sword,
Oth. It is the caufe, it is the caufe, my foul-
Let me not name it to you, you chafte stars!
It is the caufe.-Yet I'll not thed her blood,
Nor fear that whiter fkin of hers than fnow,
And smooth as monumental alabaster.
[Lays down the Sword
Yet fhe muft die, elfe fhe'll betray more men.
Put out the light, and then put out the light!
If I quench thee, thou flaming minifter,
I can again thy former light restore,
Should I repent me; but once put out thy light,
Thou cunning'ft pattern of excellent nature,
I know not where is that Promethean heat
That can thy light relume.

ience, thou young and rofe-lipp'd cherubim;
, there, look grim as hell!
Def. I hope my noble lord efteems me honest.
Oth. O,ay; as fummer-flies are in the shambles,
at quicken even with blowing. O thou weed,
ho art fo lovely fair, and finell'ft fo sweet,
at the fenfe akes at thee; would thou hadft
ne'er been born!
[ted?
Def. Alas! what ignorant fin have I commit-O
Oh. Was this fair paper, this moft goodly book,
ade to write whore upon! what committed!
ommitted! O thou public commoner !
hould make very forges of my cheeks
hat would to cinders burn up modesty,
id I but fpeak thy deeds.-What committed!
eaven ftops the nofe at it, and the noon winks:
The bawdy wind, that kifles all it meets,
shush'd within the hollow mine of earth,

[Sets down the taper.

When I have pluck'd thy role,
I cannot give it vital growth again;
It needs muft wither: I'll finell it on the tree.
[Kiffing her.
balmy breath, thou doft almoft perfuade
Justice herself to break her fword! One more.
Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee,
And love thee after: one more, and this the laft:
So fweet was ne'er fo fatal. I muft weep,
But they are cruel tears: this forrow 's heavenly;
It ftrikes where it doth love.

Othello's Confufion after having murdered his Wife.

Yes, 'tis Amilia;-by and by-fhe 's dead. 'Tis like, he comes to speak of Catfio's death;

The

t

The noife was high. Ha! no more moving?
Still as the grave. Shall she come in? wer't good?
I think the stirs again :-no.-What's the best?
If the come in, fhe'll fure fpeak to my wife :-
My wife! my wife! what wife? I have no wife.
O infupportable! O heavy hour!
Methinks it fhould be now a huge eclipse
Of fun and moon; and that the affrighted globe
Should yawn at alteration.

Behold! I have a weapon:
A better never did itself fuftain
Upon a foldier's thigh: I've feen the day,
That, with this little arm, and this good (word,
I have made my way through more impediments
Than twenty times your ftop.-But, Ovain boaft,

Who can controul his fate? 'tis not fo now.

Be not afraid, though you do fee me weapon'd.
Here is my journey's end, here is my butt,
And very fea-mark of my utmoft fail.

Do you go back difmay'd? 'tis a loft fear;
Man but a rush against Othello's breast,
And he retires: where fhould Othello go?
Now-how doft thou look now? O ill-ftarr'd
wench!

Pale as thy fmock! when we shall meet at compt,
This look of thine will hurl my foul from heaven,
And fiends will fnatch at it. Cold, cold, my girl?
E'n like thy chastity.-

O curfed, curfed flave !-Whip me, ye devils,
From the poffeffion of this heavenly fight!
Blow me about in winds! roast me in fulphur!
Wash me in fteep-down gulfs of liquid fire!
O Desdemona! Desdemona! dead?
Dead? O! O! O!

His laft Speech.

Soft a word or two before you go. [it;
you;
I have done the state fome fervice, and they know
No more of that. I pray you, in your letters,
When you shall these unlucky deeds relate,
Speak of me, as I am: nothing extenuate,
Nor fet down aught in malice: then must you
Speak

Of one that lov'd not wifely, but too well;
Of one not eafily jealous, but, being wrought,
Perplex'd in the extreme; of one whofe hand,
Like the bafe Judean, threw a pearl away
Richer than all his tribe; of one whofe fubdued

§31. THE LIFE AND DEATH OF KING RICHARD II. SHAKSPEARE.

Reputation.

THE pureft treasure mortal times afford,
Is Ipotless reputation; that away,
Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay.
Corwardice.

That which in mean men we intitle patient
Is pale cold cowardice in noble breafts.

Banishment, Confolation under it.
All places that the eye of Heaven vifits,
Are to a wife man ports and happy havers:
Teach thy neceffity to reason thus;
There is no virtue like neceffity.
Think not the king did banish thee;
But thou the king: woe doth the heavier fit
Where it perceives it is but faintly borne.
Go, fay, I fent thee forth to purchase honour,
Devouring peftilence hangs in our air,
And not the king exil'd thee:-Or suppost,
And thou art flying to a fresher clime.
Look, what thy foul holds dear, imagine it
Suppofe the finging-birds muficians; [com'ft:
To lie that way thou go'ft, not whence thou
The grafs whereon thou tread ft, the prefence
ftrew'd;

The flow'rs, fair ladies; and thy steps, no mort
Than a delightful measure or a dance:
For gnarling forrow hath less power to bite
The man that mocks at it, and fets it light.

Thoughts ineffectual to moderate Afliction
O, who can hold a fire in his hand,
By thinking on the frofty Caucafus?
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite,
By bare imagination of a feast?
Or wallow naked in December fnow,
By thinking on fantastic fummer's heat?
O, no! the apprehenfion of the good
Gives but the greater feeling to the worfe
Fell forrow's tooth doth never rankle more
Than when it bites, but lanceth not the fort.
Popularity.

Obferv'd his courtship to the common people;
Ourfel, and Bufhy, Bagot here, and Green,
How he did feem to dive into their hearts,
With humble and familiar courtefy;
Wooing poor craftsmen, with the craft of fmiles,
What reverence he did throw away on flaves;
And patient under-bearing of his fortune,
As 'twere to banish their affects with him.

Off goes his bonnet to an oyfter-wench;
A brace of draymen bid-God fpeed him well,
And had the tribute of his fupple knee :
With "Thanks, my countrymen, my loving
As were our England in reverfion his, [friends;"
And he our fubjects' next degree in hope.

Duck. Alas, poor Richard! where rides he Grim-vifag'd war hath smooth'd his wrinkled

the while?

York. As in a theatre the eyes of men,
After a well grac'd actor leaves the stage,
Are idly bent on him that enters next,
Thinking his prattle to be tedious: [eyes
Even fo, or with much more contempt, men's
Did fcowl onRichard;no man cried, God fave him;
No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home;
But duft was thrown upon his facred head;
Which with fuch gentle forrow he shook off,
His face ftill combating with tears and fmiles,
The badges of his grief and patience- [fteel'd
That had not God, for fome ftrong purpose,
The hearts of men, they muft perforce have
And barbarism itself have pitied him, [melted,
Violets.

Who are the violets now

That strew the green lap of the new-come fpring?

King Richard's Soliloquy in Prifon.

I have been studying how I may compare
This prifon, where I live, unto the world;
And, for because the world is populous,
And here is not a creature but myself,
I cannot do it yet I'll hammer it out.
My brain I'll prove the female to my foul;
My foul, the father; and these two beget
A generation of ftill-breeding thoughts,
And these fame thoughts people this little world;
In humours, like the people of this world,
For no thought is contented——

Thoughts tending to content, flatter themselves
That they are not the fiift of fortune's flaves,
Nor fhall not be the laft; like filly beggars,
Who, fitting in the ftocks, refuge their fhame
That many have, and others muft fit there:
And in this thought they find a kind of eafe,
Bearing their own misfortune on the back
Of fuch as have before endur'd the like.
Thus play I, in one prifon, many people,
And none contented. Sometimes am I a king;
Then treafon makes me with myself a beggar;
And fo I am: then crushing penury
Perfuades me I was better than when a king;
Then am I king'd again: and, by and by,
Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke,
And ftraight am nothing. But, whate'er I am,
Nor I, nor any man, that but man is,

With nothing fhall be pleas'd, till he be eas'd
With being nothing.

34. THE LIFE AND DEATH OF KING
RICHARD III. SHAKSPEARE.

Richard, on his own Deformity.
Now are our brows bound with victorious

wreaths;

Our bruifed arms hung up for monuments;
Our stern alarums chang'd to merry meetings:
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.

front;

And now-instead of mounting barbed feeds
To fright the fouls of fearful adverfaries-
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber,
To the lafcivious pleafing of a lute.
But I, that am not fhap'd for fportive tricks,
Nor made to court an am'rous looking-gais;
I, that am rudely ftamp'd, and want lovema
To ftrut before a wanton, ambling nymph;j;
I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by diffembling nature,
Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, fearce half made up,
And that fo lamely and unfashionable,
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them-
Why I, in this meek piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to spy my fhadow in the fun,
And defcant on my own deformity:
And therefore-fince I cannot prove a lover,
To entertain these fair, well-fpoken days→→
I am determined to prove a villain,
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.

Richard's Love for Lady Anne.

Thofe eyes of thine from mine have dram
falt tears,

Sham'd their afpects with ftore of childish drep
Thefe eyes, which never fhed remorseful tea-
Not, when my father York and Edward w
To hear the piteous moan that Rutland mac
When black-fac'd Clifford fhook his fwurd
Nor when thy warlike father, like a child,
Told the fad ftory of my father's death;
And twenty times made paufe, to fob, and wer
That all the ftanders-by had wet their chek
Like trees bedafh'd with rain: in that fad
My manly eyes did fcorn an humble tear;
And what thefe forrows could not thence
Thy beauty hath, and made them blind "
I never fued to friend, nor enemy; [wee
My tongue could never learn fweet foot
My proud heart fues, and prompts my to
But now thy beauty is propos'd my fee, {wc
to speak.

On his own Perfon, after bis fuccessful Ad

My dukedom to a beggarly denier,
I de mistake my perfon all this while:
Upon my life, the finds, although I cannot,
Myfelf to be a marvellous proper man,
I'll be at charges for a looking-glass;
And entertain a score or two of taylors,
To study fashions to adorn my body:
Since I am crept in favour with myself,
1 will maintain it with some little cost.

Queen Margaret's Execration
The worm of confcience ftill begnaw thy
Thy friends fufpect for traitors while thou
And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends
No fleep clofe up that deadly eye of thine,
Unless it be when fome tormenting dream
Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils!

hou elvish-mark'd, abortive, rooting hog!
hou that waft feal'd in thy nativity
he flave of nature, and the son of hell!
hou flander of thy heavy mother's womb!
hou loathed iffue of thy father's loins!
hou rag of honour, thou detested-
High Birth.

I was born fo high,
raiery buildeth in the cedar's top,
ad dallies with the wind, and fcorns the fun.
Richard's Hypocrisy.

But then I figh, and, with a piece of fcripture,
ell them that God bids us do good for evil:
nd thus I clothe my naked villany

ith old odd ends, ftolen forth of holy writ,
nd feem a faint, when moft I play the devil.
Clarence's Dream.

A fhadow like an angel, with bright hair Dabbled in blood; and he fhriek'd out aloud"Clarence is come, falfe, fleeting, perjur'd Cla

Brak. What was your dream, my lord? I pray
you tell me.
[Tower,

Clar. Methought, that I had broken from the
id was embark'd to cross to Burgundy,
d, in my company, my brother Glo'fter;
ho from my cabin tempted me to walk
on the hatches: thence we look'd toward
England,

rence

"That ftabb'd me in the field by Tewksbury;
"Seize on him, futies, take him to your tor-
ments!"

With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends
Inviron'd me, and howled in mine ears
Such hideous cries, that, with the very noise,
I trembling wak'd; and, for a season after,
Could not believe but that I was in hell:
Such terrible impreffion made my dream.

Brak. No marvel, lord, that it affrighted you
I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it.

Clar. O, Brakenbury, I have done those things
That now give evidence again my foul,
For Edward's fake; and see how he requites me!
O God! if my deep prayers cannot appeale thee,
But thou wilt be aveng'd on my misdeeds,
Yet execute thy wrath on me alone:
[dren!
O fpare my guiltless wife, and my poor chil-
Sorrow.

Sorrow breaks feasons and repofing hours, Makes the night morning, and the noontide night. Greatness, its Cares.

Princes have but their titles for their glories,
An outward honour for an inward toil;,
And, for unfelt imaginations,
They often feel a world of reftlefs cares:

nd cited up a thousand heavy times,
uring the wars of York and Lancaster,
hat had befallen us. As we pac'd along
on the giddy footing of the hatches, [ing,
ethought that Glo'fter stumbled; and, in fall-So that, between their titles and low name,
ruck me, that thought to ftay him, overboard,
to the tumbling billows of the main.
Lord! methought, what pain it was to drown!

There's nothing differs but the outward fame.
Duchess of York on the Misfortunes of her Family.
Accurfed and unquiet wrangling days!
How many of you have mine eyes beheld!
My husband loft his life to get the crown,
And often up and down my fons were toss'd,
And being feated, and domeftic broils
For me to joy and weep their gain and lofs:
Clean overblown, themfelves, the conquerors,
Make war upon themselves; brother to brother,
Blood to blood, felf against felf:-O prepofterous
And frantic outrage! end thy damned spleen;
Or let me die to look on death no more.
Deceit.

hat dreadful noife of water in my ears!
hat fights of ugly death within mine eyes!
ethought I faw a thoufand fearful wrecks;
thousand men that fishes gnaw'd upon;
edges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,
eftimable ftones, unvalued jewels,
Il fcatter'd in the bottom of the fea,
me lay in dead men's fkulls; and, in thofe
There eyes did once inhabit, there were crept
As 'twere in fcorn of eyes) reflecting gems,
hat woo'd the flimy bottom of the deep, [by.
nd mock'd the dead hones that lay fcatter'd
Brak. Had you fuch leifure in the time of
o gaze upon thefe fecrets of the deep? [death,
Clar. Methought I had; and often did I strive
o yield the ghost; but till the envious flood
Cept in my foul, and would not let it forth

[holes,

o find the empty, vaft, and wand'ring air; But fmother'd it within my panting bulk, Which almoft burst to belch it in the fea.

Brak. Awak'd you not with this fore agony?
Clar. O no, my dream was lengthen'd after
O, then began the tempeft to my foul! [life;
pals'd, methought, the melancholy flood,
With that grim ferryman which poets write of,
Jnto the kingdom of perpetual night.
The firt that there did greet my stranger foul,
Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick;
Who cried aloud-"What fcourge for perjury
Can this dark monarchy afford falfe Clarence?"
And fo he vanith'd, Then came wand'ring by

Ah! that deceit should steal fuch gentle fhapes, And with a virtuous vizor hide deep vice!

Submiffion to Heaven, our Duty.

In common worldly things, 'tis call'd ungrate
With dull unwillingness to pay a debt, [ful,
Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent;
Much more, to be thus oppofite with Heaven,
For it requires the royal debt it lent you.
The Vanity of Trust in Man.
O momentary grace of mortal men,
Which we more hunt for than the grace of God
Who builds his hope in air of your fair looks,
Lives like a drunken failor on a mast;
Ready, with every nod, to tumble down
Into the fatal bowels of the deep.
Contemplation.

When holy and devout religious men
Are at their beads, 'tis hard to draw them thence,
So fweet is zealous contemplation.

Defcription