Through all her works) he must delight in virtue;
And that which he delights in must be happy.
But when! or where! this world-was made for Cæsar.
I'm weary of conjectures-this must end them.

[Laying his hand on his sword.

Thus am I doubly arm'd; my death and life,
My bane and antidote are both before me
This, in a moment, brings me to an end;
But this informs me I shall never die.
The soul, secur'd in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point.
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself
Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years;
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,
Unhart amid the war of elements,

The wrecks of matter, and the crush of worlds.
What means this heaviness that bangs upon me?
This lethargy that creeps through all my senses?
Nature oppress'd, and harras'd out with care,
Sinks down to rest. This once I'll favour her,
That my awaken'd soul may take her flight,
Renew' in all her strength, and fresh with life,
An offering fit for Heav'. Let guilt or fear
Disturb man's rest; Cato knows neither of 'em ;
Indiff'rent in his choice, to sleep or die.

HAMLET'S MEDITATION ON DEATH,
TO be—or not to be! that is the question.-
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to suffer
The stings and arrows of outrageous fortune;
Or to take arms against a siege of trables,
And, by opposing, end them?-To die-to sleep-
No more; and, by a sleep, to say we end
The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to-'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die—to sleep—

To sleep-perchance to dream-aye, there's the rub.--
For, in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,

Must give us pause There's the respect

That makes calamity of so long a life

For, who would bear the whips and scorns o' th' time,
Th'oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despi'd love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes;
When he himself might his quietus make

F f

With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,
To groan and sweat under a weary life;
But that the dread of something after death
(That undiscover'd country, from whose bourne
No traveller returns) puzzles the will;
And makes us rather bear those ills we have,
Than fly to others that we know not of;
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution

Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought;
And enterprizes of great pith and moment,
With this regard, their currents turn away,
And lose the name of action.

SELECT PASSAGES
FROM DRAMATIC WRITERS,

EX PRESSIVE OF THE

PRINCIPAL EMOTIONS AND PASSIONS.

JOY.

THEN is Orestes blest My griefs are fled!
Fled like a dream! Methinks I tread in air!—
Surprising happiness! unlook'd for joy!
Never let love despair! The prize is mine !—
Be smooth, ye seas! and, ye propitious winds,
Blow from Epirus to the Spartan coast!

GRIEF.

PLL go; and in the anguish of my heart—
Weep o'er my child-If he must die, my life
Is wrapt in his; I shall not long survive.
'Tis for his sake that I have suffer'd life;
Groan'd in captivity; and out-liv'd Hector.
Yes, my Astyanax! we'll go together;
Together-to the realms of night we'll go.
PITY.

HADST thou but seen, as I did, how, at last,
Thy beauties, Belvidera, like a wretch.

That's doom'd to banishment, came weeping forth.
Whilst two young virgins, on whose arms she lear❜d,
Kindly look'd up, and at her grief grew sad!
L'en the lewd rabble, that were gather'd round
To see the sight, stood mute when they beheld hey,
Govern'd their roaring throats-and grumbled pity.

FEAR.

COME on, Sir-here's the place-stand still.How fearful 'tis to cast one's eyes so low! The crows and coughs, that wing the midway air, Shew scarce so gross as beetles. Half way down, Hangs one that gathers samphire-dreadful trade i Methinks he seems no bigger than one's head, The fisherman, that walk upon the beach, Appear like mice; and yon tall anchoring bark Seems lessen'd to a cock; her cock, a buoy Almost too small for sight. The murmuring surge, That on the unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes, Cannot be heard so high.-I'll look no more, Lest my brain turn and the disorder make me Tumble down headlong.

NOW, all is hush'd and still as death ...
How reverend is the face of this tall pile,
Whose ancient pillars rear their marble heads,
To bear aloft its arch'd and pond'rous roof,
By its own weight made stedfast and immoveable,
Looking tranquillity! It strikes an awe

And terror on my aching sight. The tombs,
And monumental caves of death look cold,
And shoot a chillness to my trembling heart.
Give me thy hand, and let me hear thy voice....
Nay, quickly speak to me, and let me hear
Thy voice....my own affrights me with its echoes.

HORROR.

HARK!-the death-denouncing trumpet sounds The fatal charge, and shouts proclaim the onset. Destruction rushes dreadful to the field, And bathes itself in blood. Havock, let loose, Now, undistinguish'd, rages all around: While Ruin, seated on her dreary throne, Sees the plain strew'd, with subjects truly her's, Breathless and cold.

ANGER.

HEAR me, rash man; on thy allegiance hear me.
Since thou hast striven to make us break our vow,
Which, nor our nature, nor our place can bear,
We banish thee forever from our sight

And kingdom. If, when three days are expir'd,
Thy hated trunk be found in our dominions,
That moment is thy death-Away!

REVENGE.

IF it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced me, and hindered me of hálf a million; laughed at my losses, mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated mine enemies. And what's his reason-I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew'eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? Is he not fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same dis ases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And, if you wrong us...shall we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian example ?-Why, revenge. The villainy you teach me, I will execute; and it shall go hard, but I will better the instruction.

WHAT find I here?

ADMIRATION.

Fair Portia's counterfeit ?-What demi-god
Hath come so near creation? Move these eyes!
Or, whether, riding on the balls of mine,
Seem they in motion?-Here are sever'd lips,
Parted with sugar breath: so sweet a bar

Should sunder such sweet friends.-Here, in her hair,
The painter plays the spider, and hath woven
A golden mesh, t' entrap the hearts of men
Faster than gnats in cobwebs.-But her eyes-
How could he see to do them! having made one,
Methinks it should have power to steal both his, ..
And leave itseif unfinish'd!

HAUGHTINESS.

MAKE thy demands to those that own thy power!
Know, I am still beyond thee. And tho' fortune.
Has strip'd me of this train, this pomp of greatness,
This outside of a king, yet still my soul,
Fix'd high, and on herself alone dependant,
Is ever free and royal; and, even now,
As at the head of battle-dees defy thee!

CONTEMPT.

AWAY! no woman could descend so low. A skipping, dancing, worthless tribe you are: Fit only for yourselves. You herd together;

And when the circling glass warms your vain hearts,
You talk of beauties that you never saw,

And fancy raptures that you never knew.

RESIGNATION.

YET, yet endure-nor murmur, O my soul! For, are not thy transgressions great and numberless? Do they not cover thee, like rising floods? And press thee, like a weight of waters, down? Does not the hand of righteousness afflict thee? And who shall plead against it? who shall say To Pow'r Almighty, Thou hast done enough; Or bid his dreadful rod of vengeance stay?-Wait, then, with patience, till the circling hours Shall bring the time of thy appointed rest, And lay thee down in death.

IMPATIENCE.

OH! rid me of this torture, quickly there,"
My Madam, with the everlasting voice.
The bells, in time of pestilence, ne'er made
Like noise, or were in that perpetual motion.
-All my house,
But now, steam'd like a bath, with her thick breath.
A lawyer could not have been heard, nor scarce
Another woman, such a hail of words

She has let fall.

REMORSE AND DESPAIR.

HENCEFORTH, let no man trust the first false step Of guilt. It hangs upon a precipice,

Whose deep descent in last perdition ends.

How far am I plung'd down, beyond all thought
Which I this evening fram'd-

Consummate horror! guilt beyond a name !-
Dare not, my soul, repent. In thee, repentance
Were second guilt; and 'twere blaspheming Heav'n
To hope for mercy. My pain can only cease
When gods want power to punish.-Ha!-the dawn—
Rise never more, O sun!-let night prevail:

Eternal darkness close the world's wide scene-
And hide me from myself.

DISTRACTION.

MERCY! I know it not-for I am miserable.

I give thee misery-for here she dwells,

This is her house-where the sun never dawns: