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Ham. Indeed, indeed, sir, but this troubles me. Hold you the watch to-night?

Hor.

We do, my lord.

Ham. Armed, say you?

Hor. Armed, my lord.

Ham.

Hor.

From top to toe?

My lord, from head to foot.

Ham. Then saw you not his face?

Hor. O yes, my lord; he wore his beaver up.
Ham. What, looked he frowningly?

Hor. A countenance more in sorrow than in anger.
Ham. Pale or red?

Hor. Nay, very pale.

Ham. And fixed his eyes upon you?

Hor. Most constantly.

Ham. I would, I had been there.

Hor. It would have much amazed you.

Ham. Very like, very like; staid it long?

Hor. While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred. Ham. His beard was grizzled? No?

Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life,

A sable silvered.

Ham. I'll watch to-night; perchance 'twill walk again. Hor. I warrant you, it will.

Ham. If it assume my noble father's person,

I'll speak to it, though hell itself should gape,
And bid me hold my peace. I pray you, sir,
If you have hitherto concealed this sight,
Let it be tenable in your silence still;
And whatsoever else shall hap to-night,
Give it an understanding, but no tongue;
I will requite your love; so fare you well;
Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve,
I'll visit you.

Where Hamlet says, "I shall not look upon his like again,” he probably means eye, that is, no man, shall ever look upon his like again." Great histrionic performers of Shakspeare, differ in their manner, of reading the question, "Did you not speak to it?" Kemble laid the emphasis on the word, "you,"-Garrick on, speak." If the question were put, what, instead of "Who shall decide when doctors disagree?" the writer would answer, good sense. Horatio had just informed Hamlet, that Marsellus and Bernardo were afraid to speak to the ghost of his father; and, after ascertaining where this marvellous event took place, the prince pro

pounds the question, "Did you not speak to it?" His meaning seems to be,—were you, as well as the gentlemen whom you name, afraid to speak? and, moreover, had I been there, I would have spoken. Indeed, so deter mined was Hamlet to do this, that he says in the last sentence

"I'll speak to it though hell itself should gape

And bid me hold my peace."

97. OTHELLO AND IAGO.-Shakspeare.

lago. My noble lord

Othello. What dost thou say, Iago?

Iago. Did Michael Cassio, when you wooed my lady,
Know of your love?

Oth. He did, from first to last. Why dost thou ask?
Iago. But for the satisfaction of my thoughts;

No further harm.

Oth. Why of thy thought, Iago?

Iago. I did not think he had been acquainted with her. Oth. O, yes; and went between us very oft.

Iago. Indeed!

Oth. Indeed! ay, indeed.—Discern'st thou aught in that? Is he not honest?

Iago. Honest, my lord?

Oth. Ay, honest.

Iago. My lord, for aught I know.

Oth. What dost thou think?

Iago. Think, my lord?

Oth. Think, my lord!

Why, thou dost echo me,

As if there were some monster in thy thought

Too hideous to be shown. Thou dost mean something;

I heard thee say but now: "I like not that,"

When Cassius left my wife. What didst not like?
And when I told thee he was of my counsel

In my whole course of wooing, thou criedst: "Indeed!"
And didst contract and purse thy brow together,
As if thou then hadst shut up in thy brain
Some horrible conceit. If thou dost love me,
Show me thy thought.

Iago. My lord, you know I love you.

Oth. I think thou dost;

And for I know thou art full of love and honesty,
And weigh'st thy words before thou giv'st them breath,-
Therefore these stops of thine fright me the more;
For such things, in a false, disloyal knave,

Are tricks of custom; but in a man that's just,
They are close denotements, working from the heart
That passion cannot rule.

Iago. For Michael Cassio,

I dare be sworn, I think that he is honest.
Oth. I think so too.

Iago. Men should be that they seem;

Or, those that be not, 'would they might seem none !
Oth. Certain, men should be what they seem.

Iago. Why, then, I think that Cassio is an honest man.
Oth. Nay, yet there's more in this;

I pray thee, speak to me as to thy thinkings,

As thou dost ruminate; and give thy worst of thoughts
The worst of words.

Iago. Good my lord, pardon me;

Though I am bound to every act of duty,

I am not bound to that all slaves are free to.

Utter my thoughts? Why, say they are vile and false,—
As where's that palace, whereinto foul things

Sometimes intrude not? Who has a breast so pure,
But some uncleanly apprehensions

Keep leets, and law-days, and in sessions sit
With meditations lawful?
[Exit Iago.

Oth. This fellow's of exceeding honesty,
And knows all qualities with a learned spirit,
Of human dealings. If I do prove her haggard,
Though that her jesses were my dear heart-strings,
I'd whistle her off, and let her down the wind,

Το

pray at fortune.

I think my wife be honest, and I think she's not;
I think Iago is just, and I think he's not;

I'll have some proof,-her name that was as fresh
As Dian's visage, is now begrim'd, and black
As mine own face.-[weeps.] O Desdemona !
Had it pleased heaven

To try me with affliction; had he rain'd
All kinds of sores and shames on my bare head i

Steeped me in poverty to the very lips,
Given to captivity, me and my hopes,-
I should have found in some part of my soul
A drop of patience.

But then where I have garner'd up my heart,-
Where, either I must live, or bear no life;
The fountain from the which my current runs,
Or else dries up; to be discarded thence!-

O now, forever,

Farewell the tranquil mind! Farewell content!
Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars,
That make ambition virtue. O, farewell!
Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump,
The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife,
The royal banner, and all quality,

Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war!
And O, ye mortal engines, whose rude throats
The immortal Jove's dread clamors counterfeit,
Farewell! Othello's occupation's gone.

"One sinner destroyeth much good." Iago said of Desdemona

"By how much she strives to do him good,
She shall undo her credit with the Moor."

So "out of her own goodness," the villain made

"the net

"That" did "enmesh them all."

98. ALONZO'S SOLILOQUY.-Dr. Edward Young. [Alonzo has a dagger concealed beneath his mantle. His beautiful wife, Leonora, is in a bower of roses asleep.]

Ye amaranths! ye roses like the morn!
Sweet myrtles, and ye golden orange groves!
Why do ye smile? Why do you look so fair?
Are ye not blasted as I enter in?

Yes see how every flower lets fall its head?
How shudders every leaf without a wind,
How every green is as ivy pale !
Did ever midnight ghosts assemble here?

Have ever these sweet echoes learned to groan?
Joy-giving, love-inspiring, holy bower!

Know, in thy fragrant bosom thou receivest
A murderer! Oh, I shall stain thy lilies;
And horror will usurp the seat of bliss.
So Lucifer broke into paradise,

And soon damnation followed!

Ha! she sleeps.

[Advancing.

[In a whisper.

The day's uncommon heat has overcome her.
Then take, my longing eyes, your last full gaze.
Oh! what a sight is here! how dreadful fair!
Who would not think that being innocent?
Where shall I strike? who strikes her, strikes himself.
My own life-blood will issue from her wound.
Oh ! my distracted heart! Oh, cruel heaven!

To give such charms as these, and then to call on man,
Mere man, to be your executioner.

Was it because it was too hard for you?

But see, she smiles! I never shall smile more.

It strongly tempts me to a parting kiss.

Ha! smile again. [Goes towards her, and starts back.] She dreams of him she loves.

Curse on her charms! I'll stab her through them all.

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It appears from Dr. Young's "Revenge," that Alonzo was made jealous of Leonora, by the impositions of Zango, the Moor; and that he formed the dreadful resolution, to put a period to her life, by his own hand. For this purpose, he supplies himself with a weapon of death, and steals to the bower where she is sleeping. Jealousy is, indeed, a green-eyed monster." It "doats, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves"-"it caresses and kills at the same time!" In a word, "it destroys that which it cannot live without." It was emphatically so with Othello. It is equally true of Alonzo. In the beautiful and eloquent language of the Rev. C. C. Burr, of Philadelphia, as the writer found it in one of that gentleman's excellent lectures on the passions:-"At one moment Leonora appears to Alonzo's doting heart, lovely as an angel, beautiful as heaven, soft as a milk-white lamb, libating for him in a bower of roses and amaranths,whose life and sweetness are met,—a sacrament of love, spread for him alone, and where he may baptize his soul in bliss,-where he may revel among those silver curls, clustering there, like tendrils of a parasite upon alabaster columns. The next moment his fancy paints her all begrimed, and black as hell."

Under the wrong impression that she had been false to her marriage vows, he gave vent to the horrors of his mind in the above most admirable soliloquy. Let the declaimer be careful "to suit the action to the word." Let every important sentiment and emotion, be expressed through those "windows of the soul," the eyes, as well as by the voice.

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