The noise was high.
Still as the grave. Shall she come in? wert 't good?
I think she stirs again ;-no-what's the best?
If she comes in, she'll sure speak to my wife:-
My wife! my wife! what wife? I have no wife.
O insupportable! O heavy hour!
Methinks it should be now a huge eclipse
Of sun and moon; and that the affrighted globe
Should yawn at alteration.
If Heaven would make me such another world,
Of one entire and perfect chrysolite,
I'd not have sold her for it.
OTHELLO'S BITTER REMORse.
Behold! I have a weapon:
A better never did itself sustain
Upon a soldier's thigh: I've seen the day,
That, with this little arm, and this good sword,
I have made my way through more impediments
Than twenty times your stop.-But, O vain boast!
Who can control his fate? it is not so now.
Be not afraid, though you do see me weaponed.
Here is my journey's end, here is my butt,
And very sea-mark of my utmost sail.
Do you go back dismayed? 'tis a lost fear;
Man but a rush against Othello's breast,
And he retires: where should Othello go?
Now-how dost thou look now? O ill-starred wench!
Pale as thy smock! when we shall meet at compt,
This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven,
And fiends will snatch at it. Cold, cold, my girl?
E'en like thy chastity-
O cursed, cursed slave!-Whip me, ye devils,
From the possession of this heavenly sight!
Blow me about in winds! roast me in sulphur!
Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire!
O Desdemona ! Desdemona! dead?
Dead? O! O! O!
OTHELLO'S LAST SPEECH.
Soft you; a word or two before you go.
I have done the state some service, and they know it;
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 set down aught in malice: then must you speak
Of one that loved not wisely, but too well:
Of one not easily jealous, but, being wrought,
Perplexed in the extreme; of one whose hand,
Like the base Judean, threw a pearl away
Richer than all his tribe; of one whose subdued eyes,
Albeit unus d to the melting mood,
Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees
Their medicinal gum. Set you down this:
And say, besides, that in Aleppo once,
Where a malignant and a turbaned Turk
Beat a Venetian, and traduced the state,
I took by the throat the circumcised dog,
And smote him-thus.
CASSIUS, IN CONTEMPT OF Cæsar.
WAS born free as Cæsar; so were you :
We both have fed as well; and we can both
Endure the winter's cold as well as he.
For once, upon a raw and gusty day,
The troubled Tiber chafing with his shores,
Cæsar says to me, "Dar'st thou, Cassius, now
Leap in with me into this angry flood,
And swim to yonder point?"-Upon the word,
Accoutre d as I was, I plunged in,
And bade him follow: so, indeed, he did.
The torrent roared, and we did buffet it
With lusty sinews; throwing it aside,
And stemming it with hearts of controversy.
But ere we could arrive the point proposed,
Cæsar cried, "Help me, Cassius, or I sink."
I, as Æneas, our great ancestor,
Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder
The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tiber
Did I the tired Cæsar: and this man
Is now become a god; and Cassius is
A wretched creature, and must bend his body
If Cæsar carelessly but nod on him.-
He had a fever when he was in Spain;
And, when the fit was on him, I did mark
How he did shake: 'tis true, this god did shake,
His coward lips did from their color fly;
And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the world,
Did lose his lustre; I did hear him groan :
Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans
Mark him, and write his speeches in their books,
Alas! it cried-"Give me some drink, Titinius "-
As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me,
A man of such a feeble temper should
So get the start of this majestic world,
And bear the palm alone.
OPPORTUNITY TO BE SEIZED ON ALL AFFAIRS.
There is a tide in the affairs of men,
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
Omitted, all the voyage of their life
Is bound in shallows and in miseries.
On such a full sea are we now afloat;
And we must take the current when it serves
Or lose our ventures.
ANTONY'S CHARACTER OF BRUTUS.
This was the noblest Roman of them all:
All the conspirators, save only he,
Did that they did, in envy of great Cæsar;
He, only, in a general honest thought,
And common good to all, made one of them.
His life was gentle; and the elements
So mixt in him, that nature might stand up,
[Stabs himself. And say to all the world, "This was a man!”
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.
A free and fearless glance he cast
On temple, arch, and tower,
By which the long procession passed
Of Rome's victorious power;
And somewhat of a scornful smile
Uncurled his haughty lip the while.
And now he stood, with brow serene,
Where slaves might prostrate fall,
Bearing a Briton's manly mien
In Cæsar's palace hall;
Claiming, with kindled brow and cheek,
The liberty e'en there to speak.
Nor could Rome's haughty lord withstand
The claim that look preferred,
But motioned with uplifted hand
The suppliant should be heard-
If he indeed a suppliant were
Whose glance demanded audience there.
Deep stillness fell on all the crowd,
From Claudius on his throne
Down to the meanest slave that bowed
At his imperial throne;
Silent his fellow-captive's grief
As fearless spoke the Island Chief:
'Think not, thou eagle Lord of Rome,
And master of the world,
Though victory's banner o'er thy dome
In triumph-now is furled,
I would address thee as thy slave,
But as the bold should greet the brave!
'I might, perchance, could I have deigned To hold a vassal's throne,
E'en now in Britain's isle have reigned
A king in name alone,
Yet holding, as thy meek ally,
A monarch's mimic pageantry.
"Then through Rome's crowded streets to-day I might have rode with thee,
And keeping their Christmas holiday. The baron beheld with a father's pride His beautiful child, young Lovell's bride; While she with her bright eyes seemed to be The star of the goodly company.
"I'm weary of dancing now," she cried; "Here tarry a moment-I'll hide, I'll hide! And, Lovell, be sure thou'rt first to trace The clew to my secret lurking-place."
Away she ran-and her friends began
Each tower to search, and each nook to scan:
And
young Lovell cried, "O, where dost thou hide? I'm lonesome without thee, my own dear bride."
They sought her that night, and they sought her next day,
And they sought her in vain when a week passed
In the highest, the lowest, the loneliest spot,
Young Lovell sought wildly-but found her not.
And
years flew by, and their grief at last
Was told as a sorrowful tale long past;
And when Lovell appeared, the children cried,
"See! the old man weeps for his fairy bride."
At length an oak chest, that had long lain hid,
Was found in the castle-they raised the lid,
And a skeleton form lay mouldering there
In the bridal wreath of that lady fair!
O, sad was her fate!-in sportive jest
She hid from her lord in the old oak chest.
It closed with a spring!—and, dreadful doom,
The bride lay clasped in her living tomb!
THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY.
LUCIUS JUNIUS BRUTUS' ORATION OVER
THE BODY OF LUCRETIA.
Amid the darnel, hemlock, and the base weeds,
Which now spring rife from the luxurious compost
Spread o'er the realm, how this sweet lily rose---
How from the shade of those ill neighboring plants
Her father sheltered her, that not a leaf
Was blighted, but, arrayed in purest grace,
She bloomed unsullied beauty. Such perfections
Might have called back the torpid breast of age
To long-forgotten rapture; such a mind
Might have abashed the boldest libertine
And turned desire to reverential love
And holiest affection! O my countrymen!
You all can witness when that she went forth
It was a holiday in Rome; old age
Forgot its crutch, labor its task-all ran,
And mothers, turning to their daughters, cried,
"There, there's Lucretia!" Now look ye where she
lies!
That beauteous flower, that innocent sweet rose,
Torn up by ruthless violence-gone! gone! gone!
Say, would you seek instruction! would ye ask
What ye should do? Ask ye yon conscious walls
Which saw his poisoned brother-
Ask deserted street, where Tullia drove
O'er her dead father's corse, 't will cry, revenge!
Ask yonder senate-house, whose stones are purple
With human blood, and it will cry, revenge!
Go to the tomb where lies his murdered wife,
And the poor queen, who loved him as her son,
Their unappeasèd ghosts will shriek, revenge!
The temples of the gods, the all-viewing heavens,
OULD you know why I summoned you to- The gods themselves, shall justify the cry,
ye what brings me her? Behold this
dagger,
Clotted with gore! Behold that frozen corse!
See where the lost Lucretia sleeps in death!
She was the mark and model of the time,
The mould in which each female face was formed
The very shrine and sacristy of virtue!
Fairer than ever was a form created
By youthful fancy when the blood strays wild,
And never-resting thought is all on fire!
The worthiest of the worthy! Not the nymph
Who met old Numa in his hallowed walks,
And whispered in his ear her strains divine,
Can I conceive beyond her;-the young choir
Of vestal virgins bent to her. 'T is wonderful
And swell the general sound, revenge! revenge!
And we will be revenged, my countrymen !
Brutus shall lead you on; Brutus, a name
Which will, when you're revenged, be dearer to him
Than all the noblest titles earth can boast.
Brutus your king!-No, fellow-citizens!
If mad ambition in this guilty frame
Had strung one kingly fibre, yea, but one-
By all the gods, this dagger which I hold
Should rip it out, though it intwined my heart.
Now take the body up. Bear it before us
To Tarquin's palace; there we'll light our torches,
And in the blazing conflagration rear
A pile, for these chaste relics, that shall send
Her soul amongst the stars. On! Brutus leads you!
JOHN HOWARD Payne.
[Composed of lines selected from thirty-eight authors.]
HY all this toil for triumphs
of an hour?
Life's a short summer- The man lives twice who lives the first life well.
man is but a flower;
(Herrick.)
(Johnson.) Make, then, while yet ye may, your God your friend,
By turns we catch the
(Mason.)
fatal breath and die-- Whom Christians worship, yet not comprehend. (Pope.)
The cradle and the tomb, The trust that's given, guard, and to yourself be just; alas! so nigh.
(Prior.) For live we how we may, yet die we must. To be is better far than
not to be, (Sewell.) Though all man's life may seem a tragedy; (Spenser.)
THE BEAUTIES OF ENGLISH ORTHOGRAPHY.
Think not ambition wise because 't is brave
PRETTY deer is dear to me,
A hare with downy hair,
A hart I love with all my heart,
But barely bear a bear.
'Tis plain that no one takes a plane,
To have a pair of pears,
Although a rake may take a rake
To tear away the tares.
A scribe in writing right may write,
May write and still be wrong;
For write and rite are neither right,
And don't to right belong.
Robertson is not Robert's son,
Nor did he rob Burt's son,
Yet Robert's sun is Robin's sun,
And everybody's sun.
Beer often brings a bier to man,
Coughing a coffin brings,
And too much ale will make us ail,
As well as other things.
The person lies who says he lies,
When he is not reclining;
And when consumptive folks decline,
They all decline declining.
Quails do not quail before the storm,
A bow will bow before it;
We cannot rein the rain at all-
No earthly power reigns o'er it.
Thou little tricksy Puck!
With antic toys so funnily bestuck,
Light as the singing bird that rings the air
(The door! the door! he'll tumble down the stair!) Thou darling of thy sire!
Why, Jane, he'll set his inafore afire!)
Thou imp of mirth and joy!
In love's dear chain so bright a link,
Thou idol of thy parents; (Drat the boy! There goes my ink.)
Thou cherub, but of earth;
Fit playfellow for fairies by moonlight pale,
In harmless sport and mirth;
(That dog will bite him if he pulls his tail!)
Thou human humming bee, extracting honey
From every
blossom in the world that blows,
Singing in youth's Elysium ever sunny,
(Another tumble! That's his precious nose!)
Thy father's pride and hope!
(He'll break that mirror with that skipping rope!)
With pure heart newly stamped from nature's mint, (Where did he learn that squint?)
Thou young domestic dove!
(He'll have that ring off with another shove,) Dear nursling of the hymeneal nest!
(Are these torn clothes his best?)
Little epitome of man!
(He'll climb upon the table, that's his plan,) Touched with the beauteous tints of dawning life, (He's got a knife!)
No storms, no clouds in thy blue sky foreseeing, Play on, play on,
Toss the light ball, bestride the stick,
(I knew so many cakes would make him sick!) With fancies buoyant as the thistle-down, Prompting the face grotesque, and antic brisk, With many a lamb-like frisk!
(He's got the scissors snipping at your gown!) Thou pretty opening rose !
(Go to your mother, child, and wipe your nose!) Balmy and breathing music like the south, (He really brings my heart into my mouth!) Bold as the hawk, yet gentle as the dove; (I'll tell you what, my love,
I cannot write unless he's sent above.)
M a broken-hearted Deutscher,
Vot's villed mit crief und shame,
I dells you vot der drouple ish :
I doosn't know my name.
You dinks dis fery vunny, eh?
Ven you der schtory hear,
You vill not vonder den so mooch,
It vas so schtrange und queer.
Mine moder had dwo leedle twins;
Dey vas me und mine broder:
Ve lookt so fery mooch alike,
No von knew vich vrom toder.
Von off der poys vas "Yawcob,"
Und "Hans" der oder's name:
But den it made no tifferent:
Ve both got called der same.
Vell! von off us got tead-
Yaw, Mynheer, dot ish so!
But vedder Hans or Yawcob,
Mine moder she don'd know.
Und so I am in drouples:
I gan't kit droo mine hed
Vedder I'm Hans vot's lifing,
Or Yawcob vot is tead!
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