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Hamlet. Such an act,
That blurs the grace and blush of modesty;
Calls virtue, hypocrite; takes off the rose
From the fair forehead of an innocent love,
And sets a blister there; makes marriage vows
As false as dicers' oaths. O! such a deed
As from the body of contraction plucks
The very soul; and sweet religion makes
A rhapsody of words : Heaven's face doth glow;
Yea, this solidity and compound mass,
With tristful visage, as against the doom,
Is thought-sick at the act.
Ah! me, what act,
That roars so loud, and thunders in the index ?
Hamlet. Look here, upon this picture, and on this ;
The counterfeit presentment of two brothers,
See, what a grace was seated on this brow :
Hyperion's curls ; the front of Jove himself ;
An eye like Mars, to threaten and command;
A station like the herald Mercury,
New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill;
A combination, and a form, indeed,
Where every god did seem to set his seal,
To give the world assurance of a man :
This was your husband.
Queen. This is the very coinage of your brain :
This bodiless creation ecstasy
Is very cunning in.
My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time
And makes as healthful musick. It is not madness
That I have utter'd : bring me to the test,
And I the matter will re-word; which madness
Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace,
Lay not that flattering unction to your soul,
That not your trespass, but my madness, speaks:
It will but skin and film the ulcerous place;
Whiles rank corruption, mining all within,
Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven;
Repent what's past ; avoid what is to come ;
And do not spread the compost on the weeds
To make them ranker.-Sc. 4.
What is a man,
If his chief good, and market of his time,
Be but to sleep, and feed ? a beast, no more.
Sure, he, that made us with such large discourse,
Looking before, and after, gave us not
That capability and godlike reason
To fust in us unus'd.
-Act. 4, Sc. 4.
King. Poor Ophelia,
Divided from herself, and her fair judgment;
Without the which we are pictures, or mere beasts.—Sc. 5.
Lay her i' the earth ;-
And from her fair and unpolluted flesh,
May violets spring!.
Queen. Sweets to the sweet: Farewell! (Scattering flowers.)
-Act 5, Sc. 1.
Hamlet. Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well,
When our deep plots do pall: and that should teach us,
There's a divinity that shapes our ends,
Rough-hew them how we will.Sc. 2.
Hamlet. Being thus benetted round with villainies,
Or I could make a prologue to my brains,
They had begun the play ;-I sat me down;
Devis'd a new commission; wrote it fair :
I once did hold it, as our statists do,
A baseness to write fair, and labour'd much
How to forget that learning ; but, sir, now
It did me yeoman's service. .-Id.
Horatio, what a wounded name,
Things standing thus unknown, shall live behind me?
If thou did'st ever hold me in thy heart,
Absent thee from felicity awhile,
And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain,
To tell my story:
O! I die, Horatio ;
The potent poison quite o'ercrows my spirit;
I cannot live to hear the news from England:
But I do prophesy, the election lights
On Fortinbras; he has my dying voice;
So tell him, with the occurrents, more or less,
Which have solicited,— The rest is silence. (Dies.)-Id.
Othello. Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors,
My very noble and approv'd good masters,
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.
Her father lov'd me; oft invited me;
Still question'd me the story of my life,
From year to year; the battles, sieges, fortunes,
That I have pass’d.
I ran it through, even from my boyish days,
To the very moment that he bade me tell it.
Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances,
Of moving accidents, by flood, and field :
Of hair-breadth scapes i' the imminent deadly breach.
-Act 1, Sc. 3. Montano. But, good lieutenant, is your general wiv'd ?
Cassio. Most fortunately: he hath achiev'd a maid
That paragons description, and wild fame;
One that excels the quirks of blazoning pens,
And in the essential vesture of creation,
Does bear all excellency.-Act 2, Sc. 1.
Iago. She that was ever fair and never proud;
Had tongue at will, and yet was never loud;
Never lack'd gold, and yet went never gay ;
Fled from her wish, and yet said, --now I may;
She that, being anger'd, her revenge being nigh,
Bade her wrong stay, and her displeasure fly;
She, that in wisdom never was so frail,
To change the cod's head for the salmon's tail ;
She that could think, and ne'er disclose her mind,
See suitors following, and not look behind
She was a wight,-if ever such wight were, -
Desdemona. To do what?
Iago. To suckle fools, and chronicle small beer.--Id.
Othello. Worthy Montano, you were wont to be civil
The gravity and stillness of your youth
The world hath noted, and your name is great
In mouths of wisest censure ; what's the matter,
That you unlace your reputation thus,
And spend your rich opinion, for the name
Of a night brawler ?-8c. 3.
Othello. My blood begins my safer guides to rule,
And passion, having my best judgment collied,
Assays to lead the way: If I once stir,
Or do but lift this arm, the best of you
Shall sink in my rebuke. Give me to know
How this foul rout began, who set it on;
And he that is approv'd in this offence,
Though he had twinn'd with me, both at a birth,
Shall lose me ...
I know, Iago,
Thy honesty and love doth nince this matter,
Making it light to Cassio :-Cassio, I love thee;
But never more be officer of mine.
(Exeunt all but Iago and Cassio.) Iago. What are you hurt, lieutenant ?
Cassio. Ay, past all surgery. ... Reputation, reputation, reputation !0! I have lost my reputation; I have lost the immortal part, sir, of myself, and what remains is bestial. My reputation, Iago, my reputation !-Id.
Iago. Good name, in man and woman, dear my lord, Is the immediate jewel of their souls : Who steals my purse, steals trash ; 'tis something, nothing ; 'Twas mine, 'tis his, and bas been slave to thousands ; But he that filches from me my good name, Robs me of that, which not enriches him, And makes me poor indeed.-Act 3, Sc. 3.
Iago. O! beware, my lord, of jealousy ; It is the green-ey'd monster, which doth make Tbe meat it feeds on:...
..0! what damned minutes tells he o'er, Who dotes yet doubts; suspects, yet strongly loves.
Othello. O ! misery.
Iago. Poor and content, is rich, and rich enough;
But riches, fineless, is as poor as winter,
To him that ever fears he shall be poor:
.. But I am much to blame;
I humbly do beseech you of your pardon,
For too much loving you.
I am bound to thee for ever.
Iago. I see this hath a little dash'd your spirits.
Othello. Not a jot, not a jot.
Iago. Trust me, I fear it has.
I bope you will consider, what is spoke
Comes from my love ;-But I do see you are mov'd :-
I am to pray you, not to strain my speech
To grosser issues, nor to larger reach,
Than to suspicion.
I had rather be a toad,
And live upon the vapour of a dungeon,
Than keep a corner in the thing I love,
For others' uses.-Id.
Trifles, light as air,
Are, to the jealous, confirmations strong
As proofs of holy writ. .
The Moor already changes with my poison :-
Dangerous conceits are in their natures poisons,
Which, at the first, are scarce found to distaste;
But, with a little act upon the blood,
Burn like the mines of sulphur.
Look, where he comes! Not poppy, nor mandragora,
Sball ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep
Which thou ow'dst yesterday,
Ha! ha! false to me? To me ?
Iago. Why, how now, general ? no more of that.
Othello. Avaunt! begone! thou hast set me ou the rack :-
I swear, 'tis better to be much abus'd,
Than but to know a little.
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 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! you mortal engines, whose rude throats
The immortal Jove's dread clamours counterfeit,
Farewell! Othello's occupation's gone!-Id.
Othello. O! the world hath not a sweeter creature : she might lie by an emperor's side, and command him tasks.
Iago. Nay, that's not your way. Othello. Hang her! I do but say what she is :-80 delicate with her needle !—an admirable musician! O! she will sing the savageness out of a bear ;-Of so high and plenteous wit and invention!
lago. She's the worse for all this.
Othello. O! a thousand, a thousand times;And then, of so gentle a condition !
Iago. Ay, too gentle.
Othello. Nay, that's certain ; But yet the pity of it, Iago!O! Iago, the pity of it, Iago!-Act 4, Sc. 1.
Othello. . . But there, where I have garner'd up my heart;