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Who puch enforc'd, shows a hasty spark,
And straight is cold again.

Cas. Hath Cassius lived
To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus,
When grief and blood ill-temper'd vexeth him!

Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill-temper'd too.
Cas. Do you confess so much! Give me your hand.
Bru. And my heart toe.---Embracing,
Cas. O Brutus !
Bru. What's the matter?
Cas. Have you not love enough to bear with me,
When the rash humor which my mother gave me,
Makes me forgetful ?

Bru. Yes, Cassius; and from henceforth,
When you are over earnest with your Brutus,
He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so,

11.-SPEECHES AND SOLILOQUIES.
1.-Hamlet's advice to the Players.-

TRAGEDY OF HAMLET.

I you; trippingly on the tongue. But if you mouth it, as many of our players do, I had as lief the town crier had spoken my lines. And do not saw the air too much with your hands; but use all gently: For in the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness. Oh! it offends me to the soul, to hear a robusteous, perriwig pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings; who (for the most part) are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb shows and noise. Pray you avoid it.

Be not too tame, neither ; but let your own discretion be your tutor. Suit the action to the word, the word to the action ; with this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature ; for any thing so overdone is from the purpose of playing; whose end is—to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature; to show virtue her

own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time, his form and pressure. Now, this overdone, or come tardy off, though it make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve; the censure of one of which must, in your allowance, o'erweigh a whole theatre of others. Oh! There be players that I have seen play, and heard others praise, and that highly, that, neither having the accent of Christian, nor the

gait of Christain, pagan nor man, have so strutted and bellowed, that I have thought some of Nature's journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abominably. II.-Douglass' account of himself.

TRAGEDY OF DOUGLASG. MY

[Y name is Norval. On the Grampian hills

My father feeds his flocks; a frugal swain,
Whose constant carts were to increase his store,
And keep his only son, myself, at home.
For I had heard of battles, and I long'd
To follow to the field some warlike lord ;
And heaven soon granted what my sire denied.
This moon, which rose last night, round as my shield,
Ilad not yet filled her horns, when, by her light,
A band of fierce barbarians, from the hills,
Rush'', like a torrent, down upon the vale,
Sweeping our flocks and herds. The shepherds filed
For safety and for succor. I alone,
With bended bow and quiver full of arrows,
Hover'd about the enemy, and mark'd
The road he took; then hasted to my friends,
Whom, with a troop of fifty chosen men,
I met advancing. The pursuit I led,
Till we o'erlook the spoil encumber'd foe.
We fought-and conquer'd. Ere a sword was drawn,
an arrow from my bow had pierc'd their chief,
Who wore that day the arms which now I wear.
Returning home in triumph, I disdain'd
The shepherd's slothful life ; and having heard
That our good king had sunmou'd bis bold peers,
To lead their warriors to the Carron side,
I left my fatber's house and took with me
A chosen servant to conduct my steps
Yon trembling coward who forsook his master.
Journey with this intent, I pass'd these towers,
And, beaven directed, came this day to do
The happy deed, that gilds my bumble name.

III.--Douglass' account of the Herinit.-IB.
B

ENEATH a mountain's brow, the most remote

And inaccessible, by shepherds trod,
In a deep cave, dug by no mortal band,
A bermit liv'd; a melancholy man,
Who was the wonder of our wand'ring swains.
Austere and lonely, cruel to himself,
Did they report him; the cold earth his bed,
Water his drink, his food the shepherds? alms.
I went to see him; and my heart was touch'd
With rey'rence and with pity. Mild he spake;
And, entering on discourse, such stories to d,
As made me oft revisit his sad cell.
For he had been a soldier in his youth ;
And fought in famous battles, when the peers
Of Europe, by the bold Godfredo led,
Against th' usurping i. fidel display'd
The blessed cross, and won the Holy Land,
Pleas'd with suy admiration, and the fire
His speech struck from me, the old man would sliake
His

years away, and act his young encounters :
Then, having show'd his woulds, he'd sit him down,
And all the live long day discourse of war.
To help my fancy, in the smooth green turf
He cut the figures of the marshall'd hosts ;
Describ'd the motions, and explain’d the use
Of the deep column and the lengthen'd line,
The square, the crescent, and the phalanx Grm;
For, all that Saracen or Christian knew
Of war's vast art, was to this kermit known.
IV.- Sempronius' Speech for War.-Trag. OF CATA.
Moise Can'a 'Roman senate long debate,
Which of the two to choose, slavery or death!
No-let us rise at once, gird on our swords,
And at the head of our remaining troops,
Attack the fee, break through the thick array
Of his throng'd legions, and charge home upon him.
Perhaps some arm more lucky than the rest,
May reach his heart, and free the world from bondage.
Rise, Fathers, rise ; 'tis Rome demands your help:
Rise and revenge her slaughter'd citizens,
Or share their fate. The corps of hall'her senate
Manure the fields of Thessaly, while we
Sit here deliberating in cold debates,
If we should sacrifice our lives to honor,
Or wear them out in servitude and chairs.
Rouse op, for shame! Our brothers of Pharsalia

Fr?

of York, and Owen Glendower? Is there not, besides, the Douglas? Have I not all their letters to meet me in arms by the ninth of the next month? And are there not some of them set forward already? What a pagan rascal is this ! An infidel !--Ha! You shall see, now, in the very sincerity of fear and cold heart, will he to the king, and Jay open all our proceedings. O! I could divide myself, and go to buffets, for moving such a dish of skim. med milk with so honorable an action. Hang bim ! Let him tell the king. We are prepared. I will set for. ward to-night. VIII.-Othello's Apology for his Marriage.

TRAGEDY OF OTHELLO, COST potent, grave and reverend seigniors :

MOM :

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 offerding
Hath this extent ; no more. Rude am I in speech,
And little bless'd with the set phrase of peace :
For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith,
Till now, some bine moons wasted, they have us'a
Their dearest action in the tented field;
And little of this great world can I speak,
More than pertains to feats of broils and battle ;
And therefore little shall I grace my cause,
In speaking of myself. Yet by your patience,
I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver,
of my whole course of love; what druge, what charms,
What conjuration, and what mighty magic,
(For such proceedings I am charg‘d withall)
I won his daughter with.

Her father lov'd me; oft invited me ;
Still question'd me the story of my

life
From year to year : the batlles, sieges, fortunes,
That I had past:
I ran it through, e'en from my boyish days
To the very moment that he bade me tell it.
Wherein I špake of most disastrous chances :
Of moving accidents by flood and field ;
Of hairbreadth 'scapes in th' imminent deadly breach;
Or being taken by the insolent soe,
And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence,
And with it all my travel's history.

-all these to hear
Would Desdemona-seribusly incline

But still the house affairs would draw her thence ;
Which ever as she could with haste dispatch,
She'd come again, and with a greedy ear
Devour up my discourse. Which I observing
Took once a pliant hour, and found good means
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart,
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate ;
Whereof by parcels she had something heard,
But not distinctly. I did consent;
And often did beguile her of her tears,
When I did speak of some distressful stroke
That my youth suffer'd. My etory being done,
She gave me for my pains a world of sighs.
She swore in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange ;
'Twas pitiful; 'twas wondrous pitiful;
She wish'd she had not heard it; yet she wish'd
That heaven had made her such a man, She thank'd me;
And bade me, if I had a friend that lov'd her,
I should but teach him how to tell my story,
And that would woo her. On this hint I spake ;
She lov'd me for the dangers I had pass’d;
And I lov'd her that she did pity them.
This only is the witchcraft which I've us'd.
IX.--- Henry IV.'s Soliloquy on Sleep.---SHAKESPEARE.
Hemani ishousands

of my poorest subjects
Nature's soft nurse! bow bave I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down,
And steep my senses in forgetfulness ?
Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoaky cribs,
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,
And hush'd with buzzing night flies to thy slumber,
Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great,
Under the canopies of costly state,
And lull’d with sounds of sweetest melody?
O thou dull god ! Wby liest thou with the vile,
In loathsome beds, and leav'st the kingly couch,
A watch-case to a common larum-bell?
Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast,
Seal up the shipboy's eyes and rock his brains
In cradle of the rude imperious surge,
And in the visitation of the winds,
Who take the ruffian billows by the tops,
Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them
With deafʼning clamors in the slipp'ry shrouds,
That with the hurly, death itselt awakes;
Can'st thou, O partial sleep, give thy repose
To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude,

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