Oll. Having to attend Lady Kitty Carbuncle, on a grand field-day, I clapped a pint bottle of her ladyship's diet-drink into one of my holsters, intending to proceed to the patient, after the exercise was over. I reached the martial ground, and jalloped --galloped, I mean-wheeled, and flourished, with great eclat; but when the word "Fire!" was given, meaning to pull out my pistol, in a deuce of a hurry, I presented, neck foremost, the diet-drink of Lady Kitty Carbuncle; and the medicine being, unfortunately, fermented, by the jolting of my horse, it forced out the cork, with a prodigious pop, full in the face of my gallant commander.
Sir C.-Ha! ha! ha! A mistake indeed.
Oll.-Rather awkward!-But, Sir Charles, excuse me-your servant! I must march-patients impatient. You take? Sir C.-O yes: and so will they, I fancy, before you've done with them.
Oll.-Ha! physic-certainly! Salts, rhubarb, senna, coloquintida, scammony, gambouge. good sir; I owe you one.
Good, good! thank you, [They go out on opposite sides.]
HAMLET'S SOLILOQUY ON LIFE AND DEATH.
[In the deep tone of solemn reflection.]
TO BE or not to be ?-that is the question!
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,—
Or, to take arms against a sea of troubles,
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: ay, 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
Which makes calamity of so long life:
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The
pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
Which patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would fardles 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 enterprises of great pith and moment,
With this regard, their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.
NIGHT SOLILOQUY IN VENICE.-BYRON. SCENE-Palace of the patrician Lioni.
LIONI, laying aside his cloak and mask.
I WILL to rest, right weary of this revel, The gayest we have held, for many moons. And yet, I know not why, it cheer'd me not; There came a heaviness across my heart, Which, in the lightest movement of the dance, Oppress'd me,
And through my spirit chilled my blood, until
A damp, like death, rose o'er my brow; I strove
To laugh the thought away, but 'twould not be;
So that I left the festival before
It reached its zenith, and will woo my pillow
For thoughts more tranquil, or forgetfulness.-
I will try
Whether the air will calm my spirits: 'tis
A goodly night: the cloudy wind which blew
From the Levant, hath crept into its cave,
And the broad moon has brightened. What a stillness!
And what a contrast with the scene I left,
Where the tall torches' glare, and silver lamps'
More pallid gleam along the tap'stried walls,
Spread over the reluctant gloom which haunts
Those vast and dimly-latticed galleries,
A dazzling mass of artificial light,
Which showed all things, but nothing as they were!
Around me are the stars and waters,-
Worlds mirrored in the ocean, goodlier sight
Than torches glared back by a gaudy glass;
And the great element, which is to space
What ocean is to earth, spreads its blue depths,
Softened with the first breathings of the spring;
The high moon sails upon her beauteous way,
Serenely smoothing o'er the lofty walls
Of those tall piles, and sea-girt palaces.
Whose porphyry pillars, and whose costly fronts,
Fraught with the orient spoil of many marbles,
Like altars ranged along the broad canal,
Seem each a trophy of some mighty deed.
Rear'd up from out the waters, scarce less strangely
Than those more massy and mysterious giants
Of architecture, those Titanian fabrics,
Which point in Egypt's plains to times that have
No other record. All is gentle: nought
Stirs rudely; but, congenial with the night,
Whatever walks, is gliding like a spirit.
The tinkling of some vigilant guitars
Of sleepless lovers to a wakeful mistress,
And cautious opening of the casement, showing
That he is not unheard; while her young hand,—
Fair as the moonlight, of which it seems part,
So delicately white, it trembles in
The act of opening the forbidden lattice,
To let in love through music,—makes his heart
Thrill like his lyre-strings at the sight;—the dash
Phosphoric of the oar, or rapid twinkle
Of the far lights of skimming gondolas,
And the responsive voices of the choir
Of boatmen, answering back, with verse for verse—
Some dusky shadow, checkering the Rialto-
Some glimmering palace-roof, or tapering spire-
Are all the sights and sounds which here pervade
The ocean-born and earth-commanding city.
How sweet and soothing is the hour of calm!
I thank thee, Night! for thou hast chased away
Those horrid bodements, which, amidst the throng,
I could not dissipate, and,-with the blessing
Of thy benign and quiet influence,-
Now will I to my couch, although to rest
Is almost wronging such a night as this.
TRIAL SCENE FROM THE MERCHANT OF
VENICE.-SHAKS.
SCENE-A Court of Justice in Venice.
The DUKE, Magnificoes, ANTONIO, BASSANIO, GRATIANO, and SHYLOCK.
Duke.-Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too,
That thou but lead'st this fashion of thy malice
To the last hour of act; and then, 'tis thought,
Thou❜lt show thy mercy, and remorse, more strange
Than is thy strange apparent cruelty:
And, where thou now exact'st the penalty,
(Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh,)
Thou wilt not only lose the forfeiture,
But, touch'd with human gentleness and love,
Forgive a moiety of the principal:
Glancing an eye of pity on his losses,
That have of late so huddled on his back;
Enough to press a royal merchant down,
And pluck commiseration of his state
From brassy bosoms, and rough hearts of flint,
From stubborn Turks, and Tartars, never train'd
To offices of tender courtesy.
We all expect a gentle answer, Jew.
Shy.-I have possess'd your grace of what I purpose;
And by our holy sabbath have I sworn,
To have the due and forfeit of my bond:
If you deny it, let the danger light
Upon your charter, and your city's freedom.
You'll ask me, why I rather choose to have
A weight of carrion flesh, than to receive
Three thousand ducats; I'll not answer that;
But say, it is my humour: is it answered ?
What if my house be troubled with a rat,
And I be pleas'd to give ten thousand ducats
To have it ban'd:—what are you answered yet?
Some men there are, love not a gaping pig:
Some, that are mad, if they behold a cat;
Now for your answer:
As there is no firm reason to be render'd,
Why he cannot abide a gaping pig;
Why he, a harmless necessary cat;
So can I give no reason, nor will I not,
More than a lodg'd hate, and a certain loathing,
I bear Antonio, that I follow thus
A losing suit against him. Are you answer'd?
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