Puslapio vaizdai

SCENE VII. Othello's Confufion, after having murder'd his Wife.

Yes, 'tis Æmilia-by and by-she's dead. "Tis like she comes to speak of Caffio's death; The noise was high. Ha, no more moving? Still as the grave. Shall she come in? wer't good? I think she stirs again-No-what's the best ? If fhe come in, fhe'll fure fpeak to my wife; My wife! my wife! what wife? I have no wife.. Oh infupportable! oh heavy hour!

Methinks it should be now a huge eclipfe

Of fun and moon, and that th' affrighted globe
Should yawn at alteration.

His Love for ber.

Had he been true,

If heav'n would make me fuch another world,
Of one entire and perfect chryfolite,

I'd not have fold her for it.

SCENE IX. His bitter Remorse.

Lo! I have a weapon:

* A better never did itself fuftain

Upon a foldier's thigh. I've feen the day,
That with this little arm, and this good sword,
I've made my way through more impediments,
Than twenty times your ftop. But, oh vain boast !

* A better, &c.] In the Double Falfhood there is exactly the fame expreffion, whether Shakespear's, or introduc'd by Theobald, I cannot pronounce,

Wear I not a fword?

Ne'er on man's thigh rode better.

A. 3. S. 3.


Who can controul his fate? 'tis not fo now.

Be not afraid, though you do fee me weapon'd;
Here is my journey's end, here is my butt,

And very
fea-mark of my utmost fail.
Do you go back dismay'd? 'tis a loft fear:
Man but a rush against Othello's breast,
And he retires: Where fhould Othello


go ?

how doft thou look now? Oh ill-ftarr'd wench !

Pale as thy fmock! when we shall meet at compt,
This look of thine will hurl my foul from heav'n,
And fiends will snatch at it. Cold, cold, my girl?
E'en like thy chafity. O curfed flave!
Whip me, ye devils,

From the poffeffion of this heav'nly fight;

* Blow me about in winds, roaft me in fulphur, Wafh me in fteep-down gulfs of liquid fireOh Defdemona! Defdemona! dead, dead! oh, oh!

SCENE X. His laft 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 fhall thefe unlucky deeds relate,
Speak of me, as I am: nothing extenuate,

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Nor fet down ought in malice. Then muft you speak
Of one that lov'd not wifely, but too well
Of one, not eafily jealous, but being wrought,
Perplex'd in the extream; of one, whose hand,
Like the bafe (14) Judean, threw a pearl away
I 4

* See Meafure for Mcafure, P 52, 53, 54..


(14) Judean.] The elder quarto gives us Iudian, it was easy for the e to have been chang'd into an i;-Like thě băse Iūdēān-fo pronounc'd the line will run very well; and I fuppofe, he alludes to the well-known ftory of Hered and Mariamne his wife; in fome


Richer than all his tribe; of one, whofe eyes,
Albeit unused to the melting mood,
Drop tears as faft as the Arabian trees
Their medicinal gum. Set you down this.
And fay befides, that in Aleppo once,
Where a malignant, and a turban'd turk
Beat a Venetian, and traduc'd the state,
I took by the throat the circumcifed dog,
And ímote him, thus.

[Stabs himself.


circumstances not unlike this of Othello and Defdemona, for both hufbands lov'd violently, both were jealous, both were the occafion of their wives deaths; befides, the word Tribe, seems wholly to confirm this reading. and in fupport of it we may add, that in the year 1613, the lady Elizabeth Carew, publifh'd a tragedy call'd Mariam, the fair queen of Jewry." Upton prefers like the bafe Ægyptian; which Egyptian he tells us, was Thyamis, mentioned in the romance of Theagenes and Chariclea, written by Heliodorus. The reader, if he thinks proper, may see his arguments in support of this emendation in his Obfervations, p. 268.

The beauties of this play are fo peculiarly Shakespear's own, little can be produced from other writers to compare with them; there are many excellencies, which could not be introduced in this work, depending on circumftances, fo nicely adapted, no reader can relish them extracted from the tragedy, which is itfelf one compleat beauty.


The Life and Death of King RICHARD

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HE pureft treasure mortal times afford,
Is fpolefs reputation that away,

Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay.
That which in mean men we entitle patience,
I's pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.

SCENE VI. Barishment, Confolation under it. (2) All places that the eye of heaven visits, A're to a wife man ports and happy havens. Teach thy neceffity to reafon thus:

There is no virtue like neceffity

And think not, that the king did banish thee;
But thou the king. Woe doth the heavier fit
Where it perceives it is but faintly borne.
Go fay, I fent thee forth to purchase honour,
And not, the king exil'd thee. Or fuppofe,
Devouring peftilence hangs in our air,
And thou art flying to a fresher clime.

(1) See Othello, p. 165.

(2) All, &c.] Similar to this is the beginning of the 5th act of Paftor Fido.

All places are our country, where we're well,
Which to the wife, is wherefoe'er they dwell.

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Look, what thy foul holds dear, imagine it
To lye that way thou go'ft, not whence thou com'ft.
Suppose the finging birds, muficians;

The grafs whereon thou tread'ft, the presence-floor
The flow'rs, fair ladies;, and thy fteps, no more.
Than a delightful measure, or a dance.

For gnarling forrow hath lefs pow'r to bite
The man, that mocks at it, and fets it light.

Thoughts, ineffectual to moderate Afflictions.

Oh, who can hold a fire in his hand,
By thinking on the frofty Caucafus ?
Or cloy the hungry. edge of appetite,
By bare imagination of a feast?
Or wallow naked in December snow,
By thinking on fantaftick fummer's heat
Oh, no, the apprehenfion of the good
Gives but the greater feeling to the worse ;
Fell forrow's tooth doth never rankle more
Than when it bites, but lanceth not the fore.

Our felf, and Befhy Bagot, here, and Green,
Obferv'd his courtship to the common people;
How he did feem to dive into their hearts,
With humble and familiar courtesy,
What reverence he did throw away on flaves;
Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles,,
And patient under-bearing of his fortune:

As 'twere to banish their affects with him.
Qff goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench :

A brace of dray-men bid, God speed him well!
And had the tribute of his fupple knee :
With,-Thanks my countrymen, my loving friends ;:

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