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IAGO. Trust me, I fear it has :

I hope you will confider what is spoke

Comes from my love. But I do fee you're mov'd-
I am to pray you, not to ftrain my speech

To groffer iffues, nor to larger reach,

Than to fufpicion.

Oгн. I will not.

IAGO. Should you do fo, my lord,

My fpeech would fall into such vile fuccefs,

Which my thoughts aim not at. Caffio's my worthy friend, My Lord I fee you're mov'd.

OTH. No, not much mov'd

I do not think but Defdemona's honeft.

IAGO. Long live the fo! and long live you to think fo!

Oтн. And yet, how nature's erring from itself

IAGO. Ay, there's the point!

as (to be bold with you)

Not to effect many propofed matches
Of her own clime, complexion, and degree,
Whereto we see in all things nature tends:
Foh! one may smell, in such a will most rank,
Foul disproportions, thoughts unnatural.
But, pardon me, I do not in position
Distinctly speak of her; though I may fear,
Her will recoiling to her better judgment,
May fall to match you with her country-forms,
And, haply, fo repent.

OTH. Farewel, farewel;

If more thou doft perceive, let me know more :
Set on thy wife t' observe. Leave me, lago.

IAGO. My Lord, I take my leave.

Oтн. Why did I marry!

This honeft creature, doubtlefs,

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Sees, and knows more, much more, than he unfolds.

IAGO. My Lord, I would I might intreat your Honour To scan this thing no further; leave it to time: Altho' 'tis fit that Caffio have his place, (For, fure he fills it up with great ability ;) Yet if you please to hold him off a while, You shall by that perceive him and his means; Note, if your lady strain his entertai..ment With any strong or vehement importunity : Much will be seen in that. In the mean time, Let me be thought too busy in my fears, (As worthy cause I have to fear I am) And hold her free, I do befeech your Honour. ОTH. Fear not my government. IAGO. I once more take my leave.

SHAKSPEARE,

CHAP. XXVIII.

HAMLET'S SOLILOQUY ON HIS MOTHER's
MARRIAGE.

OH that this too too folid flesh would melt,

Thaw, and refolve itfelf into a dew!
Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd
His cannon 'gainst self slaughter!
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable,
Seem to me all the ufes of this world!

Fie on't; oh fie! 'tis an unweeded garden,

That grows to feed; things rank, and gross in nature,
Poffefs it merely. That it should come to this!

But two months dead! nay, not fo much; not two :-
So excellent a king, that was, to this,

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Hyperion to a fatyr; fo loving to my mother,

That he permitted not the winds of heav'n

Vifit her face too roughly. Heav'n and earth!
Muft I remember!- -Why fhe would hang on him,

As if increase of appetite had grown

By what it fed on: yet within a month,—————- '
Let me not think-Frailty, thy name is Woman!
A little month! or ere those shoes were old,
With which she follow'd my poor father's body,
Like Niobe, all tears-Why, fhe, even fhe-
(O Heav'n! a beast that wants difcourse of reason,
Would have mourn'd longer-) married with mine uncle,
My father's brother; but no more like my father,
Than I to Hercules. Within a month!-

Ere yet the falt of most unrighteous tears
Had left the flushing in her galled eyes,
She married-Oh, moft wicked speed, to poft
With fuch dexterity to incestuous sheets!
It is not, nor it cannot come to good.

But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue.

(CHAP. XXIX.

SHAKSPEARE.

HAMLET AND GHOST.

HAM. ANGELS and minifters of grace defend us?

Be thou a fpirit of health, or goblin damn'd,
Bring with thee airs from heav'n, or blafts from hell,
Be thy intent wicked or charitable,

Thou com'ft in fuch a questionable shape,

That I will fpeak to thee. I'll call thee Hamlet,
King, Father, Royal Dane: Oh! answer me;

Let

Let me not burft in ignorance; but tell,
Why thy canoniz'd bones, hearfed in earth,
Have burft their cearments? why the fepulchre,
Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd,

Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws,
To caft thee up again? What may this mean?
That thou, dead corfe, again in complete fteel,
Revifit'ft thus the glimpses of the moon,
Making night hideous, and us fools of nature
So horribly to shake our difpofition

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With thoughts beyond the reaches of our fouls!
Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we do?
GHOST. Mark me.

HAM. I will. ~

GHOST. My hour is almost come,

When I to fulphurous and tormenting flames

Must render up myself.

HAM. Alas, poor ghoft!

GHOST. Pity me not, but lend thy ferious hearing

To what I fhall unfold.

HAM. Speak, I am bound to hear.

GHOST. So thou art to revenge when thou fhalt hear

HAM. What ?

GHOST. I am thy father's fpirit;

Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night,

And for the day, confin'd to fast in fires :

Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature,
Are burnt and purg'd away. But, that I am forbid
To tell the fecrets of my prifon-house,

I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word

Would harrow up thy foul, freeze thy young blood,
Make thy two eyes, like ftars, start from their spheres,

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Thy knotty and combined locks, to part,

And each particular hair to stand on end
Like quills upon the fretful porcupine:

But this eternal blazon muft not be

To ears of flesh and blood. Lift, lift, oh lift!

If thou did❜ft ever thy dear father love

HAM. O heav'n !

GHOST. Revenge his foul, and most unnatural murther. HAM. Murther!

GHOST. Murther most foul, as in the best it is; But this most foul, strange, and unnatural.

HAM. Hafte me to know it, that I, with wings as swift As meditation, or the thoughts of love,

May fly to my revenge.

GHOST. I find thee apt;

And duller fhould'st thou be than the fat weed
That roots itself in ease on Lethe's wharf

Would't thou not ftir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear :
'Tis given out, that, fleeping in my orchard,

A ferpent ftung me. So the whole ear of Denmark
Is by a forged process of my death

Rankly abus'd: but know, thou noble youth,
The ferpent that did fting thy father's life,
Now wears his crown.

HAM. Oh, my prophetic foul! my uncle!
GHOST. Ay, that inceftuous, that adulterate beast,
With witchcraft of his wit, with trait'rous gifts,
(O wicked wit, and gifts, that have the power
So to feduce!) won to his fhameful luft
The will of my most seeming virtuous Queen.
Oh, Hamlet, what a falling off was there!
But foft! methinks I fcent the morning air-

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