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The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds.
What means this heaviness that hangs upon me?
This lethargy that creeps through all my senses?
Nature oppressed, and harassed out with care
Sinks down to rest. This once I'll favor her,
That my awakened soul may take her flight,
Renewed in all her strength, and fresh with life,
An offering fit for heaven. Let guilt or far
Disturb man's rest, Cato knows neither of 'em,
Indifferent in his choice to sleep or die.

JOSEPH ADDISON.

THE MURDER.

FROM "MACBETH."

[Scene in the Castle. Enter LADY MACBETH.]

ADY MACBETH. That which hath made

them drunk hath made me bold,

Hark! Peace!

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Macb. Still it cried, "Sleep no more!" to all the
house:

What hath quenched them hath given me fire. "Glamis hath murdered sleep; and therefore Cawdor
Shall sleep no more-Macbeth shall sleep no more!"
Lady M. Who was it that thus cried? Why worthy

It was the owl that shrieked, the fatal bellman,
Which gives the stern'st good night. He is about it:
The doors are open; and the surfeited grooms
Do mark their charge with snores: I have drugged
their possets,

That death and nature do contend about them,
Whether they live or die.

Macbeth (within). Who's there? What, ho!
Lady M. Alack, I am afraid they have awaked
And 'tis not done :-the attempt and not the deed
onfɔ und; us.-Hark!-I laid their daggers ready;
He could not miss them -Had he not resembled
My father, as he slept, I had done't.-My husband!
Macb. I have done the deed. Didst thou not hear

a noise?

thane,

You do unbend your noble strength, to think
So brainsickly of things.-Go, get some water,
And wash this filthy witness from your hand.
Why did you bring these daggers from the place?
They must lie there: go carry them; and smear
The sleepy grooms with blood.

Macb.

I am afraid to think what I have done!
Look on 't again, I dare not.

Lady M.

I'll go no more!

Infirm of purpose!

Give me the daggers: the sleeping and the dead,
Are but as pictures: 't is the eye of childhood

Lady M. I heard the owl scream, and the crickets That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed,

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I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal;
For it must seem their guilt.

Macb.

[Exit. Knocking within. Whence is that knocking?

How is 't with me, when every noise appalls me?
What hands are here! Ha! they pluck out mine eyes!
Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood
Clean from my hand? No; this my hand will rather
The multitudinous seas incarnadine,
Making the green-one red.

[Re-enter LADY MACBETH.]

Lady M. My hands are of your color; but I shame

That they did wake each other: I stood and heard To wear a heart so white. (Knocking.) I hear a them :

But they did say their prayers, and addressed them
Again to sleep.

Lady M. There are two lodged together.
Macb. One cried, "God bless us!" and, "Amen,"
the other;

As they had seen me with these hangman's hands.
Listening their fear, I could not say, "Amen,"
When they did say, "God bless us."

knocking

At the south entry :-retire we to our chamber:
A little water clears us of this deed:
How casy is it, then! Your constancy
Hath left you unattended. (Knocking.) Hark, more
knocking.

Get on your nightgown, lest occasion call us,
And show us to be watchers :-be not lost
So poorly in your thoughts.

Macb. To know my deed, 't were best not know | from the city; to give an air of maiden beauty to a most venerable institution; to exercise a renovating myself. (Knocking.) Wake Duncan with thy knocking! I would thou taste at a most inconsiderable outlay; to call up, as it couldst.

WILLIAM Shakespeare.

A DAGGER OF THE MIND.

FROM "MACBETH."

MACBETH before the murder of Duncan, meditating alone, sees
the image of a dagger in the air, and thus soliloquizes:]
S this a dagger which I see before me,

The handle toward my hand? Come, let me
clutch thee:-

I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.

Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible

To feeling as to sight? or art thou but

A dagger of the mind, a false creation,
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?

I see thee yet, in form as palpable
As this which now I draw.

Thou marshal'st me the way that I was going;
And such an instrument I was to use.

Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses,
Or else worth all the rest: I see thee still;
And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood,
Which was not so before.-There's no such thing:
It is the bloody business, which informs

Thus to mine eyes.-Now o'er the one half world
Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse
The curtained sleep; witchcraft celebrates
Pale Hecate s offerings; and withered murder,
Alarumed by his sentinel, the wolf,

Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace,
With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design
Moves like a ghost.—Thou sure and firm-set earth,
Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear
The very stones prate of my whereabout,
And take the present horror from the time,
Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he lives:
Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives.
(A bell rings.)

I go, and it is done; the bell invites me.
Hear it not, Duncan ; for it is a knell
That summons thee to heaven or to hell.
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

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FANCY FAIR IN Guildhall For Painting St. PaUL'S ]
IR PHENIX CLEARCAKE. I come with a
petition to you—a petition not parliamentary,
but charitable. We propose, my lord, a fancy
fair in Guildhall; its object so benevolent,

were, the snowy beauty of Greece in the coal-smoke atmosphere of London; in a word, my lord--but as yet 'tis a profound secret—it is to paint St. Paul's! To give it a virgin outside—to make it so truly respectable.

Lord Skin. A gigantic effort!

Sir P. The fancy fair will be on a most comprehensive and philanthropic scale. Every alderman takes a stall, and to give you an idea of the enthusiasm of the city-but this also is a secret-the Lady Mayoress has been up three nights making pincushions.

Lord Skin. But you don't want me to take a stall -to sell pincushions?

Sir P. Certainly not, my lord. And yet your philanthropic speeches in the House, my lord, convince me that, to obtain a certain good, you would sellanything.

Lord Skin. Well, well; command me in any way; benevolence is my foible.

[COMPANIES For leasing Mount VesuviuS, FOR MAKING A TRIP ALL AROUND THE WORLD, FOR BUYING THE Serpentine River, ETC.]

Captain Smoke. We are about to start a company to take on lease Mount Vesuvius for the manufacture of lucifer matches.

Sir P. A stupendous speculation! I should say that, when its countless advantages are duly, numbered, it will be found a certain wheel of fortune to the enlightened capitalist.

Smoke. Now, sir, if you would but take the chair at the first meeting-Aside to Chatham: We shall make it all right about the shares)-if you would but speak for two or three hours on the social improvement conferred by the lucifer-match, with the monopoly of sulphur secured in the company-a monopoly which will suffer no man, woman, or child to strike a light without our permission.

Chatham. Truly, sir, in such a cause, to such an auditory-I fear my eloquence.

Smoke. Sir, if you would speak well anywhere, there's nothing like first grinding your eloquence on a mixed meeting. Depend on 't, if you can only manage a little humbug with a mob, it gives you great confidence for another place.

Lord Skin. Smoke, never say humbug; its coarse.
Sir P. And not respectable.

But

Smoke. Pardon me, my lord, it was coarse. the fact is, humbug has received such high patronage, that now it's quite classic.

Chat. But why not embark his lordship in the lucifer question?

Smoke. I can't: I have his lordship in three com

and more than that, so respectable. Lord Skindeep. Benevolence and respectability! panies already. Three. First, there's a company— Well, the precise object? half a million capital-for extracting civet from asafœ

Of course, I'm with you.

Sir P. It is to remove a stain-a very great stain tida. The second is a company for a trip all round the

world. We propose to hire a three-decker of the Lords of the Admiralty, and fit her up with every accommodation for families. We've already advertised for wet-nurses and maids of all work.

Sir P. A magnificent project! And then the fittings-up will be so respectable. A delightful billiardtable in the ward-room; with, for the humbler classes, skittles on the orlop-deck. Swings and archery for the ladies, trap-ball and cricket for the children, whilst the marine sportsman will find the stock of gulls unlimited. Weippert's quadrille band is engaged, and

Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub,
Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers.
And in this state she gallops night by night,
Through lover's brains, and then they dream of love;
On courtiers' knees, that dream on courtesies straight;
O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees;
O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream ;
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,
Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are.
Sometimes she gallops o'er a lawyer's nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit:

Smoke. For the convenience of lovers, the ship will And sometimes comes she with tithe-pig's tail, carry a parson.

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Smoke. Pleasure and education. At every new country we shall drop anchor for at least a week, that the children may go to school and learn the language. The trip must answer: 'twill occupy only three years, and we've forgotten nothing to make it delightfulnothing from hot rolls to cork jackets.

Brown. And now, sir, the third venture? Smoke. That, sir, is a company to buy the Serpentine River for a Grand Junction Temperance Cemetery. Brown. What! so many watery graves? Smoke. Yes, sir, with floating tombstones. Here's the prospectus. Look here; surmounted by a hyacinth-the very emblem of temperance-a hyacinth flowering in the limpid flood. Now, if you don't feel! equal to the lucifers-I know his lordship's goodnessWe'll give you up the cemetery. (Aside to Chatham: A family vault as a bonus to the chairman.)

Sir P. What a beautiful subject for a speech! Water lilies and aquatic plants gemming the translucent crystal, shells of rainbow brightness, a constant supply of gold and silver fish, with the right of angling secured to shareholders. The extent of the river being necessarily limited, will render lying there so select, so very respectable.

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DREAMS.

DOUGLAS Jerrold.

FROM ROMEO AND JULIET."

ERCUTIO.-O then, I see, queen Mab hath
been with you.

She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes,
In shape no bigger than an agate stone

On the fore-finger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies,
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep :
Her wagon-spokes made of long spinners' legs;
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;
The traces, of the smallest spider's web;
The collars, of the moonshine's watery beams;
Her whip, of cricket's bone; the lash, of film;
Her waggoner, a small gray-coated gnat,
Not half so big as a round little worm,
Pricked from the lazy finger of a maid:
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut,

Tickling a parson's nose as he lies asleep,
Then dreams he of another benefice :
Sometimes she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,
And then he dreams of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,
Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon
Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes,
And, being thus frightened, swears a prayer or two,
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab
That plats the manes of horses in the night,
And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs,
Which, once entangled, much misfortune bodes.
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,
That presses them, and learns them first to bear,
Making them women of good carriage.
This is she-

Romeo. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace;
Thou talkest of nothing.

Mer. True, I talk of dreams :
Which are the children of an idle brain,
Begot of nothing but vain phantasy ;
Which is as thin of substance as the air;
And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes
E'en now the frozen bosom of the North,
And, being angered, puffs away from thence,
Turning his face to the dew-dropping South.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

LOVE'S ECSTACY.

FROM "THE FALCON."

REDERICK-GIANA! my Giana! we will have
Nothing but halcyon days: Oh! we will live
As happily as the bees that hive their sweets,
And gaily as the summer fly, but wiser:

I'll be thy servant ever; yet not so.
Oh! my own love, divinest, best, I'll be
Thy sun of life, faithful through every season,
And thou shalt be my flower perennial,
My bud of beauty, my imperial rose,
My passion flower, and I will wear thee on
My heart, and thou shalt never, never fade.
I'll love thee mightily, my queen, and in
The sultry hours I'll sing thee to thy rest
With music sweeter than the wild birds' song:
And I will swear thine eyes are like the stars,
(They are, they are, but softer) and thy shape

Fine as the vaunted nymphs who, poets feigned,
Dwelt long ago in woods of Arcady.
My gentle deity! I'll crown thee with
The whitest lilies and then bow me down
Love's own idolater, and worship thee.
And thou will then be mine? my love, love,
How fondly will we pass our lives together;
And wander heart-linked, thro' the busy world
Like birds in eastern story.

Giana. Oh! you rave.

Fred. I'll be a miser of thee; watch thee ever:
At morn, at noon, at eve, and all the night.
We will have clocks that with their silver chime
Shall measure out the moments: and I'll mark
The time, and keep love's pleasant calendar.
To-day I'll note a smile: to-morrow how
Your bright eyes spoke-how saucily; and then
Record a kiss plucked from your currant lip,
And say how long 'twas taking; then, thy voice
As rich as stringed harp swept by the winds
In autumn, gentle as the touch that falls
On serenader's moonlit instrument-
Nothing shall pass unheeded. Thou shalt be
My household goddess-nay, smile not, nor shake
Backwards thy clustering curls, incredulous:

I swear it shall be so: it shall, my love.
Gia. Why thou'rt mad indeed: mad.
Fred. Oh! not so.

There was a statuary once who loved

And worshipped the white marble that he shaped;
Till, as the story goes, the Cyprus' queen,
Or some such fine kind-hearted deity,
Touched the pale stone with life, and it became
At last Pygmalion's bride: but thee, on whom
Nature had lavished all her wealth before,
Now love has touched with beauty: doubly fit
For human worship thou, thou―let me pause,
My breath is gone.

Gia. With talking.

Fred. With delight.

But I may worship thee in silence, still.

-Oh! ever while those floating orbs look bright,
Shalt thou to me be a sweet guiding light.
Once, the Chaldean from the topmost tower
Did watch the stars, and then assert their power
Throughout the world: so, dear Giana, I
Will vindicate my own idolatry.

And in the beauty and the spell that lies
In the dark azure of thy love-lit eyes;
In the clear veins that wind thy neck beside,
'Till in the white depths of thy breast they hide,
And in thy polished forehead, and thy hair
Heaped in thick tresses on thy shoulders fair;
In thy calm dignity; thy modest sense;
In thy most soft and winning eloquence;
In woman's gentleness and love (now bent
On me, so poor) shall lie my argument.
BRYAN WALLER PROCTER (Barry Cornwall).

FROM "OTHELLO."

REPUTATION.

OOD name, in man and woman, dear tny lord,
Is the immediate jewel of their souls:
Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis some-

thing, nothing;

'T was mine, 't is his, and has 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.

JEALOUSY.

Trifles light as air

Are, to the jealous, confirmation strong
As proofs of holy writ.

OTHELLO'S STORY OF THE HANDKERCHIEF.
That handkerchief

Did an Egyptian to my mother give;

She was a charmer and could almost read

The thoughts of people; she told her, while she kept it, 'Twould make her amiable, and subdue my father Entirely to her love; but if she lost it,

Gia. The evening's dark; now I must go : farewell Or made a gift of it, my father's eye

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Should hold her loathly, and his spirits should hunt
After new fancies. She, dying, gave it me;
And bid me, when my fate would have me wived,
To give it her. I did so; and take heed of't,
Make it a darling, like your precious eye;
To lose 't or give 't away, were such perdition,
As nothing else could match.-

There's magic in the web of it:
A sibyl, that had numbered in the world
The sun to make two hundred compasses,

In her prophetic fury sewed the work :
The worms were hallowed that did breed the silk;
And it was dyed in mummy, which the skilful
Conserved of maidens' hearts.

OTHELLO'S PATHETIC UPBRAIDING OF HIS WIFE.
Desdemona. Upon my knees, what doth your speech
import?

I understand a fury in your words,
But not your words.

Oth. Why, what art thou?

Des. Your wife, my lord; your true and loyal wife.
Oth. Come, swear it ; damn thyself;

Lest, being like one of heaven, the devils themselves
Should fear to seize thee: therefore, be double damned;
Swear thou art honest.

Des. Heaven doth truly know it.

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

Oth. Heaven truly knows, that thou art false as Th' immortal Jove's dread clamors counterfeit, hell.

Des. To whom, my lord? With whom? How am I
false?

Oth. O, Desdemona, away! away! away!
Des. Alas, the heavy day! why do you weep?
Am I the occasion of these tears, my lord?
If, haply, you my father do suspect

An instrument of this your calling back,

Lay not your blame on me; if you have lost him,
Why, I have lost him too.

Oh. Had it pleased Heaven

To try we with affliction; had he rained

All kinds of sores, and shames, on my bare head;
Steeped me in poverty to the very lips;
Given to captivity me and my utmost hopes; •
I should have found in some part of my soul
A drop of patience. But, alas! to make me
A fixed figure, for the time of scorn
To point is slow, unmoving finger at-
O! O!

Yet could I bear that too; well, very well,
But there, where I have garnered up my heart;
Where either I must live, or bear no life:
The fountain from the which my current runs,
Or else dries up; to be discarded thence!
Or keep it as a cistern, for foul toads

To knot and gender in! Turn thy complexion there!
Patience, thou young and rose-lipped cherubim ;
Ay, there, look grim as hell!

Des. I hope, my noble lord esteems me honest.
Oth. O, ay; as summer-flies are in the shambles,
That quicken even with blowing. O thou weed,
Who art so lovely fair, and smell'st so sweet,

That the sense aches at thee, would thou hadst ne'er
been born!

Des. Alas! what ignorant sin have I committed?
Oth. Was this fair paper, this most goodly book,
Made to write shame upon! what, committed!
Committed! O thou public commoner!
I should make very forges of my cheeks
That would to cinders burn up modesty,
Did I but speak thy deeds.-What, committed!
Heaven stops the nose at it, and the moon winks:
The bawdy wind, that kisses all it meets,

Is hushed within the hollow mine of earth,
And will not hear it.

Her name, that was as fresh

As Dian's visage, is now begrimed and black
As mine own face.

Farewell! Othello's occupation's gone!
DESDEMONA'S FAITHFULNESS.

Des. O good Iago,

What shall I do to win my lord again?

Good friend, go to him; for, by this light of heaven,
I know not how I lost him. Here I kneel-

[Kneeling.

If e'er my will did trespass 'gainst his love,
Either in discourse of thought, or actual deed
Or that mine eyes, mine ears, or any sense,
Delighted them in any other form;
Or that i do not yet, and ever did,

And ever will-though he do shake me off
To beggarly divorcement-love him dearly,
Comfort, forswear me ! Unkindness may do much,
And his unkindness may defeat my life,
But never taint my love.

DESDEMONA IS DISCOVERED ASLEEP IN HER BED.
[Enter OTHELLO, with a light and sword.]
Oth. It is the cause, it is the cause, iny soul-
Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars!
It is the cause.-Yet I'll not shed her blood,
Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow,
And smooth as monumental alabaster.

[Lays down the sword.
Yet she must die, else she'll betray more men.
Put out the light, and then put out the light!
If I quench thee, thou flaming minister,

I can again thy former light restore,
Should I repent me; but once put out thy light,
Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature,

I know not where is that Promethean heat
That can thy light relume.
When I have plucked thy rose,

[Sets down the taper.

I cannot give it vital growth again;
It needs must wither: I smell it on the tree.

[Kissing her

O balmy breath, that dost almost persuade
Justice herself to break her sword! One more,
Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee,
And love thee after: one more, and this the last :
So sweet was ne'er so fatal. I must weep,
But they are cruel tears; this sorrow's heavenly ;
It strikes where it doth love.

OTHELLO'S CONFUSION AFTER HAVING murdered
HIS WIFE.

Yes 'tis Emilia :-by-and-by-she's dead.
'Tis like, she comes to speak of Cassio's death:

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