-No more o' that, my lord, no more o' that: You mar all with this starting. Doct. Go to, go to; you have known what you should not. Gent. She has spoke what she should not, I am sure of that: Heaven knows what she has known. Lady M. Here's the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh! oh! oh! Doct. What a sigh is there! The heart is sorely charged. Gent. I would not have such a heart in my bosom, for the dignity of the whole body. Doct. Well, well, well, Gent. 'Pray God, it be, sir. Doct. This disease is beyond my practice: Yet I have known those which have walked in their sleep, who have died holily in their beds. Lady M. Wash your hands, put on your nightgown; look not so pale:-I tell you yet again, Banquo's buried; he cannot come out of his grave. Doct. Even so? Lady M. To bed, to bed; there's knocking at the gate. Čome, come, come, come, give me your hand; What's done, cannot be undone: To bed, to bed, to bed. DESPISED OLD AGE. I have liv'd long enough: my way of life Is fall'n into the sear,* the yellow leaf: And that which should accompany old age, As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, I must not look to have; but in their stead, Curses, not loud, but deep, mouth-honour, breath, Which the poor heart would fain deny, but dare not. DISEASES OF THE MIND INCURABLE. Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd; Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow; Raze out the written troubles of the brain; And, with some sweet oblivious antidote, * Dry. Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff, REFLECTIONS ON LIFE. To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more: it is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing. OTHELLO. ACT I. PREFERMENT. 'TIS the curse of service; Preferment goes by letter, and affection, IAGO'S DISPRAISE OF HONESTY. We cannot all be masters, nor all masters Whip me such honest knaves: Others there are, Do themselves homage: these fellows have some soul; F'or, sir, It is as sure as you are Roderigo, But that I love the gentle Desdemona, I would not my unhousedt free condition For the sea's worth. OTHELLO'S DESCRIPTION ΤΟ THE SENATE OF HIS The WINNING THE AFFECTIONS OF DESDEMONA, Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors, My very noble and approv'd good masters, That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter, It is most true; true, I have married her; very head and front of my offending Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech, And little bless'd with the set phrase of peace; For since these arms of mine hath seven years' pith, Till now some nine moons wasted, they have us❜d Their dearest action in the tented field; And little of this great world can I speak, More than pertains to feats of broil and battle; And therefore little shall I grace my cause, In speaking for myself: Yet, by your gracious pa tience, I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what charms, What conjurations, and what mighty magic, (For such proceeding I am charg'd withal) * Outward show of civility. Best exertion. + Unsettled. Her father lov'd me; oft invited me; From year to year; the battles, sieges, fortunes, I ran it through, even from my boyish days, Of being taken by the insolent foe, And sold to slavery: of my redemption thence, These things to hear, Would Desdemona seriously incline: But still the house affairs would draw her thence; 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, * My behaviour. + Parts. Intention and attention were once synonymous. And that would woo her. Upon this hint, I spake: ACT II. PERFECT CONTENT. O my soul's joy! If after every tempest come such calms, May the winds blow till they have waken'd death! As hell's from heaven! If it were now to die, ACT III. A LOVER'S EXCLAMATION. Farewell, my Desdemona. I will come to thee straight. * [Exit DESDEMONA. Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul, By heaven, he echoes me, As if there were some monster in his thought thing: I heard thee say but now-Thou lik❜dst not that, |