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He went hence but now,

And, certainly, in strange unquietness.
Iago. Can he be angry?

Something of moment, then: I will go meet him;
There's matter in't indeed, if he be angry.

Des. I pr'ythee so. Something, sure, of state,- [Exit IAGO.
Either from Venice; or some unhatch'd practice,
Made demonstrable here in Cyprus to him,-
Hath puddled his clear spirit: and, in such cases,
Men's natures wrangle with inferior things,
Though great ones are their object.

Nay, we must think, men are not gods;
Nor of them look for such observances
As fit the bridal.

Emil. Pray heaven, it be state matters, as you think,
And no conception, nor no jealous toy,
Concerning you.

Des. Alas, the day! I never gave him cause.

Emil. But jealous souls will not be answer'd so;
They are not ever jealous for the cause,
But jealous for they are jealous.

Des. I will go seek Othello.-Cassio, walk hereabout:
If I do find him fit, I'll move your suit,
And seek to affect it to my uttermost.
Cas. I humbly thank your ladyship.


The catastrophe of this noble domestic tragedy, is foreshadowed in our extracts. Othello, convinced of his wife's dishonor, is instigated by rage and jealousy to take her life. But the innocence of Desdemona is proved by the confession of Emilia, and the discovery of Iago's treachery. Othello, overwhelmed with grief and remorse, destroys himself, and Iago is delivered a prisoner into the hands of justice.


The TEMPEST is supposed to be the last production of Shakspeare's mighty genius; as it is generally acknowledged to be the most original and perfect of his works. In this Play the Poet has literally "given to airy nothings a local habitation and a name,' dowing them with qualities and furnishing them with a fitness of language, which invests these creatures of his imaginings with all the charm and semblance of reality.



The story is simple in its construction, yet it is deeply interesting. Our selections present the main incidents of the plot in consecutive succession.


ALONZO, King of Naples.
SEBASTIAN, his brother.

PROSPERO, the rightful Duke of Milan.

ANTONIO, his brother, the usurping Duke of Milan.

FERDINAND, son to the King of Naples.

GONZALO, an honest old counsellor of Naples.


CALIBAN, a savage and deformed slave.

TRINCULO, a jester.

STEPHANO, a drunken butler.

Master of a ship, Boatswain, and Mariners.
MIRANDA, daughter to Prospero.

ARIEL, an airy spirit.

IRIS, CERES, JUNO, Nymphs, Reapers, spirits.
Other spirits attending on Prospero.


SCENE.-The Sea, with a Ship; afterwards an uninhabited Island.

Prospero, the rightful Duke of Milan, has been dethroned by his brother Antonio, and banished from his dominions. Prospero seeks refuge in a desert island, with his daughter Miranda, and by magic arts, surrounds himself with "potent spirits," which

are obedient to his will. Having learned by his "magic" that his brother Antonio has embarked in a vessel for Naples, in company with Alonzo, King of Naples, the king's son, Ferdinand, together with certain lords of Milan and Naples, Prospero commands his trusty spirit Ariel, to wreck the vessel near the island, but to save the lives of the noble passengers and crew, and bring them safely to shore. Prospero and his daughter Miranda, witness the destruction of the vessel,

SCENE II.-The Island: before the Cell of PROSPERO.

Mira. If by your art, my dearest father, you have
Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them:
The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch,
But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek,
Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffer'd

With those that I saw suffer! a brave vessel,
Who had no doubt some noble creatures in her,
Dash'd all to pieces. O, the cry did knock
Against my very heart! Poor souls! they perish'd.
Had I been any god of power, I would
Have sunk the sea within the earth, or e'er

It should the good ship so have swallowed, and
The freighting souls within her.

Be collected;
No more amazement: tell your piteous heart,
There's no harm done.


O, woe the day!


No harm.

I have done nothing but in care of thee
(Of thee, my dear one! thee, my daughter!) who
Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing
Of whence I am; nor that I am more better
Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell,
And thy no greater father.

More to know
Did never meddle with my thoughts.

'Tis time

I should inform thee further. Lend thy hand,

And pluck my magic garment from me.-So; [Lays down his mantle. Lie there my art.-Wipe thou thine eyes; have comfort.

The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch'd

The very virtue of compassion in thee,

I have with such provision in mine art

So safely order'd, that there is no soul-
No, not so much perdition as a hair,
Betid to any creature in the vessel

Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink.—Sit down;

For thou must now know further.

You have often
Begun to tell me what I am; but stopp'd

And left me to a bootless inquisition;
Concluding, Stay, not yet.—


The hour's now come;
The very minute bids thee ope thine ear;
Obey, and be attentive. Can'st thou remember
A time before we came unto this cell?

I do not think thou can'st; for then thou wast not
Out three years old.


Certainly, sir, I can.

Pro. By what? by any other house, or person?
Of any thing the image tell me, that
Hath kept with thy remembrance.


"Tis far off:
And rather like a dream than an assurance
That my remembrance warrants: Had I not
Four or five women once, that tended me?

Pro. Thou had'st, and more, Miranda: But how is it,
That this lives in thy mind? What seest thou else
In the dark backward and abysm of time?
If thou remember'st aught, ere thou cam'st here,
How thou cam'st here, thou may'st.


But that I do not. Pro. Twelve years since, Miranda, twelve years since, Thy father was the duke of Milan, and

A prince of power.


Sir, are not you my father? Pro. Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and She said thou wast my daughter; and thy father Was duke of Milan; and his only heir

A princess, no worse issued.

O, the heavens !
What foul play had we, that we came from thence;
Or blessed was't, we did?


Both, both, my girl;
By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heav'd thence;
But blessedly holp hither.


O, my heart bleeds
To think o' the teen* that I have turn'd you to,
Which is from my remembrance! Please you, further.

Pro. My brother, and thy uncle, call'd Antonio,-
I pray thee, mark me,-that a brother should
Be so perfidious !-he whom, next thyself,
Of all the world I lov'd, and to him put
The manage of my state; as, at that time,
Through all the signories it was the first,
And Prospero the prime duke; being so reputed
In dignity, and, for the liberal arts,
Without a parallel: those being all my study,

* Sorrow.

The government I cast upon my brother,
And to my state grew stranger, being transported,
And rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle-
Dost thou attend me?


Sir, most heedfully.
Pro. Being once perfected how to grant suits,
How to deny them; whom to advance, and whom
To trash* for over-topping; new created

The creatures that were mine; I say, or chang'd them,
Or else new form'd them; having both the key
Of officer and office, set all hearts i' th' state

To what tune pleas'd his ear; that now he was
The ivy, which had hid my princely trunk,

And suck'd my verdure out on't.-Thou attend'st not:
I pray thee, mark me.


O good sir, I do.

Pro. I thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicate
To closeness, and the bettering of my mind
With that, which, but by being so retired.
O'er-priz'd all popular rate, in my false brother
Awak'd an evil nature: and my trust,

Like a good parent, did beget of him
A falsehood, in its contrary as great
As my trust was: which had, indeed, no limit,
A confidence sans bound. He being thus lorded,
Not only with what my revenue yielded,

But what my power might else exact,-like one,
Who having, unto truth, by telling of it,
Made such a sinner of his memory,

To credit his own lie,-he did believe

He was indeed the duke; out of the substitution,
And executing the outward face of royalty,
With all prerogative:-Hence his ambition
Growing, Dost thou hear?

Mira. Your tale, sir, would cure deafness. Pro. To have no screen between this part he play'd, And him he play'd it for, he needs will be Absolute Milan: Me, poor man!—my library Was dukedom large enough; of temporal royalties He thinks me now incapable: confederates (So dry he was for sway) with the king of Naples, To give him annual tribute, do him homage; Subject his coronet to his crown, and bend The dukedom, yet unbow'd, (alas, poor Milan !) To most ignoble stooping.


O the heavens !

Pro. Mark his condition, and the event; then tell me If this might be a brother.

Cut away.

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