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 night-gown, 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. Come, come, come, come, give me your hand; what's done, cannot be undone to bed, to bed, to bed.

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 dusky 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.

DISEASES OF THE MIND INCURABLE

Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased;
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow;
Raze out the written troubles of the brain;
And, with some sweet oblivious antidote,
Cleanse the foul bosom of that perilous stuff,
Which weighs upon the heart?

OTHELLO.

OTHELLO'S DESCRIPTION TO THE SENATE OF HIS WINNING THE AFFECTIONS OF DESDEMONA.

Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors,

My very noble and approved good masters,

That I have ta'en away this good man's daughter

It is most true; true, I have married her :

The 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 had seven years' pith,

Till now some nine moons wasted, they have used

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 patience,

*Best exertion.

I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver

Of my whole course of love: what drugs, what charms,

What conjuration, and what mighty magic,

(For such proceeding I am charged withal)

I won his daughter with.

Her father loved me; oft invited me;
Still question'd me the story of my life,

From year to year; the battles, sieges, fortunes,
That I have pass'd.

I ran it through, even from my boyish days,
To the very moment that he bade me tell it.
Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances,
Of moving accidents, by flood and field;

Of hair-breadth 'scapes i' the imminent deadly breach;
Of being taken by the insolent foe,

And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence,
And portance in my travel's history.

These things to hear,

Would Desdemona seriously incline:

But still the house affairs would draw her thence;
Which ever as she could do with haste dispatch,
She'd come again, and with a greedy ear
Devour up my discourse: which I observing,
Took once a pliant hour: and found good means
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart,
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate,

Whereof by parcelst she had something heard,
But not intentively. I did consent;

And often did beguile her of her tears,

When I did speak of some distressful stroke

That my youth suffer'd. My story being done,

*My behaviour.

† Parts.

Intention and attention were once synonymous.

She gave me for my pains a world of sighs:

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,

And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake;
She loved me for the dangers I had pass'd:

And I lov'd her that she did pity them.

May the winds blow till they have waken'd death!
And let the labouring bark climb hills of seas
Olympus-high, and duck again as low

As hell's from heaven!

If I were now to die

"Twere now to be most happy; for, I fear

My soul hath her content so absolute,
That not another comfort like to this
Succeeds in unknown fate.

By Heaven, he echoes me,

As if there were some monster in his thought

Too hideous to be shown. Thou dost mean something:
I heard thee say but now, thou likedst not that,
When Cassio left my wife. What didst not like?
And, when I told thee he was of my counsel
In my whole course of wooing, thou criedst, Indeed?
And didst contract and purse thy brow together,
As if thou then hadst shut up in thy brain
Some horrible conceit. If thou dost love me,
Show me thy thought.

Iago. My lord, you know I love you.
Oth.

I think thou dost;

And, for I know thou art full of love and honesty, And weigh'st thy words before thou givest them breath,

Therefore these stops of thine fright me the more:

For such things, in a false disloyal knave,

Are tricks of custom; but, in a man that's just,
They are close denotements, working from the heart,
That passion cannot rule.