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The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife,
OTHELLO's Soliloquy before killing DESDEMONA. It is the cause, it is the cause, my 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. 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 thine, 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, I cannot give it vital growth again; It needs must wither: I'll sınell it on the tree.
[Kisses her O, balmy breath, that dost almost persuade Justice to break her sword !-One more, 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.
HAMLET's Soliloquy on his Mother's Marriage. O, that this too, too solid flesh would melt, Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew! Or that the Everlasting had not fixed His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God ! O God! How weary, stale, fat, and unprofitable, Seem to me all the uses of this world! Fie on't! O fie! 'tis an unweeded garden, That grows to seed; things rank, and
nature, Possess it merely. That it should come to this! But two months dead !--nay, not so much, not two: So excellent a king; that was, to this, Hyperion to a satyr: so loving to my mother, That he might not beteem the winds of heaven Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth! Must I remember? why, she would hang on him, As if increase of appetite had grown By what it fed on: and yet within a monthLet me not think on't ;-Frailty, thy name is woman! A little month; or ere those shoes were old, With which she followed my poor father's body, Like Niobe, all tears ;—why she, even she, O Heaven! a beast, that wants discourse of reason, Would have mourned longer,-married with my uncle, My father's brother; but no more like my father, Than I to Hercules : within a month; Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears Had left the flushing in her gallèd eyes, She married. ....
It is not, nor it cannot come to, good;
On the Immortality of the Soul. To be, or not to be, that is the question : Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them? To die,--to sleep, No more; and, by a sleep, to say we end The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to,—'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished. To die,-to sleep ;To sleep! perchance to dream ;-ay, there's the rub; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause : there's the respect, That makes calamity of so long life: For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of disprized love, the law's delay, The insolence of office, and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin? who would these fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life; But that the dread of something after death, The undiscovered country, from whose bourn No traveller returns, puzzles the will ; And makes us rather bear those ills we have, Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all :
And thus the native hue of resolution
Ophelia. 0, what a noble mind is here o’erthrown!
HAMLET's Friendship for Horatio. Hamlet. Horatio, thou art e’en as just a man As e'er my conversation coped withal. Nay, do not think I flatter : For what advancement may I hope from thee, That no revenue hast, but thy good spirits, To feed and clothe thee? Why should the poor be flattered ? No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp; And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee, Where thrift
may follow fawning. Dost thou hear ? Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice, And could of men distinguish her election,
She hath sealed thee for herself: for thou hast been
my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart, As I do thee.
Good, my lord, You have begot me, bred me, loved me : I Return those duties back as are right fit, Obey you, love you, and most honour you. Why have my sisters husbands, if they say, They love you, all ? Haply, when I shall wed, That lord, whose hand must take my plight, shall carry Half my
love with him, half my care, and duty: Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters, To love my father all.
LEAR's Curse on his Daughter GONERIL.