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Th'at/, like an ea'gle in a d'ovecot, I


your Vols'cians in Co'rioli;
Alo'ne/ I di'd-it:-Boy !-B'ut/ let us par't;
Lest my rash ha'nd/ should do a hasty de'ed
My cooler th'ought forbi`ds.

Auf. I court

The wor'st thy sword can d'o; while tho'u from mˇe/
Hast nothing/ to exp'ect/ but sore destru`ction;

Quit th ́en/ this hostile cam'p: on'ce more/ I tell' thee,
Thou art not h'ere one single-hour/ in safety.

Cor. O, that I ha'd thee in the field,

With six-Aufidiuses, or m'ore, thy tribe,

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OH that this to'o, too so'lid-flesh/ would m'elt,

Tha'w, and resolve itself into a de'w!
O'r/ that the Everla'sting/ ha'd-not fixed
His ca'non/ 'gainst se'lf-slaughter!
How w'eary, sta'le, fla't, and unprofitable,
See'm to me/ all the u'ses of this wo`rld!
Fie o'n't! oh fi'e! 'tis an unwe'eded gar'den,

That grows to see'd; things ra'nk, and gro'ss in n'ature,
Posse'ss-it me'rely. That it should come to this!
But two months de'ad; na'y, not so much; not two;
So excellent a kin'g, that wa's, to this!

Hyperion to a sa'tyr: so lov'ing to my m'other,
That he permitted not the win'ds of He'aven
Visit her face/too roughly. Hea`ven and ea'rth!
Must I remember !-Why', she would han'g-on-him,
As if increase of appetite/ had grown

By wha't it fe'd-on; y'et, with'in a month,—

(Let me not th ́ink);-Frailty, thy na'me is Wo'man !— À little month! o'r/ er'e those shoes were o ́ld, With which she followed my poor father's bo'dy, Like N'iobe, all te'ars;-wh'y, sh`e, even shˇe— (O Heaven! a bea'st, that wants discourse of reason,

Would have mourned lo'nger-) maʼrried with mine un'cle,
My fa'ther's brother; but/ no more lik'e my fa'ther,
Than I' to Hercules. Withi'n a mo'nth!-
(Ere yet the sal't of most unrighteous-tears
Had left the flush'ing/ in her galled ey'es)
She married!-O, most wicked-speed,-
It is not, nor it cannot-come to go'od,

But break my heart, for I must h'old my tongue.



OH what a wr'etch and peasant sla`ve am I'!
Is it not mons'trous, that this player he're,
(B'ut in a fi'ction, in a dream of passion,)
Could force his soul/ so' to his own conce'it,
That, from her working, all his vi'sage warm'ed,
Tea'rs in his eyes, distra'ction in his aspect,
A broken voice, and his whole function/ suiting
With form's to his conc'eit? and a'll for no'thing!
For H'ecuba!

What's He cuba to him, or he' to He cuba,

That he should we ep-for-her? Wha^t-would-he-do,
Had he' the motive/ and the c'ue for passion

That I have? He would drown the sta'ge/ with t'ears,
And cleave the general e'ar/ with horrid spee'ch;
Make ma'd the guilty, and app'al the free;
Confound the ignorant; and ama ́ze, inde'ed,
The very faculties of ey'es and e'ars.*

* The insertion of the grand and terrible adjuration of Macbeth, beautifully illustrative of the "Commencing Compound Series," having been neglected in "the Introduction," (its proper place) is apologetically given here ; the quality of the sentence ending at " ears being somewhat analagous to an example of the Commencing Compound Series.

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"I conjure you, by that which you profess,
(Howe'er you come to know it,) answer me;
Though you untie the winds and let them fight
Against the churches; though the yesty waves
Confound and swallow navigation-up;

Though bladed corn be lodged, and trees blown do'wn ;

But I am pi'geon-livered, and lack gall'
To make oppression b'itter; or', ere thi's,
I should have fatted all the region kites'
With this sla've's o'ffal !-*I have heard
That guilty creatures, sitting at a play,
Ha've (by the very cu^nning of the scene)
Been struck/ so' to the s'oul, that/ pre'sently/
They have proclaimed/ their malefac`tions:
For murder (though it ha's no to'ngue) will speak/
With most mira'culous or'gan. I'll have these players
Play something/ like the mu'rder of my father"
Before my uncle. I'll observe his lo`oks:
I'll ten't-him/ to the quick. If he do blen'ch,
I know my course. The spirit/ that I have seen
May be a de'vil; and the devil/ hath power/
To assume a pleasing sh`ape.-I'll have the grounds
More relative than th'is. The Pla'y; the pla'y's the thing
Wherei'n/ I'll catch the c ́onscience of the king.


To b'e, or not to b'e ?-Th'at is the question.-
Whether 'tis n'obler in the min'd/ to suffer
The st'ings and ar'rows of outrageous fo'rtune,
Or/ to take arm's/ against a sea of troubles,
An'd, by opp'osing, en'd-them ?-To di'e-to sleep-
No mo`re; and/ by a sleep to say we e'nd
The heart-ache, and the thousand/ natural sho'cks/
That flesh is he'ir to;-'Tis a consum'mation/
Devo'utly/ to be wished.-To di'e-to sleep-

Though castles topple on their warder's he'ads;
Though palaces and pyramids do slope

Their heads to their founda'tions; though the treasure

Of nature's germins tumble altogether,

Even till destruction si'cken, answer me

To what I ask you."

*The tone and manner are here changed into a less bitter and more meditative cast, which, with but little variation, continues to the end of the soliloquy

To sleep! perch'ance to dre^am! a'y, there's the r'ub;
Fo'r/ in that sleep of de^ath/ wha't dreams may co'me,
(When we have shuffled o'ff this mor'tal-coil,)

Must give us pa'use.-There's the respect/
That makes cala'mity of so long life:

Spoken in a mo.


For wh'o/ would bear the whi'ps and sc'orns of the tim`e,
The oppressor's wro'ng, the prou'd-man's co'ntumely,
The pan'gs of despis`ed-love, the la'w's dela'y,
The in'solence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he' himself/ might his quietus make/
With a bare bodkin ?+ Wh'o/ would fardels bea'r,
To groan and sweat/ under a weary li'fe e;
But/ that the dread of so'mething/ aft`er de'ath
(That undiscovered-country, from whose bourn
No traveller retur'ns) puzzles the wi'll;

And mak ́es us/ rather b'ear/ tho'se i'lls/ we hav ́e,
Than fly' to others/ that we know not o'f?
Thus con'science/ does make co'wards-of-us a'll:
And thu's/ the native hu`e of resolution

Is sicklied o'er/ with the pale ca`st of thought;
And e^nterprises/ of great pit`h and m'oment
With this regard/ their currents turn awr'y,
And lose the na'me-of ac'tion.



O! my offence is ran'k, it sm'ells to He^aven,
It hath the primal, el'dest-curse up'on 't;
brother's-murder-Pr'ay/ I can'not:
Though inclina'tion/ be as sharp as 'twi'll,
My stronger gu'ilt/ defeats my strong int'ent;
An'd (like a man to double business bound)
I stand in pa'use/ where I shall first beg'in,
And bo'th neglect'. Wh'at! if this cursed han'd/

*This turn of the voice, usually expressed by a horizontal line (see "Introduction") may be used with great effect to illustrate a mixture of irony and contempt. Thus, in the "Appeal of Brutus," page 102, " Hād you rather Caesar were living, and die all slaves," &c.

† I have given "bodkin" the emphatic rising slide, because I think it is capable of expressing the most contempt.

Were thicker than itself/ with brother's blood;
Is there not rain enough/ in the sweet He'avens,
To wash it white as sn'ow? Where to serves mercy,
But to confront the vis ́age of offe'nce?

And what's in prayer, but this twofold fo'rce,
To be for'esta lled/ere' we come to fall',

O'r/ par'doned/ being down? - The`n I'll look u'p;
My fault is pa'st.-But, O', what-form-of-prayer
Can serve my-turn? Forgive-me my foul murder!
That can not be, since I am still poss ́essed
Of those e'ffects/ for which I di'd the murder,
My crown, mine own ambi'tion, and my qu'een.
May one be pardoned, and reta`in the offence?
In the corrupted-currents of this world,
Offence's gilded ha'nd/ may shove by Justice;
And oft 'tis seen, the wicked prize itself/
Buys out the law's. But 'ti's not so above.
There is no sh'uffling; the^re/ the action lies'/
In its true na'ture, and we ourselves comp ́elled,
(Even to the teeth and fore'head of our faults,)
To gi've-in e`vidence. What the'n? what re`sts?
Try what repentance ca'n: wh'at can it no^t?
Yet what can-it, when one can no`t repe'nt?
O wretched state! O b'osom/ black as dea'th!
O limed so`ul, tha't, struggling to be free,

Art mo're engaged! He'lp, a'ngels! make assa'y!
Bow, stubborn kn`ees; and hea'rt, (with strings of steel,)
Be s'oft as sin'ews of the ne'w-born-babe! and

All'/ may y'et be w`ell!




SPEAK the speech, I pra'y-you, (as I pronoun'ced-it-to-you) trippingly on the tongue. But if you mouth it (as many our Players d'o) I had as lief the town c'rier/ had spoken my lines. And do not saw the air too much with your hand, thˇus: but/ use all gently; fo'r/ in the very to'rrent, tem'pest, a'nd, (as I may say) wh'irlwind-of-pour-passion,* you must acq'uire and

*"Whirlwind of your passion" may be word, with the emphatic rising inflexion upon

regarded as one rhetorical "whirl."

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