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QTH. What doft thou mean?

JAGO. Good name in man or woman, my dear Lord, Is the immediate jewel of their fouls.

Who fleals my purse, steals trash; 'tis fomething, nothing;
'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been flave to thousands:
But he that filches from me my good name,
Robs me of that which not enriches him,.
And makes me poor indeed.

Оти. I'll know thy thoughts.

IAGO. You cannot, if my heart were in your hand; Nor fhall not, whilft 'tis in my custody.

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IAGO. Oh, beware, my Lord, of jealoufy;

It is a green-ey'd moufter, which doth mock
The meat it feeds on. That cuckold lives in blifs
Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger;
But oh, what damned minutes tells he o'er

Who doats, yet doubts; fufpects, yet ftrongly loves!
Отн. O mifery!

IAGO. Poor and content, is rich, and rich enough::
But riches endless, is as poor as winter

To him that ever fears he shall be poor.

Good Heav'n! the fouls of all my tribe defend
From jealousy!

Отн. Why, why is this?

Think'st thou I'd make a life of jealoufy?

To follow ftill the changes of the moon

With fresh fufpicions?-'Tis not to make me jealous
To fay, my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company,
Is free of speech, fings, plays, and dances well:
Where virtue is, thefe make more virtuous.
Nor from mine own weak merits will I draw
The smallest fear, or doubt of her revolt,
For fhe had eyes, and chofe me. No, Jago,
I'll fee, before I doubt; when I doubt, prove;

And, on the proof, there is no more but this,
Away at once with love or jealousy.

IAGO. I'm glad of this; for now I shall have reason
To fhow the love and duty that I bear you

With franker fpirit.

Therefore, as I'm bound,

Receive it from me. I fpeak not yet of proof.
Look to your wife, observe her well with Caffio;
Wear your eye thus; not jealous, nor fecure!
I would not have your free and noble nature
Out of felf-bounty be abus'd; look to't.
I know our country difpofition well;

In Venice they do let Heav'n fee the pranks
They dare not show their hufbands.

Отн. Doft thou fay fo?

IAGO. She did deceive her father, marrying you;

And when the feem'd to shake, and fear your looks,
She lov'd them mont

·OTH. And so she did.

IAGO. Go to then;

She that, fo young, could give out such a seeming

To feal her father's s eyes up, close as oak

He thought 'twas witchcraft-But I'm much to blame: I humbly do befeech you of your pardon,

For too much loving you.

Отн. I am bound to you for ever.

IAGO. I fee this hath a little dash'd your spirits.

OTH. Not a jot; not a jot.

IAGO. Trust me, I fear it has :

I hope you will confider what is spoke

Comes from my love. But I do fee you're mov'd

Iam to pray you, not to strain my speech

To groffer iffues, not to larger reach,.

Than to fufpicion.

ОTн. I will not.

AGO. Should you do fo, my Lord,

My fpeech would fall into fuch vile success,

Which my thoughts aim not at. Caffio's my worthy

friend.

My Lord, I fee you're mov'd

OTH. No, not much mov'd

I do not think but Defdemona's honeft.

IAGO. Long live she fo! and long live you to think fo! Отн. And yet, how nature's erring from itselfIAGO. Ay, there's the point!-as (to be bold with you) Not to affect many propofed matches

Of her own clime, complexion, and degree,

Whereto we fee in all things nature tends;
Foh! one may smell in such, a will moft rank,
Foul difproportions, thoughts unnatural.
But pardon me, I do not in pofition
Diftinctly speak of her; though I may fear
Her will, recoiling to her better judgment,
May fall to match you with her country forms,
And, haply, fo repent.

ОTH. Farewel, farewel;

If more thou dost perceive, let me know more:
Set on thy wife t' observe. Leave me, lago.
IAGO. My Lord, I take my leave.

OтH. Why did I marry?

This honeft creature, doubtless,

Sees and knows more, much more, than he unfolds.
IAGO. My Lord, I would I might intreat your honour
To fcan this thing no further; leave it to time:

Altho' 'tis fit that Caffio bave his place,
For, fure, he fills it up with great ability;
Yet if you pleafe to hold him off awhile,
You fhall by that perceive him and his means ;
Note, if your lady ftrain his entertainment
With any ftrong or vehement importunity;
Much will be feen in that. In the mean time,,

Let me be thought too busy in my fears,
(As worthy cause I have to fear I am)

And hold her free, I do befeech your honour.
Oтн. Fear not my government.

IAGO. I once more take my leave.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

SHAKSPEARE.

HAMLET'S SOLILOQUY ON HIS MOTHER's

MARRIAGE.

OH that this too, too folid flesh would melt,
Thaw, and refolve itself into a dew!

Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd
His canon, 'gainst self slaughter!
How weary, ftale, flat, and unprofitable,
Seem to me all the ufes of this world!

Fie on't! oh fie! 'tis an unweeded garden,

That grows to feed; things rank, and grofs in nature,
Poffefs it merely. That it should come to this!
But two months dead! nay, not fo much; not two :-
So excellent a king, that was, to this,

Hyperion to a fatyr: fo loving to my mother,
That he permitted not the winds of heav'n
Vifit her face too roughly. Heav'n and earth!
Muft I remember!-Why fhe would hang on him,
As if increase of appetite had grown

By what it fed on; yet within a month,

Let me not think-Frailty, thy name is woman!
A little month! or ere those shoes were old,
With which the followed my poor father's body,
Like Niobe, all tears. Why, fhe, ev'n fhe

(O Heav'n! a beast, that wants difcourfe of reason,
Would have mourn'd longer-) married with mine uncle,
My father's brother; but no more like my father,
Than I to Hercules. Within a month!

Ere yet the falt of most unrighteous tears
Had left the flushing in her galled eyes,
She married-Oh, most wicked speed, to post
With fuch dexterity to incestuous sheets!

It is not, nor it cannot come to good.

But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue.

SHAKSPEARE,

CHAPTER XXIX.

HAMLET AND GHOST.

HAM. ANGELS and minifters of grace defend us!
Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damn'd
Bring with thee airs from heav'n, or blafts from hell,
Be thy intent wicked or charitable,

Thou com'ft in fuch a questionable shape,

That I will speak to thee. I'll call thee Hamlet,
King, Father, Royal Dane: oh! anfwer me,
Let me not burft in ignorance; but tell,

Why thy canoniz'd bones, hears'd in earth,
Have burft their cearments? Why the fepulchre,
Wherein we faw thee quietly inurn'd,

Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws,
To caft thee up again? What may this mean?
That thou, dead corfe, again in complete fteel,
Revifit'ft thus the glimpfes of the moon,
Making night hideous, and us fools of nature,
So horribly to shake our difpofition

With thoughts beyond the reaches of our fouls?
Say, why is this? wherefore? what fhould we do?
GHOST. Mark me.-

HAM. I will.

GHOST. My hour is almost come,

When I to fulphurous and tormenting flames

Muft render up myself..

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