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And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert;
Hub. Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eyes,
Arth. O, now you look like Hubert ! all this while You were disguised.
Hub. Peace: no more: adieu !
Arth. O Heaven! — I thank you, Hubert.
Hub. Silence: no more. Go closely in with me: Much danger do I undergo for thee.
Whenever a sentence requires the tones of mockery, sarcasm, or irony, the circumflex or wave should be used.
Queen. Hamlet, you have
your father much offended. Hamlet. Madam, yoû have my father much offended.
Gesler. Why speak'st thou not?
Ges. What should I seem ?
Ges. Darest thou question me?
Tell. No- not enough :
Ges. But it can make thee writhe.
Tell. It may; and I may cry,
Ges. Whence comest thou ?
Tell. From the mountains. Wouldst thou learn What news from them?
Ges. Canst tell me any?
Ges. Why so ?
Tell. Because they look for thee. The hurricane Comes unawares upon them; from its bed The torrent breaks, and finds them in its track.
Ges. What do they then ?
Tell. Thank Heaven it is not thou ! Thou hast perverted nature in them. The earth Presents her fruits to them, and is not thanked. The harvest sun is constant, and they scarce Return his smile; their flocks and herds increase, And they look on as men who count a loss; They hear of thriving children born to them, And never shake the teller by the hand; While those they have, they see grow up and flourish, And think as little of caressing them, As they were things a deadly plague had smit. There's not a blessing Heaven vouchsafes them, but The thought of thee doth wither to a curse, As something they must lose, and richer were To lack.
Ges. That's right! I'd have them like their hills,
Tell. But they do sometimes smile.
When is that?
Tell. When they do talk of vengeance.
Ges. Vengeance? Dare
Tell. Ay, and expect it, too.
Tell. And the true hands
RULE VI. In solemn and sublime passages, the monotone
should be used, to give force and dignity to the expression.
High on a throne of royal stāte, which fār
On the Value of Time to Man.
Nigut, sable goddess, from her ebon throne,
The bell strikes one. We take no note of time But from its loss. To give it then a tongue, Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke, I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright, It is the knell of my departed hours. Where are they? with the years beyond the flood. It is the signal that demands despatch. How much is to be done! My hopes and fears Start up alarmed, and o'er life's narrow verge Look down — on what? a fathomless abyss ! A dread eternity! How surely mine! And can eternity belong to me, Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour ? How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, How complicate, how wonderful, is man! How passing wonder He who made him such! Who centred in our make such strange extremes ! From different natures marvellously mixed, Connection exquisite of distant worlds ! Distinguished link in being's endless chain ! Midway from nothing to the Deity! A beam ethereal, sullied and absorbed ! Though sullied and dishonored, still divine ! Dim miniature of greatness absolute ! An heir of glory! a frail child of dust! Helpless immortal ! insect infinite ! A worm, a god !—I tremble at myself, And in myself am lost! at home a stranger ! Thought wanders up and down, surprised, aghast, And wondering at her own : how reason reels ! O, what a miracle to man is man, Triumphantly distressed! what joy, what dread ! Alternately transported and alarmed! What can preserve my life, or what destroy ? An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave; Legions of angels can't confine me there.