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Imposes silence with a stilly sound.-
In such a place as this, at such an hour,
If ancestry can be in aught believ'd,

Descending spirits have convers'd with man,
And told the secrets of the world unknown.—
Eventful day! how hast thou chang'd my state!
Once, on the cold and wintry-shaded side
Of a bleak hill, mischance had rooted me:
Transplanted, now, to the gay sunny vale,
Like the green thorn of May, my fortune flowers.
Ye glorious stars! high heaven's resplendent host!
To whom I oft have of my lot complain'd,
Hear, and record, my soul's unalter'd wish!
Dead or alive, let me but be renown'd!
May Heaven inspire some fierce gigantic Dane
To give a bold defiance to our host!

Before he speaks it out, I will accept:

Like Douglas, conquer; or, like Douglas, die.

Tragedy of Douglas.

3.Cato's Soliloquy on the Immortality of the Soul. Ir must be so-Plato, thou reason'st well!

Else, whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire,
This longing after Immortality?

Or, whence this secret dread, and inward horror,
Of falling into nought? Why shrinks the soul
Back on herself, and startles at destruction?—
'Tis the Divinity that stirs within us:

"Tis Heaven itself, that points out-an hereafter,
And intimates-Eternity to man.
Eternity!-thou pleasing-dreadful thought!
Through what variety of untried being,

Through what new scenes and changes must we pass!
The wide, th' unbounded prospect, lies before me;
But shadows, clouds, and darkness, rest upon it.-
Here will I hold. If there's a Power above us, ;
(And that there is, all nature cries aloud

Through all her works) He must delight in virtue :
And that which he delights in, must be happy.

But when? or where? This world-was made for Cæsar.
I'm weary of conjectures-this must end them.-
[Laying his hand on his sword.
Thus I am doubly arm'd. My death and life,
My bane and antidote, are both before me.
This-in a moment, brings me to an end;
But this informs me I shall never die.
The soul, secur'd in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point.
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself
Grow dim with age, and nature sink in
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,
Unhurt amidst the war of elements,

The wrecks of matter, and the crush of worlds. Addison.

4.-Hamlet's Soliloquy on Death.

To be or not to be ?-that is the question.
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to suffer
The stings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And, by opposing, end them?- To dieto 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 wish'd. To dieto 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,
Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
pang of despis'd love, the law's delay,

The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th' unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make,
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To groan and sweat under a weary life?
But that the dread of something after death,
(That 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
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought;
And enterprises of great pith and moment,
With this regard, their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.


5.-Hamlet's Soliloquy on his Mother's Marriage with his Uncle.

OH that this too too solid flesh would melt,
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew!
Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd
His canon 'gainst self-slaughter!
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable,
Seem to me all the uses of this world!
Fie on't! oh fie! 'tis an unweeded garden

That grows to seed: things rank and gross in 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 would not let 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: yet, within a month,-
Let me not think-Frailty, thy name is woman!
A little month! or ere those shoes were old
With which she followed my poor father's body,
Like Niobé, all tears-why she, even she,
Married mine uncle, my father's brother,
But no more like my father, than I to Hercules.-
It is not, nor it cannot come to good.-

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

M m

6.-Macbeth's Soliloquy before murdering Duncan. Go, bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready, the bell. Get thee to bed.

She strike upon the bell.

Is this a dagger which I see before me,

[Exit Servant.

The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee.

I have thee not; and yet I see thee still.
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible

To feeling, as to sight? or art thou but
A dagger of the mind? a false creation,
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
I see thee yet, in form as palpable

As this which now I draw.

Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going;
And such an instrument I was to use.

Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses,
Or else worth all the rest.-I see thee still;
And, on the blade, and dudgeon, gouts of blood,
Which was not so before.-There's no such thing!-
It is the bloody business, which informs

Thus to mine eyes.-Now o'er one half the world
Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse
The curtain'd' sleep: now witchcraft celebrates
Pale Hecate's offerings; and wither'd Murder,
(Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf,

Whose howl's his watch) thus with his stealthy pace,
Towards his design

Moves like a ghost.-Thou sure and firm set earth, Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear The very stones prate of my whereabout;

And take the present horror from the time,

Which now suits with it.-While I threat, he livesI go, and it is done; the bell invites me. [A bell rings. Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell

That summons thee to heaven, or to hell.


1.-Prologue to the Farce of the Apprentice. TO-NIGHT no smuggled scenes from France' we show: 'Tis English-English', Sirs,-from top' to toe'. Our hero' is a youth'-by fate design'd

For culling simples--but whose stage'-struck mind
Nor fate could rule'--nor his indentures' bind'.—
A place' there is, where such young Quixotes' meet:
'Tis call'd the Spouting-club-a glorious' treat!
Where prentic'd kings' alarm-the gaping street'!-
There, Brutus' starts and stares, by midnight taper',
Who, all the day', enacts-a Woollen' Draper!
There, Hamlet's ghost' stalks forth, with doubled fist';
Cries out, with hollow' voice, "List', list'! O list!"
And frightens Denmark's prince'—a young Tobacco-

The spirit too, clear'd from his deadly white",
Rises a Haberdasher' to the sight!

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Not young Attornies' have this rage withstood;

But change their pens' for truncheons', ink' for blood';
And (strange' reverse!)-die for their country's good!
To check' these heroes, and their laurels' crop,
To bring them back to reason'-and their shop',
Our author wrote. O you', Tom', Dick', Jack', Will',
Who hold the balance', or who gild the pill';
Who wield the yard', and, simpering', pay your court',
And, at each flourish', snip an inch too short!
Quit not your shops': there' thrift and profit' call;
While here', young gentlemen are apt to fall.
But, hark! I'm call'd. Be warn'd' by what you see.
O, spout no more' !-Farewell'! "Remember me."

2.-A Contest between the Nose and the Eyes.. BETWEEN Nose and Eyes a strange contest arose, The Spectacles set them unhappily wrong;

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