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How dar'st thou look on that prophetick sky, And seek to save what all things else condemn, In overwhelming unison
With just Jehovah's wrath?
Japh. Can rage and justice join in the same path?
Noah. Blasphemer! dar'st thou murmur, even now?
Raph. Patriarch! be still a father, smooth thy brow:
Thy son, despite his folly, shall not sink;
He knows not what he says, yet shall not drink With sobs the salt foam of the swelling waters; But be, when passion passeth, good as thou, Nor perish, like heaven's children, with man's daughters.
Speech of Catiline before the Roman senate, on hearing his sentence of banishment.-CROLY's Catiline.
BANISHED from Rome! what's banished, but set free
From daily contact of the things I loathe?
'Tried and convicted traitor-Who says this?
Who'll prove it, at his peril, on my head?
Banished?—I thank you for't. It breaks my chain !
I held some slack allegiance till this hour-
But now my sword's my own. Smile on, my lords;
I scorn to count what feelings, withered hopes,
Strong provocations, bitter, burning wrongs,
I have within my heart's hot cells shut up,
To leave you in your lazy dignities.
But here I stand and scoff you :-here I fling
Hatred and full defiance in your face.
Your Consul's merciful. For this all thanks.
He dares not touch a hair of Catiline.
Traitor!' I go-but I return.
This trial! Here I devote your senate! I've had wrongs, To stir a fever in the blood of age,
Or make the infant's sinew strong as steel. This day's the birth of sorrows!-This hour's work 'Will breed proscriptions.-Look to your hearths, my lords, r there henceforth shall sit, for household gods, Bunes hot from Tartarus !—all shames and crimes ;—
Wan Treachery, with his thirsty dagger drawn ;
Suspicion, poisoning his brother's cup;
Naked Rebellion, with the torch and axe,
Making his wild sport of your blazing thrones;
Till Anarchy comes down on you like Night,
And Massacre seals Rome's eternal grave.
Dialogue between HAMLET and HORATIO. SHAKSPEARE.
Horatio. HAIL to your lordship!
Hamlet. I am glad to see you well:
Horatio or I do forget myself.
Hor. The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever. Ham. Sir, my good friend; I'll change that name with you. And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio?
Hor. A truant disposition, good my lord.
Ham. I would not hear your enemy say so;
Nor shall you do mine ear that violence,
To make it truster of your own' report
Against yourself. I know, you are no truant.
But what is your affair in Elsinore ?
We'll teach you to drink deep ere you depart.
Hor. My lord, I came to see your father's funeral.
Ham. I pray thee do not mock me, fellow-student;
I think it was to see my mother's wedding.
Hor. Indeed, my lord, it followed hard upon.
Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio; the funeral baked meats Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables. Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven, Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio! My father-methinks I see my father. Hor. Where, my lord?
Ham. In my mind's eye, Horatio.
Hor. I saw him once; he was a goodly king.
Ham. He was a man, take him for all in all,
I shall not look upon his like again.
Hor. My lord, I think I saw him yesternight.
Ham. Saw! who?
Hor. My lord, the king, your father.
Ham. The king, my father!
Hor. Season your admiration for a while'
With an attent ear; till I may deliver
This marvel to you.
Ham. For heaven's love let me hear.
Hor. Two nights together had those gentlemen,
Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch,
In the dead waist and middle of the night,
Been thus encountered: a figure, like your father,
Armed at point exactly, cap-à-pie,
Appears before them, and, with solemn march,
Goes slow and stately by them: thrice he walked
By their oppressed and fear-surprised eyes,
Within his truncheon's length; whilst they, distilled
Almost to jelly with the act of fear,
Stand dumb, and speak not to him. This to me,
In dreadful secrecy, impart they did;
And I with them, the third night, kept the watch:
Where, as they had delivered, both in time,
Form of the thing, each word made true and good,
The apparition comes. I knew your father;
These hands are not more like.
Ham. But where was this?
Hor. My lord, upon the platform where we watched.
Ham. Did you not speak to it?
Hor. My lord, I did;
But answer made it none. Yet once, methought,
It lifted up its head, and did address
Itself to motion, like as it would speak :
But, even then, the morning cock crew loud;
And, at the sound, it shrunk in haste away,
And vanished from our sight.
Ham. 'Tis very strange.
Hor. As I do live, my honoured lord, 'tis true;
And we did think it writ down in our duty,
To let you know of it.
Ham. Indeed, indeed, Sir, but this troubles me. 1 Hold you the watch to-night? H Hor. We do, my lord.
Ham. Armed, say you?
Here Hor. Armed, my lord.
To st Ham. From top to toe?
Or mar. My lord, from head to foot.
Then saw you not his face.
Will breed proves, my lord; he wore his beaver up.
r there hence looked he frowningly?
Bunes hot from T
Hor. A countenance more
In sorrow than in anger.
Ham. Pale, or red?
Hor. Nay, very pale.
Ham. And fixed his eyes upon you?
Hor. Most constantly.
Ham. I would I had been there!
Hor. It would have much amazed you.
Ham. Very like, very like ;-Staid it long?
Hor. While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred. Ham. His beard was grizzled ?—no ?
Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life,
Å sable silvered.
Ham. I will watch to-night;
Perchance 'twill walk again.
Hor. I warrant 'twill.
Ham. If it assume my noble father's person,
I'll speak to it, though hell itself should gape,
And bid me hold my peace. I pray you, Sir,
If you have hitherto concealed this sight,
Let it be tenable in your silence still;
And whatsoever else shall hap to-night,
Give it an understanding, but no tongue;
I will requite your love: so, fare you well.
Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve,
I'll visit you.
Extract from the Essay on Criticism.-POPE.
WHOEVER thinks a faultless piece to see
Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be.
In every work regard the writer's end,
Since none can compass more than they intend;
And, if the means be just, the conduct true,
Applause, in spite of trivial faults, is due.
As men of breeding, sometimes men of wit,
T'avoid great errours must the less commit;
Neglect the rules each verbal critick lays,
For not to know some trifles, is a praise.
Most criticks, fond of some subservient art,
Still make the whole depend upon a part:
They talk of principles, but notions prize,
And all to one loved folly sacrifice ;
Once on a time, La Mancha's knight, they say,
A certain bard encountering on the way,
Discoursed in terms as just, with looks as sage,
As e'er could Dennis, of the Grecian stage;
Concluding all were desperate sots and fools,
Who durst depart from Aristotle's rules.
Our author, happy in a judge so nice,
Produced his play, and begged the knight's advice:
Made him observe the subject, and the plot,
The manners, passions, unities; what not?
All which, exact to rule, were brought about,
Were but a combat in the lists left out.
"What! leave the combat out?" exclaims the knight.
Yes, or we must renounce the Stagirite.
"Not so by heaven!" (he answers in a rage)
"Knights, squires, and steeds must enter on the stage."
So vast a throng the stage can ne'er contain:
"Then build a new, or act it in a plain."
Thus criticks, of less judgment than caprice,
Curious, not knowing, not exact, but nice,
Form short ideas; and offend in arts
(As most in manners) by a love to parts.
Some to conceit alone their taste confine,
And glittering thoughts struck out at every line;
Pleased with a work where nothing's just or fit;
One glaring chaos and wild heap of wit.
Poets, like painters, thus unskilled to trace
The naked nature, and the living grace,
With gold and jewels cover every part,
And hide with ornaments their want of art.
True wit is Nature to advantage dressed,
What oft was thought, but ne'er so well expressed;
Something, whose truth convinced at sight we find,
That gives us back the image of our mind.
As shades more sweetly recommend the light,
K So modest plainness sets off sprightly wit;
For works may have more wit than does them good,
Here As bodies perish through excess of blood.
To s Others for language all their care express,
Orr And value books, as women men,-for dress :
This Their praise is still,-the style is excellent:
Will breke sense, they humbly take upon content.
r there hs are like leaves; and where they most abound, Bunes hot fruit of sense beneath is rarely found.