Imatges de pàgina
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VI.-SOLILOQUY OF KING CLAUDIUS IN "HAMLET."-Shakspeare.

OH! my offence is rank, it smells to Heaven!

It hath the primal, eldest curse upon't;
A brother's murder !-Pray I cannot :
Though inclination be as sharp as 'twill,
My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent:
And, like a man to double business bound,
I stand in pause where I shall first begin
And both neglect. What if this cursed hand
Were thicker than itself with brother's blood-
Is there not rain enough in the sweet heaven
To wash it white as snow? Whereto serves mercy,
But to confront the visage of offence?

And what's in prayer, but this two-fold force_

To be forestalled, ere we come to fall;

Or pardoned, being down?-Then I'll look up,

My fault is past. But oh! what form of prayer

Can serve my turn?_"Forgive me my foul murder!"-
That cannot be, since I am still possessed

Of those effects for which I did the murder-
My crown, my own ambition, and my queen.
May one be pardoned, and retain the offence?
In the corrupted currents of this world,
Offence's gilded hand may shove by Justice;
And oft 'tis seen, the wicked prize itself
Buys out the law. But 'tis not so above-
There is no shuffling: there the action lies
In its true nature, and we ourselves compelled
Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults,
To give in evidence. What then? What rests?
Try what repentance can :—what can it not?
Yet what can it, when one cannot repent?
Oh, wretched state! oh, bosom black as death!
Oh, limed soul, that, struggling to be free,
Art more engaged! Help, angels !-Make essay:
Bow, stubborn knees; and, heart, with strings of steel,
Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe!

All may be well.

VII.-HENRY IV., ON SLEEP.-Shakspeare.

How many thousands of my poorest subjects
Are at this hour asleep!-O gentle sleep!
Nature's soft nurse! how have I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my eye-lids down,
And steep my senses in forgetfulness!

Why rather, Sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs,

Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,

And hushed with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber

Than in the perfumed chambers of the great,

Under the canopies of costly state,

And lulled with sounds of sweetest melody?

O thou dull god! why liest thou with the vile
In loathsome beds, and leav'st the kingly couch
A watch-case to a common 'larum-bell?
Wilt thou, upon the high and giddy mast,
Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains
In cradle of the rude imperious surge,
And, in the visitation of the winds,

Which take the ruffian billows by the top,
Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them
With deafening clamours in the slippery shrouds,
That, with the hurly, Death itself awakes:-
Canst thou, O partial Sleep! give thy repose
To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude,
And, in the calmest and the stillest night,
With all appliances and means to boot,

Deny it to a king? Then, happy, lowly clown!
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.

VIII.-THE BISHOP OF CARLISLE IN DEFENCE OF KING RICHARD II.-Shakspeare.

WORST in this royal presence may I speak,
Yet best beseeming me to speak the truth.
I would that any in this noble presence
Were enough noble to be upright judge
Of noble Richard; then true nobleness would
Teach him forbearance from so foul a wrong.
What subject can give sentence ou a king?
And who sits here, that is not Richard's subject?
Thieves are not judged, but they are by to hear,
Although apparent guilt be seen in them:
And shall the figure of Heaven's Majesty,
His captain, steward, deputy elect,
Anointed, crowned, planted many years,
Be judged by subject and inferior breath,

And he himself not present? O, forbid it, heaven,
That, in a Christian climate, souls refined
Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed!
I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks,
Stirred up by truth, thus boldly for his king.
My lord of Hereford here, whom you call king,
Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's king:
And if you crown him, let me prophesy-
The blood of English shall manure the ground,
And future ages groan for this foul act;
Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels,
And, in this seat of peace, tumultuous wars
Shall kin with kin and kind with kind confound;
Disorder, horror, fear, and mutiny,
Shall here inhabit, and this land be called
The field of Golgotha and dead men's skulls.
O! if you rear this house against this house,

It will the wofullest division prove,
That ever fell upon this cursed earth!
Prevent, resist it, let it not be so,

Lest children's children cry against you-woe!

IX.-MACBETH TO THE AIR-DRAWN DAGGER.-Shakspeare.
Is this a dagger which I see before me,

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 marshal'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 thy 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 the one half world
Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse
The curtained sleep; now witchcraft celebrates
Pale Hecate's offerings; and withered Murder,
Alarumed by his sentinel, the wolf,

Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace,
With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design
Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set earth,
Hear not my steps, which way they walk; for fear
Thy very stones prate of my where-about,

And take the present horror from the time

Which now suits with it. While I threat, he lives,

Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives. [A bell rings.]
I go, and it is done; the bell invites me.

Hear it not, Duncan! for it is a knell
That summons thee to heaven or to hell!

X.-CATO, ON THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL.-Addison.

IT 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, the 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 am I doubly armed. 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, secured 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 years:
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,
Unhurt, amid the war of elements,

The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds!

XI. LUCIUS JUNIUS BRUTUS, OVER THE BODY OF LUCRETIA.-

J. H. Payne.

THUS, thus, my friends! fast as our breaking hearts
Permitted utterance, we have told our story:

And now, to say one word of the imposture-
The mask, necessity has made me wear.
When the ferocious malice of your king-

King, do I call him?--when the monster, Tarquin,
Slew, as most of you may well remember,

My father Marcus, and my elder brother,
Envying at once their virtues and their wealth,
How could I hope a shelter from his power,
But in the false face I have worn so long?

Would you know why I summoned you together?
Ask ye what brings me here? Behold this dagger,
Clotted with gore! Behold that frozen corse!
See where the lost Lucretia sleeps in death!
She was the mark and model of the time,

The mould in which each female face was formed,
The very shrine and sacristy of virtue!

The worthiest of the worthy! Not the nymph
Who met old Numa in his hallowed walk

And whispered in his ear her strains divine,

Can I conceive beyond her!--The young choir

Of vestal virgins bent to her! Oh my countrymen !
You all can witness that when she went forth,

It was a holiday in Rome; old age

Forgot its crutch, labour its task,—all ran;

And mothers, turning to their daughters, cried,

"There, there's Lucretia!"--Now look ye where she lies, That beauteous flower, that innocent sweet rose,

Torn up by ruthless violence-gone! gone!

Say-would you seek instruction? would you seek
What ye should do?-Ask ye yon conscious walls
Which saw his poisoned brother, saw foul crimes
Committed there, and they will cry, Revenge!
Ask yon deserted street, where Tullia drove
O'er her dead father's corse, 'twill cry, Revenge!
Ask yonder Senate-house, whose stones are purple
With human blood, and it will cry, Revenge!
Go to the tomb where lie his murdered wife,
And the poor queen who loved him as her son--
Their unappeased ghosts will shriek, Revenge!
The temples of the gods, the all-viewing heaven-
The gods themselves-shall justify the cry,
And swell the general sound-Revenge! Revenge!

XII.-ROLLA TO THE PERUVIANS.-Sheridan.

My brave associates-partners of my toil, my feelings, and my fame!-Can Rolla's words add vigour to the virtuous energies which inspire your hearts?-No! you have judged, as I have, the foulness of the crafty plea by which these bold invaders would delude you. Your generous spirit has compared, as mine has, the motives which, in a war like this, can animate their minds and ours. They, by a strange frenzy driven, fight for power, for plunder, and extended rule;—we, for our country, our altars, and our homes. They follow an adventurer whom they fear, and obey a power which they hate;-we serve a monarch whom we love, a God whom we adore. Whene'er they move in anger, desolation tracks their progress! where'er they pause in amity, affliction mourns their friendship! They boast they come but to improve our state, enlarge our thoughts, and free us from the yoke of error: Yes; they will give enlightened freedom to our minds, who are themselves the slaves of passion, avarice, and pride! They offer us their protection :-yes, such protection as vultures give to lambs-covering and devouring them!-They call upon us to barter all the good we have inherited and proved, for the desperate chance of something better-which they promise. Be our plain answer this: the throne we honour is the people's choice_the laws we reverence are our brave fathers' legacy-the faith we follow teaches us to live in bonds of charity with all mankind, and die with hope of bliss beyond the grave. Tell your invaders this, and tell them too, we seek no change; and, least of all, such change as they would bring us.

XIII.-WILLIAM TELL TO HIS NATIVE MOUNTAINS.-J. S. Knowles.

YE crags and peaks, I'm with you once again !
I hold to you the hands you first beheld,
To show they still are free. Methinks I hear
A spirit in your echoes answer me,
And bid your tenant welcome to his home
Again--O sacred forms, how proud you look!
How high you lift your heads into the sky!
How huge you are, how mighty, and how free!
Ye are the things that tower, that shine; who

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