Imatges de pàgina
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Ofr. YOUNG

SCENE VI.

Enter Ofrick.

YOUNG Fortinbras, with Conqueft come from
Poland,

To the Ambassadors of England gives
This warlike volly.

Ham. O, I die, Horatio :

The potent poifon quite o'er-grows my fpirit;
I cannot live to hear the news from England.
But I do prophefy, th' election lights

On Fortinbras; he has my dying voice;
So tell him, with the occurrents more or lefs,
Which have folicited.-The reft is filent.

[Dies.

Hor. Now cracks a noble heart; good-night, fweet Prince;

* And flights of angels wing thee to thy Reft! Why does the Drum come hither?

Enter Fortinbras, and English Ambassadors, with drum colours, and attendants.

Fort. Where is this fight?

Hor. What is it you would fee?

If aught of woe or wonder, ceafe your fearch.
Fort. This quarry cries- on havock. Oh proud

death!

What feaft is tow'rd in thy infernal cell,

That thou fo many Princes at a fhot

So bloodily haft ftruck?

Amb. The fight is difmal,

And our affairs from England come too late :
The ears are senseless, that fhould give us hearing;
To tell him, his commandment is fulfill'd,

That Rofincrantz and Guildenstern are dead:
Where fhould we have our thanks?

And flights of angels fing thee to thy Reft! We fhould certainly read, And flights of Angels wing thee to thy Reft.

Hor.

Hor. Not from his mouth,

Had it th' ability of life to thank you :
He never gave commandment for their death.
But fince fo jump upon this bloody queftion,
You from the Polack Wars, and you from England,
Are here arriv'd; give Order, that thefe bodies
High on a Stage be placed to the view,

And let me fpeak to th' yet unknowing world,
How these things came about. So ball you hear
Of cruel, bloody, and unnatural acts;

Of accidental judgments, cafual flaughters;
Of deaths put on by cunning, and forc'd cause;
And, in this upfhot, purposes miftook,

Fall'n on th' inventors' heads. All this can I
Truly deliver.

Fort. Let us hafte to hear it,

And call the Noblefs to the audience.

For me, with forrow I imbrace my fortune;
I have fome rights of memory in this Kingdom,
Which, now to claim my vantage doth invite me.
Hor. Of that I fhall have alfo cause to speak,
And from his mouth whofe voice will draw on more:
But let this fame be presently perform'd,

Even while men's minds are wild, left more mifchance
On plots and errors happen.

Fort. Let four captains

Bear Hamlet, like a foldier, to the Stage;

For he was likely, had he been put on,

To have prov'd moft royally. And for his paffage, The Soldiers, mufic, and the rites of war

Speak loudly for him

Take up the body: fuch a fight as this

Becomes the field, but here fhews much amifs.

Go, bid the foldiers fhoot.

[Exeunt, marching: after which a peal of Ordnance is fhot off.

OTHELLO

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DUKE of Venice.

Brabantio, a noble Venetian.

Gratiano, Brother to Brabantio.

Lodovico, Kinfman to Brabantio and Gratiano. Othello, the Moor, General for the Venetians in Cyprus. Caffio, his Lieutenant-General.

Iago, Standard-bearer to Othello.

Rodorigo, a foolish Gentleman, in love with Defdemona. Montano, the Moor's Predeceffor in the Government of Cyprus.

Clown, Servant to the Moor.
Herald.

Desdemona, Daughter to Brabantio, and Wife to Othello. Emelia, Wife to Iago.

Bianca, Curtezan, Mistress to Caffio

Officers, Gentlemen, Messengers, Muficians, Sailors and Attendants.

SCENE, for the First Act, in Venice; during the rest of the Play, in Cyprus.

OTHELLO,

OTHELLO,

The Moor of Venice.

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HUS, never tell me, I take it much unkindly,
That thou, Iago, who haft had my purse,

As if, the ftrings were thine, fhouldft know of this-
Iago. But you'll not hear me.

If ever I did dream of such a matter, abhor me.
Rod. Thou told'ft me, thou didst hold him in thy.

hate.

Iago. Despise me,

If I do not. Three Great ones of the City,
In perfonal fuit to make me his lieutenant,
Off-capp'd to him; and, by the faith of man,
I know my price, I'm worth no worfe a Place.
But he, as loving his own pride and purpose,
Evades them with a bombaft circumftance,
Horribly ftuft with epithets of war,
And, in conclufion,

Non-fuits my meditators. "Certers, fays he,
"I have already chofe my officer."
And what was he?

*Othallo, the More of Vence. ] The ftory is taken from Cynthio's

Novels.

Mr. Pope.
Forfooth

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