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I dare now call my own. O Cromwell, Cromwell,
CROM. Good Sir, have patience.
So I have. Farewell The hopes of court! My hopes in heaven do dwell.
19. Blow, wind, and crack your cheeks! rage, blow! You cataracts, and hurricanoes, spout Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks ! You sulph'rous and thought-executing fires, Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts, Singe my white head! And thou, all shaking thunder, Strike flat the thick rotundity o'th' world! Crack nature's moulds, all germens spill at once, That make ungrateful man! Rumble thy bellyful ! spit, fire ! spout, rain! Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters. I tax not you, ye elements, with unkindness; I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children ; You owe me no subscription : then, let fall Your horrible pleasure. Here I stand, your slave, A poor, infirm, weak, and despised old man. But yet I call you servile ministers, That have with two pernicious daughters joined Your high-engender'd battles, 'gainst a head So old and white as this. Oh ! oh! 'tis foul.
Let the great gods, That keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads, Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch, That hast within thee undivulged crimes, Unwhipp'd of justice. Hide thee, thou bloody hand; Thou perjured and thou simular man of virtue, That art incestuous. Caitiff, to pieces shake, That under covert and convenient seeming, Hast practised on man's life—close pent-up guilts, Rive your concealing continents, and ask Those dreadful summoners grace.
I am a man
More sinn'd against than sinning.
20. MACBETH'S SOLILOQUY. 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 marshallest 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 one half the world Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse The curtain'd sleep: witchcraft celebrates Pale Hecate's offerings : and withered murder, (Alarum'd hy his sentinel, the wolf, Whose bowl'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 The very stones prate of my where-about, And take the present horror from the time, Which now suits with it. Whilst I threat, he lives--Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath give 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.
21. ANTONY'S FUNERAL ORATION OVER CÆSAR'S
The evil that men do lives after them,
he was ambitious;
you have tears, prepare to shed them now, You all do know this mantle: I remember The first time ever Cæsar put it on; 'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent, That day be overcame the Nervii.Look! in this place ran Cassius' dagger through.
See, what a rent the envious Casca made
you here, Here is himself, marr’d, as you see, with traitors.
Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up To any
sudden flood of mutiny. They that have done this deed are honourable ; What private griefs they have, alas, I know not, That made them do it: they are wise and honourable ; And will, no doubt, with reason answer you. I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts ; I am no orator, as Brutus is; But as you know me all, a plain blunt man, That love my friend; and that they know full well That gave me public leave to speak of him. For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, To stir men's blood : I only speak right on: I tell you that which you yourselves do know; Show you sweet Cæsar's wounds, poor poor dumb mouths,
And bid them speak for me. But were I Brutus,
22. HAMLET'S SOLILOQUY ON HIS MOTHER'S MARRIAGE.
23. HAMLET'S SOLILOQUY ON DEATH.