Capt. A. A wife, sir, did you say?

Sir A. Ay, a wife: why, did not I mention her before? Capt. A. Not a word of her, sir.

Sir A. Yes, Jack, the independence I was talking of is by marriage; the fortune is saddled with a wife; but I suppose that makes no difference?

Capt. A. Sir, sir, you amaze me!

Sir A. What's the matter with the fool?-just now you were all gratitude and duty.

Capt. A. I was, sir; you talked to me of independence and a fortune, but not one word of a wife.

Sir A. Why, what difference does that make? Sir, if you have the estate, you must take it with the live stock on it, as it stands.

Capt. A. Pray, sir, who is the lady?

Sir A. What's that to you, sir? Come, give me your promise to love, and to marry her directly.

Capt. A. Sure, sir, that's not very reasonable, to summon my affections for a lady I know nothing of!

Sir A. I am sure, sir, 'tis more unreasonable in you to object to a lady you know nothing of,—

Capt. A. You must excuse me, sir, if I tell you, once for all, that in this point I can not obey you.

Sir A. Hark ye, Jack; I have heard you for some time with patience,-I have been cool,-quite cool: but take care; you know I am compliance itself, when I am not thwarted; no one more easily led, when I have my own way; but don't put me in a frenzy.

Capt. A. Sir, I must repeat it; in this I can not obey you. Sir A. Now, hang me, if ever I call you Jack again, while I live!

Capt. A. Nay, sir, but hear me.

Sir A. Sir, I won't hear a word, not a word! not one word! So give me your promise by a nod, and I'll tell you what, Jack, I mean you dog,-if you don't by

Capt. A. What, sir, promise to link myself to some mass of ugliness; to

Sir A. Zounds! sirrah! the lady shall be as ugly as I choose she shall have a hump on each shoulder; she shall be as crooked as the crescent; her one eye shall roll like the bull's in Cox's museum; she shall have a skin like a mummy, and the beard of a Jew. She shall be all this, sirrah! Yes, I'll make you ogle her all day, and sit up all night to write sonnets on her beauty.

Capt. A. This is reason and moderation, indeed!

Sir A. None of your sneering, puppy! no grinning, jackanapes!

*Capt. A. Indeed, sir, I never was in a worse humor for mirth in

my

life.

Sir A. Tis false, sir; I know you are laughing in your sleeve; I know you'll grin when I am gone, sirrah!

Capt. A. Sir, I hope I know my duty better.

Sir A. None of your passion, sir! none of your violence, if you please; it won't do with me, I promise you.

Capt. A. Indeed, sir, I never was cooler in my life.

Sir A. 'Tis a confounded lie! I know you are in a passion in your heart; I know you are a hypocritical young dog; but it won't do.

word,—

Capt. A. Nay, sir, upon my Sir A. So you will fly out! Can't you be cool, like me? What good can passion do? Passion is of no service, you impudent, insolent, overbearing reprobate! There, you sneer again! Don't provoke me! But you rely on the mildness of my temper, you do, you dog! You play upon the meekness of my disposition! Yet take care; the patience of a saint may be overcome at last! But mark! I give you six hours and a half to consider of this; if you then agree, without any condition, to do every thing on earth that I choose, why, confound you! I may in time forgive you. If not, don't enter the same hemisphere with me! don't dare to breath the same air, or use the same light with me; but get an at mosphere and a sun of your own: I'll strip you of your com mission: I'll lodge a five-and-three-pence in the hands of your trustees, and you shall live on the interest. I'll disowu you; I'll disinherit you; and hang me, if ever I call you Jack again! [Exit.] Capt. A. Mild, gentle, considerate father, I kiss your hands.

Ex. CCXLVIII.-SCENE FROM THE MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S

DREAM

SHAKSPEARE.

SNUG, BOTTOM, FLUTE, SNOUT, QUINCE, and STARVELING.

Quin. Is all your company here?

Bot. You were best to call them generally, man by man, according to the scrip.

Quin. Here is the scroll of every man's name, which is thought fit, through all Athens, to play in our interlude before the duke and duchess, on his wedding-day at night.

Bot. First, good Peter Quince, say what the play treats on; then read the names of the actors; and so grow to a point.

Quin. Marry, our play is,-The most lamentable comedy, and most cruel death of Pyramus and Thisby.

Bot. A very good piece of work, I assure you, and a merry.-Now, good Peter Quince, call forth your actors by the scroll:-masters, spread yourselves.

Quin. Answer, as I call you.-Nick Bottom, the weaver! Bot. Ready!-Name what part I am for, and proceed. · Quin. You, Nick Bottom, are set down for Pyramus. Bot. What is Pyramus? a lover, or a tyrant?

Quin. A lover, that kills himself most gallantly for love. Bot. That will ask some tears in the true performing of it. If I do it, let the audience look to their eyes; I will move storms, I will condole in some measure. To the rest :- -Yet my chief humor is for a tyrant: I could play Ercles rarely, or a part to tear a cat in, to make all split.

"The raging rocks,

With shivering shocks,
Shall break the locks
Of prison-gates:
And Phibbus' car
Shall shine from far,

And make and mar

The foolish fates."

This was lofty!-Now name the rest of the players.-This is Ercles' vein, a tyrant's vein; a lover is more condoling.

Quin. Francis Flute, the bellows-mender.

Flu. Here, Peter Quince.

Quin. You must take Thisby on you.

Flu. What is Thisby? a wandering knight?

Quin. It is the lady that Pyramus must love.

Flu. Nay, faith, let me not play a woman; I have a beard a coming.

Quin. That's all one; you shall play it in a mask; and you may speak as small as you will.

Bot. An' I may hide my face, let me play Thisby too: I'll speak in a monstrous little voice;-Thisby, Thisby,—Ah, Pyramus, my lover dear; thy Thisby dear! and lady dear!

Quin. No, no; you must play Pyramus;-and, Flute, you

Quin. Robin Starveling, you must play Thisby's mother.Tom Snout, the tinker!

Snout. Here, Peter Quince!

Quin. You, Pyramus's father; myself, Thisby's father;Snug, the joiner, you, the lion's part;—and, I hope, here is a play fitted.

Snug. Have you the lion's part written? Pray you, if it be, give it me, for I am slow of study.

Quin. You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but roaring.

Bot. Let me play the lion too: I will roar, that I will do any man's heart good to hear me; I will roar that I will make the duke say, Let him roar again. Let him roar again.

Quin. An' 'you should do it too terribly, you would fright the duchess and the ladies, that they would shriek; and that were enough to hang us all.

All. That would hang us every mother's son.

Bot. I grant you, friends, that if you should fright the ladies out of their wits, they would have no more discretion but to hang us; but I will aggravate my voice so, that I will roar you as gently as any sucking dove; I will roar you an 't were any nightingale.

Quin. You can play no part but Pyramus: for Pyramus is a sweet-faced man; a proper man, as one shall see in a summer's day; a most lovely, gentleman-like man; therefore you must needs play Pyramus.

Bot. Well, I will undertake it. What beard were I best to play it in ?

Quin. Why, what you will.

Bot. I will discharge it in either your straw-colored beard, your orange-tawny beard, your purple-in-grain beard, or your French crown-color beard, your perfect yellow.

Quin. Some of your French crowns have no hair at all, and then you will play bare-faced.- But, masters, here are your parts: and I am to entreat you, request you, and desire you, to con them by to-morrow night; and meet me in the palace-wood, a mile without the town, by moon-light; there will we rehearse; for if we meet in the city, we shall be dogged with company, and our devices known. In the mean

time, I will draw a bill of properties, such as our play wants. I pray you, fail me not.

Bot. We will meet; and there we may rehearse more courageously. Take pains; be perfect; adieu.

Quin. At the duke's oak we meet.

Bot. Enough; "Hold, or cut bow-strings."

Ex. CCXLIX.-OTHELLO AND IAGO.

Iago. My noble lord

Othello. What dost thou say, Iago?

SHAKSPEARE.

Iago. Did Michael Cassio, when you wooed my lady,
Know of your love?

Oth. He did, from first to last. Why dost thou ask?
Iago. But for the satisfaction of my thoughts;

No further harm.

Oth. Why of thy thought, Iago?

Iago. I did not think he had been acquainted with her. Oth. O, yes; and went between us very oft.

Iago. Indeed.

Oth. Indeed! ay, indeed.-Discernest thou aught in that? Is he not honest ?

Iago. Honest, my lord?

Oth. Ay, honest.

Iago. My lord, for aught I know.

Oth. What dost thou think?

Iago. Think, my lord?

Oth. Think, my lord!

Why, thou dost echo me,

As if there were some monster in thy thought

Too hideous to be shown. Thou dost mean something;

I heard thee say but now, "I like not that,"

When Cassius left my wife. What didst not like?
And when I told thee he was of my counsel

In

my whole course of wooing, thou criedst, “Indeed!" And didst contract and purse thy brow together,

As if thou then hadst shut up in thy brain

Some horrible conceit. If thou dost love me,
Show me thy thought.

Iago. My lord, you know I love you.
Oth. I think thou dost ;