OTHELLO'S DEFENCE.

signiors,

My very noble and approved good masters,
That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter,
It is most true; true, I have married her :
The very head and front of my offending

Do grow beneath their shoulders. This to hear, Would Desdemona seriously incline:

But still the house affairs would draw her thence; Which ever as she could with haste despatch, She'd come again, and with a greedy ear

speech,

And little blessed with the soft phrase of peace;
For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith,
Till now, some nine moons wasted, they have used
Their dearest action in the tented field;
And little of this great world can I speak,
More than pertains to feats of broil and battle;
And therefore little shall I grace my cause,
In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious
patience,

I will a round unvarnished tale deliver

Took once a pliant hour; and found good means
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart,
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate,
Whereof by parcels she had something heard,
But not intentively: I did consent;
And often did beguile her of her tears,
When I did speak of some distressful stroke,
That my youth suffered. My story being done,
She gave me for my pains a world of sighs :
She swore,
in faith 't was strange, 't was pass-
ing strange;

I'll present

How I did thrive in this fair lady's love,
And she in mine.

Her father loved me; oft invited me ;
Still questioned me the story of my life,

From year to year; -the battles, sieges, fortunes,
That I have passed.

I ran it through, even from my boyish days,
To th' very moment that he bade me tell it :
Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances,
Of moving accidents by flood and field;
Of hair-breadth 'scapes i' the imminent deadly
breach ;

Of being taken by the insolent foe,
And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence,
And portance in my travel's history:
Wherein of antres vast, and deserts idle,
Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads

touch heaven,

She wished she had not heard it, yet she wished

That Heaven had made her such a man: she thanked me;

And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her,
I should teach him how to tell my story,
And that would woo her. Upon this hint, I spake:
She loved me for the dangers I had passed;
And I loved her that she did pity them.
This only is the witchcraft I have used:
Here comes the lady, let her witness it.

Enter DESDEMONA, IAGO, and Attendants.
DUKE. I think this tale would win my daugh-

THE GARDEN SCENE.

འ

FROM ROMEO AND JULIET."

Retain that dear perfection which he owes, Without that title. - Romeo, doff thy name; And for that name, which is no part of thee,

wound.

(JULIET appears above, at a window.) But, soft! what light through yonder window

breaks?

It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief,

ROM.

I take thee at thy word: Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized; Henceforth I never will be Romeo.

JUL. What man art thou, that, thus bescreened in night,

So stumblest on my counsel ?
ROM.

By a name

Be not her maid, since she is envious; Her vestal livery is but sick and green, And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.

It is my lady; O, it is my love!

O that she knew she were !

My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,
Because it is an enemy to thee:

Had I it written, I would tear the word.

JUL. My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words

that?

Her eye discourses, I will answer it.
I am too bold, 't is not to me she speaks:
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do entreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
What if her eyes were there, they in her head?
The brightness of her cheek would shame those
stars,

As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven
Would through the airy region stream so bright,
That birds would sing, and think it were not
night.

See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
O, that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek!

She speaks :

O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art
As is glorious to this night, being o'er my head,
As is a wingéd messenger of heaven
Unto the white-upturnéd wondering eyes
Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him,
When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds,
And sails upon the bosom of the air.

JUL. O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou
Romeo?

Deny thy father, and refuse thy name;

Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I'll no longer be a Capulet.

speak at this?

JUL. T is but thy name, that is my enemy ;· Thou art thyself though, not a Montague. What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part Belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What's in a name? that which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet; So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called,

I would adventure for such merchandise.
JUL. Thou know'st the mask of night is on my

face;

Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek, For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night. Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny What I have spoke; but farewell compliment! Dost thou love me? I know, thou wilt say, Ay; And I will take thy word; yet, if thou swear'st,

Thou mayst prove false: at lover's perjuries,
They say, Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo,
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully :
Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won,
I'll frown and be perverse, and say thee nay,
So thou wilt woo; but, else, not for the world.
In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond;
And therefore thou mayst think my 'havior light:
But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true
Than those that have more cunning to be strange.
I should have been more strange, I must confess,
But that thou overheard'st, ere I was ware,
My true love's passion: therefore, pardon me;
And not impute this yielding to light love,
Which the dark night hath so discovered.

Roм. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear, That tips with silver all these fruit-tree topsJUL. O, swear not by the moon, th' inconstant

moon,

JUL. Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract to-night: It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden; Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be, Ere one can say, It lightens. Sweet, good night! This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet. Good night, good night! as sweet repose and rest Come to thy heart as that within my breast! ROM. O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied? JUL. What satisfaction canst thou have tonight?

By and by; I come :-
To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief:
To-morrow will I send.

ROM.
So thrive my soul,
JUL. A thousand times good night! [Exit above.
ROM. A thousand times the worse, to want

thy light.

Love goes toward love, as school-boys from their books;

But love from love, toward school with heavy looks. [Retiring.]

(Re-enter JULIET, above.)

JUL. Hist! Romeo, hist! - O, for a falconer's

voice,

JUL. I gave thee mine before thou didst re

quest it:

And yet I would it were to give again.

ROM. Wouldst thou withdraw it? for what purpose, love?

JUL. But to be frank, and give it thee again. And yet I wish but for the thing I have: My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love is deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite.

[NURSE calls within.] I hear some noise within. Dear love, adieu !— Anon, good nurse! Sweet Montague, be true. Stay but a little, I will come again. [Exit above.

ROM. O blesséd, blesséd night! I am afeard, Being in night, all this is but a dream, Too flattering-sweet to be substantial.

ROM. Let me stand here till thou remember it. JUL. Ishall forget, to have thee still stand there, Remembering how I love thy company.

ROM. And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget, Forgetting any other home but this.

JUL. 'Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone:

And yet no farther than a wanton's bird;
Who lets it hop a little from her hand,
Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,
And with a silk thread plucks it back again,
So loving-jealous of his liberty.

ROM. I would I were thy bird.

JUL. Sweet, so would I : Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing.

The side she breshed felt full o' sun
Ez a south slope in Ap'il.

She thought no v'ice hed sech a swing
Ez hisn in the choir;

My! when he made Ole Hundred ring,
She knowed the Lord was nigher.

An' she'd blush scarlit, right in prayer,
When her new meetin'-bunnet
Felt somehow thru' its crown a pair
O' blue eyes sot upon it.

Thet night, I tell ye, she looked some!
She seemed to 've gut a new soul,
For she felt sartin-sure he'd come,
Down to her very shoe-sole.

She heered a foot, an' knowed it tu,
A-raspin' on the scraper,
All ways to once her feelin's flew
Like sparks in burnt-up paper.

He kin' o' l'itered on the mat,
Some doubtfle o' the sekle,
His heart kep' goin' pity-pat,
But hern went pity Zekle.

An' yit she gin her cheer a jerk

Ez though she wished him furder, An' on her apples kep' to work, Parin' away like murder.

"You want to see my Pa, I s'pose?"

"Wal... no... I come dasignin'". "To see my Ma? She's sprinklin' clo'es Agin to-morrer's i'nin'."

To say why gals acts so or so,

Or don't, 'ould be presumin'; Mebby to mean yes an' say no

Comes nateral to women.

He stood a spell on one foot fust,

Then stood a spell on t' other, An' on which one he felt the wust

He could n't ha' told ye nuther.

Says he, "I'd better call agin";

Says she, "Think likely, Mister"; Thet last word pricked him like a pin, An'... Wal, he up an' kist her.

When Ma bimeby upon 'em slips,
Huldy sot pale ez ashes,
All kin' o' smily roun' the lips

An' teary roun' the lashes.

For she was jes' the quiet kind
Whose naturs never vary,

Like streams that keep a summer mind
Snowhid in Jenooary.

The blood clost roun' her heart felt glued
Too tight for all expressin',
Tell mother see how metters stood,
And gin 'em both her blessin'.

Then her red come back like the tide
Down to the Bay o' Fundy,

An' all I know is they was cried
In meetin' come nex' Sunday.

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

THE LAIRD O' COCKPEN.

THE laird o' Cockpen he's proud and he's great,
His mind is ta'en up with the things o' the state;
He wanted a wife his braw house to keep,
But favor wi' wooin' was fashious to seek.

Down by the dyke-side a lady did dwell,
At his table-head he thought she'd look well;
M'Lish's ae daughter o' Claverse-ha' Lee,
A penniless lass wi' a lang pedigree.

His wig was weel pouthered, and as gude as new;
His waistcoat was white, his coat it was blue;
He put on a ring, a sword, and cocked hat,
And wha could refuse the Laird wi' a' that?

He took the gray mare, and rade cannily -
And rapped at the yett o' Claverse-ha' Lee:
"Gae tell Mistress Jean to come speedily ben,
She's wanted to speak to the Laird o' Cock pen."

Mistress Jean was makin' the elder-flower wine :

“And what brings the Laird at sic a like time?"
She put aff her apron, and on her silk gown,
Her mutch wi' red ribbons, and gaed awa' down.

And when she cam' ben, he bowed fu' low,
And what was his errand he soon let her know;
Amazed was the Laird when the lady said "Na";
And wi' a laigh curtsey she turned awa'.

Dumbfoundered he was nae sigh did he gie;
He mounted his mare - he rade cannily;
And aften he thought, as he gaed through the glen,
She's daft to refuse the Laird o' Cockpen.

And now that the Laird his exit had made,
Mistress Jean she reflected on what she had said;
"Oh! for ane I'll get better, it's waur I'll get ten,
I was daft to refuse the Laird o' Cockpen."

Next time that the Laird and the lady were seen, They were gaun arm-in-arm to the kirk on the

THE LITTLE MILLINER.

My girl hath violet eyes and yellow hair,
A soft hand, like a lady's, small and fair,
A sweet face pouting in a white straw bonnet,
A tiny foot, and little boot upon it;
And all her finery to charm beholders

Is the gray shawl drawn tight around her shoulders,
The plain stuff-gown and collar white as snow,
And sweet red petticoat that peeps below.
But gladly in the busy town goes she,
Summer and winter, fearing nobodie;
She pats the pavement with her fairy feet,
With fearless eyes she charms the crowded street;
And in her pocket lie, in lieu of gold,
A lucky sixpence and a thimble old.

We lodged in the same house a year ago:
She on the topmost floor, I just below,
She, a poor milliner, content and wise,
I, a poor city clerk, with hopes to rise;
And, long ere we were friends, I learnt to love
The little angel on the floor above.
For, every morn, ere from my bed I stirred,
Her chamber door would open, and I heard,
And listened, blushing, to her coming down,
And palpitated with her rustling gown,
And tingled while her foot went downward slow,
Creaked like a cricket, passed, and died below;
Then peeping from the window, pleased and sly,
I saw the pretty shining face go by,
A sunbeam in the quiet morning street.
Healthy and rosy, fresh from slumber sweet,

Red to the ears I from my chamber slipt,
And every night, when in from work she tript,
Her low "Good evening," as she passed me there.
That I might hear upon the narrow stair
And when her door was closed, below sat I,
And hearkened stilly as she stirred on high,
Watched the red firelight shadows in the room,
Fashioned her face before me in the gloom,
And heard her close the window, lock the door,
Moving about more lightly than before,
And thought, "She is undressing now!" and O,
My cheeks were hot, my heart was in a glow!
And I made pictures of her, standing bright
Before the looking-glass in bed-gown white,
Unbinding in a knot her yellow hair,
Then kneeling timidly to say a prayer;
Till, last, the floor creaked softly overhead,
'Neath bare feet tripping to the little bed,
And all was hushed. Yet still I hearkened on,

Till the faint sounds about the streets were gone;
And saw her slumbering with lips apart,
One little hand upon her little heart,
The other pillowing a face that smiled

In slumber like the slumber of a child,
The bright hair shining round the small white ear,