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6. Shylock's Gratification in the expectation of Revenge. Antonio-a bankrupt, a prodigal, who dare scarce show his head on the Rialto; a beggar, that used to come so smug upon the mart.-Let him look to his bond he was wont to call me usurer;-let him look to his bond: he was wont to lend money for a Christian courtesy ;-let him look to his bond."

:

His flesh-what's that good for?

If it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge! He hath disgraced me, and hindered me of half a million; laughed at my losses, mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated my enemies;-and what's his reason? I am a Jew! Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? Is he not fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same summer and winter, as a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And, if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian example? Why, revenge. The villany you teach me, I will execute; and it shall go hard, but I will better the instruction.

(Antonio enters, in custody.) Gaoler, look to him. Tell not me of mercy ;

This is the fool that lends out money gratis ;-
Gaoler, look to him.

I'll have my bond; speak not against my bond:
Thou called'st me dog, before thou had'st a cause,
But since I am a dog, beware my fangs;

I'll have my bond; I will not hear thee speak :
I'll have
my bond;
and therefore speak no more.

I'll not be made a soft and dull-eyed fool,
To shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yield
To Christian intercessors. Follow not;
I'll have no speaking: I will have my bond.

(3.) REMORSE AND DESPAIR.

1. Description of Remorse.

Shakspeare.

And first within the porch and jaws of Hell
Sat deep Remorse of Conscience, all besprent
With tears; and to herself oft would she tell
Her wretchedness, and cursing never stent
To sob and sigh; but ever thus lament
With thoughtful care, as she that all in vain
Would wear and waste continually in pain.
Her eyes unsteadfast, rolling here and there,
Whirl'd on each place, as place that vengeance
brought;

So was her mind continually in fear,

Toss'd and tormented by the tedious thought Of those detested crimes which she had wrought: With dreadful cheer and looks thrown to the sky, Wishing for death, and yet she could not die. Earl of Dorset.

2. Othello's Remorse.

But why should honour outlive honesty?

Uncle, I must come forth:

Behold! I have a weapon,—

A better never did itself sustain

Upon a soldier's thigh: I have seen the day
That with this little arm, and this good sword,
I have made my way through more impediments
Than twice your stop. But, O vain boast!

Who can control his fate? 'Tis not so now!
Be not afraid, though you do see me weapon'd;
Here is my journey's end, here is my butt,
And very sea-mark of my utmost sail.

Do you go back dismay'd? 'Tis a lost fear;
Make but a rush against Othello's breast,

And he retires ;-Where should Othello go?

fiends,

Now, how dost thou look now? O, ill-starr'd wench!
Pale, as thy sheet ! When we shall meet at compt,
This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven,
And fiends will snatch at it. Cold, cold, my girl!
O wretched, wretched slave !-Whip me, all
ye
From the possession of this heavenly sight!
Blow me about in winds! Roast me in sulphur!
Wash me in steep-down guilt of liquid fire!-
O Desdemona! dead Desdemona, dead-Oh, oh !
Shakspeare.

3. A Mother's violent Grief and Despair.

(The Lady Constance on the Imprisonment of her Son,
Prince Arthur.)

I defy all counsel, all redress

But that which ends all counsel, true redress.
Death, death, O amiable, lovely death!
Thou hate and terror to posterity;-
Come, grin on me; and I will think thou smil'st,
And kiss thee, as thy wife! Misery's love,
O, come to me!

I am not mad; this hair I tear is mine;
My name is Constance; I was Geoffrey's wife;
Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost :
I am not mad;-I would I were !
For then, 'tis like I should forget myself!
O, if I could, what grief should I forget
I am not mad: too well, to well I feel
The different plague of each calamity.
O, that these hands could so redeem my son,
As they have given these hairs their liberty!
But now I envy at their liberty,

And will again commit them to their bonds,
Because my poor child is a prisoner.
And now will canker sorrow eat my bud,

And chase the native beauty from his cheek,
And he will look as hollow as a ghost,
As dim and meagre as an ague's fit;
And so he'll die; and rising so again,

When I shall meet him in the courts of heaven
I shall not know him: therefore, never, never
Must I behold my pretty Arthur more.
Fare you well: had you such a loss as I,
I could give better comfort than you do :-
Alas! my boy, my Arthur, my fair son!
My life, my joy, my food, my all the world!
My widow-comfort, and my sorrows' cure!

Shakspeare.

4. Despair at Separation from a Lover. "Parting!" "Farewell!" Am I alive? Falkner? Thou lovest me? I have not offended thee?

I have said nothing to have wrought this change? Or have I loved thee so devotedly,

My very truth is turned into offence?

What have I done, that I should see thee thus,
With looks that do avoid, and love me not?
Oh, be thou merciful, and kill me, Falkner !
Oh, was it right-or kind-or generous-
To woo-yet wound: to sue-yet sting the heart?
Whose only weakness was in too much faith!
Hear me !

And pause; yea, pause awile, my Falkner;
I am not one to bear this agony,

Nor wait the gradual breaking of a heart;

And should we meet, indeed, no more on earth,
Then tremble, Falkner, lest we meet hereafter!
No, say it not!

Thou wilt not say "farewell?"

Oh, Falkner, show some pity; or, if thou goest,
Then fear what I may do! Fear and despair!
I am distracted, wild-'twere madness now
To leave me to myself.

do!

I know not what to do or what may
I am distraught with more than brain can bear.

5. Death-bed Despair.

C. Swain.

"Pray you that can"-he said "I never prayed. I cannot pray. Heaven closes with my conscience. Its severest strokes but second my own.'

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Let me speak on. I have not long to speak. My much injured friend! my soul-as my body-lies in ruins; in scattered fragments of broken thought! Remorse for the past, throws my thought on the future. Worse dread of the future, strikes it back on the past. I turn, and turn, and find no ray. Did you feel half the mountain that is on me, you would struggle with the martyr for his stake, and bless Heaven for the flames! That is not an everlasting flame;—that is not an unquenchable fire!"

And then, with what an eye of distraction, what a face of despair, he cried out-" My principles have poisoned my friend! my extravagance has beggared my boy! my unkindness has murdered my wife! And is there another Hell? Oh! Hell itself will be a refuge, if it hide me from thy frown!"-Young.

6. Despair with Madness.

(The Death of Cardinal Beaufort.)

If thou be'est Death, I'll give thee England's treasure,
Enough to purchase such another island,

So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain!
Ah!-

Bring me unto my trial when you will.

Died he not in his bed? Where should he die?
Can I make men live, whether they will or no?
Oh, torture me no more, I will confess-
Alive again? Then show me where he is:
I'll give a thousand pounds to look upon him.
He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them;

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