IAGO
And what’s he then that says I play the villain,
When this advice is free I give, and honest,
Probal to thinking, and indeed the course
To win the Moor again? For ’tis most easy
Th’inclining Desdemona to subdue
In any honest suit.
How am I then a villain
To counsel Cassio to this parallel course
Directly to his good? Divinity of hell!
When devils will the blackest sins put on,
They do suggest at first with heavenly shows
As I do now. For whiles this honest fool
Plies Desdemona to repair his fortunes
And she for him pleads strongly to the Moor,
I’ll pour this pestilence into his ear:
That she repeals him for her body’s lust,
And by how much she strives to do him good,
She shall undo her credit with the Moor.
So will I turn her virtue into pitch,
And out of her own goodness make the net
That shall enmesh them all.
HERACLES comes from the Palace. He is drunkenly merry, with a myrtle wreath
on his head, and a large cup and wine-skin in his hands. He staggers a little.
HERACLES
Hey, you! Why so solemn and anxious? A servant should not be sullen with
guests, but greet them with a cheerful heart.
You see before you a man who is your lord's friend, and you greet him with a
gloomy, frowning face, because of your zeal about a strange woman's death.
Come here, and let me make you a little wiser!
With drunken gravity Know the nature of human life? Don't think you do. You
couldn't. Listen to me. All mortals must die. Isn't one who knows if he'll be
alive to-morrow morning. Who knows where Fortune will lead? Nobody can
teach it. Nobody learn it by rules. So, rejoice in what you hear, and learn from
me! Count each day as it comes as Life-and leave the rest to Fortune. Above
all, honour the Love Goddess, sweetest of all the Gods to mortal men, a kindly
goddess! Put all the rest aside. Trust in what I say, if you think I speak truth-as I
believe. Get rid of this gloom, rise superior to Fortune. Crown yourself with
flowers and drink with me, won't you? I know the regular clink of the wine-cup
will row you from darkness and gloom to another haven. Mortals should think
mortal thoughts. To all solemn and frowning men, life I say is not life, but a
disaster.
HAMLET
I have of late--but
wherefore I know not--lost all my mirth, forgone all
custom of exercises; and indeed it goes so heavily
with my disposition that this goodly frame, the
earth, seems to me a sterile promontory, this most
excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave
o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted
with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to
me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours.
What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason!
how infinite in faculty! in form and moving how
express and admirable! in action how like an angel!
in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the
world! the paragon of animals! And yet, to me,
what is this quintessence of dust? man delights not
me: no, nor woman neither, though by your smiling
you seem to say so.
