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796.

Narrative manner.

Thus, long ago,

Ere heaving bellows learned to blow,
While organs yet were mute,
Timotheus, to his breathing flute
And sounding lyre,

Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire.

797.

Pleasure.

At last, divine Cecilia came,
Inventress of the vocal frame.

The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store,
Enlarged the former narrow bounds,
And added length to solemn sounds,
With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before.

Concluding.

Let old Timotheus yield the prize,

Or both divide the crown:

Awe.

He raised a mortal to the skies;

Delight.

She drew an angel down.-Dryden.

OTHELLO'S APOLOGY FOR HIS MARRIAGE.

Most potent, grave, and reverend seignors:
My very noble and approv'd 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
Hath this extent; no more. Rude am I in speech,
And little bless'd with the set phrase of peace:
For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith,
Till now, some nine moons wasted, they have us'd
Their dearest action in the tented field;
And little of this great world can I speak,
More than pertains to feats of broils and battle:
And therefore little shall I grace my cause,
In speaking of myself. Yet by your patience,
I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver,

Of my whole course of love, what drugs, what charms,

What conjuration, and what mighty magic,
(For such proceedings I am charg'd withal,)
I won his daughter with.

Her father loved me; oft invited me;
Still question'd me the story of my life

From year to year the battles, sieges, fortunes,
That I had past.

I ran it through, e'en from my boyish days
To the very moment that he bade me tell it.
Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances:
Of moving accidents by flood and field;

Of hairbreadth 'scapes in th' imminent deadly breach;
Or being taken by the insolent foe,

And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence,
And with it all my travel's history.

-All these 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
Devour up my discourse. Which I observing,
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 distinctly. 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, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange; 'Twas pitiful; 'twas wondrous pitiful;

She wish'd she had not heard it; yet she wish'd

That heaven had made her such a man.

She thank'd me:

And bade me, if I had a friend that lov'd her,

I should but teach him how to tell my story,

And that would woo her. On this hint I spake ;
She lov'd me for the dangers I had pass'd;

And I lov'd her that she did pity them.

This only is the witchcraft which I've us'd.-Shakspeare.

THE END.

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A considerable portion of this book, as will be seen by the date in
the Preface, was printed in January, 1835. Circumstances, which it is
unnecessary to detail, have delayed the publication until the present

time.

12, Orange Street, May 2d, 1836.

R. G. P.

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