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"Art thou that traitor angel, art thou he,
Who first broke peace in heaven, and faith, till then
3. OTHELLO VOWS REVENGE ON CASSIO.
Ọ that the slave had forty thousand lives!
All my fond love thus do I blow to heaven! 't is gone!
Yield up, O Love, thy crown and hearted throne,
To tyrannous Hate! Swell, bosom, with thy fraught,
O blood, Iago, blood! –
Like to the Pontic sea
4. REPLY TO CORRY. The right honorable gentleman has called me "an unimpeached traitor." I ask, why not traitor unqualified by any
epithet? I will tell him: it was because he... dare not. It was the act of a... coward who raises his arm to strike, but has not courage to give the blow. I will not call him... villain; because it would be unparliamentary, and he is a privy councilor. I will not call him... fool; because he happens to be Chancellor of the Exchequer. But I say he is one who has abused the privilege of Parliament and the freedom of debate, to the uttering language, which, if spoken out of the House, I should answer... only with a blow! I care not how high his situation, how low his character, how contemptible his speech; whether a privy councilor or a parasite, my answer would be a blow!
5. STILLNESS AND AWE.
Creation sleeps: 't is as the general pulse
6. THE UNION. Daniel Webster.
Middle Pitch. Quality Orotund. - Force gentle and afterwards loud. Intonations profoundly emotional, but changing with the sentiment.
While the Union lasts, we have high, exciting, gratifying prospects spread out before us, for us and our children. Beyond that I seek not to penetrate the veil. God grant that, in iny day, at least, that curtain may not rise! God grant that on my vision never may be opened what lies behind! When my eyes shall be turned to behold, for the last time, the sun in heaven, may I not see him shining on the broken and dishonored fragments of a once glorious Union; on States severed, discordant, belligerent; on a land rent with civil feuds, or drenched, it may be, in fraternal blood! Let their last feeble and lingering glance, rather, behold the gorgeous ensign of the Republic, now known and honored throughout the earth, still full high advanced, its arms and trophies streaming in their original lustre, not a stripe erased or polluted, nor a single star obscured, — bearing, for its motto, no such miserable interrogatory as, What is all this worth? nor those other words of delusion and folly, Liberty first and Union afterwards;—but
everywhere, spread all over in characters of living light, blaz ing on all its ample folds, as they float over the sea and over the land, and in every wind under the whole heavens, that other sentiment, dear to every true American heart, Liberty and Union, now and forever, one and inseparable!
7. THE RAVEN. Poe.
Quality aspirated. Pitch middle, inclining to low. -Force moderate.
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Ah! distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,
And the silken, sad, uncertain . . . rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me, filled me with fantastic... terrors, never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, "Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door, Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; This it is and nothing more.".
8. BERTUCCIO'S ADDRESS.
Bold Orotund Quality. - Middle Pitch. Time moderate. stately and grand.
We will not strike for private wrongs alone:
We must forget all feelings save the one;
So that the sacrifice ascend to Heaven,
And draw down freedom on her evermore.
"But if we fail -?" They never fail who die
They but augment the deep and sweeping thoughts
9. HENRY V. TO HIS TROOPS. - Shakespeare,
Orotund Quality. - Middle Pitch. -- Closing with High Pitch and Loud Force.
Once more unto the breach', dear friends, once more`;
peace there's nothing so becomes a man,
But when the blast of war' blows in our ears,
Let it pry through the portage of the head',
Now set the teeth', and stretch the nostril wide;
10. BUGLE SONG.
Pure, clear Quality. Middle Pitch. Moderate Force, with imitative
The splendor falls on castle walls,
And snowy summits old in story;
And the wild cataract leaps in glory.
Blow, bugle, blow! set the wild echoes flying;
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying!
O hark, O hear! how thin and clear,
And thinner, clearer, farther going!
The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes,—dying, dying, dying!
O love, they die in yon rich sky;
They faint on hill, or field, or river:
Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
And grow forever and forever.
Blow, bugle, blow! set the wild echoes flying,
Bold, pure Orotund Quality. - Middle Pitch. - Impassioned Tone.
Clime of the unforgotten brave!
Whose land from plain to mountain-cave
These waters blue that round you lave,
their story not unknown