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SLANDER.

RECKLESS AS TO THE INNOCENCE OF ITS OBJECT.

Duke. No might nor greatness in mortality Can censure 'scape; back-wounding calumny The whitest virtue strikes: what king so strong, Can tie the gall up in the slanderer's tongue ?

Measure for Measure. Act iii. Scene 2.

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Laertes. Virtue itself 'scapes not calumnious strokes.

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For ever hous'd, where it once gets possession.

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Whose edge is sharper than the sword; whose tongue

Outvenoms all the worms of Nile; whose breath
Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie

All corners of the world, &c., &c.

King.

Slander,

Cymbeline. Act iii. Scene 4.

Whose whisper o'er the world's diameter,
As level as the cannon to his blank,
Transports his poison'd shot.

Hamlet. Act iv. Scene 1.

PUBLIC slander (the slander of the public press) is one of the most prominent crimes of the present day. No learning, no piety, no virtue, no benevolence shields the victim. The most secret affections, the innocent retirements of the home circle, are outraged and paraded before the gaze of the multitude,--and all from motives of political rancour. The friends of the liberty of the press are beginning almost to doubt whether that can be a blessing which leads to such a curse as its licentiousness! Where it will stop no one knows. If the sin had rested with one political party, there might be better hopes; but all have been guilty-it matters not whether in different degrees,- all have without scruple sacrificed principles for personalities. And the feeling in favour of discussion as free as air, renders the law of libel almost a dead letter. The existence of such a state of things is lamentable. Where can a remedy be found? Only in the moral education of the peopleand that cure, how slow!

Macbeth.

SLEEP.

ITS VIRTUES.

Innocent sleep;

Sleep, that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care,
The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath,
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course,
Chief nourisher in life's feast.

Macbeth. Act ii. Scene 2,

Lady Macbeth. You lack the season of all natures, sleep.

Ibid. Act iii. Scene 4.

K. Henry. How many thousand of my poorest subjects Are at this hour asleep!-Sleep, gentle sleep,

Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,

That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down,

And steep my senses in forgetfulness?

Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs,

Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,

And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber;
Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great,
Under the canopies of costly state,

And lull'd with sounds of sweetest melody?
Oh, thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile,
In loathsome beds; and leav'st the kingly couch,

A watch-case, or a common larum bell?
Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast
Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains
In cradle of the rude, imperious surge;
And in the visitation of the winds,

Who take the ruffian billows by the top,
Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them
With deaf'ning clamours in the slippery clouds,
That, with the hurly, death itself awakes?
Canst thou, oh partial sleep, give thy repose
To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude;
Yet,* in the calmest and most stillest night,
With all appliances and means to boot,

Deny it to a king? Then, happy low, lie down!
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.

2nd part King Henry IV. Act iii, Scene 1.

Prince Henry.

ITS RESEMBLANCE TO DEATH.

By his gates of breath

There lies a downy feather, which stirs not:

Did he suspire, that light and weightless down

Perforce must move.-My gracious lord! my father!This sleep is sound indeed: this is a sleep,

That from this golden rigol + hath divorced

So many English kings.

2nd part King Henry IV. Act iv. Scene 4.

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SHOULD ACCOMPANY YOUTH AND HEALTH.

Friar Laurence. Young son, it argues a distemper'd head,

So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed:

Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye,

And where care lodges, sleep will never lie;

But where unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain
Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign;
Therefore thy earliness doth me assure,

Thou art up-rous'd by some distemperature.

Romeo and Juliet. Act ii. Scene 3.

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