Shakespeare's Tragedy of Hamlet: Prince of DenmarkAmerican book Company, 1906 - 350 Seiten |
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accent Bernardo blood Castle Enter Claudius Clown conscience Cotgrave Cymb Dane dead dear death Denmark Dict doth Dowden earth Edwin Booth Elsinore England Enter HAMLET Exeunt Exit eyes father fear folio follow Fortinbras friends Furness gentleman Ghost give grace Hamlet hast hath hear heart heaven heraldry honour Horatio Jephthah John Johnson kill King Laertes Lear look Lord Hamlet M. N. D. iii Macb madness majesty Malone Marcellus means Moberly mother murder murther nature never night noble noun o'er Ophelia Osric passage passion play players poison'd Polonius pray prince Pyrrhus quarto Queen revenge Reynaldo Rich Rosencrantz and Guildenstern SCENE Schmidt sense Shakespeare Shakspere Society Sonn soul speak speech Steevens quotes sweet sword syllable tell Temp thee thing thou thought tongue uncle verb verse Whole word youth
Beliebte Passagen
Seite 98 - O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown ! The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's, eye, tongue, sword : The expectancy and rose of the fair state, The glass of fashion and the mould of form, The observed of all observers, quite, quite down!
Seite 101 - O, there be players that I have seen play, and heard others praise, and that highly, not to speak it profanely, that, neither having the accent of Christians nor the gait of Christian, pagan, nor man, have so strutted and bellowed that I have thought some of nature's journeymen had made men and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abominably.
Seite 101 - And let those that play your clowns, speak no more than is set down for them : for there be of them, that will themselves laugh, to set on some quantity of barren spectators to laugh too ; though, in the mean time, some necessary question of the play be then to be considered: that's villainous; and . shows a most pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it.
Seite 163 - Alas, poor Yorick ! I knew him, Horatio : a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy : he hath borne me on his back a thousand times ; and now how abhorred in my imagination it is ! my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now ? your gambols ? your songs ? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar...
Seite 114 - Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me. You would play upon me; you would seem to know my stops; you would pluck out the heart of my mystery; you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass; and there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ, yet cannot you make it speak. 'Sblood, do you think I am easier to be played on than a pipe? Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me.
Seite 95 - The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, The insolence of office, and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin...
Seite 66 - Pale as his shirt; his knees knocking each other; And with a look so piteous in purport, As if he had been loosed out of hell, To speak of horrors, — he comes before me.
Seite 125 - Ecstasy ! My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time, And makes as healthful music : it is not madness That I have utter'd : bring me to the test, And I the matter will re-word ; which madness Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace, Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, That not your trespass, but my madness speaks : It will but skin and film the ulcerous place, Whilst rank corruption, mining all within, Infects unseen.
Seite 182 - Horatio, what a wounded name, Things standing thus unknown, shall live behind me ! If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart, Absent thee from felicity awhile, And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain, To tell my story.
Seite 182 - To the ambassadors of England gives This warlike volley. Ham. O, I die, Horatio ; The potent poison quite o'er-crows my spirit : 1 cannot live to hear the news from England ; But I do prophesy the election lights On Fortinbras : he has my dying voice ; So tell him, with the occurrents, more and less, Which have solicited. The rest is silence. [Dies. Hor. Now cracks a noble heart. Good night, sweet prince ; And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest ! Why does the drum come hither ? [March within.