Hamlet: Entire Play - 16 views
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The graves stood tenantless and the sheeted dead
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Chloe Horsfall on 17 Oct 13The theme of Death is noticed throughout the whole play
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immortal
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skull,
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twelve
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mouse stirring
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This bodes some strange eruption to our state.
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Stay! speak, speak! I charge thee, speak!
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you tremble and look pale:
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Good now, sit down, and tell me, he that knows, Why this same strict and most observant watch So nightly toils the subject of the land, And why such daily cast of brazen cannon, And foreign mart for implements of war; Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore task Does not divide the Sunday from the week; What might be toward, that this sweaty haste Doth make the night joint-labourer with the day: Who is't that can inform me?
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our valiant Hamlet
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Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets: As stars with trains of fire and dews of blood, Disasters in the sun; and the moist star Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse: And even the like precurse of fierce events, As harbingers preceding still the fates And prologue to the omen coming on, Have heaven and earth together demonstrated Unto our climatures and countrymen.-- But soft, behold! lo, where it comes again!
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Stay, illusion!
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Cock crows
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Speak to me: If there be any good thing to be done, That may to thee do ease and grace to me, Speak to me:
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For it is, as the air, invulnerable,
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The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn, Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat Awake the god of day; and, at his warning, Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air, The extravagant and erring spirit hies To his confine: and of the truth herein This present object made probation
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malicious mockery
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Saviour's birth is celebrated,
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guilty thing Upon a fearful summons.
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Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it, As needful in our loves, fitting our duty?
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With mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage,
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Now follows, that you know
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And now, Laertes, what's the news with you? You told us of some suit; what is't, Laertes? You cannot speak of reason to the Dane, And loose your voice: what wouldst thou beg, Laertes, That shall not be my offer, not thy asking? The head is not more native to the heart, The hand more instrumental to the mouth, Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father. What wouldst thou have, Laertes?
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How is it that the clouds still hang on you?
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ot so, my lord; I am too much i' the sun
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thy nighted colour off,
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dust:
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Seems, madam! nay it is; I know not 'seems.' 'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, Nor customary suits of solemn black, Nor windy suspiration of forced breath, No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, Nor the dejected 'havior of the visage, Together with all forms, moods, shapes of grief, That can denote me truly: these indeed seem, For they are actions that a man might play: But I have that within which passeth show; These but the trappings and the suits of woe
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It shows a will most incorrect to heaven, A heart unfortified, a mind impatient, An understanding simple and unschool'd: For what we know must be and is as common As any the most vulgar thing to sense, Why should we in our peevish opposition Take it to heart? Fie! 'tis a fault to heaven, A fault against the dead, a fault to nature,
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I shall in all my best obey you, madam.
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canon
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Frailty, thy name is woman!
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My father's brother, but no more like my father Than I to Hercules
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O, most wicked speed, to post With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!
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O, that this too too solid flesh would melt Thaw and resolve itself into a dew! Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd
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How strange or odd soe'er I bear myself, As I perchance hereafter shall think meet To put an antic disposition on,
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He will stay till ye come.
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Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
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To be, or not to be: that is the question:
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Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
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O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I!
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'Swounds, I should take it: for it cannot be But I am pigeon-liver'd and lack gall To make oppression bitter, or ere this I should have fatted all the region kites With this slave's offal: bloody, bawdy villain! Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain! O, vengeance! Why, what an ass am I!
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Bernardo?
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HAMLET
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That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature
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To die: to sleep; No more; and by a sleep to say we end The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep; To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub
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For who would bear the whips and scorns of time
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But that the dread of something after death, The undiscover'd country from whose bourn No traveller returns, puzzles the will And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of?
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Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.
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Give thy thoughts no tongue, Nor any unproportioned thought his act. Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel; But do not dull thy palm with entertainment Of each new-hatch'd, unfledged comrade. Beware Of entrance to a quarrel, but being in, Bear't that the opposed may beware of thee. Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice; Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment. Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy; For the apparel oft proclaims the man, And they in France of the best rank and station Are of a most select and generous chief in that. Neither a borrower nor a lender be; For loan oft loses both itself and friend, And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. This above all: to thine ownself be true, And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man. Farewell: my blessing season this in thee!
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Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit, And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, I will be brief: your noble son is mad:
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In heaven; send hither to see: if your messenger find him not there, seek him i' the other place yourself. But indeed, if you find him not within this month, you shall nose him as you go up the stairs into the lobby.
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There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will,--
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Is Hamlet saying that there is a higher power controlling their fate or that their lives have already been planned?
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He learned something from this experience. He says that he couldn't sleep because he had contradictory feelings that kept him awake and made him feel worse than revolutionaries in shackles, so he acted on impulse. Hamlet then pauses the story to praise impulsive action in general, as "indiscretion"
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the funeral baked meats Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.
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In the dead vast and middle of the night,
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I'll speak to it, though hell itself should gape
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Hold it a fashion and a toy in blood, A violet in the youth of primy nature,
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The perfume and suppliance of a minute;
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With juice of cursed hebenon in a vial, And in the porches of my ears did pour The leperous distilment; whose effect Holds such an enmity with blood of man That swift as quicksilver it courses through The natural gates and alleys of the body,
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God willing, shall not lack. Let us go in together; And still your fingers on your lips, I pray. The time is out of joint: O cursed spite, That ever I was born to set it right!
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Tush, tush, 'twill not appear.
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When yond same star that's westward from the pole Had made his course to illume that part of heaven Where now it burns
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[Aside] A little more than kin, and less than kind
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In the same figure, like the king that's dead.
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Together with that fair and warlike form In which the majesty of buried Denmark
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In equal scale weighing delight and dole,--
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But break, my heart; for I must hold my tongue.
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We heard it all. My lord, do as you please; But, if you hold it fit, after the play Let his queen mother all alone entreat him To show his grief: let her be round with him; And I'll be placed, so please you, in the ear Of all their conference. If she find him not, To England send him, or confine him where Your wisdom best shall think
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And then, sir, does he this--he does--what was I about to say? By the mass, I was about to say something: where did I leave?
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How now! a rat? Dead, for a ducat, dead!
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I mean, my head upon your lap?
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country matters
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I think nothing, my lord
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You are naught, you are naught: I'll mark the play.
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Hamlet, this deed, for thine e
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O heavy deed! It had been so with us, had we been there: His liberty is full of threats to all; To you yourself, to us, to every one.
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Madness. Gertrude has just told her husband how Hamlet murdered Polonius blindly, the king says that this murder is a serious matter, especially serious because the victim could just as well been himself.
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Madness. Gertrude has just told her husband how Hamlet murdered Polonius blindly, the king says that this murder is a serious matter, especially serious because the victim could just as well been himself. It's weird how he doesn't mourn Polonius' death, just worries about himself.
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Mad as the sea and wind,
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like the owner of a foul disease, To keep it from divulging
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like some ore Among a mineral of metals base
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he weeps for what is done
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The sun no sooner shall the mountains touch
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Come, Gertrude, we'll call up our wisest friends;
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Revenge. Is Claudius trying to evade Hamlet's revenge? Telling everyone what Hamlet did will make everyone think that Hamlet is crazy and won't believe him if he says that Claudius killed King Hamlet.
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Revenge. Does he want to tell everyone that Hamlet is crazy so they don't believe Hamlet when he says that Claudius killed King Hamlet.
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Besides, to be demanded of a sponge!
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Appearance vs. Reality, Corruption By calling R a "sponge," Hamlet implies that through their foolishness R & G have been taken over by Claudius. They have lost their inner reality.
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Corruption, Appearance vs. Reality. By calling R a "sponge," Hamlet implies that through their foolishness R & G have been taken over by Claudius. They have lost their inner reality.
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I am glad of it: a knavish speech sleeps in a foolish ear.
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Mocking tone. An insulting comment will provoke no response from a fool too stupid to understand the insult.
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R tells Hamlet he does not understand what he is talking about; (he gets lost in Hamlet's extended sponge metaphor even though R himself is the king's sponge). Hamlet is glad his insult is not understood, as it confirms his sponge analogy.
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The body is with the king, but the king is not with the body.
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He's loved of the distracted multitude
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Not where he eats, but where he is eaten: a certain convocation of politic worms are e'en at him. Your worm is your only emperor for diet: we fat all creatures else to fat us, and we fat ourselves for maggots: your fat king and your lean beggar is but variable service, two dishes, but to one table: that's the end.
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Threat, Revenge, Death. He describes how life eats itself in order to live, and connects this idea to the image of worms eating a king. Hamlet is indirectly threatening Claudius.
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Hamlet's mockery and word play begins to focus on death. He describes how life devours itself in order to live, and explicitly links this idea to the image of worms devouring a king. In doing so, Hamlet is indirectly threatening Claudius. For everyone, rich ("your fat king") or poor ("your lean beggar"), the final destination ("the end") is the same
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Nothing but to show you how a king may go a progress through the guts of a beggar.
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My mother: father and mother is man and wife; man and wife is one flesh
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This is a reflection of how he cant accept that Claudius be his father. Like in Act 1 or 2 can't remeber when he says he refers to the sun but actually referring to sOn.
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Metonymy This is a reflection of how he cant accept that Claudius be his father. He calls him another think (mother) cause of Chritianity's "One-flesh union"
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Come, for England!
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seek him i' the other place yourself.
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tempt him with speed aboard
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Go, captain, from me greet the Danish king; Tell him that, by his licence, Fortinbras Craves the conveyance of a promised march Over his kingdom
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That inward breaks, and shows no cause without Why the man dies.
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Exeunt all except HAMLET
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How all occasions do inform against me, And spur my dull
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Revenge. Everything that happens (all occasions do inform against me) serves only to remind Hamlet of what he has yet to do, revenge his father's murder by killing the king.
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Revenge. Everything that happens (all occasions do inform against me) serves only to remind Hamlet of what he has yet to do, revenge his father's murder by killing the king.
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The imminent death of twenty thousand men, That, for a fantasy and trick of fame, Go to their
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Why yet I live to say 'This thing's to do;' Sith I have cause and will and strength and means To do't.
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To my sick soul, as sin's true nature is, Each toy seems prologue to some great amiss: So full of artless jealousy is guilt, It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.
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Guiltiness. The queen has reluctantly agreed to see Ophelia.As she waits for Ophelia to come in, thoughts return to her guilty conscience ("my sick soul") and the effect ("nature") of sin which causes every trifle ("toy") to seem a foreboding of some great calamity. She suspects others of suspecting her and her guilt is so great that attempts to hide it result only in greater suspicion.
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Conceit upon her father.
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Then up he rose, and donn'd his clothes, And dupp'd the chamber-door; Let in the maid, that out a maid Never departed more.
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When sorrows come, they come not single spies But in battalions
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The ocean, overpeering of his list, Eats not the flats with more impetuous haste
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The ratifiers and props of every word, They cry 'Choose we: Laertes shall be king:'
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That drop of blood that's calm proclaims me bastard,
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Let come what comes; only I'll be
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But not by him.
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O, from this time forth, My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth!
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And like the kind life-rendering pelican
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There's fennel for you, and columbines: there's rue for you; and here's some for me: we may call it herb-grace o' Sundays: O you must wear your rue with a difference. There's a daisy: I would give you some violets, but they withered all when my father died: they say he made a good end,
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So you shall;
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SCENE VI. Another room in the castle.
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O, for two special reasons;
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will do't: And, for that purpose, I'll anoint my sword.
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With this contagion, that, if I gall him slightly, It may be death.
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Drown'd, drown'd
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Let's follow, Gertrude:
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By cock
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tumbled me
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water
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Is she to be buried in Christian burial that
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If this had not been a gentlewoman, she should have been buried out o' Christian burial.
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confess thyself
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This is probably half a phrase, which the Second Clown interrupts by saying "Go to." There was a saying, "Confess thyself and be hanged," which had its origin in the fact that before a person was hanged, he/she was supposed to make a confession of sins to save his/her soul. Thus a person who is hopeless, clueless, lame, stupid, oblivious, or otherwise worthless can be told that he/she should "confess thyself and be hanged," because there is absolutely nothing else for him/her to do.
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Enter two Clowns
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Shakespearean fools. Shakespearean fools are usually clever peasants or commoners that use their wits to outdo people of higher social standing. In this sense, they are very similar to the real fools, and jesters of the time, but their characteristics are greatly heightened for theatrical effect. wikipedia
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The irony is that it is the clowns that are discussing her death and how it is to be accepted by the church even though it goes against the religion
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Cain's jaw-bone
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Hum! This fellow might be in's time a great buyer of land
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They are sheep and calves which seek out assurance
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Mine, sir.
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You lie out on't, sir, and therefore it is not yours: for my part, I do not lie in't, and yet it is mine.
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HAMLET What man dost thou dig it for? First Clown For no man, sir. HAMLET What woman, then? First Clown For none, neither. HAMLET Who is to be buried in't? First Clown One that was a woman, sir; but, rest her soul, she's dead.
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every fool can tell that
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there the men are as mad as he.
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How long will a man lie i' the earth ere he rot?
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I' faith, if he be not rotten before he die--as we have many pocky corses now-a-days, that will scarce hold the laying in--he will last you some eight year or nine year: a tanner will last you nine year.
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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 rims 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? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen? Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come; make her laugh at that. Prithee, Horatio, tell me one thing.
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'Twere to consider too curiously, to consider so.
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Why, here in Denmark: I have been sexton here, man and boy, thirty years.
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Her obsequies have been as far enlarged As we have warrantise: her death was doubtful; And, but that great command o'ersways the order, She should in ground unsanctified have lodged Till the last trumpet: for charitable prayers, Shards, flints and pebbles should be thrown on her; Yet here she is allow'd her virgin crants, Her maiden strewments and the bringing home Of bell and burial.
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Lay her i' the earth: And from her fair and unpolluted flesh May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest, A ministering angel shall my sister be, When thou liest howling.
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To o'ertop old Pelion, or the skyish head Of blue Olympus.
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Yet have I something in me dangerous,
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I loved Ophelia: forty thousand brothers
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Dost thou come here to whine? To outface me with leaping in her grave? Be buried quick with her, and so will I:
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I'll rant as well as thou.
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as patient as the female dove, When that her golden couplets are disclosed, His silence will sit drooping.
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Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting
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Without debatement further, more or less, He should the bearers put to sudden death, Not shriving-time allow'd.
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But I am very sorry, good Horatio, That to Laertes I forgot myself; For, by the image of my cause, I see The portraiture of his: I'll court his favours. But, sure, the bravery of his grief did put me Into a towering passion.
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Thy state is the more gracious; for 'tis a vice to know him. He hath much land, and fertile: let a beast be lord of beasts, and his crib shall stand at the king's mess: 'tis a chough; but, as I say, spacious in the possession of dirt.
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Not a whit, we defy augury: there's a special
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Hamlet has just told Horatio that he has a bad feeling about the upcoming duel with Laertes and Horatio has offered to make his excuses for him, when Hamlet declares that he is not tempted to decline the match ("not a whit") as he will not let omens ("we defy augury") dictate his royal ("we") actions.
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providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, 'tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come: the readiness is all: since no man has aught of what he leaves, what is't to leave betimes?
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Roughly awake, I here proclaim was madness. Was't Hamlet wrong'd Laertes?
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but in my terms of honour I stand aloof; and will no reconcilement, Till by some elder masters, of known honour
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It is but foolery; but it is such a kind of gain-giving, as would perhaps trouble a woman.
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I'll be your foil, Laertes: in mine ignorance Your skill shall, like a star i' the darkest night, Stick fiery off indeed.
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And in the cup an union shall he throw,
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[Aside] It is the poison'd cup: it is too late.
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LAERTES wounds HAMLET; then in scuffling, they change rapiers, and HAMLET wounds LAERTES
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No, no, the drink, the drink,--O my dear Hamlet,-- The drink, the drink! I am poison'd. Dies
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I am justly kill'd with mine own treachery
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It is here, Hamlet: Hamlet, thou art slain; No medicine in the world can do thee good; In thee there is not half an hour of life; The treacherous instrument is in thy hand, Unbated and envenom'd: the foul practise Hath turn'd itself on me lo, here I lie, Never to rise again: thy mother's poison'd: I can no more: the king, the king's to blame.
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Stabs KING CLAUDIUS
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treason
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Heaven make thee free of it! I follow thee.
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As thou'rt a man, Give me the cup: let go; by heaven, I'll have't. O good Horatio, what a wounded name,
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On Fortinbras: he has my dying voice; So tell him, with the occurrents, more and less, Which have solicited. The rest is silence.
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That Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead:
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For me, with sorrow I embrace my fortune: I have some rights of memory in this kingdom, Which now to claim my vantage doth invite me.
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How can that be, unless she drowned herself in her own defence?
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HORATIO
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Now might I do it pat, now he is praying; And now I'll do't. And so he goes to heaven; And so am I revenged. That would be scann'd: A villain kills my father; and for that,
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To have proved most royally
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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.
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HORATIO
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Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother