Shakespeare's Tragedy of HamletJ.M. Dent, 1895 - 215 pages |
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Page i
... heaven of heavens his dwelling - place , Spares but the cloudy border of his base To the foil'd searching of mortality ; And thou , who didst the stars and sunbeams know , Self - school'd , self - scann'd , self - honour'd , self ...
... heaven of heavens his dwelling - place , Spares but the cloudy border of his base To the foil'd searching of mortality ; And thou , who didst the stars and sunbeams know , Self - school'd , self - scann'd , self - honour'd , self ...
Page viii
... heaven receive my soule : " " The rest is silence " -Shakespeare's supreme touch is here . A rapid examination of the First Quarto reveals the following among its chief divergences :-( i . ) the difference in length ; 2143 lines as ...
... heaven receive my soule : " " The rest is silence " -Shakespeare's supreme touch is here . A rapid examination of the First Quarto reveals the following among its chief divergences :-( i . ) the difference in length ; 2143 lines as ...
Page 3
... heaven Where now it burns , Marcellus and myself , The bell then beating one , - Enter Ghost . 41 Mar. Peace , break thee off ; look , where it comes again ! Ber . In the same figure , like the king that's dead . Mar. Thou art a scholar ...
... heaven Where now it burns , Marcellus and myself , The bell then beating one , - Enter Ghost . 41 Mar. Peace , break thee off ; look , where it comes again ! Ber . In the same figure , like the king that's dead . Mar. Thou art a scholar ...
Page 4
William Shakespeare Israel Gollancz. Did sometimes march ? by heaven I charge thee , speak ! Mar. It is offended . Ber . See , it stalks away ! Hor . Stay ! speak , speak ! I charge thee , speak ! Mar. ' Tis gone , and will not answer ...
William Shakespeare Israel Gollancz. Did sometimes march ? by heaven I charge thee , speak ! Mar. It is offended . Ber . See , it stalks away ! Hor . Stay ! speak , speak ! I charge thee , speak ! Mar. ' Tis gone , and will not answer ...
Page 7
... heaven and earth together demonstrated Unto our climatures and countrymen . Re - enter Ghost . But soft , behold ! lo , where it comes again ! I'll cross it , though it blast me . Stay , illusion ! If thou hast any sound , or use of ...
... heaven and earth together demonstrated Unto our climatures and countrymen . Re - enter Ghost . But soft , behold ! lo , where it comes again ! I'll cross it , though it blast me . Stay , illusion ! If thou hast any sound , or use of ...
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Common terms and phrases
aught blood breath Cæsar Dane dead dear death Denmark dost doth drink e'en earth emendation Enter Hamlet Enter King Exeunt Rosencrantz Exit Exit Ghost eyes faith Farewell father fear follow Fortinbras friends gentleman Gertrude Ghost give grace grief Guil hast hath hear heart heaven Hecuba hold honour Horatio Jephthah Julius Cæsar lady Laer Laertes leave look Lord Hamlet madness majesty Marcellus mother murder nature night noble Norway o'er Omitted in Ff omitted in Qq Ophelia Osric passion play players poison'd Polack pollax Polonius pray Priam Pyrrhus Quarto Queen revenge Reynaldo Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Scene Senecan Shakespeare's Sings sleep soul Spanish Tragedy speak speech sweet sweet lord sword tell thee There's thine thing thou thoughts tongue twere vide words ΙΟ
Popular passages
Page 72 - What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, That he should weep for her/ What would he do, Had he the motive and the cue for passion That I have/ He would drown the stage with tears And cleave the general ear with horrid speech, Make mad the guilty and appal the free, Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed The very faculties of eyes and ears.
Page 73 - Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave, That I, the son of a dear father murder'd, Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell, Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words, And fall a-cursing, like a very drab, A scullion!
Page 163 - Dost thou come here to whine ? To outface me with leaping in her grave ? Be buried quick with her, and so will I : And, if thou prate of mountains, let them throw Millions of acres on us, till our ground, Singeing his pate against the burning zone, Make Ossa like a wart ! Nay, an thou'lt mouth, I'll rant as well as thou.
Page 36 - Remember thee? Yea, from the table of my memory I'll wipe away all trivial fond records, All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past. That youth and observation copied there; And thy commandment all alone shall live Within the book and volume of my brain, Unmix'd with baser matter: yes, by heaven.
Page 163 - I loved Ophelia : forty thousand brothers Could not, with all their quantity of love, Make up my sum.
Page 80 - Ham. Get thee to a nunnery: why wouldst thou be a breeder of sinners? I am myself indifferent honest ; but yet I could accuse me of such things that it were better my mother had not borne me: I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious, with more offences at my beck than I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them shape, or time to act them in. What should such fellows as I do crawling between earth and heaven ? We are arrant knaves, all ; believe none of us.
Page 84 - O, it offends me to the soul to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings, who for the most part are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb-shows and noise: I would have such a fellow whipped for o'erdoing Termagant; it out-herods Herod: pray you, avoid it.
Page 160 - No, faith, not a jot; but to follow him thither with modesty enough, and likelihood to lead it : as thus : Alexander died, Alexander was buried, Alexander returneth into dust ; the dust is earth ; of earth we make loam ; and why of that loam, whereto he was converted, might they not stop a beer-barrel...
Page 15 - I remember ? why, she would hang on him, As if increase of appetite had grown By what it fed on : and yet, within a month — Let me not think on't — Frailty, thy name is woman!
Page 78 - 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...