Shakespeare's Tragedy of HamletJ.M. Dent, 1895 - 215 pages |
From inside the book
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Page x
... looks as pale as the wisard of the ghost , which cried so miserally at the theator , like an oyster - wife , Hamlet revenge . ' 99 * In all probability Thomas Kyd was the author of the play alluded to in these passages ; his probable ...
... looks as pale as the wisard of the ghost , which cried so miserally at the theator , like an oyster - wife , Hamlet revenge . ' 99 * In all probability Thomas Kyd was the author of the play alluded to in these passages ; his probable ...
Page 3
... look , where it comes again ! Ber . In the same figure , like the king that's dead . Mar. Thou art a scholar ; speak to it , Horatio . Ber . Looks it not like the king ? mark it , Horatio . Hor . Most like : it harrows me with fear and ...
... look , where it comes again ! Ber . In the same figure , like the king that's dead . Mar. Thou art a scholar ; speak to it , Horatio . Ber . Looks it not like the king ? mark it , Horatio . Hor . Most like : it harrows me with fear and ...
Page 4
... look pale : Is not this something more than fantasy ? What think you on ' t ? Hor . Before my God , I might not this believe Without the sensible and true avouch Mar. Of mine own eyes . Is it not like the king ? Hor . As thou art to ...
... look pale : Is not this something more than fantasy ? What think you on ' t ? Hor . Before my God , I might not this believe Without the sensible and true avouch Mar. Of mine own eyes . Is it not like the king ? Hor . As thou art to ...
Page 9
... look , the morn , in russet mantle clad , Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastward hill : Break we our watch up ; and by my advice , Let us impart what we have seen to - night Unto young Hamlet ; for , upon my life , This spirit , dumb ...
... look , the morn , in russet mantle clad , Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastward hill : Break we our watch up ; and by my advice , Let us impart what we have seen to - night Unto young Hamlet ; for , upon my life , This spirit , dumb ...
Page 12
... look like a friend on Denmark . Do not for ever with thy vailed lids Seek for thy noble father in the dust : 70 Thou know'st ' tis common ; all that lives must die , Passing through nature to eternity . Ham . Ay , madam , it is common ...
... look like a friend on Denmark . Do not for ever with thy vailed lids Seek for thy noble father in the dust : 70 Thou know'st ' tis common ; all that lives must die , Passing through nature to eternity . Ham . Ay , madam , it is common ...
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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...