18 19 20
Hamlet
0, what a rogue and
peasant slave
am I!
Is it not
monstrous
that this player here,
21 22 23 But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,
Could force his soul so to his own
conceit
24 25 That from her working all the visage
wann'd
Tears in his eyes, distraction in his
aspect
A broken voice, an' his whole function suiting
26 27 28 With forms to his conceit? And all for nothing,
For
Hecuba! 29 30 What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba
That he should weep for her? What would he do
31 32 33 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,
34 35 Make mad the guilty, and appall the free,
Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed
The very faculties of eyes and ears. 36 37 38
Yet I, 39 40 A dull and
muddy-mettled
rascal, peak
Like John-a-dreams,
unpregnant of my cause,
And can say nothing; no, not for a king,
41 42 43 Upon whose property and most dear life
A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward? 44 45 46
Who calls me villain, breaks my
pate
across,
Plucks off my beard and blows it in my face,
Tweaks me by the nose,
47 48 49 50 gives me the lie i' th' throat
as deep as to the lungs?
51 Who does me this?
52 Hah,
'swounds, I should take it; for it cannot be
But I am
pigeon-liver'd, and lack gall.
53 54
To make oppression bitter, or
ere
this
I should 'a' fatted all the
region kites
With this slave's
offal. Bloody, bawdy villain!
55 56 57 58 Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous,
kindless
villain!
Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave,
That I, the son of a dear father murthered,
Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell,
Must like a whore unpack my heart with words,
59 60 61 62 63 And
fall a-cursing
like a very
drab,
A
scullion. Fie upon't, foh!
About, my brains!
64 65
Hum-I have heard
66 67 That guilty creatures sitting at a play
68 Have by the
very cunning of the scene
69 Been strook so to the soul, that presently
They have proclaim'd their malefactions:
For murther, though it have no tongue, will speak
70 71 With most miraculous organ. I'll have these players
Play something like the murther of my father
Before mine uncle. I'll observe his looks,
72 73 74 75
I'll tent him to the quick. If 'a do
blench, I know my course. 76
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Extracted text: 1 2 4 Hands-on Project 5-4 6. 7 8 9 10 11 12
13 14 15
Hands-on Project 5-4
16
17
Hamlet, Act II Scene ii
18 19 20
Hamlet
0, what a rogue and
peasant slave
am I!
Is it not
monstrous
that this player here,
21 22 23 But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,
Could force his soul so to his own
conceit
24 25 That from her working all the visage
wann'd
Tears in his eyes, distraction in his
aspect
A broken voice, an' his whole function suiting
26 27 28 With forms to his conceit? And all for nothing,
For
Hecuba! 29 30 What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba
That he should weep for her? What would he do
31 32 33 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,
34 35 Make mad the guilty, and appall the free,
Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed
The very faculties of eyes and ears. 36 37 38
Yet I, 39 40 A dull and
muddy-mettled
rascal, peak
Like John-a-dreams,
unpregnant of my cause,
And can say nothing; no, not for a king,
41 42 43 Upon whose property and most dear life
A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward? 44 45 46
Who calls me villain, breaks my
pate
across,
Plucks off my beard and blows it in my face,
Tweaks me by the nose,
47 48 49 50 gives me the lie i' th' throat
as deep as to the lungs?
51 Who does me this?
52 Hah,
'swounds, I should take it; for it cannot be
But I am
pigeon-liver'd, and lack gall.
53 54
To make oppression bitter, or
ere
this
I should 'a' fatted all the
region kites
With this slave's
offal. Bloody, bawdy villain!
55 56 57 58 Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous,
kindless
villain!
Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave,
That I, the son of a dear father murthered,
Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell,
Must like a whore unpack my heart with words,
59 60 61 62 63 And
fall a-cursing
like a very
drab,
A
scullion. Fie upon't, foh!
About, my brains!
64 65
Hum-I have heard
66 67 That guilty creatures sitting at a play
68 Have by the
very cunning of the scene
69 Been strook so to the soul, that presently
They have proclaim'd their malefactions:
For murther, though it have no tongue, will speak
70 71 With most miraculous organ. I'll have these players
Play something like the murther of my father
Before mine uncle. I'll observe his looks,
72 73 74 75
I'll tent him to the quick. If 'a do
blench, I know my course. 76