Hamlet -Act 2, Scene 2 Now I am alone. O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I! Is it not monstrous that this player here, But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, Could force his soul so to his own conceit That from her working all his visage wannd, Tears in his eyes, distraction ins aspect, A broken voice, and his whole function suiting With forms to his conceit? and all for nothing! For Hecuba! Whats 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. Yet I, A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak, Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause, And can say nothing; no, not for a king, Upon whose property and most dear life A damnd defeat was made. Am I a coward? Who calls me villain? breaks my pate across? Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face? Tweaks me by the nose? gives me the lie i the throat, As deep as to the lungs? who does me this? Ha! Swounds, I should take it: for it cannot be- “right here” But I am pigeon-liverd and lack gall To make oppression bitter, or ere this I should have fatted all the region kites With this slaves offal: bloody, bawdy villain! Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain! O, vengeance! Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave, Her too! That I, the son of a dear father murderd, 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! Fie upont! foh! About, my brain! I have heard That guilty creatures sitting at a play Have by the very cunning of the scene Been struck so to the soul that presently They have proclaimd their malefactions; For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak With most miraculous organ. Ill have these players Play something like the murder of my father Before mine uncle: Ill observe his looks; Ill tent him to the quick: if he but blench, I know my course. The spirit that I have seen May be the devil: and the devil hath power To assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhaps Out of my weakness and my melancholy, As he is very potent with such spirits, Abuses me to damn me: Ill have grounds More relative than this: the play s the thing Wherein Ill catch the conscience of the king.
Posted on: Fri, 08 Aug 2014 20:34:10 +0000
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