The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, William Shakespeare [book recommendations based on other books txt] 📗

shall Posthumus end his miseries, Britain be fortunate and flourish in peace and plenty.’

Thou, Leonatus, art the lion’s whelp; The fit and apt construction of thy name, Being Leonatus, doth import so much.

[To CYMBELINE] The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter, Which we call ‘mollis aer,’ and ‘mollis aer’

We term it ‘mulier’; which ‘mulier’ I divine Is this most constant wife, who even now Answering the letter of the oracle,

Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp’d about With this most tender air.

CYMBELINE. This hath some seeming.

SOOTHSAYER. The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline, Personates thee; and thy lopp’d branches point Thy two sons forth, who, by Belarius stol’n, For many years thought dead, are now reviv’d, To the majestic cedar join’d, whose issue Promises Britain peace and plenty.

CYMBELINE. Well,

My peace we will begin. And, Caius Lucius, Although the victor, we submit to Caesar And to the Roman empire, promising

To pay our wonted tribute, from the which We were dissuaded by our wicked queen, Whom heavens in justice, both on her and hers, Have laid most heavy hand.

SOOTHSAYER. The fingers of the pow’rs above do tune The harmony of this peace. The vision Which I made known to Lucius ere the stroke Of yet this scarce-cold battle, at this instant Is full accomplish’d; for the Roman eagle, From south to west on wing soaring aloft, Lessen’d herself and in the beams o’ th’ sun So vanish’d; which foreshow’d our princely eagle, Th’imperial Caesar, Caesar, should again unite His favour with the radiant Cymbeline, Which shines here in the west.

CYMBELINE. Laud we the gods;

And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils From our bless’d altars. Publish we this peace To all our subjects. Set we forward; let A Roman and a British ensign wave

Friendly together. So through Lud’s Town march; And in the temple of great Jupiter

Our peace we’ll ratify; seal it with feasts.

Set on there! Never was a war did cease, Ere bloody hands were wash’d, with such a peace. Exeunt THE END

 

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1604

 

THE TRAGEDY OF HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK

 

by William Shakespeare

 

Dramatis Personae

 

Claudius, King of Denmark.

Marcellus, Officer.

Hamlet, son to the former, and nephew to the present king.

Polonius, Lord Chamberlain.

Horatio, friend to Hamlet.

Laertes, son to Polonius.

Voltemand, courtier.

Cornelius, courtier.

Rosencrantz, courtier.

Guildenstern, courtier.

Osric, courtier.

A Gentleman, courtier.

A Priest.

Marcellus, officer.

Bernardo, officer.

Francisco, a soldier

Reynaldo, servant to Polonius.

Players.

Two Clowns, gravediggers.

Fortinbras, Prince of Norway.

A Norwegian Captain.

English Ambassadors.

 

Getrude, Queen of Denmark, mother to Hamlet.

Ophelia, daughter to Polonius.

 

Ghost of Hamlet’s Father.

 

Lords, ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Sailors, Messengers, Attendants.

 

<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM

SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS

PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE

WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE

DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS

PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED

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SCENE.- Elsinore.

 

ACT I. Scene I.

Elsinore. A platform before the Castle.

 

Enter two Sentinels-[first,] Francisco, [who paces up and down at his post; then] Bernardo, [who approaches him].

 

Ber. Who’s there.?

Fran. Nay, answer me. Stand and unfold yourself.

Ber. Long live the King!

Fran. Bernardo?

Ber. He.

Fran. You come most carefully upon your hour.

Ber. ‘Tis now struck twelve. Get thee to bed, Francisco.

Fran. For this relief much thanks. ‘Tis bitter cold, And I am sick at heart.

Ber. Have you had quiet guard?

Fran. Not a mouse stirring.

Ber. Well, good night.

If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste.

 

Enter Horatio and Marcellus.

 

Fran. I think I hear them. Stand, ho! Who is there?

Hor. Friends to this ground.

Mar. And liegemen to the Dane.

Fran. Give you good night.

Mar. O, farewell, honest soldier.

Who hath reliev’d you?

Fran. Bernardo hath my place.

Give you good night. Exit.

Mar. Holla, Bernardo!

Ber. Say—

What, is Horatio there ?

Hor. A piece of him.

Ber. Welcome, Horatio. Welcome, good Marcellus.

Mar. What, has this thing appear’d again tonight?

Ber. I have seen nothing.

Mar. Horatio says ‘tis but our fantasy, And will not let belief take hold of him Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us.

Therefore I have entreated him along, With us to watch the minutes of this night, That, if again this apparition come,

He may approve our eyes and speak to it.

Hor. Tush, tush, ‘twill not appear.

Ber. Sit down awhile,

And let us once again assail your ears, That are so fortified against our story, What we two nights have seen.

Hor. Well, sit we down,

And let us hear Bernardo speak of this.

Ber. Last night of all,

When yond same star that’s westward from the pole Had made his course t’ illume that part of heaven Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself, The bell then beating one-Enter Ghost.

 

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; speak to it, Horatio.

Ber. Looks it not like the King? Mark it, Horatio.

Hor. Most like. It harrows me with fear and wonder.

Ber. It would be spoke to.

Mar. Question it, Horatio.

Hor. What art thou that usurp’st this time of night Together with that fair and warlike form In which the majesty of buried Denmark 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!

Exit Ghost.

Mar. ‘Tis gone and will not answer.

Ber. How now, Horatio? You tremble and 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

Of mine own eyes.

Mar. Is it not like the King?

Hor. As thou art to thyself.

Such was the very armour he had on

When he th’ ambitious Norway combated.

So frown’d he once when, in an angry parle, He smote the sledded Polacks on the ice.

‘Tis strange.

Mar. Thus twice before, and jump at this dead hour, With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch.

Hor. In what particular thought to work I know not; But, in the gross and scope of my opinion, This bodes some strange eruption to our state.

Mar. 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?

Hor. That can I.

At least, the whisper goes so. Our last king, Whose image even but now appear’d to us, Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway, Thereto prick’d on by a most emulate pride, Dar’d to the combat; in which our valiant Hamlet (For so this side of our known world esteem’d him) Did slay this Fortinbras; who, by a seal’d compact, Well ratified by law and heraldry,

Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands Which he stood seiz’d of, to the conqueror; Against the which a moiety competent

Was gaged by our king; which had return’d To the inheritance of Fortinbras,

Had he been vanquisher, as, by the same comart And carriage of the article design’d, His fell to Hamlet. Now, sir, young Fortinbras, Of unimproved mettle hot and full,

Hath in the skirts of Norway, here and there, Shark’d up a list of lawless resolutes, For food and diet, to some enterprise That hath a stomach in’t; which is no other, As it doth well appear unto our state, But to recover of us, by strong hand

And terms compulsatory, those foresaid lands So by his father lost; and this, I take it, Is the main motive of our preparations, The source of this our watch, and the chief head Of this post-haste and romage in the land.

Ber. I think it be no other but e’en so.

Well may it sort that this portentous figure Comes armed through our watch, so like the King That was and is the question of these wars.

Hor. A mote it is to trouble the mind’s eye.

In the most high and palmy state of Rome, A little ere the mightiest Julius fell, The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead 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 climature and countrymen.

 

Enter Ghost again.

 

But soft! behold! Lo, where it comes again!

I’ll cross it, though it blast me.- Stay illusion!

Spreads his arms.

If thou hast any sound, or use of voice, Speak to me.

If there be any good thing to be done, That may to thee do ease, and, race to me, Speak to me.

If thou art privy to thy country’s fate, Which happily foreknowing may avoid,

O, speak!

Or if thou hast uphoarded in thy life Extorted treasure in the womb of earth (For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death), The cock crows.

Speak of it! Stay, and speak!- Stop it, Marcellus!

Mar. Shall I strike at it with my partisan?

Hor. Do, if it will not stand.

Ber. ‘Tis here!

Hor. ‘Tis here!

Mar. ‘Tis gone!

Exit Ghost.

We do it wrong, being so majestical,

To offer it the show of violence;

For it is as the air, invulnerable,

And our vain blows malicious mockery.

Ber. It was about to speak, when the cock crew.

Hor. And then it started, like a guilty thing Upon a fearful summons. I have heard

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, Th’ extravagant and erring spirit hies To his confine; and of the truth herein This present object made probation.

Mar. It faded on the crowing of the cock.

Some say that ever, ‘gainst that season comes Wherein our Saviour’s birth is celebrated, The bird of dawning singeth all night long; And then, they say, no spirit dare stir abroad, The nights are wholesome, then no planets strike, No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm, So hallow’d and so gracious is the time.

Hor. So have I heard and do in part believe it.

But 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 tonight Unto young