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Lyla 2022-06-20 11:07:16
Hamlet - Revenge or Forgive
To be, or not to be, that is the question.
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or
to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them?
This is a question worthy of consideration; which of these two acts is nobler,
to endure the... -
Haylie 2022-06-20 17:53:00
[The road of revenge is a challenge to new ideas]
If it can endure the erosion of the years, it can withstand the imaginary changes in literature, it can bear the splendid cultural praise, and it can bear the praise and learning of the world. Shakespeare, the master of literature and art in the Renaissance, used his plays to prove to the world...
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[Hamlet descends the stairs to the sepulcher, to visit his father's tomb. His eyes are red with grief. He looks around warily, as though wondering if the Ghost might appear. He's depressed on many accounts: he's just frightened Ophelia, whom he loves; he himself is frightened by the Ghost's command to kill his uncle; he's been playing a madman all this time in order to kill his uncle, and he is afraid to continue to do any of these things]
Hamlet: To be, or not to be, that is the question. Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing, end them. To die, to sleep no more...
[He gazes at the skeletons residing in niches of the sepulcher]
Hamlet: ...and by a sleep to say...
[He finally comes to his father's tomb]
Hamlet: ...we end the heartache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to!
[Hamlet rests his fists upon his father's tomb, closes his eyes, and shapes his hands into prayer position]
Hamlet: 'Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished! To die, to sleep. To sleep -
[in alarm at the idea, he stands and paces]
Hamlet: - perchance to dream! Aye, there's the rub, for in that sleep of death what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause. There's the respect that makes calamity of so long life.
[He lays his head upon his father's tomb]
Hamlet: [viciously] For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, 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?
[He stares at the ground, near to weeping]
Hamlet: Who would fardels bear, to grunt and sweat under a weary life, but that the dread of something after death, the undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler returns, puzzles the will, and makes us rather bear those ills we have than fly to others that we know not of?
[He looks at the ceiling, or to Heaven]
Hamlet: Thus conscience does make cowards of us all...
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Hamlet: The play's the thing, wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king.
