Hamlet Act 2 Quiz

What does Polonius ask of Reynaldo? To find out information about LaertesTo talk badly about LaertesTo give Laertes money
What does Ophelia tell her father? Hamlet is acting strangely
What does Claudius ask of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern? To spy on Hamlet
What information does Voltemand reveal? Fortinbras will not wage war on Denmark, but pass through to battle the Poles
What information does Polonius tell Claudius and Gertrude? The reason for Hamlet’s madness is because he is in love with Ophelia
What does Hamlet call Polonius in scene 2? Fishmonger (fish seller)Crusty-eyed old manUnintelligent
What does Hamlet compare Denmark to8. What literary element is this an example of:? Prison; Metaphor
Why is Polonius compared to Jeptah? Because Jeptah sacrificed his daughter
What is the player’s speech about? Trojan War
When Polonius says that he will “take his leave” of Hamlet, Hamlet says that he could not take anything he would “more willingly/ part withal” except: His own life
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 conceitThat from her working all his visage wann’d,Tears in his eyes, distraction in’s aspect,A broken voice, and his whole function suitingWith forms to his conceit? and all for nothing!For Hecuba!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 passionThat I have? He would drown the stage with tearsAnd cleave the general ear with horrid speech,Make mad the guilty and appal the free,Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeedThe 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 lifeA damn’d 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 beBut I am pigeon-liver’d and lack gallTo make oppression bitter, or ere thisI should have fatted all the region kitesWith this slave’s offal: bloody, bawdy villain!Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain!O, vengeance!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!Fie upon’t! foh! About, my brain! I have heardThat guilty creatures sitting at a playHave by the very cunning of the sceneBeen struck so to the soul that presentlyThey have proclaim’d their malefactions;For murder, though it have no tongue, will speakWith most miraculous organ. I’ll have these playersPlay something like the murder of my fatherBefore mine uncle: I’ll observe his looks;I’ll tent him to the quick: if he but blench,I know my course. The spirit that I have seenMay be the devil: and the devil hath powerTo assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhapsOut of my weakness and my melancholy,As he is very potent with such spirits,Abuses me to damn me: I’ll have groundsMore relative than this: the play ‘s the thingWherein I’ll catch the conscience of the king.This speaker of these lines is: Hamlet
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 conceitThat from her working all his visage wann’d,Tears in his eyes, distraction in’s aspect,A broken voice, and his whole function suitingWith forms to his conceit? and all for nothing!For Hecuba!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 passionThat I have? He would drown the stage with tearsAnd cleave the general ear with horrid speech,Make mad the guilty and appal the free,Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeedThe 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 lifeA damn’d 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 beBut I am pigeon-liver’d and lack gallTo make oppression bitter, or ere thisI should have fatted all the region kitesWith this slave’s offal: bloody, bawdy villain!Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain!O, vengeance!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!Fie upon’t! foh! About, my brain! I have heardThat guilty creatures sitting at a playHave by the very cunning of the sceneBeen struck so to the soul that presentlyThey have proclaim’d their malefactions;For murder, though it have no tongue, will speakWith most miraculous organ. I’ll have these playersPlay something like the murder of my fatherBefore mine uncle: I’ll observe his looks;I’ll tent him to the quick: if he but blench,I know my course. The spirit that I have seenMay be the devil: and the devil hath powerTo assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhapsOut of my weakness and my melancholy,As he is very potent with such spirits,Abuses me to damn me: I’ll have groundsMore relative than this: the play ‘s the thingWherein I’ll catch the conscience of the king.In these lines the speaker is struggling with a(n): man vs. himself conflict (internal)
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 conceitThat from her working all his visage wann’d,Tears in his eyes, distraction in’s aspect,A broken voice, and his whole function suitingWith forms to his conceit? and all for nothing!For Hecuba!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 passionThat I have? He would drown the stage with tearsAnd cleave the general ear with horrid speech,Make mad the guilty and appal the free,Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeedThe 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 lifeA damn’d 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 beBut I am pigeon-liver’d and lack gallTo make oppression bitter, or ere thisI should have fatted all the region kitesWith this slave’s offal: bloody, bawdy villain!Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain!O, vengeance!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!Fie upon’t! foh! About, my brain! I have heardThat guilty creatures sitting at a playHave by the very cunning of the sceneBeen struck so to the soul that presentlyThey have proclaim’d their malefactions;For murder, though it have no tongue, will speakWith most miraculous organ. I’ll have these playersPlay something like the murder of my fatherBefore mine uncle: I’ll observe his looks;I’ll tent him to the quick: if he but blench,I know my course. The spirit that I have seenMay be the devil: and the devil hath powerTo assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhapsOut of my weakness and my melancholy,As he is very potent with such spirits,Abuses me to damn me: I’ll have groundsMore relative than this: the play ‘s the thingWherein I’ll catch the conscience of the king.These lines are an example of: soliloquy
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 conceitThat from her working all his visage wann’d,Tears in his eyes, distraction in’s aspect,A broken voice, and his whole function suitingWith forms to his conceit? and all for nothing!For Hecuba!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 passionThat I have? He would drown the stage with tearsAnd cleave the general ear with horrid speech,Make mad the guilty and appal the free,Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeedThe 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 lifeA damn’d 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 beBut I am pigeon-liver’d and lack gallTo make oppression bitter, or ere thisI should have fatted all the region kitesWith this slave’s offal: bloody, bawdy villain!Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain!O, vengeance!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!Fie upon’t! foh! About, my brain! I have heardThat guilty creatures sitting at a playHave by the very cunning of the sceneBeen struck so to the soul that presentlyThey have proclaim’d their malefactions;For murder, though it have no tongue, will speakWith most miraculous organ. I’ll have these playersPlay something like the murder of my fatherBefore mine uncle: I’ll observe his looks;I’ll tent him to the quick: if he but blench,I know my course. The spirit that I have seenMay be the devil: and the devil hath powerTo assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhapsOut of my weakness and my melancholy,As he is very potent with such spirits,Abuses me to damn me: I’ll have groundsMore relative than this: the play ‘s the thingWherein I’ll catch the conscience of the king.The tone of the speaker in these lines is: angry
Claudius can best be described as: conniving and selfish
Hamlet can best be described as: depressed and angry
Polonius can best be described as: unintelligent and nosy
Fortinbras can best be described as: vengeful and ambitious
Ophelia can best be described as: naïve and obedient

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