Hamlet Quiz #1

Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted color off,And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark.Do not forever with thy vailed lidsSeek for thy noble father in the dust.Thou know’st ’tis common; all that lives must die,Passing through nature to eternity. Queen
A little more kin and less than kind. Hamlet
Not so, my lord; I am too much in the sun. Hamlet
“Seems,” madam? Nay, it is. I know not “seems.”‘Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,Nor customary suits of solemn black,Nor windy suspiration of forced breath,No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,Nor the dejected ‘havior of the visage,Together with all forms, moods, shapes of grief,That can denote me truly. These indeed “seem,”For they are actions that a man might play.But I have that within which passeth show,These but the trappings and the suits of woe. Hamlet
O all you host of heaven! O earth! What else?And shall I couple hell? Oh, fie! Hold, hold, my heart,And you, my sinews, grow not instant old,But bear me stiffly up. Remember thee!Ay, thou poor ghost, whiles memory holds a seatIn this distracted globe. Remember thee!Yea, from the table of my memoryI’ll wipe away all trivial fond records,All saws of books, all forms, all pressures pastThat youth and observation copied there,And thy commandment all alone shall liveWithin the book and volume of my brain,Unmixed with baser matter. Yes, by heaven!O most pernicious woman!O villain, villain, smiling, damnèd villain!My tables!—Meet it is I set it downThat one may smile, and smile, and be a villain.At least I’m sure it may be so in Denmark. (writes)So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word. Hamlet
And therefore as a stranger give it welcome.There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,Than are dreamt of in your philosophy. But come,Here, as before, never, so help you mercy,How strange or odd soe’er I bear myself(As I perchance hereafter shall think meetTo put an antic disposition on),That you, at such times seeing me, never shall—With arms encumbered thus, or this headshake,Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase,As “Well, well, we know,” or “We could an if we would,”Or “If we list to speak,” or “There be an if they might,”Or such ambiguous giving out—to noteThat you know aught of me. This not to do,So grace and mercy at your most need help you,Swear. Hamlet
O, that this too, too sullied flesh would melt, Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew, Or that the Everlasting had not fixed His canon ‘gainst self slaughter! O God, God, How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable Seem to me all the uses of this world!Fie on ‘t, ah fie! ‘Tis an unweeded gardenThat grows to seed. Hamlet
So oft it chances in particular menThat for some vicious mole of nature in them—As in their birth (wherein they are not guilty,Since nature cannot choose his origin),By the o’ergrowth of some complexion,Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason,Or by some habit that too much o’erleavensThe form of plausive manners—that these men,Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect,Being nature’s livery or fortune’s star,Their virtues else (be they as pure as grace,As infinite as man may undergo)Shall in the general censure take corruptionFrom that particular fault. The dram of evilDoth all the noble substance of a doubtTo his own scandal. Hamlet
The memory be green, and that it us befitted King
Yet here, Laertes? Aboard, aboard, for shame!The wind sits in the shoulder of your sailAnd you are stayed for. There, my blessing with thee.And these few precepts in thy memoryLook thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue,Nor any unproportioned thought his act.Be thou familiar but by no means vulgar.Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,Grapple them unto thy soul with hoops of steel,But do not dull thy palm with entertainmentOf each new-hatched, unfledged comrade. BewareOf entrance to a quarrel, but being in,Bear ‘t that th’ opposèd may beware of thee.Give every man thy ear but few thy voice.Take each man’s censure but reserve thy judgment.Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,But not expressed in fancy—rich, not gaudy,For the apparel oft proclaims the man,And they in France of the best rank and stationAre of a most select and generous chief in that.Neither a borrower nor a lender be,For loan oft loses both itself and friend,And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.This above all: to thine own self be true,And it must follow, as the night the day,Thou canst not then be false to any man.Farewell. My blessing season this in thee. Polonius
Ay, springes to catch woodcocks. I do know,When the blood burns, how prodigal the soulLends the tongue vows. These blazes, daughter,Giving more light than heat, extinct in bothEven in their promise as it is a-making,You must not take for fire. From this timeBe somewhat scanter of your maiden presence.Set your entreatments at a higher rateThan a command to parley. For Lord Hamlet,Believe so much in him that he is young,And with a larger tether may he walkThan may be given you. In few, Ophelia,Do not believe his vows, for they are brokersNot of that dye which their investments show,But mere implorators of unholy suits,Breathing like sanctified and pious bawds,The better to beguile. This is for all:I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth,Have you so slander any moment leisure,As to give words or talk with the Lord Hamlet. Polonius
Look to ‘t, I charge you. Come your ways. Polonius
Angels and ministers of grace defend us!Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damned,Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell, Polonius
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 deadDid squeak and gibber in the Roman streetsAs stars with trains of fire and dews of blood,Disasters in the sun, and the moist starUpon whose influence Neptune’s empire standsWas sick almost to doomsday with eclipse.And even the like precurse of feared events,As harbingers preceding still the fatesAnd prologue to the omen coming on,Have heaven and earth together demonstratedUnto our climatures and countrymen. Horatio
So I have heard and do in part believe it. but look, the morn in russet mantle cladwalks o’er the dew of yon high eastward hill Horatio
And then it started like a guilty thingUpon a fearful summons. I have heardThe cock, that is the trumpet to the morn,Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throatAwake the god of day, and, at his warning,Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air,Th’ extravagant and erring spirit hiesTo his confine, and of the truth hereinThis present object made probation. Horatio
What if it tempt you toward the flood, my lord,Or to the dreadful summit of the cliffThat beetles o’er his base into the sea,And there assume some other horrible form,Which might deprive your sovereignty of reasonAnd draw you into madness? Think of it.The very place puts toys of desperation,Without more motive, into every brainThat looks so many fathoms to the seaAnd hears it roar beneath. Horatio
Something is rotten in the state of Denmark Marcellus
I am thy father’s spirit,Doomed for a certain term to walk the nightAnd for the day confined to fast in fires,Till the foul crimes done in my days of natureAre burnt and purged away. But that I am forbidTo tell the secrets of my prison house,I could a tale unfold whose lightest wordWould harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood,Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres,Thy knotted and combinèd locks to partAnd each particular hair to stand on end,Like quills upon the fearful porpentine.But this eternal blazon must not beTo ears of flesh and blood. List, list, O, list!If thou didst ever thy dear father love— Ghost
I find thee apt,And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weedThat roots itself in ease on Lethe wharf,Wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear.’Tis given out that, sleeping in my orchard,A serpent stung me. So the whole ear of DenmarkIs by a forgèd process of my deathRankly abused. But know, thou noble youth,The serpent that did sting thy father’s lifeNow wears his crown. Ghost
The leperous distilment, whose effectHolds such an enmity with blood of manThat swift as quicksilver it courses throughThe natural gates and alleys of the bodyAnd with a sudden vigor doth possetAnd curd, like eager droppings into milk,The thin and wholesome blood. So did it mine.And a most instant tetter barked about,Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crustAll my smooth body.Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother’s handOf life, of crown, of queen at once dispatched,Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin,Unhouseled, disappointed, unaneled.No reckoning made, but sent to my accountWith all my imperfections on my head.Oh, horrible, oh, horrible, most horrible!If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not. Ghost
Let not the royal bed of Denmark beA couch for luxury and damnèd incest.But howsoever thou pursuest this act,Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contriveAgainst thy mother aught. Leave her to heavenAnd to those thorns that in her bosom lodgeTo prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once.The glowworm shows the matin to be near,And ‘gins to pale his uneffectual fire.Adieu, adieu, adieu. Remember me. Ghost
Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder Ghost
Murder most foul, as in the best it is, But this most foul, strange, and unnatural. Ghost
Nay, answer me. Stand and unfold yourself. Francisco
Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting, The perfume and suppliance of a minute. No more. Laertes
Then, if he say he loves you, It fits your wisdom so far to believe itAs he in his particular act and placeMay give his saying deed, which is no furtherThan the main voice of Denmark goes withal.Then weigh what loss your honor may sustainIf with too credent ear you list his songs,Or lose your heart, or your chaste treasure openTo his unmastered importunity.Fear it, Ophelia. Fear it, my dear sister,And keep you in the rear of your affection,Out of the shot and danger of desire. Laertes
But, good my brother,Do not, as some ungracious pastors do,Show me the steep and thorny way to heavenWhiles, like a puffed and reckless libertine,Himself the primrose path of dalliance treadsAnd recks not his own rede. Ophelia

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