Shakespeare’s Dramatic Language. Rhetoric, Wordplay, Forms. Shakespeare’s Language. Source of pleasure or Obstacle to appreciation?. Qualities of Shakespeare’s verse . Density and richness Characters express thoughts through abundant, powerful images and metaphors
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Rhetoric, Wordplay, Forms
Source of pleasure
Obstacle to appreciation?
There’s husbandry in heaven,
Their candles are all out. Take thee that too. [Gives him his belt and dagger.]
A heavy summons lies like lead upon me,
And yet I would not sleep. (2.1.4-7)
hath, doth, goeth
Sleeping within my orchard,
My custom always of the afternoon,
Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole,
With juice of cursed hebona in a vial,
And in the porches of my ears did pour
The leprous distillment. (1.5.59-64)
Rhetoric is the greatest barrier between us and our ancestors . . . . Nearly all our older poetry was written and read by men to whom the distinction between poetry and rhetoric, in its modern form, would have been meaningless. The “beauties” which they chiefly regarded in every composition were those which we either dislike or simply do not notice. This change of taste makes an invisible wall between us and them.
And that bare vowel I shall poison no more
His mother was a vot’ress of my order,
And in the spiced Indian air, by night,
Full often hath she gosipp’d by my side,
And sat with me on Neptune’s yellow sands,
Marking th’embarked traders on the flood;
When we have laugh’d to see the sails conceive
And grow big-bellied with the wanton wind;
Which she, with pretty and swimming gait,
Following (her womb then rich with my young squire)
To fetch me trifles, and return again,
As from a voyage, rich with merchandise.
But she, being mortal, of that boy did die,
And for her sake do I rear up her boy;
And for her sake I will not part with him.
v / v / v / v /
your ears! [regular]
/ / v / v / / v
your ears! [irregular]
Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this son of York;
And all the clouds that low’r’d upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths,
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments,
Our stern alarums chang’d to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-visag’d War hath smooth’d his wrinkled front,
And now, in stead of mounting barbed steeds
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
He capers nimbly in a lady’s chamber
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
But I, that am not shap’d for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I, that am rudely stamp’d, and want love’s majesty
To strut before a woman ambling nymph;
I, that am curtail’d of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deform’d, unfinish’d, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt be them--
Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to see my shadow in the sun
And descant on my own deformity.
And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
I am determined to prove a villain
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
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