Speaker To whom Paraphrase Literary Devices Context 100 100 100 100 100 200 200 200 200 200 300 300 300 300 300 400 400 400 400 400 500 500 500 500 500
Why, as a woodcock to mine own springe, Osric: I am justly kill’d with mine own treachery.
Do not as some ungracious pastors do, / Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven / Whiles like a puff’d and reckless libertine / Himself the primrose path of dalliance tread.
A pestilence on him for a mad rogue! A poured a flagon of Rhenish on my head once.
Haste me to know’t, that I with wings as swift / As meditation or the thoughts of love / May sweep to my revenge.
Let me know it quickly so that I, with wings as quick as thinking or thoughts of love, can quickly take revenge.
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 somethimes march?
What are you that come in the night dressed the way the dead King of Denmark was dressed when marching in battle?
I will speak daggers to her, but use none; / My tongue and soul in this be hypocrites; / How in my words soever she be shent, / To give them seals never, my soul, consent.
I will speak cruelly to her, but I will not harm her physically. I will not express all of the horrible bitterness of my soul. However she may be shamed by my words, I will never act on my words.
But I have that within which passeth show; / These but the trappings and the suits of woe.
The feelings I have inside me are beyond what you see on the outside; “these” are merely my outer mourning clothes.
How absolute the knave is! We must speak by the card, or equivocation will undo us.
How exact with words the gravedigger is. We must speak very precisely or ambiguity will get us nowhere.
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; / And thus the native hue of resolution / Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought, …
Forty thousand brothers / Could not, with all their quantity of love, / Make up my sum.
Think yourself a baby, / That you have ta’en these tenders for true pay, / which are not sterling. Tender yourself more dearly.
You would play me; you would seem to know my stops; you would pluck out the heart of my mystery; you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass: and there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ; yet cannot you make it speak. ‘Sblood, do you think that I am easier to be played on than a pipe?
Rashly, / And praised be rashness for it, let us know, / Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well, / When our dear plots do pall: and that should teach us / There’s a divinity that shapes our ends, / Rough-hew them how we will.
Hamlet is about to tell Horatio about how he changed the letter for the English King and feels he was guided by the hand of God.
What is the reason that you use me thus? / I loved you ever: but it is no matter; / Let Hercules himself do what he may, / The cat will mew, and dog will have his day.
Hamlet has just fought with Laertes in Ophelia’s grave and Laertes tried to kill him. Hamlet is upset that he was treated so badly.
O… that the Everlasting had not fixed / His cannon ‘gainst self-slaughter! O God! God! / How weary, stale, and unprofitable / Seem to me all the uses of this world!”
Hamlet’s father is dead; Claudius has just been crowned king and has just married Hamlet’s mother; Hamlet is so depressed that he wants to commit suicide.
Why, man, they did make love to this employment; / They are not near my conscience.
Hamlet has just told Horatio about switching the letters and that R and G are going to be killed in England.
I shall win at the odds. But thou wouldst not think how ill all’s here about my heart: but it is no matter.