I am eager to see your performances/films tomorrow in class!
Know this for Wednesday's test:
We will discuss tomorrow.
"For
this same lord, I do repent: but heaven hath pleased it so, To punish me with
this and this with me, That I must be their scourge and minister. I will bestow
him, and will answer well The death I gave him. So, again, good night. I must
be cruel, only to be kind: Thus bad begins and worse remains behind. One word
more, good lady."
a.
Hamlet about his father
b.
Hamlet about Polonius
c.
Hamlet to himself
d.
Hamlet to Gertrude
e.
Hamlet to Gertrude about Polonius
"O,
what a noble mind is here o'erthrown! The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's,
eye, tongue, sword; The expectancy and rose of the fair state, The glass of
fashion and the mould of form, The observed of all observers, quite, quite
down!"
a.
Ophelia to herself
b.
Laertes to Ophelia
c.
Polonius to Claudius
d.
Hamlet to Horatio
e.
Hamlet to himself
"What
is your cause of distemper? you do, surely, bar the door upon your own liberty,
if you deny your griefs to your friend."
a.
Claudius to Hamlet
b.
Horatio to Hamlet
c.
Rosencrantz to Hamlet
d.
Hamlet to Laertes
e.
Guildenstern to Hamlet
“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.”
a. Ghost to Hamlet
b. Claudius to
Hamlet
c. Hamlet to
Horatio
d. Laertes to
Ophelia
e. Polonius to
Laertes
“Though
this be madness, yet there is method in't.”
a.
Claudius about Hamlet
b.
Gertrude about Hamlet
c.
Gertrude about Ophelia
d.
Polonius about Hamlet
e.
Laertes about Ophelia
“There
are more things in Heaven and Earth, ____________, than are dreamt of in your
philosophy.”
a.
Hamlet to Horatio
b.
Laertes to Ophelia
c.
Hamlet to Polonius
d.
Polonius to Laertes
e.
Claudius to Hamlet
“Brevity
is the soul of wit.”
a.
Polonius to Claudius and Gertrude.
b.
Hamlet to Horatio
c.
Polonius to Laertes
d.
Polonius to Hamlet
e.
Polonius to Ophelia
“My
words fly up, my thoughts remain below: Words without thoughts never to heaven
go.”
a.
Hamlet to himself
b.
Gertrude to herself.
c.
Claudius to himself.
d.
Laertes to himself.
e.
Ophelia to herself.
“Sweets
to the sweet.”
a.
Hamlet to Ophelia
b.
Claudius to Gertrude
c.
Polonius to Laertes
d.
Gertrude at Ophelia's funeral.
“The
lady doth protest too much, methinks.”
a.
Hamlet about Ophelia
b.
Hamlet about Gertrude
c.
Gertrude about Ophelia
d.
Claudius about Gertrude
e.
Claudius about Ophelia
“When
sorrows come, they come not single spies. But in battalions!”
a.
Gertrude to Claudius
b.
Hamlet to Horatio
c.
Claudius to Gertrude
d.
Gertrude about Hamlet
e.
Laertes about his father and sister
“Madness
in great ones must not unwatched go.”
a.
Polonius about Hamlet
b.
Horatio about Hamlet
c.
Ophelia about Hamlet
d.
Gertrude about Hamlet
e.
Claudius about Hamlet
“God hath given you one face, and you
make yourself another.”
a.
Hamlet to Gertrude
b.
Claudius to Hamlet
c.
Laertes to Ophelia
d.
Hamlet to Ophelia
e.
Hamlet to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern
“Give
every man thy ear, but few thy voice.”
a.
Polonius to Ophelia
b.
Polonius to Hamlet
c.
Polonius to Laertes
d.
Claudius to Polonius
e.
Laertes to Ophelia
“What
a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculties! In
form and moving, how express and admirable! In action how like an angel! In
apprehension how like a god! The beauty of the world! The paragon of animals!
And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?”
a.
Claudius to himself.
b.
Hamlet to himself.
c.
Laertes about his father.
d.
Gertrude to herself
e.
Laertes to Ophelia
“I
loved Ophelia. Forty thousand brothers could not, with all their quantity of
love, make up my sum.”
a.
Hamlet to Claudius
b.
Hamlet to Laertes
c.
Hamlet to Gertrude
d.
Hamlet to Horatio
e.
Hamlet to all of the above
“I
must be cruel only to be kind; Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind.”
a.
Hamlet to himself
b.
Hamlet to Gertrude
c.
Hamlet to Ophelia
d.
Hamlet to Horation
e.
Laertes to Claudius
“I
am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a
handsaw.”
a.
Hamlet to Polonius
b.
Ophelia to Polonius
c.
Hamlet to Ophelia
d.
Hamlet to Guildenstern and Rosencrantz
e.
Hamlet to Gertrude
“To
be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand.”
a.
Claudius to himself.
b.
Polonius to Ophelia
c.
Polonius to Laertes
d.
Hamlet to Polonius
e.
Hamlet to Horatio
“Something
is rotten in the state of Denmark.”
a.
Hamlet
b.
Horatio
c.
Polonius
d.
Marcellus
e.
Rosencrantz
“The rest, is silence.”
a.
Gertrude
b.
Claudius
c.
King Hamlet
d.
Hamlet
e.
Horatio
Is
this quote correct? “That one may smile, and smile, and be a friend. ”
True or False
After
Hamlet dies, Horatio says: “Now cracks a noble heart. Good-night, sweet prince;
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest. ”
True
or False
Short
Answer:
Which
characters die in the play and how?
When Hamlet says:
Why, then, 'tis none to you; for there is nothing
either good or bad, but thinking makes it so: to me
it is a prison.
Explain the context and the
significance of these words.
The soliloquys of Hamlet can
be challenging – select two of the following five soliloquys. In
Act I, Scene 2
O,
that this too too solid flesh would melt
Thaw
and resolve itself into a dew!
Or
that the Everlasting had not fix'd
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 garden,
That
grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature
Possess
it merely. That it should come to this!
But
two months dead: nay, not so much, not two:
So
excellent a king; that was, to this,
Hyperion
to a satyr; so loving to my mother
That
he might not beteem the winds of heaven
Visit
her face too roughly. Heaven and earth!
Must
I remember? why, she would hang on him,
As
if increase of appetite had grown
By
what it fed on: and yet, within a month--
Let
me not think on't--Frailty, thy name is woman!--
A
little month, or ere those shoes were old
With
which she follow'd my poor father's body,
Like
Niobe, all tears:--why she, even she--
O,
God! a beast, that wants discourse of reason,
Would
have mourn'd longer--married with my uncle,
My
father's brother, but no more like my father
Than
I to Hercules: within a month:
Ere
yet the salt of most unrighteous tears
Had
left the flushing in her galled eyes,
She
married. O, most wicked speed, to post
With
such dexterity to incestuous sheets!
It
is not nor it cannot come to good:
But
break, my heart; for I must hold my tongue.
Act
II, Scene 2
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 conceit
That
from her working all his visage wann'd,
Tears
in his eyes, distraction in's aspect,
A
broken voice, and his whole function suiting
With
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 passion
That
I have? He would drown the stage with tears
And
cleave the general ear with horrid speech,
Make
mad the guilty and appal the free,
Confound
the ignorant, and amaze indeed
The
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 life
A
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 be
But
I am pigeon-liver'd and lack gall
To
make oppression bitter, or ere this
I
should have fatted all the region kites
With
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 heard
That
guilty creatures sitting at a play
Have
by the very cunning of the scene
Been
struck so to the soul that presently
They
have proclaim'd their malefactions;
For
murder, though it have no tongue, will speak
With
most miraculous organ. I'll have these players
Play
something like the murder of my father
Before
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 seen
May
be the devil: and the devil hath power
To
assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhaps
Out
of my weakness and my melancholy,
As
he is very potent with such spirits,
Abuses
me to damn me: I'll have grounds
More
relative than this: the play 's the thing
Wherein
I'll catch the conscience of the king.
Act
III, Scene 1
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; and by a sleep to say we end
The
heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That
flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly
to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To
sleep: perchance to dream: ay, 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;
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? who would fardels bear,
To
grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But
that the dread of something after death,
The
undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No
traveller returns, puzzles the will
And
makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than
fly to others that we know not of?
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,
And
enterprises of great pith and moment
With
this regard their currents turn awry,
And
lose the name of action.--Soft you now!
The
fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be
all my sins remember'd.
Act
III, Scene III
Now
might I do it pat, now he is praying;
And
now I'll do't. And so he goes to heaven;
And
so am I revenged. That would be scann'd:
A
villain kills my father; and for that,
I,
his sole son, do this same villain send
To
heaven.
O,
this is hire and salary, not revenge.
He
took my father grossly, full of bread;
With
all his crimes broad blown, as flush as May;
And
how his audit stands who knows save heaven?
But
in our circumstance and course of thought,
'Tis
heavy with him: and am I then revenged,
To
take him in the purging of his soul,
When
he is fit and season'd for his passage?
No!
Up,
sword; and know thou a more horrid hent:
When
he is drunk asleep, or in his rage,
Or
in the incestuous pleasure of his bed;
At
gaming, swearing, or about some act
That
has no relish of salvation in't;
Then
trip him, that his heels may kick at heaven,
And
that his soul may be as damn'd and black
As
hell, whereto it goes. My mother stays:
This
physic but prolongs thy sickly days.
Act
IV, Scene IV
How
all occasions do inform against me,
And
spur my dull revenge! What is a man,
If
his chief good and market of his time
Be
but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more.
Sure,
he that made us with such large discourse,
Looking
before and after, gave us not
That
capability and god-like reason
To
fust in us unused. Now, whether it be
Bestial
oblivion, or some craven scruple
Of
thinking too precisely on the event,
A
thought which, quarter'd, hath but one part wisdom
And
ever three parts coward, I do not know
Why
yet I live to say 'This thing's to do;'
Sith
I have cause and will and strength and means
To
do't. Examples gross as earth exhort me:
Witness
this army of such mass and charge
Led
by a delicate and tender prince,
Whose
spirit with divine ambition puff'd
Makes
mouths at the invisible event,
Exposing
what is mortal and unsure
To
all that fortune, death and danger dare,
Even
for an egg-shell. Rightly to be great
Is
not to stir without great argument,
But
greatly to find quarrel in a straw
When
honour's at the stake. How stand I then,
That
have a father kill'd, a mother stain'd,
Excitements
of my reason and my blood,
And
let all sleep? while, to my shame, I see
The
imminent death of twenty thousand men,
That,
for a fantasy and trick of fame,
Go
to their graves like beds, fight for a plot
Whereon
the numbers cannot try the cause,
Which
is not tomb enough and continent
To
hide the slain? O, from this time forth,
My
thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth!
