Monday, December 16, 2013

Review the following for test tomorrow!

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?
'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?
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!

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