Hamlet Storyboard
Siužetinės Linijos Tekstas
- Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted color off,And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark.Do not forever with thy vailèd lidsSeek for thy noble father in the dust.Thou know’st 'tis common. All that lives must die,Passing through nature to eternity.
- “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.
- If it be,Why seems it so particular with thee?
- Ay, madam, it is common.
- Why, ’tis a loving and a fair reply.Be as ourself in Denmark. —Madam, come.This gentle and unforced accord of HamletSits smiling to my heart, in grace whereofNo jocund health that Denmark drinks todayBut the great cannon to the clouds shall tell,And the king’s rouse the heavens shall bruit again,Respeaking earthly thunder. Come away.
- ‘Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet,To give these mourning duties to your father.But you must know your father lost a father,That father lost, lost his, and the survivor bound In filial obligation for some term To do obsequious sorrow. But to persevere In obstinate condolement is a courseOf impious stubbornness. ‘Tis unmanly grief.It shows a will most incorrect to heaven,A heart unfortified, a mind impatient,An understanding simple and unschooled.For what we know must be and is as common....
- Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet.I pray thee, stay with us. Go not to Wittenberg.
- I shall in all my best obey you, madam.
- Oh, that this too, too sullied flesh would melt,Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew,Or that the Everlasting had not fixedHis canon ‘gainst self-slaughter! O God, God!How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitableSeem to me all the uses of this world!Fie on ’t, ah fie! ‘Tis an unweeded gardenThat grows to seed. Things rank and gross in naturePossess 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 thisHyperion to a satyr. So loving to my motherThat he might not beteem the winds of heavenVisit her face too roughly...
Sukurta daugiau nei 30 milijonų siužetinių lentelių
Nereikia Atsisiuntimų, Nereikia Kredito Kortelės ir Nereikia Prisijungti!
