Read the excerpt from Act II of Hamlet.Ophelia: Alas! my lord, I have been so affrighted.Polonius: With what, in the name of God?Ophelia: My lord, as I was sewing in my closet, Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbrac'd; No hat upon his head; his stockings foul'd, Ungarter'd, and down-gyved to his ancle; Pale as his shirt; his knees knocking each other; And with a look so piteous in purport As if he had been loosed out of hell To speak of horrors, he comes before me.
Read the excerpt from Act IV of Hamlet. Claudius: He made confession of you,And gave you such a masterly report For art and exercise in your defence, And for your rapier most especially, That he cried out, ’twould be a sight indeed If one could match you; the scrimers of their nation,He swore, had neither motion, guard, nor eye, If you oppos’d them. Sir, this report of his Did Hamlet so envenom with his envy That he could nothing do but wish and beg Your sudden coming o’er, to play with him.
Read the excerpt from Act III of Hamlet.Hamlet: 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.
Read the passage from Hamlet, Act II, Scene ii.Gertrude: Thanks, Guildenstern and gentle Rosencrantz; And I beseech you instantly to visit My too much changed son. Go, some of you, And bring these gentlemen where Hamlet is.
Read the excerpt from Hamlet.Laertes: Be wary then; best safety lies in fear: Youth to itself rebels, though none else near.Ophelia: I shall th’ effect of this good lesson keep,As watchman to my heart. But, good my brother, 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 treads,And recks not his own rede.
Read the excerpt from Hamlet. Hamlet: O! that this too too solid flesh would melt, Thaw and resolve itself into a dew; Or that the Everlasting had not fix’dHis canon ’gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God! How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable Seem to me all the uses of this world. Fie on ’t! O fie! ’tis an unweeded garden, That grows to seed; things rank and gross in naturePossess it merely. That it should come to this!
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