Which piece of Shakespearian prose or poetry, means a lot to you?

[Canticle]

Sonnet 18

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this and this gives life to thee.




An obvious one....for a starter

[TaylorMade]

SONNET 23

As an unperfect actor on the stage
Who with his fear is put besides his part,
Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,
Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart.
So I, for fear of trust, forget to say
The perfect ceremony of love's rite,
And in mine own love's strength seem to decay,
O'ercharged with burden of mine own love's might.
O, let my books be then the eloquence
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast,
Who plead for love and look for recompense
More than that tongue that more hath more express'd.
O, learn to read what silent love hath writ:
To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.

I loved that one as long as I've loved Gary Sinise. . .(I.E - -a long ass time) If I ever married, I wanted that on the wedding program.. :p

*Taylor*

[Canticle]

Yes, Taylor, that is a very pleasant sonnet. Pleasant, indeed, for a wedding.

And now....

Shylock:

I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands,
organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions; fed with the same
food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases,
heal'd by the same means, warm'd and cool'd by the same winter
and summer, as a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If
you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die?
And if you wrong us, do we not revenge? If we are like you in the
rest, we will resemble you in that.

The Merchant Of Venice Act 3, scene 1, 58-68

[darkeyes]

At the end of Taming of the Shrew. Kate makes a speech which in which she finally accepts her subservience to her husband... I love Will Shakespeare and think this is a beautifully written piece.. but no part of Shakespeare brings out in me belly laughs quite like Kate's speech... I know he was a man of his time, and is the greatest most brilliant dramatist humanity has ever produced.. his works speak for all ages of man.. except this.. it shows that Will Shakepeare could be a f****** dick and fallible just like any man..

Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper,
Thy head, thy sovereign, one that cares for thee,
And for thy maintenance commits his body
To painful labour both by sea and land,
To watch the night in storms, the day in cold,
Whilst thou liest warm at home, secure and safe,
And craves no other tribute at thy hands
But love, fair looks, and true obedience,
Too little payment for so great a debt.
. . .
My mind hath been as big as one of yours,
My heart as great, my reason haply more,
To bandy word for word and frown for frown;
But now I see our lances are but straws,
Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare,
That seeming to be most which we indeed least are.
Then vail your stomachs, for it is no boot,
And place your hands below your husband’s foot,
In token of which duty, if he please,
My hand is ready, may it do him ease.

[elian]

Not Shakespeare per se, but worth a chuckle..

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UG1leLrZKHM&feature=related ?

[TwylaTwobits]

91

Some glory in their birth, some in their skill,
Some in their wealth, some in their body's force,
Some in their garments though new-fangled ill;
Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse;
And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure,
Wherein it finds a joy above the rest:
But these particulars are not my measure,
All these I better in one general best.
Thy love is better than high birth to me,
Richer than wealth, prouder than garments' cost,
Of more delight than hawks and horses be;
And having thee, of all men's pride I boast:
Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst take
All this away, and me most wretched make.

[TaylorMade]

If you want Taylor to cry like a bitch.... I can't even READ it w/o crying.


St. Crispen's Day Speech
William Shakespeare, 1599

Enter the KING

WESTMORELAND. O that we now had here
But one ten thousand of those men in England
That do no work to-day!

KING. What's he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin;
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England.
God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more methinks would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse;
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is call'd the feast of Crispian.
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispian's day.'
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words-
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.


*Taylor*

[Canticle]

Oh, I am loving this. Some beautiful pieces.

And, Taylor, how about this one, too....


Alarum. Enter KING HENRY, EXETER, BEDFORD, GLOUCESTER, and Soldiers, with scaling-ladders

KING HENRY V
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead.
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
Let pry through the portage of the head
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a galled rock
O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you noblest English.
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument:
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest
That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you.
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!'

Exeunt. Alarum, and chambers go off

[Lady_Passion]

"Oh, tiger's heart wrapped in a woman's hide"

Shakespeare’s Henry VI, part 3


Though my favorite poet is William Bliss Carman and particularly "The Soul of April".

[FalconAngel]

If you want Taylor to cry like a bitch.... I can't even READ it w/o crying.


St. Crispen's Day Speech
William Shakespeare, 1599

Enter the KING

WESTMORELAND. O that we now had here
But one ten thousand of those men in England
That do no work to-day!

KING. What's he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin;
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England.
God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more methinks would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse;
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is call'd the feast of Crispian.
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispian's day.'
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words-
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.


*Taylor*

That's actually a soliloquy, but certainly my favorite one. I'm not much of a poetry or prose kind of guy.

[Canticle]

ACT II - SCENE II. Capulet's orchard.

Enter ROMEO
ROMEO
He jests at scars that never felt a wound.

JULIET appears above at a window

ROMEO
But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief,
That thou her maid art far more fair than she:
Be not her maid, since she is envious;
Her vestal livery is but sick and green
And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.
It is my lady, O, it is my love!
O, that she knew she were!
She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that?
Her eye discourses; I will answer it.
I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks:
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do entreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
What if her eyes were there, they in her head?
The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,
As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven
Would through the airy region stream so bright
That birds would sing and think it were not night.
See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
O, that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek!

JULIET
Ay me!

ROMEO
She speaks:
O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art
As glorious to this night, being o'er my head
As is a winged messenger of heaven
Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes
Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him
When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds
And sails upon the bosom of the air.

JULIET
O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?
Deny thy father and refuse thy name;
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I'll no longer be a Capulet.

ROMEO
[Aside] Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?

JULIET
'Tis but thy name that is my enemy;
Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.
What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!
What's in a name? that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name,
And for that name which is no part of thee
Take all myself.

ROMEO
I take thee at thy word:
Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized;
Henceforth I never will be Romeo.

JULIET
What man art thou that thus bescreen'd in night
So stumblest on my counsel?

ROMEO
By a name
I know not how to tell thee who I am:
My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,
Because it is an enemy to thee;
Had I it written, I would tear the word.

JULIET
My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words
Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound:
Art thou not Romeo and a Montague?

ROMEO
Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike.

JULIET
How camest thou hither, tell me, and wherefore?
The orchard walls are high and hard to climb,
And the place death, considering who thou art,
If any of my kinsmen find thee here.

ROMEO
With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls;
For stony limits cannot hold love out,
And what love can do that dares love attempt;
Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me.

JULIET
If they do see thee, they will murder thee.

ROMEO
Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye
Than twenty of their swords: look thou but sweet,
And I am proof against their enmity.

JULIET
I would not for the world they saw thee here.

ROMEO
I have night's cloak to hide me from their sight;
And but thou love me, let them find me here:
My life were better ended by their hate,
Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love.

JULIET
By whose direction found'st thou out this place?

ROMEO
By love, who first did prompt me to inquire;
He lent me counsel and I lent him eyes.
I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far
As that vast shore wash'd with the farthest sea,
I would adventure for such merchandise.

JULIET
Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face,
Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek
For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night
Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny
What I have spoke: but farewell compliment!
Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say 'Ay,'
And I will take thy word: yet if thou swear'st,
Thou mayst prove false; at lovers' perjuries
Then say, Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo,
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully:
Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won,
I'll frown and be perverse an say thee nay,
So thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world.
In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond,
And therefore thou mayst think my 'havior light:
But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true
Than those that have more cunning to be strange.
I should have been more strange, I must confess,
But that thou overheard'st, ere I was ware,
My true love's passion: therefore pardon me,
And not impute this yielding to light love,
Which the dark night hath so discovered.

ROMEO
Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear
That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops--

JULIET
O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon,
That monthly changes in her circled orb,
Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.

ROMEO
What shall I swear by?

JULIET
Do not swear at all;
Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self,
Which is the god of my idolatry,
And I'll believe thee.

ROMEO
If my heart's dear love--

JULIET
Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee,
I have no joy of this contract to-night:
It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden;
Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be
Ere one can say 'It lightens.' Sweet, good night!
This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath,
May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.
Good night, good night! as sweet repose and rest
Come to thy heart as that within my breast!

ROMEO
O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?

JULIET
What satisfaction canst thou have to-night?

ROMEO
The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine.

JULIET
I gave thee mine before thou didst request it:
And yet I would it were to give again.

ROMEO
Wouldst thou withdraw it? for what purpose, love?

JULIET
But to be frank, and give it thee again.
And yet I wish but for the thing I have:
My bounty is as boundless as the sea,
My love as deep; the more I give to thee,
The more I have, for both are infinite.

Nurse calls within

I hear some noise within; dear love, adieu!
Anon, good nurse! Sweet Montague, be true.
Stay but a little, I will come again.

Exit, above

ROMEO
O blessed, blessed night! I am afeard.
Being in night, all this is but a dream,
Too flattering-sweet to be substantial.

Re-enter JULIET, above

JULIET
Three words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed.
If that thy bent of love be honourable,
Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow,
By one that I'll procure to come to thee,
Where and what time thou wilt perform the rite;
And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay
And follow thee my lord throughout the world.

Nurse
[Within] Madam!

JULIET
I come, anon.--But if thou mean'st not well,
I do beseech thee--

Nurse
[Within] Madam!

JULIET
By and by, I come:--
To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief:
To-morrow will I send.

ROMEO
So thrive my soul--

JULIET
A thousand times good night!

Exit, above

ROMEO
A thousand times the worse, to want thy light.
Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from
their books,
But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.

Retiring

Re-enter JULIET, above

JULIET
Hist! Romeo, hist! O, for a falconer's voice,
To lure this tassel-gentle back again!
Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud;
Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies,
And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine,
With repetition of my Romeo's name.

ROMEO
It is my soul that calls upon my name:
How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night,
Like softest music to attending ears!

JULIET
Romeo!

ROMEO
My dear?

JULIET
At what o'clock to-morrow
Shall I send to thee?

ROMEO
At the hour of nine.

JULIET
I will not fail: 'tis twenty years till then.
I have forgot why I did call thee back.

ROMEO
Let me stand here till thou remember it.

JULIET
I shall forget, to have thee still stand there,
Remembering how I love thy company.

ROMEO
And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget,
Forgetting any other home but this.

JULIET
'Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone:
And yet no further than a wanton's bird;
Who lets it hop a little from her hand,
Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,
And with a silk thread plucks it back again,
So loving-jealous of his liberty.

ROMEO
I would I were thy bird.

JULIET
Sweet, so would I:
Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing.
Good night, good night! parting is such
sweet sorrow,
That I shall say good night till it be morrow.

Exit above

ROMEO
Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast!
Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest!
Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell,
His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell.

Exit

[Canticle]

Oooohhhh that was rather long!

[MarieDelta]

Merchant of Venice:


Shylock: I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? if you tickle us, do we not laugh? if you poison us, do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian example? Why, revenge. The villany you teach me, I will execute, and it shall go hard but I will better the instruction.


~~~
Portia:The quality of mercy is not strain'd,
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest:
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.

[Bluebiyou]

Polonious to Laertes in Hamlet in his unloading of advise before Laertes departure:
...This above all things, to thine own self be true for then it must follow as day the night that thou cans't not be false to any man...


...from my memory... which may or may not be 100%


The second would be Portia's speech in Merchant of Venice

... the quality of mercy is not strained;
it falleth as the gentle rain from heaven
upon the place beneath it is twice blessed
It blesseth him that givith and he that receiveth...

Oh, Canticle, thanks for the inspiration for the sweet recollection.
These phrases should be put in the front of my bible...

Blue

[Canticle]

Merchant of Venice:


Shylock: I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? if you tickle us, do we not laugh? if you poison us, do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian example? Why, revenge. The villany you teach me, I will execute, and it shall go hard but I will better the instruction.


~~~
Portia:The quality of mercy is not strain'd,
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest:
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.

I knew that there was something missing from Shylock's speech, when I found it on google to copy and paste. Such an important ending to it.

My grandmother, who was born in 1881, used to recite the Merchant of Venice to me, when looking after me, during school holidays and ironing the laundry for my Mum.

You're welcome Mr Blue. Shakespeare is always a joy to read. Stratford upon Avon is pretty cool too.

[darkeyes]

I knew that there was something missing from Shylock's speech, when I found it on google to copy and paste. Such an important ending to it.

My grandmother, who was born in 1881, used to recite the Merchant of Venice to me, when looking after me, during school holidays and ironing the laundry for my Mum.

You're welcome Mr Blue. Shakespeare is always a joy to read. Stratford upon Avon is pretty cool too.

My mum's Gran who I never knew used to quote the Merchant of Venice to her children.. "If you poison us do we not die?" Her speciality... but to my mother's shame she would add "Yes you Yid Bastard.. fucking die.."

It was my Great-Grandmothers hatred of Jews that had so much to do with making my mum the person she is today... and my Great Gran wasnt alone in the family....Mum and I we differ on so many things... but her rebellion against the family tradition of Jew baiting and loathing is something about which I could be no more proud...

[Lady_Passion]

Dunno how I neglected to mention "Othello, the Moor of Venice". My absolute favorite Shakespeare piece.

[darkeyes]

Dunno how I neglected to mention "Othello, the Moor of Venice". My absolute favorite Shakespeare piece.

I too love Othello.. when I was at uni about 10 years ago my lecturer said it was the first truly great dramatic piece on racism.. when I went back to uni a few years ago to finish my degree the same lecturer refined his view by saying that it was interesting that Shakespeare located it in a foreign land... make of that what you will..

[Bluebiyou]

Regarding Merchant of Venice:
It seems old William was politically pandering to the Queen Elisabeth.
Didn't William spend some time in 'the tower' to reflect upon poetic slights that were unseeming to Her Majesty?
What could be more flattering than a woman so very much more wise than her surrounding males, temporarily masquerading as a man due to local law and custom, yet expressing wisdom shining above all others, only then to annunciate the virtue of mercy (replete with allusions - [along with shameless flattery] - to this virtue being exercised by monarchs)?
Surely, Queen Elizabeth 'got' what William was saying through the play to her.
" The quality of mercy is not strain'd,
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest;
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes:
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown;
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
But mercy is above this sceptred sway;
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings,
It is an attribute to God himself;
And earthly power doth then show likest God's
When mercy seasons justice."

[Canticle]

Hmmmmm....I've never heard about the Bard spending any time in the tower and it's only a couple of years back that I watched a very good set of documentaries about Shakespeare and not only him, but his world.

Maybe Shylock is not, in reality, a Jew. In the reality of the play, yes, but in Shakespeare's real world, not a Jew, but a Roman Catholic, or the ''old religion,'' as it was called. Shakespeare's family were definitely ''of the old religion,'' so maybe this is a clever reference to the way the Roman Catholics were treated, in Tudor (and later, Stuart), England.

Roman Catholics did not have freedom of worship. They had to attend the Protestant Churches, be christened/baptised, be married etc, all as so called Protestants and would be severely dealt with, if they did not.

So, maybe Shakespeare was referring to Christian persecuting, or badly treating Christian, as well as making a reference to Jews. Replace the word Jew with that of Roman Catholic, and the speech makes just as much sense. In fact, replace it with the name of any persecuted minority and it makes sense.

[Bluebiyou]

LOL
In spite of the apparent rise to public attention of 'racism' that Merchant of Venice held aloft, don't forget...
Shylock was frequently publicly shunned and humuliated, by the very folks who presumably sought his help. So much so that he craved the law (and thus justice/revenge) above the return of his wealth, above twice the return of his wealth.
Rather similar to the sacrificial black man friend in (if I recall correctly) Moby Dick, Tom Sawyer, Forest Gump, the Incredible Case of Benjamin Buttons... etc whom is nobly killed off as a necessary part of the story.
Shylock, instead of having the John Wayne outcome of being socially wronged, loses his daughter (from his faith) - why didn't the guy convert to Judiasim because of his love for the girl? - Shylock loses half his wealth (not to mention dowry), is robbed of his socially deserved revenge (purchased at a staggering monetary cost), and is further publicly humiliated at the trial (by a woman).
Hardly a racism success story.
But perhaps, like 'Rockchester' (of Jack Benny genre) and 'Birmingham' (of Charlie Chan genre), was a step, an introduction to acceptance (albeit insulting to those of the same race).

Or is this analysis too intense?

[Canticle]

LOL
In spite of the apparent rise to public attention of 'racism' that Merchant of Venice held aloft, don't forget...
Shylock was frequently publicly shunned and humuliated, by the very folks who presumably sought his help. So much so that he craved the law (and thus justice/revenge) above the return of his wealth, above twice the return of his wealth.
Rather similar to the sacrificial black man friend in (if I recall correctly) Moby Dick, Tom Sawyer, Forest Gump, the Incredible Case of Benjamin Buttons... etc whom is nobly killed off as a necessary part of the story.
Shylock, instead of having the John Wayne outcome of being socially wronged, loses his daughter (from his faith) - why didn't the guy convert to Judiasim because of his love for the girl? - Shylock loses half his wealth (not to mention dowry), is robbed of his socially deserved revenge (purchased at a staggering monetary cost), and is further publicly humiliated at the trial (by a woman).
Hardly a racism success story.
But perhaps, like 'Rockchester' (of Jack Benny genre) and 'Birmingham' (of Charlie Chan genre), was a step, an introduction to acceptance (albeit insulting to those of the same race).

Or is this analysis too intense?


Nope, not at all. Not too intense. That is the beauty of Shakespeare. set it in virtually any time period, or culture and it still works, still means the same.

[Canticle]

Out, damned spot! out, I say!.........and fido too!!!

With apologies to the Bard :bigrin:

[Canticle]

Sonnet 40 - William Shakespeare

Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all;
What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?
No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call;
All mine was thine before thou hadst this more.
Then if for my love thou my love receivest,
I cannot blame thee for my love thou usest;
But yet be blamed, if thou thyself deceivest
By wilful taste of what thyself refusest.
I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief,
Although thou steal thee all my poverty;
And yet, love knows, it is a greater grief
To bear love's wrong than hate's known injury.
Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,
Kill me with spites; yet we must not be foes.

[FemmeFatale]

"These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which, as they kiss, consume." (Romeo and Juliet, Act II, Scene VI )

[Canticle]

Thank you FemmeFatale. Always nice to read something from Romeo and Juliet and a reminder, also, that there was plenty of violence, gang warfare and family feuding.....apart from romance and love....within the play.

Now something, most definitely not tomantic. It's a little long, but it is a whole scene and posting part of it, would have made no sense.

King Lear by William Shakespeare
Act III: Scene VII – Gloucester’s Castle
Enter Cornwall, Regan, Goneril, Edmund and servants

Cornwall
Post speedily to my lord your husband; show him
this letter: the army of France is landed. Seek
out the villain Gloucester.

Exeunt some of the Servants

Regan
Hang him instantly.

Goneril
Pluck out his eyes.

Cornwall
Leave him to my displeasure. Edmund, keep you our
sister company: the revenges we are bound to take
upon your traitorous father are not fit for your
beholding. Advise the duke, where you are going, to
a most festinate preparation: we are bound to the
like. Our posts shall be swift and intelligent
betwixt us. Farewell, dear sister: farewell, my
lord of Gloucester.

Enter Oswald
How now! where's the king?

Oswald
My lord of Gloucester hath convey'd him hence:
Some five or six and thirty of his knights,
Hot questrists after him, met him at gate;
Who, with some other of the lords dependants,
Are gone with him towards Dover; where they boast
To have well-armed friends.

Cornwall
Get horses for your mistress.

Goneril
Farewell, sweet lord, and sister.

Cornwall
Edmund, farewell.

Exeunt Goneril, Edmund, and Oswald
Go seek the traitor Gloucester,
Pinion him like a thief, bring him before us.

Exeunt other Servants
Though well we may not pass upon his life
Without the form of justice, yet our power
Shall do a courtesy to our wrath, which men
May blame, but not control. Who's there? the traitor?

Enter Gloucester, brought in by two or three

Regan
Ingrateful fox! 'tis he.

Cornwall
Bind fast his corky arms.

Gloucester
What mean your graces? Good my friends, consider
You are my guests: do me no foul play, friends.

Cornwall
Bind him, I say.

Servants bind him

Regan
Hard, hard. O filthy traitor!

Gloucester
Unmerciful lady as you are, I'm none.

Cornwall
To this chair bind him. Villain, thou shalt find--

Regan plucks his beard

Gloucester
By the kind gods, 'tis most ignobly done
To pluck me by the beard.

Regan
So white, and such a traitor!

Gloucester
Naughty lady,
These hairs, which thou dost ravish from my chin,
Will quicken, and accuse thee: I am your host:
With robbers' hands my hospitable favours
You should not ruffle thus. What will you do?

Cornwalll
Come, sir, what letters had you late from France?

Regan
Be simple answerer, for we know the truth.

Cornwall
And what confederacy have you with the traitors
Late footed in the kingdom?

Regan
To whose hands have you sent the lunatic king? Speak.

Gloucester
I have a letter guessingly set down,
Which came from one that's of a neutral heart,
And not from one opposed.

Cornwall
Cunning.

Regan
And false.

Cornwall
Where hast thou sent the king?

Gloucester
To Dover.

Regan
Wherefore to Dover? Wast thou not charged at peril--

Cornwall
Wherefore to Dover? Let him first answer that.

Gloucester
I am tied to the stake, and I must stand the course.

Regan
Wherefore to Dover, sir?

Gloucester
Because I would not see thy cruel nails
Pluck out his poor old eyes; nor thy fierce sister
In his anointed flesh stick boarish fangs.
The sea, with such a storm as his bare head
In hell-black night endured, would have buoy'd up,
And quench'd the stelled fires:
Yet, poor old heart, he holp the heavens to rain.
If wolves had at thy gate howl'd that stern time,
Thou shouldst have said 'Good porter, turn the key,'
All cruels else subscribed: but I shall see
The winged vengeance overtake such children.

Cornwall
See't shalt thou never. Fellows, hold the chair.
Upon these eyes of thine I'll set my foot.

Gloucester
He that will think to live till he be old,
Give me some help! O cruel! O you gods!

Regan
One side will mock another; the other too.

Cornwall
If you see vengeance,--

First Servant
Hold your hand, my lord:
I have served you ever since I was a child;
But better service have I never done you
Than now to bid you hold.

Regan
How now, you dog!

First Servant
If you did wear a beard upon your chin,
I'd shake it on this quarrel. What do you mean?

Cornwall
My villain!

They draw and fight

First Servant
Nay, then, come on, and take the chance of anger.

Regan
Give me thy sword. A peasant stand up thus!

Takes a sword, and runs at him behind

First Servant
O, I am slain! My lord, you have one eye left
To see some mischief on him. O!

Dies

Cornwall
Lest it see more, prevent it. Out, vile jelly!
Where is thy lustre now?

Gloucester
All dark and comfortless. Where's my son Edmund?
Edmund, enkindle all the sparks of nature,
To quit this horrid act.

Regan
Out, treacherous villain!
Thou call'st on him that hates thee: it was he
That made the overture of thy treasons to us;
Who is too good to pity thee.

Gloucester
O my follies! then Edgar was abused.
Kind gods, forgive me that, and prosper him!

Regan
Go thrust him out at gates, and let him smell
His way to Dover.

Exit one with GLOUCESTER
How is't, my lord? how look you?

Cornwall
I have received a hurt: follow me, lady.
Turn out that eyeless villain; throw this slave
Upon the dunghill. Regan, I bleed apace:
Untimely comes this hurt: give me your arm.

Exit Cornwall, led by Regan

Second Servant
I'll never care what wickedness I do,
If this man come to good.

Third Servant
If she live long,
And in the end meet the old course of death,
Women will all turn monsters.

Second Servant
Let's follow the old earl, and get the Bedlam
To lead him where he would: his roguish madness
Allows itself to any thing.

Third Servant
Go thou: I'll fetch some flax and whites of eggs
To apply to his bleeding face. Now, heaven help him!

Exeunt severally


*.....*

And now the stage awiats the next player

[NakedInSeattle]

Life is but a walking shadow.
A poor player struts and frets his hour on the stage
And is heard no more.

It is a tale told by an idiot.
Full of sound and fury...
Signifying nothing!

[aquist]

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. Aquist

[goldenfinger]

To be or not to be,,,,,,bi bi:bibounce:

[Canticle]

Ah, some Hamlet, Aquist. Thank you dear gentleman, that you are.

Most amusing goldfinger :) Thank you.

And now......


HAMLET: 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 heartache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. 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,
Th' 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 th' 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 undiscovered 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 enterprise of great pitch 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 remembered.