Nothing like some Henry V for restlessness!

This topic hasn't had any love for a while. Time to remedy that with the famous, passionate speech from Shylock, asking, "Has not a Jew eyes? If you prick us, do we not bleed?"

Seems fitting with the current atmosphere of immigration and civil rights debates.

***

from The Merchant of Venice, Act III, scene i

SALARINO: Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt not take
his flesh: what's that good for?
SHYLOCK: To bait fish withal: if it will feed nothing else,
it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced me, and
hindered me half a million; laughed at my losses,
mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my
bargains, cooled my friends, heated mine
enemies; and what's his reason? 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.

***

This thread is in serious need of some TLC.

Seriously, guys, where's the love?

***

Sonnet 20

A woman's face with Nature's own hand painted
Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion;
A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted
With shifting change, as is false women's fashion;
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling,
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth;
A man in hue, all 'hues' in his controlling,
Much steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth.
And for a woman wert thou first created;
Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting,
And by addition me of thee defeated,
By adding one thing to my purpose nothing.
But since she prick'd thee out for women's pleasure,
Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure.

***

Where's the love, guys?!

***

Sonnet 56

Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not said
Thy edge should blunter be than appetite,
Which but to-day by feeding is allay'd,
To-morrow sharpen'd in his former might:
So, love, be thou; although to-day thou fill
Thy hungry eyes even till they wink with fullness,
To-morrow see again, and do not kill
The spirit of love with a perpetual dullness.
Let this sad interim like the ocean be
Which parts the shore, where two contracted new
Come daily to the banks, that, when they see
Return of love, more blest may be the view;
Else call it winter, which being full of care
Makes summer's welcome thrice more wish'd, more rare.

***

Oh how I love Shakespeare. I really need to read some more of him in the near future.

I had to recite the following monologue in an audition for a country western version of A Midsummer Night's Dream (It was interesting...we'll leave it at that).

from Hamlet, Act IV, Scene vii

Gertrude: There is a willow grows aslant a brook,
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream;
There with fantastic garlands did she come
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,
But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them:
There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds
Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke;
When down her weedy trophies and herself
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide;
And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up:
Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes;
As one incapable of her own distress,
Or like a creature native and indued
Unto that element: but long it could not be
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death.

Very nice, Seraphim. I am sure you did very well.

To follow your beautiful speech, I, too, shall mourn Ophelia.

***

from Hamlet, Act V, scene i

LAERTES: Lay her i'th' earth,
And from her fair and unpolluted flesh
May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest,
A ministering angel shall my sister be
When thou liest howling.

GERTRUDE: Sweets to the sweet. Farewell!
I hoped thou shouldst have been my Hamlet's wife.
I thought thy bride-bed to have decked, sweet maid,
And not have strewed thy grave.

***

Thanks for posting sonnet 116! It's my favorite; I had it set to music (Danny Boy) for our wedding. One of my other favorite Shakespeare tidbits is from Macbeth:

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

I haven't gotten to Macbeth yet on the Shakespeare in a Year blog (www.shakespeareinayear.com), but it's coming soon!

Very nice, Ashley! Thanks for jumping right in with one of the greatest pieces of Shakespeare ever, that inspired the well-loved William Faulkner to title his most famous work (The Sound and the Fury)!

This piece is truly a beautiful and very real statement about life, and I'm glad you shared it with us.

I'm glad this thread is finally getting some more love!