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Victoria Taylor Murray

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Shakespeare Anyone?~
By Victoria Taylor Murray   

Last edited: Saturday, August 30, 2003
Posted: Saturday, August 30, 2003

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Discover the magic of Shakespeare. A dramatist whose genius has won the admiration of the world.

(A few of my favorite passages, acts, and sonnets.)

Poetic Imagination

The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from
earth to heaven;
And as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the
poet's pen
Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.

~A Midsummer Night's Dream, Act 5, Sc. 1.~


The man that hath no music in himself,
Nor is not moved with concord of sweet
Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils;
The motions of his spirit are dull as night,
And his affections dark as Erebus.
Let no such man be trusted.

~The Merchant of Venice, Act 5 Sc. 1.~


Mark, how one string, sweet husband to another,
Strikes each in each by mutual ordering,
Resembling sire and child and happy mother,
Who all in one, one pleasing note do sing:
Whose speechless song, being many,
seeming one,...

~Sonnets, 8.~



And pity, like a naked new-born babe,
Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubin,
Upon the sightless couriers of the air,
Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye,
That tears shall drown the wind.

~Macbeth, Act 1, Sc. 7~



We grew together,
Like to a double cherry, seeming parted;
But yet a union in partition,
Two lovely berries moulded on one stem:
So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart;
Two of the first, like coats in heraldry,
Due but to one, and crowned with one crest.

~A Midsummer Night's Dream, Act 3, Sc.2~



I will attend her here,
And woo her with some spirit when she comes.
Say, that she frown; I'll say, she looks as clear
As morning roses newly wash'd with dew:
Say, she be mute, and will not speak a word;
Then I'll commend her volublilty,
And say, -she uttereth piercing eloquence:
If she do bid me pack, I'll give her thanks,
As though she bid me stay by her a week;
If she deny to wed, I'll crave the day
When I shall ask the banns, and when be married.

~The Taming of the Shrew, Act 2, Sc.1.~



Marriage is a matter of more worth
Than to be dealt in by attorneyship...
For what is wedlock forced, but a hell,
An age of discord and continual strife?
Whereas the contrary bringth bliss,
And is a pattern of celestial peace.

~King Henry VI Part 1, Act 5, Sc.5.~



All hearts in love use their own tongues;
Let every eye negociate for itself,
And trust no agent; for beauty is a witch,
Against whose charms faith melteth into

~Much Ado About Nothing, Act 2, Sc. 1.~


Romeo's Love

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 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 say nothing: what of that?
Her eyes discourses; I will answer it.
I am too bold,`tis not to me she speaks:
Two of the fairest stars in all 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 streams 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.

~Romeo and Juliet, Act 2, Sc.2.~



You must note beside,
That we have tried the utmost of our friends,
Our legions are brim-full, our cause is ripe:
The enemy increaseth every day;
We, at the height, are ready to decline.
There is a tide in the affairs of men,
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
Omitted, all the voyage of their life
Is bound in shallows and in miseries.
On such a full sea are we now afloat;
And we must take the current when it serves,
Or lose our ventures.

~Julius Caesar, Act 4, Sc. 3.~



Come, come; good wine is a good familiar creature, if it be well used; exclaim no more against it.

~Othello, Act 2, Sc. 3.~


Cleopatra Beautiful

The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne,
Burn'd on the water: the poop was beaten gold,
Purple the sails, and so perfumed, that
The winds were love-sick with them: the oars were silver;
Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made
The water, which they beat, to follow
As amorous of their strokes.

~Antony and Cleopatra, Act 2, Sc.2.~



They surfeited with honey; and began
To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little
More than a little is by much too much.

~King Henry IV Part 1, Act 3, Sc. 2.~



An honest tale speeds best, being plainly told.

~King Richard III, Act 4, Sc.4.~


Hamlet's Soliloquy

To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous
Or to take arms against the sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural
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 proun man's
The pangs of despis'd 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 these
fardels beat,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after
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 away,
And lose the name of action.

~Hamlet, Act 3, Sc. 1.~


Shakespeare's Epitah

~Good friends, for Jesu's sake forbear
To dig the dust enclosed here.
Blest be the man that spares these stones,
And curst be he that moves mt bones.~


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Reviewed by Patrick Talty 8/31/2003
Dear Victoria,

What a poesy you have created here to delight the spirit of any reader -especially me. And what a great idea: to use these flowers gernated from the seeds of the Immortal Bard's genius.

Reminds me of a quote from the great French wtiter, Montaigne:

*I have gathered a posie of other men's flowers
and nothing but the thread that
binds them is my own*

Thanks for this exquisite offering.
As ever,

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