莎士比亚原版独白.docx

Hamlet:O all you host of heaven! O earth! What else? And shall I couple hell? Hold, hold, my heart!And you, my sinews, grow not instant old,But bear me stiffly up. Remember thee?Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seatIn this distracted globe. Remember thee? Yea, from the table of my memoryIll wipe away all trivial fond records,All saws of books, all forms, all pressures pastThat youth and observation copied there,And thy commandment all alone shall live Within the book and volume of my brain,Unmixd with baser matter. Yes, by heaven!O most pernicious woman!O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain!My tables! Meet it is I set it down That one may smile, and smile, and be a villainAt least I am sure it may be so in Denmark. Writes.So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word:It is Adieu, adieu! Remember me.I have swornt.MACBETH If it were done when tis done, then twere wellIt were done quickly. If the assassinationCould trammel up the consequence, and catchWith his surcease success; that but this blowMight be the be-all and the end-all here,But here, upon this bank and shoal of time,Wed jump the life to come. But in these casesWe still have judgment here, that we but teachBloody instructions, which, being taught, returnTo plague th inventor: this even-handed justiceCommends the ingredients of our poisoned chaliceTo our own lips. Hes here in double trust:First, as I am his kinsman and his subject,Strong both against the deed; then, as his host,Who should against his murderer shut the door,Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this DuncanHath borne his faculties so meek, hath beenSo clear in his great office, that his virtuesWill plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, againstThe deep damnation of his taking-off;And pity, like a naked newborn babe,Striding the blast, or heavens cherubim, horsedUpon the sightless couriers of the air,Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye,That tears shall drown the wind. I have no spurTo prick the sides of my intent, but onlyVaulting ambition, which oerleaps itselfAnd falls on th other.MACBETH:Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee! I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling as to sight? or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation Proceeding from the heat-oppressd brain? I see thee yet, in form as palpable As this which now I draw. Thou marshallst me the way that I was going, And such an instrument I was to use. Mine eyes are made the fools o th other senses, Or else worth all the rest. I see thee still, And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood, Which was not so before. Theres no such thing. It is the bloody business which informs Thus to mine eyes. Now oer the one half-world Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse The curtained sleep. Witchcraft celebrates Pale Hecates offerings; and withered murder, Alarumed by his sentinel, the wolf, Whose howl s his watch, thus with his stealthy pace, With Tarquins ravishing strides, towards his design Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set earth, Hear not my steps which way they walk, for fear Thy very stones prate of my whereabout And take the present horror from the time, Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he lives; Words to the h