英美戏剧莎士比亚戏剧节选.doc

Drama as Literary Art1.storytelling at the beginning of the playScene I. Elsinore Castle. The platform of the watch.Enter Bernardo and Francisco, two sentinels from opposite directions.Ber. Whos there?Fran. Nay, answer me. Stand and unfold yourself.Ber. Long live the King!Fran. Bernardo?Ber. He.Fran. You come most carefully upon your hour.Ber. Tis now struck twelve. Get thee to bed, Francisco.Fran. For this relief much thanks. Tis bitter cold, And I am sick at heart.Ber. Have you had quiet guard?Fran. Not a mouse stirring.Ber. Well, good night. If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus,The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste.Enter Horatio and Marcellus.Fran. I think I hear them. Stand! Whos there?Hor. Friends to this ground.Mar. And liegemen to the Dane.Fran. Give you good night.Mar. O, farewell, honest soldier.Who hath relieved you?Fran. Bernardo hath my place.Give you good night. Exit.Mar. Holla, Bernardo!Ber. Say-What, is Horatio there?Hor. A piece of him.Ber. Welcome, Horatio. Welcome, good Marcellus.Mar. What, has this thing appeared again tonight?Ber. I have seen nothing.Mar. Horatio says tis but our fantasy,And will not let belief take hold of himTouching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us.Therefore I have entreated him along,With us to watch the minutes of this night,That, if again this apparition come,He may approve our eyes and speak to it.Hor. Tush, tush, twill not appear.Ber. Sit down awhile,And let us once again assail your ears,That are so fortified against our story,What we two nights have seen.Hor. Well, sit we down,And let us hear Bernardo speak of this.Ber. Last night of all, When yond same star thats westward from the poleHad made his course t illume that part of heavenWhere now it burns, Marcellus and myself,The bell then beating one Enter Ghost.Mar. Peace! break thee off! Look where it comes again!Ber. In the same figure, like the King thats dead.Mar. Thou art a scholar; speak to it, Horatio.Ber. Looks it not like the King? Mark it, Horatio.Hor. Most like. It harrows me with fear and wonder.Ber. It would be spoke to.Mar.Question it, Horatio.Mar. Tis gone and will not answer. Ber. How now, Horatio? You tremble and look pale.Is not this something more than fantasy? What think you ont? Hor. Before my God, I might not this believeWithout the sensible and true avouchOf mine own eyes. Mar. Is it not like the King? Hor. As thou art to thyself. Hor.If thou hast any sound, or use of voice, Speak to me. If there be any good thing to be done,That may to thee do ease, and grace to me, Speak to me. The cock crows.Speak of it! Stay, and speak!Stop it, Marcellus!Mar. Shall I strike at it with my partisan ? Hor. Do, if it will not stand.Ber. Tis here! Hor. Tis here! Mar: Tis gone!Exit Ghost.Ber. It was about to speak, when the cock crew.Hor. And then it started, like a guilty thing Upon a fearful summons. I have heard The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn,Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throatAwake the god of day; and at his warning,Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air,The extravagant and erring spirit hiesTo his confine; and of the truth herein This present object made probation. Mar. It faded on the crowing of the cock. Some say that ever gainst that season comesWherein our Saviours birth is celebrated,The bird of dawning singeth all night long;And then, they say, no spirit dare stir abroad,The nights are wholesome, then no planets strike,No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,So hallowed and so gracious is the time.Hor. So have I heard and do in part believe it.But look, the morn, in russet mantle clad,Walks oer the dew of yon high eastern hill.Break we our watch up; and by my adviceLet us impart what we have seen tonightUnto young Hamlet; for, upon my life,This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him. 2.retrospectionScene II. Elsinore Castle. An audience chamber.Flourish. Enter Claudius, King of Denmark, Gertrude the Queen, Hamlet, Polonius, Laertes and his sister Ophelia, Lords Attendant.King. Though yet of Hamlet our dear brothers deathThe memory be green, and that it us befittedTo bear our hearts in grief, and our whole kingdomTo be contracted in one brow of woe,Yet so far hath discretion fought with natureThat we with wisest sorrow think on himTogether with remembrance of ourselves.Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen,The imperial jointress to this warlike state,Have we, as twere with a defeated joy,With an auspicious, and a dropping eye,With mirth in funeral, and with dirge in marriage,In equal scale weighing delight and dole,Taken to wife; nor have we herein barredYour better wisdoms, which have freely goneWith this affair along. For all, our thanks.Now follows, that you know, young Fortinbras,Holding a weak supposal of our worth, Or thinking by our late dear brothers deathOur state to be disjoint and out of frame,Colleagued with this dream of his advantage,He hath not failed to pester us with messageImporting the surrender of those landsLost by his father, with all bands of law, To our most valiant brother. So much for him. 3.reportingSailor. God bless you, sir. Hor. Let him bless thee too. Sailor. He shall, sir, ant please him. Theres a letter for you, sir,it comes from the ambassador that was bound for Englandif your name be Horatio, as I am let to know it is.Hor. (Reads the letter.) Horatio, when thou shall have overlooked this, give these fellows some means to the King. They have letters for him. Ere we were two days old at sea, a pirate of very warlike appointment gave us chase. Finding ourselves too slow of sail, we put on a compelled valor, and in the grapple I boarded them. On the instant they got clear of our ship; so I alone became their prisoner. They have dealt with me like thieves of mercy; but they knew what they did: I am to do a good turn for them. Let the King have the letters I have sent, and repair thou to me with as much speed as thou wouldst fly death, I have words to speak in thine ear will make thee dumb; yet are they much too light for the bore of the matter. These good fellows will bring thee where I am. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern hold their course for England. Of them I have much to tell thee. Farewell. He that thou knowest thine, hamlet. 4.choric commentarythe chorus at the opening of Henry VO for a muse of fire, that would ascendThe brightest heaven of invention,A kingdom for a stage, princes to act,And monarchs to behold the swelling scene!Then should the warlike Harry, like himself, Assume the port of Mars; and at his heels,Leasht-in like hounds, should famine, sword, and fire,Crouch for employment. But pardon, gentles all,That flat unraised spirits that have daredOn this unworthy scaffold to bring forth So great an object: can this cockpit holdThe vasty fields of France? or may we cramWithin this wooden O the very casquesThat did affright the air at Agincourt?O pardon! Since a crooked figure mayAttest in little place a million;And let us, ciphers to this great accompt,On your imaginary forces work.Suppose within the girdle of these wallsAre now confined two mighty monarchies, Whose high-upreared and abutting frontsThe perilous narrow ocean parts asunder;Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts;Into a thousand parts divide one man,And make imaginary puissance; Think, when we talk of horses, that you see them Printing their proud hoofs i th receiving earth;-For tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings, Carry them here and there; jumping oer times,Turning th accomplishment of many yearsInto an hour-glass; for the which supply,Admit me Chorus to this history;Who, prologue-like, your humble patience pray,Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play. Hamlets soliloquysTo be, or not to be: that is the question:Whether tis nobler in the mind to sufferThe 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 heart-ache and the thousand natural shocksThat flesh is heir to, tis a consummationDevoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep;To sleep! Perchance to dream: ay, theres the rub;For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,Must give us pause: theres the respectThat makes calamity of so long life;For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,The oppressors wrong, the proud mans contumely,The pangs of despised love, the laws delay,The insolence of office and the spurnsThat patient merit of the unworthy takes,When he himself might his quietus makeWith a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,To grunt and sweat under a weary life,But that the dread of something after death,The undiscoverd country, from whose bournNo traveler returns, puzzles the will,And makes us rather bear those ills we haveThan fly to others that we know not of?Thus conscience