Hamlet that I have to memorize for friday....
O, my offense is rank! It smells to heavens
It hath the primal eldest curse upon't
A brother's murder. Pray can I not
through inclination be as sharp as will
And like a man with double business bound
I stand in pause where I should fist begin
And both negelect. what if my hand we thicker
than the brother's blood. Is there enough rain In sweet heavens? To wash it as snow? Whereto is mercy but to confront the visage of offense?
And what's in prayer but this twofold force
be forstalled ere we fall.
Or pardoned being down? Then I'll look up
My fault is past. But O, what form of prayer can
serve my turn! "Forgive me this foul murder?"
That cannot be since I am still possed
Of those effects for which I did the murder,
My crown, my own ambitions, and my Queen.
May one be pardoned and retain th' offense?
In the corrupted currents of this world
Offense's gilded hand may shove by justice,
And oft 'tis seen the wicked prize itself
Buy out the law. But 'tis not so above.
There is no shuffling; there the action lies
In his true nature, and we ourselves compelled,
Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults,
To give evidence. What then? What rests?
Try what repentence can. What can it not?
Yet what can it when one cannot repent?
O wretched state! O bosom black as death!
O limed soul, that struggling to be free
Art more engaged! Help, angels! Make assay.
Bow, stubborn knees, and, with strings of steel
Be soft as sinews of the newborn babe.
All may be well.
It hath the primal eldest curse upon't
A brother's murder. Pray can I not
through inclination be as sharp as will
And like a man with double business bound
I stand in pause where I should fist begin
And both negelect. what if my hand we thicker
than the brother's blood. Is there enough rain In sweet heavens? To wash it as snow? Whereto is mercy but to confront the visage of offense?
And what's in prayer but this twofold force
be forstalled ere we fall.
Or pardoned being down? Then I'll look up
My fault is past. But O, what form of prayer can
serve my turn! "Forgive me this foul murder?"
That cannot be since I am still possed
Of those effects for which I did the murder,
My crown, my own ambitions, and my Queen.
May one be pardoned and retain th' offense?
In the corrupted currents of this world
Offense's gilded hand may shove by justice,
And oft 'tis seen the wicked prize itself
Buy out the law. But 'tis not so above.
There is no shuffling; there the action lies
In his true nature, and we ourselves compelled,
Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults,
To give evidence. What then? What rests?
Try what repentence can. What can it not?
Yet what can it when one cannot repent?
O wretched state! O bosom black as death!
O limed soul, that struggling to be free
Art more engaged! Help, angels! Make assay.
Bow, stubborn knees, and, with strings of steel
Be soft as sinews of the newborn babe.
All may be well.