Shakespeare’s Speech Craft

The Skinhead Hamlet Act 1, Scene 4 Enter Horatio, Hamlet and Ghost. Ghost: Oi! Mush, get on with it! Hamlet: Who did it then? Ghost: That wanker Claudius. He poured fucking poison in my fucking ear! Hamlet: Fuck me! Exeunt (Richard Curtis)

Ghost: I am thy father's spirit, Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night, And for the day confined to fast in fires, Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature Are burnt and purged away. But that I am forbid To tell the secrets of my prison-house, I could a tale unfold whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres, Thy knotted and combined locks to part And each particular hair to stand on end, Like quills upon the fretful porpentine: But this eternal blazon must not be To ears of flesh and blood. List, list, O, list! If thou didst ever thy dear father love — Hamlet: Ghost: Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder. Hamlet: Murder! Ghost: Murder most foul, as in the best it is; But this most foul, strange and unnatural. Hamlet: Haste me to know’t, that I with wings as swift As meditation or the thought of love May sweep to my revenge. Ghost: I find thee apt; And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed That rots itself in ease on Lethe wharf Wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear: ’Tis given out that, sleeping in mine orchard, A serpent stung me; so the whole ear of Denmark Is by a forged process of my death Rankly abus’d; but know, thou noble youth, The serpent that did sting thy father’s life Now wears his crown. Hamlet: O my prophetic soul! My uncle! Ghost: Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast, With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts,-- O wicked wit and gifts, that have the power So to seduce! -- won to his shameful lust The will of my most seeming-virtuous queen: O Hamlet, what a falling-off was there! From me, whose love was of that dignity That it went hand in hand even with the vow I made to her in marriage, and to decline Upon a wretch whose natural gifts were poor To those of mine! But virtue, as it never will be moved, Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven, So lust, though to a radiant angel link'd, Will sate itself in a celestial bed, And prey on garbage. (continued)

But, soft! methinks I scent the morning air; Brief let me be. Sleeping within my orchard, My custom always of the afternoon, Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole, With juice of cursed hebenon in a vial, And in the porches of my ears did pour The leperous distilment; whose effect Holds such an enmity with blood of man That swift as quicksilver it courses through The natural gates and alleys of the body, And with a sudden vigour doth posset And curd, like eager droppings into milk, The thin and wholesome blood: so did it mine; And a most instant tetter bark'd about, Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust, All my smooth body. Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand Of life, of crown, of queen, at once dispatch'd: Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin, Unhousel'd, disappointed, unanel'd, No reckoning made, but sent to my account With all my imperfections on my head: O, horrible! O, horrible! most horrible! If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not; Let not the royal bed of Denmark be A couch for luxury and damned incest. But, howsoever thou pursuest this act, Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive Against thy mother aught: leave her to heaven And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge, To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once! The glow-worm shows the matin to be near, And 'gins to pale his uneffectual fire: Adieu, adieu! Hamlet, remember me. [Exit] Hamlet

Ghost: I am thy father's spirit, Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night, And for the day confined to fast in fires, Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature Are burnt and purged away. But that I am forbid To tell the secrets of my prison-house, I could a tale unfold whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres, Thy knotted and combined locks to part And each particular hair to stand on end, Like quills upon the fretful porpentine: But this eternal blazon must not be To ears of flesh and blood. List, list, O, list! If thou didst ever thy dear father love — Hamlet: Ghost: Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder. Hamlet: Murder! Ghost: Murder most foul, as in the best it is; But this most foul, strange and unnatural. Hamlet: Haste me to know’t, that I with wings as swift As meditation or the thought of love May sweep to my revenge. Ghost: I find thee apt; And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed That rots itself in ease on Lethe wharf Wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear: ’Tis given out that, sleeping in mine orchard, A serpent stung me; so the whole ear of Denmark Is by a forged process of my death Rankly abus’d; but know, thou noble youth, The serpent that did sting thy father’s life Now wears his crown. Hamlet: O my prophetic soul! My uncle! Ghost: Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast, With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts,-- O wicked wit and gifts, that have the power So to seduce! -- won to his shameful lust The will of my most seeming-virtuous queen: O Hamlet, what a falling-off was there! From me, whose love was of that dignity That it went hand in hand even with the vow I made to her in marriage, and to decline Upon a wretch whose natural gifts were poor To those of mine! But virtue, as it never will be moved, Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven, So lust, though to a radiant angel link'd, Will sate itself in a celestial bed, And prey on garbage. (continued)

But, soft! methinks I scent the morning air; Brief let me be. Sleeping within my orchard, My custom always of the afternoon, Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole, With juice of cursed hebenon in a vial, And in the porches of my ears did pour The leperous distilment; whose effect Holds such an enmity with blood of man That swift as quicksilver it courses through The natural gates and alleys of the body, And with a sudden vigour doth posset And curd, like eager droppings into milk, The thin and wholesome blood: so did it mine; And a most instant tetter bark'd about, Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust, All my smooth body. Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand Of life, of crown, of queen, at once dispatch'd: Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin, Unhousel'd, disappointed, unanel'd, No reckoning made, but sent to my account With all my imperfections on my head: O, horrible! O, horrible! most horrible! If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not; Let not the royal bed of Denmark be A couch for luxury and damned incest. But, howsoever thou pursuest this act, Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive Against thy mother aught: leave her to heaven And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge, To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once! The glow-worm shows the matin to be near, And 'gins to pale his uneffectual fire: Adieu, adieu! Hamlet, remember me. [Exit] Hamlet

Who is this? My niece, that flies away so fast?— Cousin, a word. Where is your husband? If I do dream, would all my wealth would wake me. If I do wake, some planet strike me down That I may slumber an eternal sleep. Speak, gentle niece. What stern ungentle hands Hath lopped and hewed and made thy body bare Of her two branches, those sweet ornaments Whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleep in, And might not gain so great a happiness As half thy love? Why dost not speak to me? Alas, a crimson river of warm blood, Like to a bubbling fountain stirred with wind, Doth rise and fall between thy rosèd lips, Coming and going with thy honey breath. But sure some Tereus hath deflowered thee, And lest thou shouldst detect him cut thy tongue. Ah, now thou turn’st away thy face for shame And notwithstanding all this loss of blood As from a conduit with three issuing spouts, Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan’s face, Blushing to be encountered with a cloud. Shall I speak for thee, shall I say ’tis so? O, that I knew thy heart, and knew the beast, That I might rail at him to ease my mind. Sorrow concealèd, like an oven stopped, Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is. Fair Philomela, why she but lost her tongue, And in a tedious sampler sewed her mind; But, lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee. A craftier Tereus, cousin, hast thou met, And he hath cut those pretty fingers off That could have better sewed than Philomel. O, had the monster seen those lily hands Tremble like aspen leaves upon a lute And make the silken strings delight to kiss them, He would not then have touched them for his life. Or had he heard the heavenly harmony Which that sweet tongue hath made, He would have dropped his knife and fell asleep, As Cerberus at the Thracian poet’s feet. Come, let us go and make thy father blind, For such a sight will blind a father’s eye. One hour’s storm will drown the fragrant meads; What will whole months of tears thy father’s eyes? Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee. O, could our mourning ease thy misery! They exit. Titus Andronicus

The Queen (2006) clip one: how does the subject speak to the prince? clip two: how does the prince speak to the subject?

Katherine: Why, sir, I trust I may have leave to speak, And speak I will. I am no child, no babe. Your betters have endured me say my mind, And if you cannot best stop your ears. My tongue will tell the anger of my heart Or else my heart concealing it will break. And rather than it shall I will be free Even to the uttermost as I please in words. Petruchio: Why, thou sayst true. It is a paltry cap. The Taming of the Shrew,

FIRST CITIZEN: Once, if he do require our voices, we ought not to deny him SECOND CITIZEN: We may, sir, if we will. THIRD CITIZEN: We have power in ourselves to do it, but it is a power that we have no power to do. For, if he show us his wounds and tell us his deeds, we are to put our tongues into those wounds and speak for them. So if he tell us his noble deeds, we must also tell him our noble acceptance of them. Coriolanus

Titus: Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs,… Hark, Marcus, what she says. I can interpret all her martyred signs. She says she drinks no other drink but tears Brewed with her sorrow, mashed upon her cheeks.— Speechless complainer, I will learn thy thought. In thy dumb action will I be as perfect As begging hermits in their holy prayers. Thou shalt not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to heaven, Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a sign, But I of these will wrest an alphabet And by still practice learn to know thy meaning. Titus Andronicus , 35-45

Hal: This sanguine coward, this bed- presser, this horse-back-breaker. This huge hill of flesh – Falstaff: ’Sblood, you starveling, you eel- skin, you dried neat’s-tongue, you bull’s- pizzle, you stock-fish—O for breath to utter what is like thee!—you tailor’s-yard, you sheath, you bow-case, you vile standing tuck! … Hal: … there is a devil haunts thee in the likeness of an old fat man, a tun of man is thy companion. Why dost thou converse with that trunk of humours, that bolting- hutch of beastliness, that swollen parcel of dropsies, that huge bombard of sack, that stuffed cloak-bag of guts, that roasted Manningtree ox with the pudding in his belly, that reverend vice, that grey iniquity, that father ruffian, that vanity in years? That villainous abominable misleader of youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan. Henry IV Part

HAMLET:O that this too too solid flesh would melt, Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew; Or that the Everlasting had not fixed His canon 'gainst self slaughter! O God, O God! How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable Seem to me all the uses of this world! Fie on't, ah fie, fie! Tis an unweeded garden That grows to seed: things rank and gross in nature Possess it merely. That it should come to this. But two months dead -- nay, not so much, not two -- So excellent a king, that was to this Hyperion to a satyr ; so loving to my mother That he might not beteem the winds of heaven Visit her face too roughly! Heaven and earth, Must I remember? Why, she would hang on him As if increase of appetite had grown By what it fed on, and yet within a month -- Let me not think on't; frailty, thy name is woman – A little month, or ere those shoes were old With which she followed my poor father's body, Like Niobe, all tears, why she, even she -- O God, a beast that wants discourse of reason Would have mourned longer! -- married with mine uncle My father's brother, but no more like my father Than I to Hercules ; within a month Ere yet the salt of those most unrighteous tears Had left the flushing of her galled eyes. She married. O most wicked speed, to post With such dexterity to incestuous sheets ! It is not, nor it cannot come to good. But break my heart, for I must hold my tongue. [Enter Horatio... ]

Worcester: Our house, my sovereign liege, little deserves The scourge of greatness to be used on it, And that same greatness too which our own hands Have holp to make so portly. Northumberland: My lord – King Henry: Worcester, get thee gone, for I do see Danger and disobedience in thine eye. O sir, your presence is too bold and peremptory And majesty might never yet endure The moody frontier of a servant brow. You have good leave to leave us. When we need Your use and counsel we shall send for you. [Exit Worcester] You were about to speak. Northumberland: Yea, my good lord. Those prisoners in your highness’ name demanded Which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took, Were, as he says, not with such strength denied As was delivered to your majesty, Who either through envy or misprision Was guilty of this fault, and not my son. (continued)

Hotspur: My liege, I did deny no prisoners; But I remember, when the fight was done When I was dry with rage and extreme toil, Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, There came a certain lord, neat and trimly dressed, Fresh as a bridegroom, and his chin, new-reaped Showed like a stubble-land at harvest-home. He was perfumed like a milliner, And ’twixt his finger and his thumb he held A pouncet-box, which ever and anon He gave his nose and took’t away again – Who therewith angry, when it next came there Took it in snuff– and still he smiled and talked; And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by, He called them untaught knaves, unmannerly To bring a slovenly unhandsome corpse Betwixt the wind and his nobility. With many holiday and lady terms He questioned me; amongst the rest demanded My prisoners in your majesty’s behalf. I then, all smarting with my wounds being cold – To be so pestered with a popinjay – Out of my grief and my impatience Answered neglectingly, I know not what (continued)

He should, or he should not – for he made me mad To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman Of guns, and drums, and wounds, God save the mark! And telling me the sovereignest thing on earth Was parmacity for an inward bruise, And that it was a great pity, so it was, This villainous saltpetre should be digged Out of the bowels of the harmless earth, Which many a good tall fellow had destroyed So cowardly, and but for these vile guns He would himself have been a soldier. This bald, unjointed chat of his, my lord, Made me to answer indirectly, as I said, And I beseech you, let not his report Come current for an accusation Betwixt my love and your high majesty. BLUNT: The circumstance considered, good my lord, Whate’er Lord Harry Percy then had said To such a person, and in such a place, At such a time, with all the rest retold May reasonably die, and never rise To do him wrong or any way impeach What then he said, so he unsay it now. KING HENRY: Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners …. Henry IV Part 1 ( )

I am ashamed that women are so simple To offer war where they should kneel for peace, Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway When they are bound to serve, love, and obey. Why are our bodies soft and weak and smooth, Unapt to toil and trouble in the world, But that our soft conditions and our hearts Should well agree with our external parts? Come, come, you froward and unable worms! My mind hath been as big as one of yours, My heart as great, my reason haply more, To bandy word for word and frown for frown; But now I see our lances are but straws, Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare, That seeming to be most which we indeed least are. Then vail your stomachs, for it is no boot, And place your hands below your husband’s foot; In token of which duty, if he please, My hand is ready, may it do him ease. PETRUCHIO Why, there’s a wench! Come on, and kiss me, Kate. The Taming of the Shrew KATHERINE: Fie, fie! Unknit that threat’ning unkind brow, And dart not scornful glances from those eyes To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor. It blots thy beauty as frosts do bite the meads, Confounds thy fame as whirlwinds shake fair buds, And in no sense is meet or amiable. A woman moved is like a fountain troubled, Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty, And while it is so, none so dry or thirsty Will deign to sip or touch one drop of it. Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper, Thy head, thy sovereign, one that cares for thee, And for thy maintenance commits his body To painful labor both by sea and land, To watch the night in storms, the day in cold, Whilst thou liest warm at home, secure and safe, And craves no other tribute at thy hands But love, fair looks, and true obedience— Too little payment for so great a debt. Such duty as the subject owes the prince, Even such a woman oweth to her husband; And when she is froward, peevish, sullen, sour, And not obedient to his honest will, What is she but a foul contending rebel And graceless traitor to her loving lord?