| Registered: | Dec 16, 2008 1:33 PM |
| ID: | 84488 |
| Title: | User |
| Name: | Chris S |
| Gender: | Male |
| Eem: | 187,631 |
| Pet choice: | Liberate |
| eeMail: | Send eeMail |
| Forum posts: | Forum posts |
| Achievements: | Member |
| Pets: | Lennix |
| Shops: | My first shop! |
| Last seen: | 768 weeks, 1 day, 16 hours, 12 minutes ago |
| Hi, and thank you for visiting my profile! Have a great day! O, what a rogue and a peasant slave am I! Is it not monstrous that this player here, but in a fiction, in a dream of passion, could force his own soul so to his own conceit that, from her working, all his visage wanned, tears in his eyes, distraction in's aspect, a broken voice, and his whole function suiting with forms to his conceit? And all for nothing! For Hecuba! What's Hecuba to him, and him to Hecuba, that he should weep for her? What would he do, had he the motive and the cue for passion that I have? He would drown the stage with tears and cleave the general ear with horrid speech; make mad the guilty and appal the free, confound the ignorant and amaze indeed the very faculties of the eyes and ears. Yet I, A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause, and can say nothing! No, not for a king, upon whos property and most dear life a damned defeat was made. Am I a coward? Who calls me villain? Breaks my pate across? Plucks off my beard and throws it in my face? Tweaks me by the nose? Gives me the lie in the throat as deep as the lungs? Who does me this, ha? 'Swounds, I should take it! For it canot be but I am pigeon-livered and lack gall to make oppression bitter, or ere this I should have fatted all the region kites with the slave's offal. BLOODY, BAWDY, VILLAIN! REMORSELESS, TREACHEROUS, LECHEROUS, KINDLESS VILLAIN! O, VENGEANCE! Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave, that I, the son of a dear father murdered, promted to my revenge by Heaven and Hell, must, like a WHORE, unpack my heart with words and fall a-cursing like a very drab, a scullion! Fie upon't! Foh! About, my brain! I have heard that guilty creatures, sitting at a play, have by the very cunning of the scene been struck so to the soul that presently they have proclaimed their malefactions; for murder, though it have no tongue, will speak with a most miraculous organ. I'll have these players play something like the murder of my father before mine uncle. I'll observe his looks, I'll tent to him to the quick; if he but blench, I know course. The spirit that I have seen may be the Devil; and the Devil hath power t' assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhaps out of my weakness and my melancholy, as he is very potent with such spirits, abuses me to damn me. I'll have grounds more relative than this. The plays the thing wherein I'll catch the concience of the King. | |