Act II, Scene I

From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall and make him 3. By inch-meal a disease! His spirits hear me 4. And yet I needs must curse. Nor lead me, like a firebrand, in the dark 7. For every trifle are they set upon me; 9. Sometime like apes that mow and chatter at me And after bite me, then like hedgehogs which How may we try it further? You know, sometimes he walks four hours together Here in the lobby.

So he does indeed. At such a time I'll loose my daughter to him. Be you and I behind an arras then; Mark the encounter. If he love her not, And he not from his reason fall'n thereon Let me be no assistant for a state, But keep a farm and carters. We will try it. But look where sadly the poor wretch comes reading. Away, I do beseech you both, away. Exeunt King and Queen. I'll board him presently. O, give me leave. How does my good Lord Hamlet?

Do you know me, my lord? You are a fishmonger. Not I, my lord. Then I would you were so honest a man. To be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand. That's very true, my lord. For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a good kissing carrion—Have you a daughter? I have, my lord. Let her not walk i' th' sun. Conception is a blessing, but not as your daughter may conceive. How say you by that? Still harping on my daughter. Yet he knew me not at first. He said I was a fishmonger.

And truly in my youth I suffered much extremity for love, very near this. I'll speak to him again. What is the matter, my lord? I mean, the matter that you read, my lord. Slanders, sir; for the satirical rogue says here that old men have grey beards; that their faces are wrinkled; their eyes purging thick amber and plum-tree gum; and that they have a plentiful lack of wit, together with most weak hams.

All which, sir, though I most powerfully and potently believe, yet I hold it not honesty to have it thus set down; for you yourself, sir, shall grow old as I am if, if like a crab, you could go backward. Though this be madness, yet there is a method in't. Indeed, that is out of the air. I will leave him and suddenly contrive the means of meeting between him and my daughter. You cannot, sir, take from me anything that I will more willingly part withal—except my life, except my life, except my life.

Enter Guildenstern and Rosencrantz.

Act II - Scene II

Fare you well, my lord. These tedious old fools! You go to seek the Lord Hamlet. God save you, sir! My most dear lord! My excellent good friends!

How dost thou, Guildenstern? Good lads, how do ye both? As the indifferent children of the earth. Happy, in that we are not over-happy. On Fortune's cap we are not the very button. Nor the soles of her shoe? Then you live about her waist, or in the middle of her favours? Faith, her privates we. In the secret parts of Fortune? None, my lord, but that the world's grown honest. Then is doomsday near. But your news is not true. Let me question more in particular.

What have you, my good friends, deserved at the hands of Fortune that she sends you to prison hither? Then is the world one. A goodly one; in which there are many confines, wards, and dungeons, Denmark being one o' the worst. We think not so, my lord. Why, then 'tis none to you; for there is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so. To me it is a prison. Why, then your ambition makes it one. O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.

Which dreams indeed are ambition; for the very substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream. A dream itself is but a shadow. Truly, and I hold ambition of so airy and light a quality that it is but a shadow's shadow. Then are our beggars bodies, and our monarchs and outstretched heroes the beggars' shadows.

Shall we to the court? For, by my fay, I cannot reason. We'll wait upon you. I will not sort you with the rest of my servants; for, to speak to you like an honest man, I am most dreadfully attended. But in the beaten way of friend- ship, what make you at Elsinore? To visit you, my lord; no other occasion. Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks; but I thank you; And sure, dear friends, my thanks are too dear a halfpenny.

Were you not sent for? Is it your own inclin- ing? Is it a free visitation? Come, deal justly with me. What should we say, my lord? Why, anything, but to the purpose. You were sent for; and there is a kind of confession in your looks, which your modesties have not craft enough to colour. I know the good King and Queen have sent for you. To what end, my lord?

That you must teach me. But let me conjure you by the rights of our fellowship, by the consonancy of our youth, by the obligation of our ever-preserved love, and by what more dear a better proposer could charge you withal, be even and direct with me, whether you were sent for or no. Nay then, I have an eye of you. My lord, we were sent for.

I will tell you why. So shall my anticipation prevent your discovery, and your secrecy to the King and Queen moult no feather. I have of late—but wherefore I know not— lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises; and indeed, it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory; this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours.

What a piece of work is a man! And yet to me what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me—no, nor woman nei- ther, though by your smiling you seem to say so. My lord, there was no such stuff in my thoughts. Why did you laugh then, when I said man delights not me?

To think, my lord, if you delight not in man, what lenten entertainment the players shall receive from you. We coted them on the way, and hither are they com- ing to offer you service. He that plays the king shall be welcome; his Majesty shall have tribute of me. The adventurous knight shall use his foil and target; the lover shall not sigh gratis; the humorous man shall end his part in peace; the clown shall make those laugh whose lungs are tickle o' the sere; and the lady shall say her mind freely, or the blank verse shall halt for't.

What players are they? Even those you were wont to take such delight in, the tragedians of the city. How chances it they travel? Their residence, both in reputation and profit, was better both ways. I think their inhibition comes by the means of the late innovation.

Do they hold the same estimation they did when I was in the city?

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Are they so followed? No, indeed, are they not. Do they grow rusty? Nay, their endeavour keeps in the wonted pace; but there is, sir, an eyrie of children, little eyases, that cry out on the top of question and are most tyrannically clapped for't. These are now the fashion, and so berattle the common stages—so they call them—that many wearing rapiers are afraid of goose-quills and dare scarce come thither. What, are they children? How are they escoted? Will they pursue the quality no longer than they can sing?

Will they not say afterwards, if they should grow themselves to common players—as it is most like, if their means are no better—their writers do them wrong to make them exclaim against their own succession? Faith, there has been much to do on both sides; and the nation holds it no sin to tarre them to controver- sy. There was, for a while, no money bid for argument unless the poet and the player went to cuffs in the question. O, there has been much throwing about of brains. Do the boys carry it away?

Ay, that they do, my lord, Hercules and his load too. It is not very strange; for my uncle is King of Denmark, and those that would make mows at him while my father lived give twenty, forty, fifty, a hundred ducats apiece for his picture in little. Flourish [for the Players. There are the players. Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinore. Then appurtenance of welcome is fashion and ceremony. Let me comply with you in this garb, lest my extent to the players—which, I tell you, must show fairly outwards—should more appear like entertainment than yours.

But my uncle-father and aunt- mother are deceived.

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In what, my dear lord? I am but mad north-north-west.

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• Act II, scene ii;
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When the wind is southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw. Well be with you, gentlemen! Hark you, Guildenstern, and you too—at each ear a hearer! Happily he's the second time come to them; for they say an old man is twice a child. I will prophesy he comes to tell me of the players. You say right, sir; o' Monday morning; 'twas so indeed.

My lord, I have news to tell you. The actors are come hither, my lord. The best actors in the world, either for tragedy, comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral-comical, historical-pastoral, tragical-historical, tragical-comical-historical-pastoral; scene individable, or poem unlimited. Seneca cannot be too heavy, nor Plautus too light. For the law of writ and the liberty, these are the only men. O Jephthah, judge of Israel, what a treasure hadst thou! What treasure had he, my lord?

Still on my daughter. Am I not i' the right, old Jephthah? If you call me Jephthah, my lord, I have a daughter that I love passing well. Nay, that follows not. What follows then, my lord? Why, As by lot, God wot, and then, you know, It came to pass, as most like it was. Enter [four or five] Players. You are welcome, masters; welcome, all. I am glad to see thee well.

O, my old friend, why, thy face is valanced since I saw thee last. Com'st' thou to' beard me in Denmark? What, my young lady and mistress? By'r lady, your ladyship is nearer to heaven than when I saw you last by the altitude of a chopine. Pray God, your voice, like a piece of uncurrent gold, be not cracked within the ring. Masters, you are all welcome.

We'll have a speech straight. Come, give us a taste of your quality. Come, a passionate speech. What speech, my good lord? I heard thee speak me a speech once, but it was never acted; or if it was, not above once; for the play, I remember, pleased not the million, 'twas caviary to the general; but it was—as I received it, and others, whose judgments in such matters cried in the top of mine—an excellent play, well digested in the scenes, set down with as much mod- esty as cunning. I remember one said there were no sal- lets in the lines to make the matter savoury, nor no mat- ter in the phrase that might indict the author of affecta- tion; but called it an honest method, as wholesome as sweet, and by very much more handsome than fine.

If it live in your memory, begin at this line—let me see, let me see— The rugged Pyrrhus, like th' Hyrcanian beast— 'tis not so; it begins with Pyrrhus— The rugged Pyrrhus, he whose sable arms, Black as his purpose, did the night resemble When he lay couched in the ominous horse, Hath now this dread and black complexion smear'd With heraldry more dismal.

Head to foot Now is he total gules, horridly trick'd With blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, sons. Baked and impasted with the parching streets, That lend a tyrannous and a damned light To their lord's murder. Roasted in wrath and fire, And thus o'er-sized with coagulate gore, With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus Old grandsire Priam seeks.

His antique sword, Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls, Repugnant to command. Unequal match'd, Pyrrhus at Priam drives, in rage strikes wide; But with the whiff and wind of his fell sword The unnerved father falls. Then senseless Ilium, Seeming to feel this blow, with flaming top Stoops to his base, and with a hideous crash Takes prisoner Pyrrhus' ear. So, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrhus stood, And like a neutral to his will and matter, Did nothing.

Synopsis of Act II scene ii

But as we often see, against some storm, A silence in the heavens, the rack stand still, The bold winds speechless, and the orb below As hush as death—anon the dreadful thunder Doth rend the region; so, after Pyrrhus' pause, Aroused vengeance sets him new a-work; And never did the Cyclops' hammers fall On Mars's armour, forged for proof eterne, With less remorse than Pyrrhus' bleeding sword Now falls on Priam.

Out, out, thou strumpet, Fortune! All you gods, In general synod take away her power; Break all the spokes and fellies from her wheel, And bowl the round nave down the hill of heaven, As low as to the fiends! This is too long. It shall to the barber's, with your beard. He's for a jig or a tale of bawdry, or he sleeps. Say on; come to Hecuba. Run barefoot up and down, threatening the flames With bisson rheum; a clout upon that head Where late the diadem stood, and for a robe, About her lank and all o'erteemed loins, A blanket, in the alarm of fear caught up— Who this had seen, with tongue in venom steep'd 'Gainst Fortune's state would treason have pronounced.

But if the gods themselves did see her then, When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious sport In mincing with his sword her husband's limbs, The instant burst of clamour that she made Unless things mortal move them not at all Would have made milch the burning eyes of heaven And passion in the gods. Look, whether he has not turned his colour, and has tears in's eyes. I'll have thee speak out the rest of this soon. Good my lord, will you see the players well bestow'd? Let them be well used; for they are the abstract and brief chronicles of the time.

After your death you were better have a bad epitaph than their ill report while you live. My lord, I will use them according to their desert. God's bodykins, man, much better! Use every man after his desert, and who shall 'scape whipping? Use them after your own honour and dignity.

The less they deserve, the more merit is in your bounty. We'll hear a play to-morrow. Exeunt Polonius and all the Players. Dost thou hear me, old friend? We'll ha't tomorrow night. You could, for a need, study a speech of some dozen or sixteen lines which I would set down and insert in't, could you not?

Follow that lord, and look you mock him not. My good friends, I'll leave you till night. You are wel- come to Elsinore. Ay, so, God be wi' ye! Now I am alone. O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I! Is it not monstrous that this player here, But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, Could force his soul so to his own conceit That from her working all his visage wann'd, 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! What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, That he should weep for her?

Poppa has previously lamented Gino's absence from Christmas, when he explains to Momma that ' One day …for the family all together and Gino don't stay' 43 and Momma and Maria pondered on whether Gino was going to the dance for a girl to the extent that Maria muses that 'It's hard somehow to think of Gino - married' Gino re-enters the stage as Momma and Poppa reach the height of humour as Poppa tries to lift Momma on to his shoulders. His mood is in vast contrast to the rest of the characters. In this way Beynon has positioned the reader to see Gino as an outsider and different.

If the audience is to take the celebrations at the Bianchi's house as the norm for mainstream Australia, then Gino is most certainly excluded. Gino avoids discussions about what has happened at the dance. He is most open with Clarry, but Clarry does not understand the situation well enough to help Gino. Clarry sees Gino's assertion that 'from now on nobody pushes me around no more' 53 as being aggressive and inflammatory.

He does not see the importance of Gino sticking up for himself. Gino tells Clarry that 'I rather you hit me; I rather you do anything, Clarry, but lie to me' This is an indication that Gino is trying to stand up for his principles. How do you think Clarry could have better dealt with the situation? What would you have said or done if you were Clarry? If Clarry had gone into partnership with Gino, do you think Gino could have been any more patient?

Without this kind of incentive what choice does Gino have? These are questions that you need to answer for yourself. Try to empathise with the characters.

The Tempest: Act II, Scene ii | The State of Shakespeare

Gino's mood is diffused as Leila enters the scene and the nature of her marriage is revealed to the audience. Leila's communication that a 'nice smack on the jaw…if I don't watch out' 57 is the Christmas present that she will receive, and the subsequent disruptive fight that she and her husband have, serves a number of purposes. Structurally, it acts as a cover for Gino leaving and distracts the characters, as well as the audience, from the peril that Gino is facing.

This is effective because it mirrors some of he attitudes towards Gino's problems, in particular Clarry's attitude. Thematically it is significant as it demonstrates that the people in Collingwood also have their own battles to face. Life is not easy, full stop. It also demonstrates the care that the Bianchis take in their neighbours. Another important issue, thematically, is the way in which Donny reacts to the help of Poppa.