Hamlet – the End

A stick version of Hamlets death in the end of the play Hamlet, Prince of Denmark by William Shakespeare.

Hamlet: O! I die, Horatio ;
The potent poison quite o’er-crows my spirit :
I cannot live to hear the news from England ;
But I do prophesy the election lights
On Fortinbras : he has my dying voice ;
So tell him, with the occurrents, more and less,
Which have solicited. – The rest is silence.
[Dies.]

Horatio: How cracks a noble heart.
– Good night, sweet prince ;
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest !

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Alas Poor Yorick

A stick version comic of the scene in Hamlet – Prince of Denmark where Hamlet remembers the jester Yorick.

Hamlet: Whose was it?

Gravedigger: A whoreson mad fellow’s it was : whose do you think it was?

Hamlet: Nay, I know not.

Gravedigger: A pestilence on him for a mad rogue ! ‘a poured a flagon of Rhenish on my head once. This same skull, sir, this same skull, sir, was Yorick’s skull, the king’s jester.

Hamlet: This?

Gravedigger: E’en that.

Hamlet: Let me see [Takes the skull.] Alas, poor Yorick ! –I knew him, Horatio : a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy : he hath borne me on his back a thousand times ; and now, now abhorred my imagination is ! my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips, that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes nor? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen? Now, get you to my lady’s chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thich, to this favour she must come ; make her laugh at that.

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The Death of Ophelia

A stick version of John Everett Millais' famous painting of the death of Ophelia.

Queen: One woe doth tread upon another’s heel
So fast they follow. – Your sister’s drown’s, Laertes.

Laertes: Drown’d! – O, where?

Queen: There is a willow grows aslant a brook,
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream:
There with fantastic garlands did she come.
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples,
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,
But our cold maids do dead men’s fingers call them;
There, on the pendant boughs her coronet weeds
Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke,
When down her weedy trophies, and herself,
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide,
And, mermaid-like, a while they bore her up :
Which time, she chanted snatches of old tunes,
As one incapable of her own distress,
Or like a creature native and indu’d
Unto that element : but long it could not be,
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
Pull’d the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death.

Laertes: Alas! then, is she drown’d?

Queen: Drown’d, drown’d.

Laertes: Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia,
and therefore I forbid my tears.

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The Play within the Play

A drawing showing the royal family watching the play that Hamlet has arranged that reveals his fathers killer.

Hamlet: –Begin, murderer : pox, leave thy damnable faces, and begin.
Come : –the croaking raven doth bellow for revenge.

Lucianus: Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, and time agreeing ;
Confederate season, else no creature seeing ;
Thou mixture rank, of midnight weeds collected,
With Hecate’s ban thrice blasted, thrice infected,
Thy natural magic and dire property,
On wholesome life usurp immediately.

[Pours the poisin into the Sleeper’s ears.

Hamlet: He poisons him i’ the garden for’s estate.
His name’s Gonzago : the story is extant, and writ in choice Italian You shall see anon, how the murderer gets the love of Gonzago’s wife.

Ophelia: The king rises.

Hamlet: What ! frighted with false fire ?

Queen: How fares my lord ?

Polonius: Give o’er the play.

King: Give me some light ! –away !

All: Lights, lights, lights !

[exeunt all but HAMLET and HORATIO.

Hamlet: Why, let the strucken deer go weep,
The hart ungalled play ;
For some must watch, while some must sleep :
Thus runs the world away.

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Hamlet & The Ghost

Hamlet and the ghost of his father

Ghost: Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder.

Hamlet: Murder?

Ghost: Murder most foul, an 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 thoughts of love,
May sweep to my revenge.

Ghost: I find thee apt ;
And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed
Wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear.
‘T is 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
Ranky 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!
Mine uncle!

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