Dialogue Between Hamlet And Ophelia

Dialogue Between Hamlet And Ophelia Ophelia to Polonius: Oph: He hath my lord, made many tenders of his affections to me. My lord, he hath importu`ned me with love in honourable fashion. And hath given countenance to his speech my lord, with almost all the holy vows of heaven. Letters from Hamlet to Ophelia: Ham: To the celestial, and my soul’s idol, the most beautified Ophelia, in her excellent white bosom, these, Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love. O dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers, I ahve not art to reckon my groans; but that I love thee best, O most best, believe it. Adieu. Thine evermore, most dear lady, whilst this machine is to him, Hamlet Ophelia to Hamlet: Oph: My lord, I ave rememberances of that I have long longed to re-deliver, I pray you now recieve them.

Ham: No, not I; I never gave them to you aught. .. Ham: ..I did love you once. Oph: Indeed my lord, you made me believe so. Ham: You should not have believed me; for virtue cannot so inoculate your old stock but we shall relish of it; I loved you not.

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Oph: I was the more decieved. .. Ham: If thou dost marry, I’ll give thee this plague for thy dowry,–be thou chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny. Get thee to a nunnery, go; farewell: Or, if thou wilt needs marry, marry a fool; for wise men know well enough what monsters you make of them. To a nunnery, go; and quickly too.

Farewell Prologue of Hamlet’s play: Pro: For us and for our tragedy, Here stooping to your clemency, we beg you hearing patiently. Ham: Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring? Oph: Tis brief my lord. Ham: As woman’s love. Ophelia’s Funeral: Ham: What, the fair Ophelia? .. (Laertes leaps into Ophelia’s grave) Ham: What is he whose grief bears such an emphasis? whose phrase of sorrow conjures the wandering stars, and makes like wonder-wounded hearers? this is I Hamlet, the Dane.

.. (Hamlet leaps into the grave) Ham: I lov’d Ophelia; forty thousand brothers could not, with all their quantity of love, make up my sum. What wilt thou do for her? Shakespeare Essays.

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