Poetic Lines from Shakespeare's Plays

A good Puck makes or breaks that play. A few years ago there was a production here with a wonderful Puck. He wore fluorescent green and a beanie hat, but the best character trait was pretending to be in a car whenever he moved and saying "Puckpuckpuckpuckpuck..." Hilarious, a scene-stealer. (Did I mention that one of those websites said Puck was Oberon's son?)

Here's Titania's Lullaby --

Midsummer Night's Dream
SCENE II. Another part of the wood.

Enter TITANIA, with her train
TITANIA
Come, now a roundel and a fairy song;
Then, for the third part of a minute, hence;
Some to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds,
Some war with rere-mice* for their leathern wings,
To make my small elves coats, and some keep back
The clamorous owl that nightly hoots and wonders
At our quaint spirits. Sing me now asleep;
Then to your offices and let me rest.

The Fairies sing

You spotted snakes with double tongue,
Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen;
Newts and blind-worms, do no wrong,
Come not near our fairy queen.
Philomel, with melody
Sing in our sweet lullaby;
Lulla, lulla, lullaby, lulla, lulla, lullaby:
Never harm,
Nor spell nor charm,
Come our lovely lady nigh;
So, good night, with lullaby.
Weaving spiders, come not here;
Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hence!
Beetles black, approach not near;
Worm nor snail, do no offence.
Philomel, with melody, & c.

Fairy
Hence, away! now all is well:
One aloof stand sentinel.

Exeunt Fairies. TITANIA sleeps


*I think that is supposed to "were-mice"

From Merriam Webster Unabridged:

Main Entry: rere·mouse Pronunciation Guide
Pronunciation: ri()r+-
Function: noun
Inflected Form(s): plural rere·mice
Etymology: Middle English reremous, from Old English hrrems, probably from hrran to move, stir + ms mouse

archaic : BAT

Oh, good. And thanks! The MSND website from which I snagged scene 2 WAS right, after all. With that description of leathery wings I had pictured a bat, but thought the name was a play on werewolf.

Cymbeline -- The Funeral Song
It was pointed out to me that there is a wonderful poem in Cymbeline which I missed. It is known as the "Funeral Song" and spoken in two voices by the princes, Guiderius and Arviragus, over the "dead" body of Imogen, though they think it is the dead body of the boy, Fidele. (Got that? She's not really a boy, she's not really dead. Whew! )


Cymbeline
Act IV - SCENE II.
Before the cave of Belarius.

GUIDERIUS
Fear no more the heat o' the sun,
Nor the furious winter's rages;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages:
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

ARVIRAGUS
Fear no more the frown o' the great;
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;
Care no more to clothe and eat;
To thee the reed is as the oak:
The sceptre, learning, physic, must
All follow this, and come to dust.

GUIDERIUS
Fear no more the lightning flash,

ARVIRAGUS
Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;

GUIDERIUS
Fear not slander, censure rash;

ARVIRAGUS
Thou hast finish'd joy and moan:

GUIDERIUS ARVIRAGUS
All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee, and come to dust.

GUIDERIUS
No exorciser harm thee!

ARVIRAGUS
Nor no witchcraft charm thee!

GUIDERIUS
Ghost unlaid forbear thee!

ARVIRAGUS
Nothing ill come near thee!

GUIDERIUS ARVIRAGUS
Quiet consummation have;
And renowned be thy grave!

From Romeo & Juliet, Act III, Scene 2

JULIET
Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
Towards Phoebus' lodging: such a wagoner
As Phaethon would whip you to the west,
And bring in cloudy night immediately.
Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night,
That runaway's eyes may wink and Romeo
Leap to these arms, untalk'd of and unseen.
Lovers can see to do their amorous rites
By their own beauties; or, if love be blind,
It best agrees with night. Come, civil night,
Thou sober-suited matron, all in black,
And learn me how to lose a winning match,
Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods:
Hood my unmann'd blood, bating in my cheeks,
With thy black mantle; till strange love, grown bold,
Think true love acted simple modesty.
Come, night; come, Romeo; come, thou day in night;
For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night
Whiter than new snow on a raven's back.
Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow'd night,
Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sun.
O, I have bought the mansion of a love,
But not possess'd it, and, though I am sold,
Not yet enjoy'd: so tedious is this day
As is the night before some festival
To an impatient child that hath new robes
And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurse,
And she brings news; and every tongue that speaks
But Romeo's name speaks heavenly eloquence.

(I memorized this for my English class in 9th grade and can still recite most of it decades later... )

Ah, Piffka, the Funeral Song from Cymbeline is one of my favorites. I first heard it recited in a play, Darkness at Noon. Edward G. Robinson was the star. In the play he was condemned to die, and his closing lines were from the first verse of the Funeral Song. (Although Robinson was best remembered for his gangster roles, he began his career on stage.) (over 15 years) It's been at least 40 years since I've seen that play, but I can hear him now: And golden lads and girls all must....

Also from Cymbeline:

Cytherea,
How bravely thou becom'st thy bed! fresh lily,
And whiter than the sheets! That I might touch!
But kiss: one kiss! Rubies unparagoned,
How dearly they do't! Tis her breathing that
Perfumes the chamber thus; the flame of the taper
Bows toward her, and would under-peep her lids
To see the enclosed lights, now canopied
Under these windows, white and azure laced
With blue of heaven's own tinct.

RaggedyAggie -- Thanks for telling us about Edward G. Robinson. I've always admired his acting -- that must have been extraordinary to hear him speaking those words. And you so clever to know they were from Cymbeline! Until now, I wouldn't have. <Yes children, a good education helps you enjoy your world more.>

Thanks for the second poem from Cymbeline. I've obviously read it through too quickly. I adore that last word -- "tinct." Wow. Shakespeare was such a romantic, he still can make the ladies swoon!

Mac -- I love the lines from Romeo and Juliet that you brought in. It must have been an amazingly romantic bit for a thirteen year old to learn! When I was trying to choose "poetry" from that play, I was hard-pressed not to just add the whole thing! R&J is full of gorgeous lines.

I want to say that I admire teachers who insist on their students learning lines of poetry and lines from plays -- it stays with the children for their entire lives. It must be a relatively easy teaching tool. Why, oh why, don't they do this more? I think my kids had to learn one poem during their entire 13 years in school. Grrrrrrrrrrrrr. (I made them learn a few things, but it is the pressure from school and all the other kids having to do it, that is the best goad.) I had to learn the Prologue to the Canterbury Tales -- in the original middle English -- still know it, of course.

Of course!

Piffka: When I first heard Robinson speak those words, I knew nothing about "Cymbeline". But, my Mom ,who took me to see Darkness at Noon, was so impressed by the verse, that she would not give me a moment's peace until I found the source. I found it in "The Pocket Book of Verse" , 39th printing, December, 1945 in which it is listed as "Dirge". (It was in her bookcase all the time ) That's when we discovered "A Sea Dirge" from The Tempest. But, alas, that precious little paperback volume, literally fell apart a few minutes ago. I'm looking for my Scotch Tape right now.

Well then, your mama was clever enough to make you search out that reference --- and we're glad she did. I easily found the other dirge you mentioned. It is a keeper!

The Tempest Act I, scene ii.

Sea-Dirge

Full fathom five thy father lies,
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes:
Nothing of him that doth fade,
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:
Ding-dong.
Hark! now I hear them, - ding-dong bell.

While we're on the sad ones, this is from Ophelia's funeral:

LAERTES
Lay her i' the earth:
And from her fair and unpolluted flesh
May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest,
A ministering angel shall my sister be,
When thou liest howling.

HAMLET (apart)
What, the fair Ophelia!

QUEEN GERTRUDE
Sweets to the sweet: farewell!
I hoped thou shouldst have been my Hamlet's wife;
I thought thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid,
And not have strew'd thy grave.

LAERTES
O, treble woe
Fall ten times treble on that cursed head,
Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense
Deprived thee of! Hold off the earth awhile,
Till I have caught her once more in mine arms:
Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead,
Till of this flat a mountain you have made,
To o'ertop old Pelion, or the skyish head
Of blue Olympus.

Nice new avatar, Mac!

Thanks for posting the lines from Ophelia's death. I had never realized that "sweets to the sweet" is from Shakespeare.

Here are a pair of poems from Love's Labour's Lost. Lots of sexual innuendo here:

Act V, Scene 2
The king of Navarre's park.

But, most
esteemed greatness, will you hear the dialogue that
the two learned men have compiled in praise of the
owl and the cuckoo? It should have followed in the
end of our show...

This side is Hiems, Winter, this Ver, the Spring;
the one maintained by the owl, the other by the
cuckoo. Ver, begin.

THE SONG

SPRING.
When daisies pied and violets blue
And lady-smocks all silver-white
And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue
Do paint the meadows with delight,
The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Mocks married men; for thus sings he, Cuckoo;
Cuckoo, cuckoo: O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!
When shepherds pipe on oaten straws
And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks,
When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws,
And maidens bleach their summer smocks
The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Mocks married men; for thus sings he, Cuckoo;
Cuckoo, cuckoo: O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!

WINTER.
When icicles hang by the wall
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail
And Tom bears logs into the hall
And milk comes frozen home in pail,
When blood is nipp'd and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl, Tu-whit;
Tu-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
When all aloud the wind doth blow
And coughing drowns the parson's saw
And birds sit brooding in the snow
And Marian's nose looks red and raw,
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,
Then nightly sings the staring owl, Tu-whit;
Tu-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

_______

As a sidenote, my husband's family had a children's song about an owl which was a favorite as a goodnight song:

To-wit, To-woo, To-wit, To-woo, He solemnly cries,
To-wit, To-woo, To-wit, To-woo, from morning 'til night,
To-wit, To-woo, the whole night through...
To Wit, Too Wit, Too Woooooo.

(I wonder if it originated with Shakespeare?)

Here's Kate's speech at the end of The Taming of the Shrew. I think it was originally performed as if she were truly tamed, but I've seen a couple of productions where the speech is performed flirtatiously and ironically. (She is helping Petruchio win a bet by "pretending" to be tamed.)

KATHARINA
Fie, fie! unknit that threatening 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 labour 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?
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.

I can't read that without believing Shakespeare saw the irony. But you say it was written to be played straight? <gasp> Are you sure?

I really don't know what Shakespeare intended. I've seen actresses and directors have big fights about it! I think that a modern audience would have trouble with it if it were played straight. You would at least need a serious wink at the end!

That's for sure!!

I never really liked 'Taming of the Shrew;' it made me feel uncomfortable. I do hope that Shakespeare was being ironic.

I like this speech to Perdita at the end of Act IV in the Winter's Tale... isn't it amazing how much poetry comes from just four Romances?

What you do
Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet,
I'ld have you do it ever; when you sing,
I'ld have you buy and sell so; so give alms;
Pray so; and for the ord'ring you affairs,
To sing them too. When you do dance, I wish you
A wave o' th' sea, that you might ever do
Nothing but that; move so, still so,
And own no other function. Each your doing
(So singular in each particular)
Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds,
That all your acts are queens.

That's lovely.

Thanks, Mac . I loved looking through this thread.

I love this, from Timon of Athens:

The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction
Robs the vast sea; the moon's an arrant thief,
And her pale fire she snatches from the sun;
The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves
The moon into salt tears .....

Oh boy... a thread resurrection. Great lines, Drom!