Hello from Stratford-Upon-Avon
Welcome to a very special Cinema screenings of Shakespeare live from the RSC
We hope that our show tonight which would show in around 10 minutes time
is going to look and sounds spectacular on the big screen
We're thrilled to have brought together a truly extraordinary cast
As well as many wonderful musicians performing Opera and Hip-Hop
Together with songs from ‘West Side Story’ and ‘Kiss Me Kate’
Dances from the Royal Ballet and Birmingham Royal Ballet
The chorus of English National Opera and Orchestra of the Swan
But of course the words of the greatest writer of the English language William Shakespeare
Who was born in Stratford-Upon-Avon in 1564 and died here in 1616
Tonight with marking the 400th anniversary of Shakespeare's death
He seems to have shuffled off this Mortal coil after a night out drinking with his friends
Playwright Ben Johnson and a poet Michael Drayton
...
Tonight from the Royal Shakespeare Theatre Stratford-Upon-Avon
Judi Dench...
Helen Mirren...
Ian McKellan...
Benedict Cumberbatch...
David Suchet...
Tim Minchin...
Al Murray...
Rufus Hound...
Meera Syal...
Rory Kinnear...
Akala...
Anne Marie Duff...
and many more join together to celebrate the life and work of William Shakespeare
#3 Tonight: West Side Story
The Jets are gonna have their day
Tonight.
The Sharks are gonna have their way
Tonight.
The Puerto Ricans grumble: "Fair fight."
But if they start a rumble,
We'll rumble 'em right.
We're gonna hand 'em a surprise
Tonight.
We're gonna cut 'em down to size
Tonight.
We said, "O.K., no rumpus,
No tricks."
But just in case they jump us,
We're ready to mix
Tonight.
We're gonna rock it tonight,
We're gonna jazz it up and have us a ball!
They're gonna get it tonight;
The more they turn it on the harder they'll fall!
Well, they began it!
And we're the ones to stop 'em once and for all,
Tonight!
Anita's gonna get her kicks
Tonight.
We'll have our private little mix
Tonight.
He'll walk in hot and tired,
So what?
Don't matter if he's tired,
As long as he's hot Tonight!
Tonight, tonight,
Won't be just any night,
Tonight there will be no morning star.
Tonight, tonight, I'll see my love tonight.
And for us, stars will stop where they are.
Today
The minutes seem like hours,
The hours go so slowly,
And still the sky is light...
Oh moon, grow bright,
And make this endless day endless night!
I'm counting on you to be there
Tonight.
When Diesel wins it fair and square
Tonight.
That Puerto Rican punk'll
Go down.
And when he's hollered "Uncle"
We'll tear up the town!
- Tonight, tonight - So I can count on you, boy? - All right.
- Won't be just any night, - We're gonna have us a ball. - All right.
- Tonight there will be no morning star, - Womb to tomb! - Sperm to worm!
- I'll see you there about eight. - Tonight...
(Jets, Sharks, Maria, Tony, and Anita sing simultaneously)
Tonight!
#4 David Tennant and Catherine Tate
Hello and Welcome to Shakespeare live
This is...
Tonight we celebrate the life and work of William Shakespeare
it is exactly four hundred years to the day since he died on April 23rd 1616
we are here at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre in Stratford-Upon-Avon
barely a stone's throw from where he was born and where he's buried
it's not just the great stories he writes the wonderful characters he creates in the memorable language
Shakespeare tells us about ourselves he sees us from every angle
Apps that is why for more than four centuries he has inspired artists across the world
Berlios to Bernstein to hip hop and Jazz
from ballet to Broadway to blues and back
and that's what we're celebrating tonight
there really is something for everybody
to set back and enjoy... Shakespeare live
#5 As You Like It
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound
Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans eyes, sans teeth,
Sans taste, sans everything.
#6 David Tennant
The Seven Ages of man represented by taking a baby with a midwife from Warwick Hospital
Schoolboy from Shakespeare go to school
a student from Wolverhampton
a soldier serving in the Royal electrical and mechanical engineers
a member of Her Majesty's Council
and retired Royal Shakespeare company production manager
I know you're the first of four short films about the life of William Shakespeare
introduced by a man who knows all about the bar having played in on screen in Shakespeare in Love
it is of course the lovely Joseph Fiennes to introduce two seasons of Shakespeare's life
Starting with spring
#7 Joseph Fiennes (Shakespeare's history)
#8 Under The Greenwood Tree: As You Like It
Under the greenwood tree
Who loves to lie with me,
And turn his merry note
Unto the sweet bird's throat,
Come hither, come hither, come hither:
Here shall he see No enemy
But winter...
...and rough weather
#9 Romeo and Juliet
O Romeo,
Romeo!
Wherefore art thou Romeo?
Deny thy father and refuse thy name;
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I'll no longer be a Capulet.
Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?
'Tis but thy name that is my enemy.
Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.
What’s Montague? It is nor hand, nor foot,
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!
What’s in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other word would smell as sweet.
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name,
And for that name, which is no part of thee
- Take all myself. - I take thee at thy word.
Call me but love, and I’ll be new baptized.
Henceforth I never will be Romeo.
What man art thou that, thus bescreened in night, So stumblest on my counsel?
By a name... I know not how to tell thee who I am:
My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,
Because it is an enemy to thee;
Had I it written, I would tear the word.
My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words
Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound:
- Art thou not Romeo and a Montague? - Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike.
How camest thou hither, tell me, and wherefore?
The orchard walls are high and hard to climb,
And the place death, considering who thou art,
- If they do see thee, they will murder thee. - I have night's cloak to hide me from their sight;
And but thou love me, let them find me here:
Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face,
Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek
For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night
Lady...
by yonder blessed moon I swear
That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops
O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon,
That monthly changes in her circled orb,
Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.
- What shall I swear by? - Do not swear at all;
Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self,
Which is the god of my idolatry,
- And I'll believe thee. - If my heart's dear love
Well, do not swear:
although I joy in thee,
I have no joy of this contract to-night:
It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden;
Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be
Ere one can say 'It lightens.' Sweet, good night!
This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath,
May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.
Good night, good night!
Parting is such sweet sorrow,
That I shall say good night till it be morrow.
Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast!
Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest!
#10 Romeo and Juliet: Pas de Deux
#11 David Tennant and Catherine Tate
#12 Horrible Histories
#13 David Tennant and Catherine Tate
#14 Henry V
Will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms
Such as will enter at a lady's ear
And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart?
Your majesty shall mock at me; I cannot speak your England.
O...
fair Katharine, if you will love me soundly with your French heart,
I will be glad to hear you confess it brokenly with your English tongue.
Do you like me, Kate?
Pardonnez-moi,
I cannot tell vat is 'like me.'
An angel is like you, Kate, and you are like an angel.
Que dit-il? que je suis semblable a les anges?
Oui, vraiment, sauf votre grace, ainsi dit-il
I said so, dear Katharine; and I must not blush to affirm it.
O bon Dieu! les langues des hommes sont pleines de tromperies.
What says she, fair one? that the tongues of men are full of deceits?
Oui, dat de tongues of de mans is be full of deceits:
dat is de princess.
I' faith, Kate, my wooing is fit for thy understanding:
I am glad thou canst speak no better English;
I know no ways to mince it in love, but directly to say 'I love you:'
then if you urge me farther than to say 'do you in faith?'
I wear out my suit. Give me your answer; i' faith, do:
and so clap hands and a bargain: how say you, lady?
Sauf votre honneur, me understand vell.
Marry...
...if you would put me to verses or to dance for your sake, Kate, why you undid me:
If I could win a lady at leap-frog,
or by vaulting into my saddle with my armour on my back,
I should quickly leap into a wife.
But, before God, Kate, I cannot look greenly nor gasp out my eloquence,
nor I have no cunning in protestation;
If thou canst love a fellow of this temper, Kate, whose face is not worth sun-burning,
that never looks in his glass for love of any thing he sees there,
let thine eye be thy cook.
I speak to thee plain soldier:
If thou canst love me for this, take me:
if not, to say to thee that I shall die, is true; but for thy love, by the Lord, no;
yet I love thee too.
And while thou livest, dear Kate, take a fellow of plain and uncoined constancy;
for he perforce must do thee right, because he hath not the gift to woo in other places:
a speaker is but a prater; a rhyme is but a ballad. A good leg will fall;
a straight back will stoop; a black beard'ill turn white; a curled pate will grow bald;
a fair face will wither; a full eye will wax hollow: but a good heart,
Kate, is the sun and the moon;
or, rather, the sun, and not the moon; for it shines bright and never changes,
but keeps his course truly.
If thou would have such a one, take me;
and take me, take a soldier; take a soldier,
Take a King.
#15 David Tennant and Catherine Tate
#16 This Gives Life To Thee
If all the world's a stage
Then light my way
Because out, out your brief candle is not
Four centuries past
But I still cannot grasp
That undiscovered country
That makes words immortal
If the good that men do is interred with their bones
Then this precious stone is a beauty to rich
Methinks it's a jewel
In the ear of us all
As the wisest words spoken
Are spoken by fools
Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow I want to endure
Desiring this man's art that is yours
Time does waste me, days do chase me
The flesh goes pasty and still I ain’t found greatness
What meat and did they feed this Caesar
I want to taste the milk even if it is gall
Your mortal coil sprang back unbounded
And founded the language that is used by us all
The ink of your quill is a statue in stone
When I think and I feel I have captured your tone
I remember that the poet and the lunatic and one in the same
And only sometimes men are masters of our fates
The rest of the days the song plays has
Has lighted our way to dusty death
A fool’s paradise a shadow of a dream
Off with his head I don't want to be next
Hell and night Guide me to the world is light
When I write it could turn this prison cell bright
Hell and night Guide me to the world is light
When I write it could turn this prison cell bright
Hell and night Guide me to the world is light
When I write it could turn this prison cell bright
As men can breathe and eyes can see
So this gives life to the
When I feel there's not a note of mine worth noting
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries
When I get tongue-tied and my mouth runs dry
I remember you spoke of a marriage of the minds
And I presume to take your place
In a nutshell I am king of infinite space
Then a waste of shame, so full of blame
Expense of my spirit and disgrace in my name
And I am unking’d again Wish me a pauper
I have not learned from the things that that you taught us
Modest doubt is the beacon of the wise
He lives in sorrow that in virtue dies
So is the music of men's lives
A battalion of sorrows never coming as single spies
All this I know well
Yet not well enough to shun the heaven that leads me to this hell
Hell and night
Guide me to the world is light
When I write it could turn this prison cell bright
Hell and night Guide me to the world is light
When I write it could turn this prison cell bright
Hell and night Guide me to the world is light
When I write it could turn this prison cell bright
As men can breath and eyes can see
So this gives life to the
Past is prologue so it makes sense
We are gathered here four centuries after your death
Speaking words as if produced by our sweat
Though you are king with the pen I have some questions on what you have said
If Brutus is honorable
Who then is horrible?
When you were writing did you know that all this was possible
Will you really great did you feel it in your bones
Or did you have this greatness thrust upon you?
I feel that you knew
Should I really give the devil his due?
Listen to many and speak to few
Or so you said but your false tongue speaks daggers
As you have touched uncountable millions with no utterance
Your words are never scarce nor spent in vain
They call you Shakespeare but what's in a name?
Hell and night Guide me to the world is light
When I write it could turn this prison cell bright
Hell and night Guide me to the world is light
When I write it could turn this prison cell bright
Hell and night Guide me to the world is light
When I write it could turn this prison cell bright
As men can breathe and eyes can see
So this gives life to the
If all the world's a stage
Then light my way
Because out, out your brief candle is not
Four centuries past
But I still cannot grasp
That undiscovered country
That makes words immortal
If the good that men do is interred with their bones
Then this precious stone is a beauty to rich
Methinks it's a jewel
In the ear of us all
As the wisest words spoken
Are spoken by fools
#17 David Tennant and Catherine Tate
A spring turns to Summer Love can turn to Madness
I love that we talk about things to people in these three scenes...
from ‘As You Like It’, ‘Twelfth Night’ and ‘A Midsummer Night's Dream’
#18 As You Like It
Good day and happiness, dear Rosalind!
Why, how now, Orlando!
where have you been all this while?
You a lover!
An you serve me such another trick, never come in my sight more.
My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise.
Break an hour's promise in love!
He that will divide a minute into a thousand parts
and break but a part of the thousandth part of a minute in the affairs of love,
it may be said of him that Cupid hath clapped him o' the shoulder,
but I'll warrant him heart-whole.
Pardon me, dear Rosalind.
Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight:
I had as lief be wooed of a snail.
- Of a snail? - Ay, of a snail
But come, now I will be your Rosalind
in a more coming-on disposition,
and ask me what you will. I will grant it.
Then love me, Rosalind.
Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays and all.
- And wilt thou have me? - Ay, and twenty such.
- What sayest thou? - Are you not good?
I hope so.
Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing?
Now tell me how long you would have her after you have possessed her.
For ever and a day.
Say 'a day,' without the 'ever.'
No, no, Orlando;
men are April when they woo, December when they wed:
maids are May when they are maids,
but the sky changes when they are wives.
I will be more jealous of thee than a Barbary cock-pigeon over his hen,
more clamorous than a parrot against rain,
more new-fangled than an ape, more giddy in my desires than a monkey:
I will weep for nothing,
like Diana in the fountain,
and I will do that when you are disposed to be merry;
I will laugh like a hyen, and that when thou art inclined to sleep.
- But will my Rosalind do so? - By my life, she will do as I do.
O, but she is wise.
Or else she could not have the wit to do this:
the wiser, the waywarder:
make the doors upon a woman's wit
and it will out at the casement; shut that and 'twill out at the key-hole; stop that,
'twill fly with the smoke out at the chimney.
For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee.
Alas! dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours.
By two o'clock I will be with thee again.
Ay, go your ways, go your ways;
I knew what you would prove:
my friends told me as much, and I thought no less:
that flattering tongue of yours won me:
'tis but one cast away, and so, come, death!
- Two o'clock is your hour? - Ay, sweet Rosalind.
By my troth, and in good earnest,
and so God mend me,
and by all pretty oaths that are not dangerous,
if you break one jot of your promise or come one minute behind your hour,
I will think you the most pathetical break-promise
and the most hollow lover and the most unworthy of her you call Rosalind
that may be chosen out of the gross band of the unfaithful:
therefore beware my censure and keep your promise.
With no less religion than if thou wert indeed my Rosalind:
So adieu.
Well,
Time is the old justice that examines all such offenders, and let Time try:
Adieu.
That thou didst know how many fathom deep I am in love!
But it cannot be sounded:
my affection hath an unknown bottom,
like the bay of Portugal.
I'll tell thee, Aliena,
I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando:
I'll go find a shadow and sigh till he come.
#19 Twelfth Night
Where is Malvolio?
He is sad and civil,
And suits well for a servant with my fortunes:
Where is Malvolio?
He's coming, madam; but in very strange manner. He is, sure, possessed, madam.
Why, what's the matter? does he rave?
No. madam, he does nothing but smile:
Your ladyship were best to have some guard about you, if he come;
for, sure, the man is tainted in's wits.
Go call him hither.
I am as mad as he, If sad and merry madness equal be.
How now, Malvolio!
Sweet lady, ho, ho.
Smilest thou? I sent for thee upon a sad occasion.
Sad, lady! I could be sad:
this does make some obstruction in the blood, this cross-gartering;
but what of that? if it please the eye of one,
it is with me as the very true sonnet is, 'Please one, and please all.'
Why, how dost thou, man? What is the matter with thee?
Not black in my mind, though yellow in my legs.
It did come to his hands, and commands shall be executed:
I think we do know the sweet Roman hand.
Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio?
To bed! ay, sweet-heart, and I'll come to thee.
God comfort thee!
Why dost thou smile so and kiss thy hand so oft?
How do you, Malvolio?
At your request! yes; nightingales answer daws.
Why appear you with this ridiculous boldness before my lady?
'Be not afraid of greatness:' 'twas well writ.
What meanest thou by that, Malvolio?
- 'Some are born great,' - Ha!
- 'Some achieve greatness,' - What sayest thou?
'And some have greatness thrust upon them.'
Heaven restore thee!
- 'Remember who commended thy yellow stocking s,' - Thy yellow stockings!
- 'And wished to see thee cross-gartered.' - Cross-gartered!
'Go to thou art made, if thou desirest to be so;'
- Am I made? - 'If not, let me see thee a servant still.'
Why, this is very midsummer madness.
#20 A Midsummer Night’s Dream
Why do they run away?
O Bottom, thou art changed! what do I see on thee?
What do you see? you see an asshead of your own, do you?
Bless thee, Bottom! bless thee! Thou art translated.
I see their knavery:
This is to make an ass of me;
To fright me, if they could.
But I will not stir from this place,
do what they can: I will walk up and down here,
and I will sing, that they shall hear I am not afraid.
The ousel cock so black of hue, With orange-tawny bill,
The throstle with his note so true, The wren with little quill,
What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?
The finch, the sparrow and the lark, The plain-song cuckoo gray,
Whose note full many a man doth mark, And dares not answer nay;
I pray thee, gentle mortal,
sing again:
Mine ear is much enamour'd of thy note;
So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape;
And thy fair virtue's force perforce doth move me
On the first view to say, to swear,
I love thee.
Methinks, mistress, you should have little reason for that:
and yet, to say the truth, reason and love keep little company together now-a-days;
the more the pity that some honest neighbours will not make them friends.
Nay, I can gleek upon occasion.
Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful.
Not so, neither: but if I had wit enough to get out of this wood,
I have enough to serve mine own turn.
Out of this wood do not desire to go:
Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or no.
I am a spirit of no common rate;
The summer still doth tend upon my state;
And I do love thee: therefore, go with me;
I'll give thee fairies to attend on thee,
And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep,
And sing while thou on pressed flowers dost sleep;
And I will purge thy mortal grossness so
That thou shalt like an airy spirit go.
Peaseblossom! Cobweb! Moth! and Mustardseed!
- Ready. - And I. - And I.
Where shall we go?
Be kind and courteous to this gentleman;
Hop in his walks and gambol in his eyes;
Feed him with apricocks and dewberries,
With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries;
The honey-bags steal from the humble-bees,
And for night-tapers crop their waxen thighs
And light them at the fiery glow-worm's eyes,
To have my love to bed and to arise;
And pluck the wings from Painted butterflies
To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes:
Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies.
Hail, mortal! - Hail! - Hail! - Hail!
I cry your worship's mercy, heartily:
Come, wait upon him; lead him to my bower.
The moon methinks looks with a watery eye;
And when she weeps, weeps every little flower,
Lamenting some enforced chastity.
Tie up my love's tongue bring him silently.
#21 Joseph Fiennes (Shakespeare's history)
William Shakespeare and Anne Hathaway when married in 1582
He was 18 and she was 26 and pregnant
#22 Sigh No More, Ladies: Much Ado About Nothing
Sigh no more, ladies, sigh nor more;
Men were deceivers ever;
One foot in sea and one on shore,
To one thing constant never;
Then sigh not so,
But let them go,
And be you blithe and bonny;
Converting all your sounds of woe
Into. Hey nonny, nonny.
Sing no more ditties, sing no mo,
Or dumps so dull and heavy;
The fraud of men was ever so,
Since summer first was leavy.
Then sigh not so,
But let them go,
And be you blithe and bonny,
Converting all your sounds of woe
Into. Hey, nonny, nonny.
Then sigh not so, But let them go,
And be you blithe and bonny,
Converting all your sounds of woe
Into. Hey, nonny, nonny.
Converting all your sounds of woe
Into. Hey, nonny, nonny.
#23 Catherine Tate
In Much Ado About Nothing a couple meet again after a long time apart
...
performing as Beatrice and Benedict now all Meera Syal and Sanjeev Bhaskar
#24 Much Ado About Nothing
A kind overflow of kindness:
How much better is it to weep at joy than to joy at weeping!
I wonder that you will still be talking, Signior Benedick:
nobody marks you.
What, my dear Lady Disdain! are you yet living?
Is it possible disdain should die while she hath such meet food to feed it as Signior Benedick?
Courtesy itself must convert to disdain, if you come in her presence.
Then is courtesy a turncoat.
But it is certain I am loved of all ladies,
only you excepted:
and I would I could find in my heart that I had not a hard heart; for, truly, I love none.
A dear happiness to women:
they would else have been troubled with a pernicious suitor.
I thank God and my cold blood, I am of your humour for that:
I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me.
God keep your ladyship still in that mind!
so some gentleman or other shall 'scape a predestinate scratched face.
Scratching could not make it worse, an 'twere such a face as yours were.
Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher.
A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of yours.
I would my horse had the speed of your tongue, and so good a continuer.
But keep your way, i' God's name; I have done.
You always end with a jade's trick: I know you of old.
#25 David Tennant
When the French composer Berlioz first so Shakespeare performed in Paris in 1827
he said it struck him like a thunderbolt
he became obsessed with Shakespeare writing a Romeo and Juliet Symphony
...
#26 Beatrice et Benedict
Vous soupirez, madame!
Le bonheur oppresse mon âme!
Je ne puis y songer sans trembler malgré moi.
Claudio! Claudio! je vais donc être à toi!
Nuit paisible et sereine!
La lune, douce reine,
Qui plane en souriant;
L’insecte des prairies,
Dans les herbes fleuries
En secret bruissant;
Philomèle
Qui mêle
Aux murmures du bois
Les splendeurs de sa voix;
L’hirondelle
Fidèle,
Caressant sous nos toits
Sa nichée en émoi;
Dans sa coupe de marbre
Ce jet d’eau retombant,
Écumant;
L’ombre de ce grand arbre,
En spectre se mouvant
Sous le vent;
Harmonies
Infinies,
Que vous avez d’attraits
Et de charmes secrets
Pour les âmes attendries!
#27 Catherine Tate
Brilliant!
An now from an opera to a Broadway musical
...
#28 Henry Goodman, Rufus Hound
How the hell do we get out of here
We get in here
no, no, no...
Hey, a nice people here
as you guys and beautiful dolls
Hey, John, who is a guy?
just like that beautiful in broad
- Like on a pictures - On the pictures?
... pictutes
#29 Brush Up Your Shakespeare: Kiss Me Kate
The girls today in society
Go for classical poetry
So to win their hearts you must quote with ease
Aeschylus and Euripides
One must know Homer, and believe me, Beau
Sophocles, also Sappho-ho
Unless you know Shelley and Keats and Pope
Dainty Debbies will call you a dope
But the poet of them all
Who will start 'em simply ravin'
Is the poet people call
The Bard of Stratford-on-Avon
where is that?
where is it the whole world knows where the boy was born it's right here
...in America
Brush up your Shakespeare
Start quoting him now
Brush up your Shakespeare
And the women you will wow
Just declaim a few lines from 'Othella'
And they think you're a heckuva fella
If your blond won't respond when you flatter 'er
Tell her what Tony told Cleopaterer
If she fights when her clothes you are mussing
What are clothes? 'Much Ado About Nussing'
Brush up your Shakespeare
And they'll all kowtow
Brush up your Shakespeare
Start quoting him now
Brush up your Shakespeare
And the women you will wow
With the wife of the British ambassida
Try a crack out of Troilus and Cressida
If she says she won't buy it or like it
Make her tike it, what's more As You Like It
If she says your behavior is heinous
Kick her right in the Coriolanus
Brush up your Shakespeare
And they'll all kow-tow
Thank you, Maestro!
Brush up your Shakespeare Start quoting him now
Brush up your Shakespeare And the women you will wow
If you can't be a ham and do Hamlet
They will not give a damn or a damlet
Just recite an occasional sonnet
And your lap'll have honey upon it
When your baby is pleading for pleasure
Let her sample your Measure for Measure
Brush up your Shakespeare
And they'll all kow-tow - Forsooth
And they'll all kow-tow
Brush up your Shakespeare Start quoting him now
Brush up your Shakespeare And the women you will wow
Better mention "The Merchant Of Venice"
When her sweet pound o' flesh you would menace
If her virtue, at first, she defends---well
Just remind her that "All's Well That Ends Well"
And if still she won't give you a bonus
You know what Venus got from Adonis
Brush up your Shakespeare
And they'll all kow-tow - Thinkst thou?
And they'll all kow-tow - Odds bodkins
And they'll all kow-tow
Brush up your Shakespeare Start quoting him now
Brush up your Shakespeare And the women you will wow
If your goil is a Washington Heights dream
Treat the kid to "A Midsummer Night's Dream"
If she then wants an all-by-herself night
Let her rest ev'ry 'leventh or "Twelfth Night"
If because of your heat she gets huffy
Simply play on and "Lay on, Macduffy!"
Brush up your Shakespeare
And they'll all kow-tow - Forsooth
And they'll all kow-tow - Thinkst thou?
And they'll all kow-tow
#30 Richard II
This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise,
This fortress built by Nature for herself
Against infection and the hand of war,
This happy breed of men, this little world,
This precious stone set in the silver sea,
Which serves it in the office of a wall,
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier lands,
This blessed plot, this earth,
This realm,
This England,
#31 David Tennant and Catherine Tate
...
#32 Such Sweet Thunder
#33 Othello and Desdemona
#34 Joseph Fiennes (Shakespeare's history)
#35 When That I Was And A Little Tiny Boy: Twelfth Night
When that I was and a little tiny boy,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
A foolish thing was but a toy,
For the rain it raineth every day.
But when I came to man’s estate,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
’Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate,
For the rain it raineth every day.
But when I came, alas! to wive,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
By swaggering could I never thrive,
For the rain it raineth every day.
But when I came unto my beds,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
With toss-pots still had drunken heads,
For the rain it raineth every day.
A great while ago the world begun,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
But that’s all one, our play is done,
And we’ll strive to please you every day.
#36 To be, or not to be...
To be or not to be...
- that is the question... - Sorry, sorry...
A man... yes...
#37 Hamlet
To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them?
To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die...
To sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream:
ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.
#38 Catherine Tate
#39 Sir Thomas More
Grant them removed, and grant that this your noise
Hath chid down all the majesty of England;
Imagine that you see the wretched strangers,
Their babies at their backs and their poor luggage,
Plodding to th' ports and costs for transportation,
And that you sit as kings in your desires,
Authority quite silent by your brawl,
And you in ruff of your opinions clothed;
What had you got?
I'll tell you: you had taught
How insolence and strong hand should prevail,
How order should be quelled; and by this pattern
Not one of you should live an aged man,
For other ruffians, as their fancies wrought,
With self same hand, self reasons, and self right,
Would shark on you, and men like ravenous fishes
Would feed on one another.
You'll put down strangers, Kill them,
Cut their throats, possess their houses, And lead the majesty of law
In line, to slip him like a hound.
O, desperate as you are,
Wash your foul minds with tears, and those same hands,
That you like rebels lift against the peace,
Lift up for peace, and your unreverent knees,
Make them your feet to kneel to be forgiven!
Say now the king
(As he is clement, if th' offender mourn)
Should so much come to short of your great trespass
As but to banish you
whether would you go?
What country, by the nature of your error,
Should give you harbor? go you to France or Flanders,
To any German province, to Spain or Portugal,
Nay, any where that not adheres to England,--
Why, you must needs be strangers: would you be pleased
To find a nation of such barbarous temper,
That, breaking out in hideous violence,
Would not afford you an abode on earth,
Whet their detested knives against your throats,
Spurn you like dogs, and like as if that God
Owed not nor made not you, nor that the claimants
Were not all appropriate to your comforts,
But chartered unto them, what would you think
To be thus used? this is the strangers case;
And this your mountanish inhumanity.
#40 David Tennant and Catherine Tate
#41 uMabatha: the Zulu Macbeth
#42 Ninagawa Macbeth
#43 When, in Disgrace with Fortune and Men’s Eyes
When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd,
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy...
Sweet...
Love...
Remember'd...
Such wealth...
Brings...
That then I...
Scorn to change...
My state...
With kings.
#44 David Tennant and Catherine Tate
Amazing... amazing...
#45 Macbeth
That which hath made them drunk hath made me bold;
What hath quench'd them hath given me fire.
Hark! Peace!
It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bellman,
Which gives the stern'st good-night. He is about it:
The doors are open; and the surfeited grooms
Do mock their charge with snores:
I have drugg'd their possets,
That death and nature do contend about them,
Whether they live or die.
Who's there? what, ho!
Alack,
I am afraid they have awaked, and 'tis not done.
The attempt and not the deed confounds us.
Hark! I laid their daggers ready;
He could not miss 'em.
Had he not resembled my father as he slept,
I had done't.
My husband!
I have done the deed.
Didst thou not hear a noise?
I heard the owl scream and the crickets cry. Did not you speak?
- When? - Now.
- As I descended? - Ay - Hark!
- Who lies I' the second chamber? - Donalbain
- This is a sorry sight. - A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight.
There's one did laugh in's sleep, and one cried' Murder!'
That they did wake each other: I stood and heard them:
But they did say their prayers, and address'd them again to sleep.
There are two lodged together.
One cried 'God bless us!' and 'Amen' the other;
As they had seen me with these hangman's hands.
Listening their fear, I could not say 'Amen,'
When they did say 'God bless us!'
- Consider it not so deeply. - But wherefore could not I pronounce 'Amen'?
I had most need of blessing, and 'Amen' Stuck in my throat.
These deeds must not be thought After these ways;
So, it will make us mad.
Methought
I heard a voice cry
'Sleep no more!
Macbeth does murder sleep',
The innocent sleep,
Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care,
The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath,
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course,
- Chief nourisher in life's feast, - What do you mean?
Still it cried 'Sleep no more!' to all the house:
'Glamis hath murder'd sleep, and therefore Cawdor
Shall sleep no more; Macbeth shall sleep no more.'
Who was it that thus cried?
Why, worthy thane,
You do unbend your noble strength, to think
So brainsickly of things. Go get some water,
And wash this filthy witness from your hand.
Why did you bring these daggers from the place?
They must lie there: go carry them;
The sleepy grooms with blood.
I'll go no more:
I am afraid to think what I have done;
Look on't again I dare not.
Infirm of purpose!
Give me the daggers:
The sleeping and the dead
Are but as pictures: 'tis the eye of childhood
That fears a painted devil.
If he do bleed,
I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal;
For it must seem their guilt.
Whence is that knocking?
How is't with me, when every noise appals me?
What hands are here? ha!
They pluck out mine eyes.
Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood clean from my hand?
No, this my hand will rather the multitudinous seas in incarnadine,
Making the green one red.
My hands are of your colour;
But I shame to wear a heart so white.
I hear a knocking at the south entry: retire we to our chamber;
A little water clears us of this deed:
How easy is it, then! Your constancy Hath left you unattended.
Hark! more knocking.
Get on your nightgown, lest occasion call us,
And show us to be watchers.
Be not lost so poorly in your thoughts.
To know my deed, 'twere best not know myself.
Wake Duncan with thy knocking! I would thou couldst!
#46 King Lear
Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks!
Rage! blow!
You cataracts and hurricanoes,
Spout till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks!
You sulphurous and thought-executing fires,
Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts, Singe my white head!
And thou, all-shaking thunder, Smite flat the thick rotundity o' the world!
Crack nature's moulds, an germens spill at once, That make ingrateful man!
Rumble thy bellyful!
Spit, fire! spout, rain!
Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters:
I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness;
I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children,
You owe me no subscription: then let fall Your horrible pleasure:
Here I stand, your slave,
A poor, infirm, weak, and despised...
old man:
But yet I call you servile ministers,
That have with two pernicious daughters join'd
Your high engender'd battles 'gainst a head
So old and white as this. O! O! 'tis foul!
No, I will be the pattern of all patience;
I will say nothing.
#47 Antony and Cleopatra
Now, Charmian!
Show me, my women, like a queen:
I am again for Cydnus, To meet Mark Antony:
Give me my robe
Finish, good lady; the bright day is done, And we are for the dark.?
Put on my crown;
I have immortal longings in me:
now no more the juice of Egypt's grape shall moist this lip:
Yare, yare, good Iras; quick. Methinks I hear Antony call;
I see him rouse himself To praise my noble act;
Husband, I come:
Now to that name my courage prove my title!
I am fire and air; my other elements I give to baser life.
So; have you done?
Come then, and take the last warmth of my lips.
Farewell, kind Charmian;
Iras, long farewell.
Have I the aspic in my lips? Dost fall?
If thou and nature can so gently part,
The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch,
Which hurts, and is desired.
Dissolve, thick cloud, and rain;
that I may say, The gods themselves do weep!
This proves me base:
If she first meet the curled Antony,
He'll make demand of her, and spend that kiss Which is my heaven to have.
Come, thou mortal wretch,
With thy sharp teeth this knot intrinsicate of life
At once untie
Poor venomous fool
Be angry, and dispatch.
O eastern star!
Peace, peace!
Dost thou not see my baby at my breast,
That sucks the nurse asleep?
O, break! O, break!
As sweet as balm, as soft as air, as gentle,
O Antony!
What should I stay…
In this vile world?
So, fare thee well.
Now boast thee, death,
in thy possession lies a lass unparallel'd.
Your crown's awry;
I'll mend it, and then play.
#48 Joseph Fiennes (Shakespeare's history)
Shakespeare spent the last few years of his life in Stratford
An died on this day in 1616 is 52nd birthday
...
#49 Come Away Death: Twelfth Night
Come away, come away, death,
And in sad cypress let me be laid;
Fly away, fly away breath;
I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,
O, prepare it!
My part of death, no one so true
Did share it.
Not a flower, not a flower sweet
On my black coffin let there be strown;
Not a friend, not a friend greet
My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown:
A thousand thousand sighs to save,
Lay me, O, where
Sad true lover never find my grave,
To weep there!
#50 David Tennant and Catherine Tate
Shakespeare's tragedy Come Away Death may plumb the depths of the human experience
#51 Henry IV Part I
There is a thing, Harry,
which thou hast often heard of and it is known to many in our land by the name of pitch:
this pitch, as ancient writers do report, doth defile;
so doth the company thou keepest:
for, Harry, now I do not speak to thee in drink but in tears,
not in pleasure but in passion,
not in words only, but in woes also:
and yet there is a virtuous man whom I have often noted in thy company,
but I know not his name.
What manner of man, an it like your majesty?
A goodly portly man, i' faith,
and a corpulent; of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye and a most noble carriage;
and, as I think, his age some fifty,
or, by'r lady, inclining to three score;
and now I remember me, his name is Falstaff:
if that man should be lewdly given, he deceiveth me; for, Harry, I see virtue Falstaff:
him keep with, the rest banish.
Dost thou speak like a king? Do thou stand for me, and I'll play my father.
Depose me?
if thou dost it half so gravely, so majestically,
both in word and matter,
hang me up by the heels for a rabbit-sucker or a poulter's hare.
Well, here I am set.
And here I stand: judge, my masters.
Now, Harry, whence come you?
My noble lord, from Eastcheap.
The complaints I hear of thee are grievous.
'Sblood, my lord, they are false: nay, I'll tickle ye for a young prince.
Swearest thou, ungracious boy? henceforth ne'er look on me.
Thou art violently carried away from grace:
there is a devil haunts thee in the likeness of an old fat man;
a tun of man is thy companion.
Why dost thou converse with that trunk of humours,
that bolting-hutch of beastliness, that swollen parcel of dropsies, that huge bombard of sack,
that stuffed cloak-bag of guts, that roasted Manningtree ox with the pudding in his belly,
that reverend vice, that grey iniquity, that father ruffian,
that vanity in years?
Wherein is he good, but to taste sack and drink it?
wherein neat and cleanly, but to carve a capon and eat it?
wherein cunning, but in craft?
wherein crafty, but in villany?
wherein villanous, but in all things?
wherein worthy, but in nothing?
I would your grace would take me with you: whom means your grace?
That villanous abominable misleader of youth,
Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan.
- My lord, the man I know. - I know thou dost.
But to say I know more harm in him than in myself,
Were to say more than I know.
That he is old, the more the pity,
his white hairs do witness it;
but that he is, saving your reverence,
a whoremaster, that I utterly deny.
If sack and sugar be a fault, God help the wicked!
if to be old and merry be a sin,
then many an old host that I know is damned:
If to be fat be to be hated, then Pharaoh's lean kine are to be loved.
No, my good lord; banish Peto,
banish Bardolph, banish Poins:
but for sweet Jack Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff,
true Jack Falstaff, married Jack Falstaff,
and therefore more valiant, being, as he is,
old Jack Falstaff,
banish not him thy Harry's company,
banish not him thy Harry's company:
banish plump Jack, and banish all the world.
I do, I will.
#52 Falstaff
#53 The Tempest
Our revels now are ended.
These our actors, as I foretold you,
Were all spirits and are melted into air,
Into thin air:
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Ye all which it inherit,
Shall dissolve
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind.
We are such stuff as dreams are made on,
And our little life is rounded with a sleep.
#54 A Midsummer Night’s Dream
Now the hungry lion roars,
And the wolf behowls the moon;
Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,
All with weary task fordone.
Now the wasted brands do glow,
Whilst the screech-owl, screeching loud,
Puts the wretch that lies in woe
In remembrance of a shroud.
Now it is the time of night
That the graves all gaping wide,
Every one lets forth his sprite,
In the church-way paths to glide:
And we fairies, that do run By the triple Hecate's team,
From the presence of the sun, Following darkness like a dream,
Now are frolic: not a mouse
Shall disturb this hallow'd house:
I am sent with broom before,
To sweep the dust behind the door.
#55 A Midsummer Night’s Dream
Through the house give gathering light,
By the dead and drowsy fire:
Every elf and fairy sprite
Hop as light as bird from brier;
And this ditty, after me,
Sing, and dance it trippingly.
First, rehearse your song by rote
To each word a warbling note:
Hand in hand, with fairy grace,
Will we sing, and bless this place.
Now, until the break of day,
Through this house each fairy stray.
To the best bride-bed will we,
Which by us shall blessed be;
And the issue there create
Ever shall be fortunate.
So shall all the couples three
Ever true in loving be;
With this field-dew consecrate,
Every fairy take his gait;
And each several chamber bless,
Through this palace, with sweet peace;
And the owner of it blest
Ever shall in safety rest.
Trip away; make no stay;
Meet me all by break of day.
#55 David Tennant and Catherine Tate
If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumber'd here
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend:
If you pardon, we will mend:
And, as I am an honest Puck,
If we have unearned luck
Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue, We will make amends ere long;
Else the Puck a liar call;
So, good night unto you all.
Give me your hands, if we be friends,
And Robin shall restore amends.