The fact of to have been polite in one of the excellent schools of preparation of his epoch perhaps justify the brilhantismo of Shakespeare, this that neither it arrived frequent a university was author of theatrical pieces, sonnets, poems and poetry. Even 391 years after his death its works are perpetuated with such success. Our blogger planned to show a little one of one of the extraordinary faces of Willian Shakespeare. His poems went since philosophical questionings to around the human existence to the loving questions. Through our work is able to have a notion of genius of that artist with the reading of some works that neither from far away show all the talent of this artist so respected and complete.
segunda-feira, 10 de setembro de 2007
When forty winters shall besiege thy brow-William Shakespeare
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When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now,
Will be a tattered weed of small worth held.
Then being asked, where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days,
To say within thine own deep sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserved thy beauty's use,
If thou couldst answer, "This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,
"Proving his beauty by succession thine.
This were to be new made when thou art old,
And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.
My love is as a fever-Sonnet 147 by William Shakespeare
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My love is as a fever, longing still
For that which longer nurseth the disease,
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
Th' uncertain sickly appetite to please.
My reason, the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve
Desire is death, which physic did except.
Past cure I am, now reason is past care,
And frantic-mad with evermore unrest;
My thoughts and my discourse as mad men's are,
At random from the truth vainly expressed.
For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.
William Shakespeare - Friends, Romans, countrymen (from Julius Caesar 3/2)
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Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears;
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their bones;
The good is oft interred with their bones;
So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus
Hath told you Caesar was ambitious:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Caesar answer'd it.
Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest
-For Brutus is an honourable man;
So are they all, all honourable men
-Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral.
He was my friend, faithful and just to me:
But Brutus says he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honourable man.
He hath brought many captives home to Rome
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill:
Did this in Caesar seem ambitious?
When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept:
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honourable man.
You all did see that on the Lupercal
I thrice presented him a kingly crown,
Which he did thrice refuse: was this ambition?
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;
And, sure, he is an honourable man.
I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,
But here I am to speak what I do know.
You all did love him once, not without cause:
What cause withholds you then, to mourn for him?
O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts,
And men have lost their reason. Bear with me;
My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar,
And I must pause till it come back to me.
William Shakespeare - Love
William Shakespeare - To be, or not to be (from Hamlet 3/1)
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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,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
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. - Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd.
* http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-JD6gOrARk4&eurl=http%3A%2F%2Fwww%2Eartofeurope%2Ecom%2Fshakespeare%2Fsha8%2Ehtm
The beginning...
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"To be or not to be,that is the question"...that is the most famous verse of the incredible one Sheakspeare, Playwright and English poet, William Shakespeare is recognized as the most greatest playwright of all of the times. His works broadly were published and translated into all the main languages of the world.The objective of that blogger is going to divulge the poetry of that great author.
Project of English of the "Colégio Marista de Salvador" carried out by the students of the second year class C.The group is formed by:Carolina Nogueira,Eduardo Robatto,Elma Martins,Gabriela Simas,João Vitor and Thainá Reis.The responsible teacher is Marcia Bizerra.
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