Romeo & Juliet: Act One Scene Five

If Capulet recognized Mercutio's friends he concealed it well, even welcoming them with hearty handshakes. He was in high spirits as the hall filled up: he hopped about like a bird and greeted his guests with smiles, backslaps and jokes.

Come in. come in,' he said as each group of masked youths arrived at the doorway. 'Don't stand there, come in. Look at all the girls. Go in, go in. And I want to see you dancing. Only those girls with corns on their feet will say no.'

'I'm a doctor tonight.' he told a group of girls, beaming. 'I can tell which of you have corns - those who don't get up and dance right away.' And when all except one rushed off, giggling, to find partners, he winked at the shy one left standing on her own. 'Have I hit the nail on the head?' he said. making her blush even more. He turned away to greet some new arrivals.

The hard work he had put into the preparations was paying off. The great hall was festooned with colourful banners and flowers and the tables were spread with enticing food. He looked this way and that, missing nothing. With the saddest expression on his face he told some young men not to waste time - there were plenty of girls. It would be tragic for them not to take advantage of opportunities like this because before they knew it they would be old men like him and then it would be too late. Was it only yesterday that he was whispering sweet nothings in the ears of young ladies? He shook his head. 'Those were the days. All gone now.' He looked as though he was going to cry but made an immediate recovery, gesturing with waving arms to the musicians to get on with it. Why had they stopped? Were they taking a holiday? He shouted at the servants, telling them to bring more light, to move the tables so that the guests could dance, and he told them to put the fire out: where were their brains? If he was sweating so badly what would it be like for the dancers?

Before long the hall was brightly lit. A space had been cleared and music was playing again. Guests began taking to the floor.

Once they were in the hall Mercutio and his friends put their masks on and went their separate ways. Each one had his own idea of how he was going to enjoy himself.

Romeo had made up his mind that he wouldn't dance. He would find Rosaline and declare himself to her again. He wandered about, picking at snacks and watching out for her. He was also keeping one eye on Tybalt, staying as far away from him as possible. Tybalt was dancing with a pretty girl, smiling and being charming, but you never knew what he was going to do. What the Prince had said made no difference: Tybalt was always looking for a fight. It was best to give him a wide berth.

Mercutio was in a corner, entertaining some girls who laughed at every word he uttered. There was nothing new in that. Benvolio was dancing and Horatio was nowhere to be seen.

A serving man with a jug approached the table where Romeo was standing and poured some wine into a glass. He lifted the glass and handed it to Romeo but just as Romeo was about to take it a girl he had never seen before passed in front of him, dancing with a rather formal looking stranger.

Romeo drew his breath in sharply. The serving man, thinking Romeo had taken the glass, let go and it crashed on the floor. It made Romeo snap out of his trance. He looked down to see his shoes splashed with wine and the serving man trying to wipe it off with his apron. He didn't take it in, though - his mind was completely preoccupied with the heavenly image before him, moving so gracefully to the music.

Othello - Act Two Scene Three

Othello ended his meeting with Cassio by reminding him about the behaviour expected of a visiting army, particularly on an evening when there were going to be revellers on the streets.

'Good Michael,' he said. 'Keep your eye on the guard tonight. We must set an exampleand not overdo it.'

'Iago knows what to do,' said Cassio. 'But I'll personally keep an eye on it.'

'Iago is most honest,' said Othello. 'We'll goodnight, Michael. I need to talk to you first thing in the morning.' He smiled at the waiting Desdemona. 'Come, my dear love,' he said. 'We've made the purchase, the fruits are to follow. The profit's yet to come between me and you.' He turned and smiled at Cassio and the other officers. 'Goodnight.'

Iago was already in the guardroom when Cassio arrived. 'We must attend to the guard,' said Cassio.

'Not yet,' said Iago. 'It's not ten o'clock yet. Our general got rid of us early for the love of his Desdemona, and I don't blame him. He hasn't done it with her yet; and she's sport for the gods.'

'She's a most exquisite lady,' said Cassio.

'And full of game, I'll bet.'

'She's certainly a lovely, delicate creature.'

'What an eye she has: a real come and get it look.'

'A welcoming eye,' said Cassio, 'and yet very modest, I think.'

'And when she speaks, isn't it a signal for love?'

'She's certainly perfection.'

'O well, let them enjoy it.' Iago clapped Cassio on the back. 'Come Lieutenant,' he said. 'I've got a jar of wine, and there is a brace of Cyprus lads outside who want to drink to the health of black Othello.'

'Not tonight, Iago. I can't take too much drink. I really wish society would invent some other form of entertainment.'

Iago sighed. 'They're our friends. Just one glass. I'll do your drinking for you.'

'I've had only one glass tonight,' said Cassio, 'and that was cunningly diluted as well; and look at the effect it's had on me. I'm unlucky in that defect and daren't push it with more drinking.'

Iago clapped his hands in front of Cassio's face. 'Come on, man, it's a night of partying. The lads want it.'

'Where are they?'

'There, at the door. Go on, invite them in.'

'I'll do it,' said Cassio, 'but I don't like it.'

Iago couldn't believe his luck. Now if he could just make him have one glass, that, together with what he had already had, would make him as quarrelsome and offensive as a lapdog. And the sick fool, Roderigo, who had been turned inside out with love and drunk himself silly in toasts to Desdemona, was out there too. It was all coming together. He had made three other men of Cyprus drunk - men of high rank, the backbone of Cyprus. He would put Cassio among this flock of drunkards and induce him to commit some act that would offend the people of Cyprus. It was all going smoothly, like a boat sailing feely with favourable winds and currents

Macbeth : Act Three Scene Four

The huge doors of the glittering state dining room opened and the King and Queen stood there, smiling. Behind them the long table was set for a banquet. The anteroom was crowded: everyone of importance in Scotland had been commanded to attend - from the great thanes down to the lesser lords and their ladies - and almost everyone had obeyed.


'You all know your own rank,' said Macbeth. 'Come in and sit down. From the greatest to the least you're all most heartily welcome.'

They filed past the King and Queen and took their seats: the more powerful a man was the nearer he sat to the royal couple at the head of the table.

When they were all seated Macbeth stood up and smiled round at them.

'Ourself will mingle with you and play the humble host,' he said. He swung round and beamed down at his radiant queen. 'Our hostess will keep her place for now: she will receive you later.'

'Greet our friends for me, Sir,' she said, 'for I welcome them with all my heart.'

While acknowledging the clapping and table thumping Macbeth glanced up at the doorway and saw that a new face had appeared among those of the servants. It was one of the murderers.

'See?' Macbeth said to his wife. 'They greet you in turn with their hearts' thanks.'

Lady Macbeth smiled graciously at the applauding guests. When the noise had subsided Macbeth spoke again.

'Both sides are even, then. Enjoy yourselves. In due course we'll drink a round of toasts.'

He made his way to the doorway, stopping every now and then to greet one of the guests, until he stood beside the murderer.

'There's blood on your face!' he said.

'It's Banquo's then.'

'It's better outside you than inside him. Has he been dealt with?'

'My Lord, his throat is cut. I did that for him.'

'You're the best of the cut-throats. But whoever did the same for Fleance would be even better. If you did that you would be the best of them all.'

'Most Royal Sir.' The murderer came closer. 'Fleance escaped.'

Macbeth stared at him. He felt one of his fits of terror coming on. Just when everything was going perfectly; when he was feeling safe - as firm as marble, as solid as rock, as free as air. Now, suddenly, he was enclosed, cramped, full of the most painful fears and doubts.

'But Banquo's safe?'

'Yes, my Lord, quite safe, buried in a ditch with twenty deep gashes in his head - each one of them enough to kill him.'

'Thanks for that,' said Macbeth.

Banquo's death was all very well but Fleance was the issue: he was the mature snake - his escape breeding venom in time - even though it had no teeth at present. There was only one thing in the world to be feared - the seed of Banquo.

'Go now,' he said. 'We'll talk again tomorrow.'

Lady Macbeth watched him and became concerned when he stopped halfway to his chair and seemed to be lost in thought. She got up and went to him. 'My royal Lord,' she said. 'You're neglecting your guests. They might as well be at an inn, paying for their meal, without the warmth of your hospitality. If it was just food they wanted they could have stayed at home. Ceremony adds flavour to the meat: without it it's tasteless.'

'Thanks for reminding me,' said Macbeth.

Lady Macbeth went back to her place and Macbeth clapped his hands loudly. 'Now!' he said. 'Bon appetite! And your good health!' He took a tankard from a table and raised it. They all stood up and drank.

Lennox, who sat at the top end of the table, signaled him to return and sit. He walked towards his old friend who was seated beside Ross.

'All the greatest in the land would be under one roof if we had been honoured with Banquo's presence,' he said. 'I hope I'll have cause to confront him for his discourtesy rather than pity him for any accident.'

'He is at fault for breaking his promise,' said Ross. Ross indicated the vacant chair beside Lady Macbeth's. 'Will it please your Highness to grace us with your royal company?'

'The table's full,' said Macbeth. Lennox pointed to the empty chair. 'There's your place, reserved for you,' he said.

Macbeth looked up. All the colour in his cheeks drained away. He swayed. 'What's the matter?' said Lennox.

Macbeth backed away, not taking his eyes off his chair. Then: 'Which of you have done this?' he shouted.

There was a change of atmosphere as people stopped eating and talking and looked at him. 'Done what?' they asked each other. They watched as the King pointed to the empty chair.

'You can't say I did it!' he screamed. 'Don't shake your gory locks at me!'

Ross sprang to his feet. 'Ladies and gentlemen, rise: his Highness is not well.'

'Sit!' cried Lady Macbeth. She was moving fast to her husband. 'Sit, worthy friends. His Majesty is often like this - has been since childhood. Please, just stay seated. It's only a brief fit. He'll be himself again in an instant. Take no notice of him: if you give it too much attention it will make him worse. Carry on eating and take no notice of him.'

She reached his side: she took his arm and spoke urgently into his ear. 'Are you a man?'

'Yes, and a bold one, daring to look at something that would frighten the devil!'

Lady Macbeth dragged him to the side of the hall. The guests had turned back to their conversations.

'What nonsense!' she said. 'This is just a picture of your fear - the same thing as the dagger which you told me led you to Duncan. Come on, now - these outbursts are ridiculous, far more suitable for women telling winter's tales. You should be ashamed of yourself.'

King Lear : Act One Scene Two

Edmund paced the floor of the great hall in his father's castle. He held a letter, which he had written himself, copying his brother's handwriting and signature. He was harbouring some very strong feelings as he paced. He went and stood before the huge mirror that dominated one end of the hall. He nodded. Nature was his guide and it was her laws he followed.

Why should he have to put up with the stupidity of convention and let the idiosyncrasies of an old fashioned society deprive him of his rights, just because he was some twelve or fourteen months younger than his brother? Why should he have to carry the stigma of "bastard"; why should he accept that he was inferior? He half turned and looked at himself in the mirror. His body was as compact, his mind as intelligent, and his figure as good as the son of his father's legal wife was. Why did they brand people like him with the word "inferior"? With inferiority? Bastardy? Inferior, inferior? - They had stronger constitutions and were more red-blooded as a result of the lust and passion that accompanied their conception than a whole tribe of fops conceived between bedtime and morning in a boring, tedious matrimonial bed had.

So, legitimate Edgar. He would have his brother's inheritance. Their father loved the bastard Edmund as much as the legitimate Edgar. Fine word, " legitimate " ! Well then, legitimate brother, if this letter proved effective and his plot succeeded, Edmund the bastard was going to oust the legitimate. He raised his arm and made a fist in the mirror. Grow! Prosper! Now, gods, stand up for bastards!

The Duke of Gloucester walked into the hall, talking to himself. He was shaking his head and tutting: 'Kent banished like that!' he said. 'And France departed in anger! And the king gone tonight, his power reduced to ceremony. All done on the spur of the moment!' He looked up and saw his son.

'Edmund! Hello. What news?'

Edmund flashed the letter so that his father should see it then made a show of slipping it hastily into his pocket. 'May it please your lordship, none,' he said.

Gloucester pointed to his son's pocket. 'Then why are you trying so hard to hide that letter?'

'I have no news, my lord.'

'What was that you were reading?'

'Nothing, my lord.'

'No? Then why the great hurry to shove it in your pocket? Something that's nothing has no need to hide itself. Let's see it. Come; if it's nothing I won't need spectacles.'


'I beg of you, sir, excuse me. It's a letter from my brother that I haven't finished reading, and from what I've seen so far I don't think it's fit for your eyes.'

Gloucester put his hand out. 'Give me the letter, sir.'

Edmund frowned. 'I'll offend you either to give it to you or withhold it. The contents, as far as I can follow them, are offensive.' He half extracted the letter then stopped.

'Let's see, let's see!' Gloucester snatched it.

Edmund stepped back. 'To be fair to my brother, I hope that he wrote this to test my loyalty.'

Gloucester had put his glasses on. He opened the letter and read aloud. ' This custom of revering old men leaves a bitter taste in the mouths of young men. It keeps our fortunes from us till we're too old to enjoy them. I'm beginning to find it's a useless and stupid slavery to be controlled by an old tyrant who rules, not because he's powerful, but because we're willing to put up with it. Come to me so that I can explain it further. If our father would sleep till I awakened him you would enjoy half his wealth forever and live to be beloved of your brother. Edgar.'

Gloucester looked up at Edmund. His features expressed enormous conflict. 'Hmm!' he exclaimed. 'Conspiracy? "Sleep till I awakened him you would enjoy half his wealth?" My son Edgar! Could he have done this? Has he got the heart and mind to instigate it? When did you get this? Who brought it to you?'

'It wasn't brought to me, my lord. That's the cunning of it. It was thrown in through the window of my room.'

'Are you sure this is your brother's handwriting?'

Edmund appeared to choose his words carefully: 'If the contents were good, my lord, I would dare swear it was his, but in respect of those contents I'd like to think it isn't.'

Gloucester studied the letter. He nodded. 'It is his,' he said.

'It is his hand, my lord, but I hope his heart isn't in the contents.'

'Has he ever sounded you out in this business before?'

'Never, my lord,' said Edmund. 'But I've often heard him maintain that it would be more suitable for sons, on reaching maturity, and fathers fallen into decline, the father should be in the custody of the son and the son should manage his affairs.'

'Oh villain, villain!' Gloucester shook the letter. 'That's exactly what he says in here. Despicable villain! Unnatural, unspeakable, brutish villain! Worse than an animal! Go, sirrah, look for him. I'll arrest him. Abominable villain. Where is he?'

'I'm not sure, sir. If you could manage to contain your indignation against my brother till you can get a better picture of his intentions, it would be better because if you're mistaken and over-react it would greatly damage your honour and shake his loyalty to the core. I'd stake my life on his loyalty: I think he's written this to test my affection for your honour, and without any harmful intention.'

Gloucester's eyes appealed desperately to his son: 'Do you think so?'

'If your honour thinks it appropriate, I will place you where you can hear us discuss this and by hearing for yourself, settle it in your mind, and we can do this without any further delay - this evening.'

'He can't be such a monster.......' said Gloucester.

Edmund put his arm around his father's shoulders. 'Im sure he isn't.'

There were tears in Goucester's eyes as he accepted his son's embrace. '......... to his own father, who loves him so tenderly and entirely. Heaven and earth!' He clenched his fist. 'Edmund, find him. Let me hear this. You decide how to do it. I'd give everything I have to be assured of his innocence.'

'I'll look for him straight away, sir, do my best to arrange things, and keep you fully informed.'

Gloucester shook his head vigorously. 'These recent eclipses of the sun and moon don't bode well for us,' he said, 'though wise men can explain it away as this or that, nevertheless we still have to suffer the consequences. Love cools, friendship dwindles, brothers are divided - riots in cities, civil wars in countries, treason in palaces and the bond between father and son broken. This villain of mine falls into that mould - son against father. The king goes against his own nature: there's father against child. Our best years are behind us. Plots, hypocrisy, treachery and chaos follow us distressingly to our graves. Investigate this villain, Edmund - you won't lose anything by it - do it discreetly. And the noble and loyal Kent banished! His offence, honesty! It's strange.' He patted Edmund's back and stumbled away, shaking his head.

Hamlet - Act One Scene Five

The ghost kept walking. Hamlet held it in sight, afraid that it would disappear. 'Where are you leading me to?' he called. 'Speak. I won't go any further.'

The ghost stopped and turned. Hamlet found himself looking into the blank, staring white face of the man who had been his father.

'Listen.'

It was his father's voice, but cold and expressionless.

'I will.'

'The time has almost come when I must surrender myself to sulphur and tormenting flames.'

'Alas, poor ghost!'

'Don't pity me. Listen carefully to what I'm going to tell you.'

'Speak. I have to hear it.'

'You will also have to revenge when you hear it.'

'What?'

'I am your father's spirit, doomed for a certain time to walk the night, and for the day to burn in fires, till the foul crimes done during my lifetime have been burnt and purged away. But that I am forbidden to tell the secrets of my prison-house I could tell a tale whose lightest word would shrivel up your soul, freeze your young blood, make your eyes start from their sockets and your hair stand up on end like the quills of a frightened porcupine. But this eternal torture is not for ears of flesh and blood. Listen, oh listen! If you ever loved your dear father ..'

The ghost broke off and let out an anguished wail.

'Oh God!' It was too much for Hamlet.

'..revenge his foul and most unnatural murder.'


'Murder!'

'Murder most foul, as murder always is, but this one was most foul, strange and unnatural.'

'Tell me quickly so that, with wings as swift as meditation or thoughts of love, I may sweep to my revenge.'

'I find you willing, the ghost said, 'and if you didn't act on this you would be more drowsy than the fat weed that roots itself in the comfort of the banks of Lethe, the river of forgetfulness. Now Hamlet, hear: It's been reported that, sleeping in my orchard, a snake bit me. So the ear of Denmark has been grossly abused by a fraudulent account of my death.' The ghost paused again and seemed to be overwhelmed by the thought he had just pronounced. Then his voice came again, as steady and cold as it had been up until now. 'But know this, you noble youth. The serpent that did take your father's life now wears his crown.'

'Oh, I had almost thought that!' exclaimed Hamlet. 'My uncle!'

'Yes, that incestuous, that adulterous, beast. With the witchcraft of his intelligence, with his traitorous qualities - oh evil intelligence and qualities that have the power to seduce like that - he forced the will of my most seeming-virtuous queen to his shameful lust. Oh Hamlet, what a falling-off was there!'

Hamlet stood in shocked silence.

The ghost continued: 'From me, whose love was of that dignity that it was of the same high order as the vow I made to her in marriage, to descend to the level of a wretch whose natural gifts were poor compared with mine! But in the same way as virtue will never allow itself to be seduced by lewdness, even if it comes in the shape of heaven, lust, though disguised as a radiant angel, preys on the garbage to be found in a holy bed.'

The ghost turned his head slightly towards the east then looked at Hamlet again. 'I think I can smell the morning air,' it said. 'Let me be brief. Sleeping in my orchard, which as you know was my custom in the afternoon, your uncle crept up with a vial of poisonous yew when he was certain that I would be asleep and poured the poisonous liquid into my ear. This substance is so alien to a man's blood that it glides rapidly, like quicksilver, through the veins and arteries, and with mighty energy, thickens and curdles the thin and wholesome blood like lemon juice in milk. And so it did mine. I was instantly scurvy, like a leper, my smooth body covered with scabs. And in that way, sleeping, at the hands of a brother, I was summarily deprived of my wife and my crown. I was cut off, right in the fullness of my sins, without benefit of sacrament or the last rites of repentance, no chance of atonement but sent to my judgment with all my imperfections on my head.'

The ghost raised its head and howled. It was the most desolate and anguished sound and Hamlet blocked his ears.

'Oh horrible! Oh horrible! Most horrible!' The ghost took a moment before it continued. 'If you loved your father refuse to accept it. Don't allow the royal bed of Denmark to be a couch for lechery and damnable incest. However you decide to pursue this act, do not let it corrupt your mind, nor let your soul contrive against your mother. Leave it to heaven to deal with, and to her conscience that will prick and sting her heart like thorns. Farewell. The fading stars show the morning to be near. Adieu, adieu, Hamlet. Remember me.'