I ragazzi del 3° scientifico B interpretano William Shakespeare
Hamlet, Act
III, Scene 1
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,
Th'oppressor's
wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The
pangs of dispriz'd love, the law's delay,
The
insolence of office, and the spurns
That
patient merit of th'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
undiscovere'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 pitch and moment
With
this regard their currents turn awry
And
lose the name of action.
As you
like it, Act II, Scene 7
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.
Then
the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And
shining morning face, creeping like a snail
Unwillingly
to school. And then the lover,
Sighing
like a furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to
his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of
strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous
in honor, 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 lin’d,
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
teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
The
Tempest, Act IV, Scene 1
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,
Yea, 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.
