Henry IV, pt. 1, Act 5,scene i
Falstaff: Hal, if thou see me down in the battle and bestride me, so!
'Tis a point of friendship.
Prince: Nothing but a colossus can do thee that friendship. Say thy
prayers, and farewell.
Falstaff: I would 'twere bedtime, Hal, and all well.
Prince: Why, thou owest God a death. [Prince exits]
Falstaff: 'Tis not due yet: I would be loath to pay him before his day.
What need I be so forward with him that calls not on me? Well, 'tis
no matter; honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off
when I come on? How then? Can honour set to a leg? No. Or an arm?
No. Or take away the grief of a wound? No. Honour hath no skill in
surgery then? No. What is honour? A word. What is in that word
honour? What is that honour? Air - a trim reckoning! Who hath it? He
that died a Wednesday. Doth he feel it? No. Doth he hear it? No. 'Tis
insensible then? Yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living?
No. Why? Detraction will not suffer it. Therefore I'll none of it. Honour
is a mere scutcheon - and so ends my catechism
Anybody else want to quote their favourite bit of Shakespeare? I particularly like this speech from the arch rogue Jack Falstaff for its brash honesty and pragmatism. He struggles with his loyalty to his friend Prince Hal compared to the horror of the battle to come. To quote from Wilfred Owen, Falstaff is certainly not desperate for some ardent glory and knows that is most certainly not sweet and fitting to die a brutal death for a point of principle.
3 comments:
I'll just link to it:
http://poetry.about.com/library/weekly/blshakespearewar.htm
"If music be the food of love, play on. Bring me excess of it."
Had to learn the whole of that piece when I was at school. Can't remember the rest of it or whether it's from Twelth Night or Midsummer Nights Dream.
Oh! Too hard to pick. I just watched Henry V on the plane- Has been maybe 10 years. I also adore the St Crispen's day speech.
There are so many wonderful moments. . . What do you pick? Lear, Hamlet, Much Ado, Othello. . . AGH!
I'll pick this from The Tempest however. . .
Act IV, i
Prospero:
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.
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