Henry V

ISBN-10: 0812969367
ISBN-13: 9780812969368
Edition: N/A
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Description: In this striking tragedy of political conflict, Shakespeare turns to the ancient Roman world and to the famous assassination of Julius Caesar by his republican opponents. The play is one of tumultuous rivalry, of prophetic warnings"Beware the ides  More...

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Book details

List price: $9.00
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Publication date: 6/14/2011
Binding: Paperback
Pages: 208
Size: 5.25" wide x 8.00" long x 0.75" tall
Weight: 0.396
Language: English

In this striking tragedy of political conflict, Shakespeare turns to the ancient Roman world and to the famous assassination of Julius Caesar by his republican opponents. The play is one of tumultuous rivalry, of prophetic warnings"Beware the ides of March"and of moving public oratory, "Friends, Romans, countrymen!" Ironies abound and most of all for Brutus, whose fate it is to learn that his idealistic motives for joining the conspiracy against a would-be dictator are not enough to sustain the movement once Caesar is dead. Each Edition Includes: Comprehensive explanatory notes Vivid introductions and the most up-to-date scholarship Clear, modernized spelling and punctuation, enabling contemporary readers to understand the Elizabethan English Completely updated, detailed bibliographies and performance histories An interpretive essay on film adaptations of the play, along with an extensive filmography

William Shakespeare, 1564 - 1616 Although there are many myths and mysteries surrounding William Shakespeare, a great deal is actually known about his life. He was born in Stratford-Upon-Avon, son of John Shakespeare, a prosperous merchant and local politician and Mary Arden, who had the wealth to send their oldest son to Stratford Grammar School. At 18, Shakespeare married Anne Hathaway, the 27-year-old daughter of a local farmer, and they had their first daughter six months later. He probably developed an interest in theatre by watching plays performed by traveling players in Stratford while still in his youth. Some time before 1592, he left his family to take up residence in London, where he began acting and writing plays and poetry. By 1594 Shakespeare had become a member and part owner of an acting company called The Lord Chamberlain's Men, where he soon became the company's principal playwright. His plays enjoyed great popularity and high critical acclaim in the newly built Globe Theatre. It was through his popularity that the troupe gained the attention of the new king, James I, who appointed them the King's Players in 1603. Before retiring to Stratford in 1613, after the Globe burned down, he wrote more than three dozen plays (that we are sure of) and more than 150 sonnets. He was celebrated by Ben Jonson, one of the leading playwrights of the day, as a writer who would be "not for an age, but for all time," a prediction that has proved to be true. Today, Shakespeare towers over all other English writers and has few rivals in any language. His genius and creativity continue to astound scholars, and his plays continue to delight audiences. Many have served as the basis for operas, ballets, musical compositions, and films. While Jonson and other writers labored over their plays, Shakespeare seems to have had the ability to turn out work of exceptionally high caliber at an amazing speed. At the height of his career, he wrote an average of two plays a year as well as dozens of poems, songs, and possibly even verses for tombstones and heraldic shields, all while he continued to act in the plays performed by the Lord Chamberlain's Men. This staggering output is even more impressive when one considers its variety. Except for the English history plays, he never wrote the same kind of play twice. He seems to have had a good deal of fun in trying his hand at every kind of play. Shakespeare wrote 154 sonnets, all published on 1609, most of which were dedicated to his patron Henry Wriothsley, The Earl of Southhampton. He also wrote 13 comedies, 13 histories, 6 tragedies, and 4 tragecomedies. He died at Stratford-upon-Avon April 23, 1616, and was buried two days later on the grounds of Holy Trinity Church in Stratford. His cause of death was unknown, but it is surmised that he knew he was dying.

Jonathan Bate was born June 26, 1958. He is a British biographer, broadcaster, and leading Shakespeare scholar. He studied at Sevenoaks School, the University of Cambridge, and Harvard University. At Cambridge, he was a Fellow of Trinity Hall. While studying at Harvard, he held a Harness Fellowship. Bate is a professor of Shakespeare and Renaissance Literature at the University of Warwick. He was previously King Alfred Professor of English Literature at the University of Liverpool. He has also lectured at various universities in the United States. Bate is a Fellow of the British Academy and the Royal Society of Literature. Bate lives near Stratford-upon-Avon and is married to author and biography, Paula Byrne. They have three children.

Act 1 Scene 1 running scene 1 Enter Flavius, Murellus and certain Commoners over the stage FLAVIUS Hence! Home, you idle creatures, get you home: Is this a holiday? What, know you not, Being mechanical, you ought not walk Upon a labouring day, without the sign Of your profession?- Speak, what trade art thou? CARPENTER Why, sir, a carpenter.
MURELLUS Where is thy leather apron, and thy rule? What dost thou with thy best apparel on?- You, sir, what trade are you? COBBLER Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but as you would say, a cobbler.
MURELLUS But what trade art thou? Answer me directly.
COBBLER A trade, sir, that I hope, I may use with a safe conscience, which is indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles.
FLAVIUS What trade, thou knave? Thou naughty knave, what trade? COBBLER Nay I beseech you, sir, be not out with me: yet if you be out, sir, I can mend you.
MURELLUS What mean'st thou by that? Mend me, thou saucy fellow? COBBLER Why sir, cobble you.
FLAVIUS Thou art a cobbler, art thou? COBBLER Truly sir, all that I live by is with the awl. I meddle with no tradesman's matters, nor women's matters; but withal I am indeed, sir, a surgeon to old shoes: when they are in great danger, I recover them. As proper men as ever trod upon neat's leather have gone upon my handiwork.
FLAVIUS But wherefore art not in thy shop today? Why dost thou lead these men about the streets? COBBLER Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get myself into more work. But indeed, sir, we make holiday to see Caesar and to rejoice in his triumph.
MURELLUS Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he home? What tributaries follow him to Rome To grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels? You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things: O you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome, Knew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft Have you climbed up to walls and battlements, To towers and windows? Yea, to chimney-tops, Your infants in your arms, and there have sat The livelong day, with patient expectation, To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome: And when you saw his chariot but appear, Have you not made an universal shout, That Tiber trembled underneath her banks To hear the replication of your sounds Made in her concave shores? And do you now put on your best attire? And do you now cull out a holiday? And do you now strew flowers in his way That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood? Be gone! Run to your houses, fall upon your knees, Pray to the gods to intermit the plague That needs must light on this ingratitude.
FLAVIUS Go, go, good countrymen, and for this fault Assemble all the poor men of your sort; Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears Into the channel till the lowest stream Do kiss the most exalted shores of all.- Exeunt all the Commoners See where their basest mettle be not moved: They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness.
Go you down that way towards the Capitol, This way will I: disrobe the images If you do find them decked with ceremonies.
MURELLUS May we do so? You know it is the feast of Lupercal.
FLAVIUS It is no matter. Let no images Be hung with Caesar's trophies. I'll about And drive away the vulgar from the streets; So do you too, where you perceive them thick.
These growing feathers plucked from Caesar's wing Will make him fly an ordinary pitch, Who else would soar above the view of men, And keep us all in servile fearfulness. Exeunt [Act 1 Scene 2] running scene 1 continues Enter Caesar, Antony for the course, Calpurnia, Portia, Decius, Cicero, Brutus, Cassius, Casca, a Soothsayer, after them Murellus and Flavius CAESAR Calpurnia.
CASCA Peace, ho! Caesar speaks.
CAESAR Calpurnia.
CALPURNIA Here, my lord.
CAESAR Stand you directly in Antonio's way When he doth run his course. Antonio! ANTONY Caesar, my lord.
CAESAR Forget not in your speed, Antonio, To touch Calpurnia, for our elders say, The barren touch�d in this holy chase Shake off their sterile curse.
ANTONY I shall remember.
When Caesar says 'Do this' it is performed.
CAESAR Set on, and leave no ceremony out. Music SOOTHSAYER Caesar! CAESAR Ha? Who calls? CASCA Bid every noise be still: peace yet again! Music stops CAESAR Who is it in the press that calls on me? I hear a tongue shriller than all the music, Cry 'Caesar!' Speak, Caesar is turned to hear.
SOOTHSAYER Beware the Ides of March.
CAESAR What man is that? BRUTUS A soothsayer bids you beware the Ides of March.
CAESAR Set him before me: let me see his face.
CASSIUS Fellow, come from the throng: look upon Caesar. Soothsayer comes forward CAESAR What say'st thou to me now? Speak once again.
SOOTHSAYER Beware the Ides of March.
CAESAR He is a dreamer. Let us leave him: pass.
Sennet. Exeunt. Brutus and Cassius remain CASSIUS Will you go see the order of the course? BRUTUS Not I.
CASSIUS I pray you do.
BRUTUS I am not gamesome: I do lack some part Of that quick spirit that is in Antony.
Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires; I'll leave you.
CASSIUS Brutus, I do observe you now of late: I have not from your eyes that gentleness And show of love as I was wont to have: You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand Over your friend, that loves you.
BRUTUS Cassius, Be not deceived: if I have veiled my look, I turn the trouble of my countenance Merely upon myself. Vexed I am Of late with passions of some difference, Conceptions only proper to myself Which give some soil, perhaps, to my behaviours.
But let not therefore my good friends be grieved - Among which number, Cassius, be you one - Nor construe any further my neglect Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war, Forgets the shows of love to other men.
CASSIUS Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion, By means whereof this breast of mine hath buried Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations.
Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face? BRUTUS No, Cassius, for the eye sees not itself But by reflection, by some other things.
CASSIUS 'Tis just, And it is very much lamented, Brutus, That you have no such mirrors as will turn Your hidden worthiness into your eye, That you might see your shadow: I have heard, Where many of the best respect in Rome - Except immortal Caesar - speaking of Brutus, And groaning underneath this age's yoke, Have wished that noble Brutus had his eyes.
BRUTUS Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius, That you would have me seek into myself For that which is not in me? CASSIUS Therefore, good Brutus, be prepared to hear: And since you know you cannot see yourself So well as by reflection, I your glass Will modestly discover to yourself That of yourself which you yet know not of.
And be not jealous on me, gentle Brutus: Were I a common laughter, or did use To stale with ordinary oaths my love To every new protester, if you know That I do fawn on men, and hug them hard, And after scandal them, or if you know That I profess myself in banqueting To all the rout, then hold me dangerous.
Flourish, and shout BRUTUS What means this shouting? I do fear the people Choose Caesar for their king.
CASSIUS Ay, do you fear it? Then must I think you would not have it so.
BRUTUS I would not, Cassius, yet I love him well.
But wherefore do you hold me here so long? What is it that you would impart to me? If it be aught toward the general good, Set honour in one eye, and death i'th'other, And I will look on both indifferently.
For let the gods so speed me, as I love The name of honour more than I fear death.
CASSIUS I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus, As well as I do know your outward favour.
Well, honour is the subject of my story: I cannot tell what you and other men Think of this life, but for my single self, I had as lief not be as live to be In awe of such a thing as I myself.
I was born free as Caesar, so were you: We both have fed as well, and we can both Endure the winter's cold as well as he, For once, upon a raw and gusty day, The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores, Caesar said to me, 'Dar'st thou, Cassius, now Leap in with me into this angry flood And swim to yonder point?' Upon the word, Accoutr�d as I was, I plung�d in And bade him follow: so indeed he did.
The torrent roared, and we did buffet it With lusty sinews, throwing it aside, And stemming it with hearts of controversy.
But ere we could arrive the point proposed, Caesar cried, 'Help me, Cassius, or I sink!' I - as Aeneas, our great ancestor, Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder The old Anchises bear - so from the waves of Tiber Did I the tired Caesar: and this man Is now become a god, and Cassius is A wretched creature, and must bend his body If Caesar carelessly but nod on him.
He had a fever when he was in Spain, And when the fit was on him I did mark How he did shake: 'tis true, this god did shake, His coward lips did from their colour fly, And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the world, Did lose his lustre: I did hear him groan: Ay, and that tongue of his that bade the Romans Mark him, and write his speeches in their books, 'Alas', it cried, 'Give me some drink, Titinius', As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me A man of such a feeble temper should So get the start of the majestic world And bear the palm alone.
Shout. Flourish BRUTUS Another general shout? I do believe that these applauses are For some new honours that are heaped on Caesar.
CASSIUS Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world Like a Colossus, and we petty men Walk under his huge legs and peep about To find ourselves dishonourable graves.
Men at some time are masters of their fates.
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars But in ourselves, that we are underlings.
Brutus and Caesar: what should be in that 'Caesar'? Why should that name be sounded more than yours? Write them together, yours is as fair a name: Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well: Weigh them, it is as heavy: conjure with 'em, Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Caesar.
Now in the names of all the gods at once, Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed That he is grown so great? - Age, thou art shamed! - Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods! - When went there by an age, since the great flood, But it was famed with more than with one man? When could they say, till now, that talked of Rome, That her wide walks encompassed but one man? Now is it Rome indeed, and room enough When there is in it but one only man.
O, you and I have heard our fathers say There was a Brutus once that would have brooked Th'eternal devil to keep his state in Rome As easily as a king.
BRUTUS That you do love me, I am nothing jealous: What you would work me to, I have some aim: How I have thought of this and of these times I shall recount hereafter. For this present, I would not - so with love I might entreat you - Be any further moved. What you have said I will consider, what you have to say I will with patience hear, and find a time Both meet to hear and answer such high things.
Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this: Brutus had rather be a villager Than to repute himself a son of Rome Under these hard conditions as this time Is like to lay upon us.
CASSIUS I am glad that my weak words Have struck but thus much show of fire from Brutus.
Enter Caesar and his train BRUTUS The games are done, and Caesar is returning.
CASSIUS As they pass by, pluck Casca by the sleeve, And he will, after his sour fashion, tell you What hath proceeded worthy note today.
BRUTUS I will do so: but look you, Cassius, The angry spot doth glow on Caesar's brow, And all the rest look like a chidden train: Calpurnia's cheek is pale, and Cicero Looks with such ferret and such fiery eyes As we have seen him in the Capitol Being crossed in conference by some senators.
CASSIUS Casca will tell us what the matter is.
CAESAR Antonio.
ANTONY Caesar? CAESAR Let me have men about me that are fat, Sleek-headed men, and such as sleep a-nights.
Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look: He thinks too much: such men are dangerous.
ANTONY Fear him not, Caesar, he's not dangerous.
He is a noble Roman, and well given.
CAESAR Would he were fatter! But I fear him not: Yet if my name were liable to fear, I do not know the man I should avoid So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much, He is a great observer, and he looks Quite through the deeds of men. He loves no plays, As thou dost, Antony: he hears no music: Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sort As if he mocked himself, and scorned his spirit That could be moved to smile at anything.
Such men as he be never at heart's ease Whiles they behold a greater than themselves, And therefore are they very dangerous.
I rather tell thee what is to be feared Than what I fear, for always I am Caesar.
Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf, And tell me truly what thou think'st of him.
Sennet. Exeunt Caesar and his train CASCA You pulled me by the cloak: would you speak with me? BRUTUS Ay, Casca, tell us what hath chanced today that Caesar looks so sad.
CASCA Why, you were with him, were you not? BRUTUS I should not then ask Casca what had chanced.
CASCA Why, there was a crown offered him; and being offered him, he put it by with the back of his hand, thus, and then the people fell a-shouting.
BRUTUS What was the second noise for? CASCA Why, for that too.
CASSIUS They shouted thrice: what was the last cry for? CASCA Why, for that too.
BRUTUS Was the crown offered him thrice? CASCA Ay, marry, was't, and he put it by thrice, every time gentler than other; and at every putting-by, mine honest neighbours shouted.
CASSIUS Who offered him the crown? CASCA Why, Antony.
BRUTUS Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca.

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