Close reading

Close reading

Embedded audio files; Specific and wider effects of language use (micro/macro).

Act I, scene iii

Macbeth I.iii
Macbeth: (Aside) Two truths are told As happy prologues to the swelling act Of the imperial theme — I thank you gentlemen. (Aside) This supernatural soliciting Cannot be ill, cannot be good. If ill, why hath it given me earnest of success, Commencing in a truth? I am Thane of Cawdor. If good, why do I yield to that suggestion Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair And make my seated heart knock at my ribs, Against the use of nature? Present fears Are less than horrible imaginings. My thought, whose murder is yet but fantastical, Shakes so my single state of man That function is smothered in surmise — And nothing is but what is not. Banquo: (Aside) Look how our partner’s rapt Macbeth: If chance will have me King Why, chance may crown me Without my stir. This extract is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike license. It uses material from the article "http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1129", retrieved 15 Sept. 2010.

Questions:

1. What do we learn about Macbeth in this soliloquy
2. In your own words explain what Macbeth means by the first three lines? What is he thinking about doing?
3. There are a number of paradoxes in this soliloquy. What does Shakespeare achieve through their use?
4. What does Macbeth decide at the end of the soliloquy?

Act I, scene v

Macbeth I.v
Lady Macbeth: Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be What thou art promised: yet do I fear thy nature; It is too full o' the milk of human kindness To catch the nearest way: thou wouldst be great; Art not without ambition, but without The illness should attend it: what thou wouldst highly, That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false, And yet wouldst wrongly win: thou'ldst have, great Glamis, That which cries 'Thus thou must do, if thou have it; And that which rather thou dost fear to do Than wishest should be undone.' Hie thee hither, That I may pour my spirits in thine ear; And chastise with the valour of my tongue All that impedes thee from the golden round, Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem To have thee crown'd withal. This extract is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike license. It uses material from the article "http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1129", retrieved 15 Sept. 2010.

Questions

Act II, scene i

Macbeth II.i
MACBETH: Go bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready, She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed. Exit Servant Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee. I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling as to sight? or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain? I see thee yet, in form as palpable As this which now I draw. Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going; And such an instrument I was to use. Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses, Or else worth all the rest; I see thee still, And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood, Which was not so before. There's no such thing: It is the bloody business which informs Thus to mine eyes. Now o'er the one halfworld Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse The curtain'd sleep; witchcraft celebrates Pale Hectate's offerings, and wither'd murder, Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf, Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace. With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set earth, Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear Thy very stones prate of my whereabout, And take the present horror from the time, Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he lives: Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives. A bell rings I go, and it is done; the bell invites me. Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell That summons thee to heaven or to hell. This extract is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike license. It uses material from the article "http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1129", retrieved 15 Sept. 2010.

Questions

Act V, scene v, 19–28

Macbeth V.v
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day. To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing. This extract is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike license. It uses material from the article "http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1129", retrieved 15 Sept. 2010.

Questions

|