Classicist evaluation and practices with Shakespearean texts

Apocrypha A Yorkshire Tragedy Edward III Sir Thomas More Good frend for Iesvs sake forbeare, To digg the dvst encloased heare. Bleste be ye man yt spares thes stones, And cvrst be he yt moves my bones.

Essay of Dramatick Poesie by John Dryden, published in 1668 The treatise is a dialogue between four speakers: Eugenius, Crites, Lisideius, and Neander. The four speakers represented Sir William Davenant [Dryden's "ingenious" collaborator on their revision of The Tempest], Sir Robert Howard [playwright and Dryden's brother-in-law], the earl of Orrery [Roger Boyle, author of the first heroic play in rhymed couplets], and Dryden himself (neander means "new man" and implies that Dryden, as a respected member of the gentry class, is entitled to join in this dialogue on an equal footing with the three older men who are his social superiors).

Setting: the victory at Dunkirk, voyage up the Thames The four men debate a series of three topics: (1) the relative merit of classical drama (upheld by Crites) vs. modern drama (championed by Eugenius); (2) whether French drama, as Lisideius maintains, is better than English drama (supported by Neander, who calls Shakespeare "the greatest soul, ancient or modern"); and (3) whether plays in rhyme are an improvement upon blank verse drama--a proposition that Neander, despite having defended the Elizabethans, now advances against the skeptical Crites (who also switches from his original position and defends the blank verse tradition of Elizabethan drama).

Of Dramatic Poesie by John Dryden (1668) To begin then with Shakespeare; he was the man who of all Modern, and perhaps Ancient Poets, had the largest and most comprehensive soul. All the Images of Nature were still present to him, and he drew them not laboriously, but luckily: when he describes any thing, you more than see it, you feel it too. Those who accuse him to have wanted learning, give him the greater commendation: he was naturally learn'd; he needed not the spectacles of Books to read Nature; he look'd inwards, and found her there.

Our Ben As for Johnson, to whose Character I am now arriv'd, if we look upon him while he was himself, (for his last Playes were but his dotages) I think him the most learned and judicious Writer which any Theater ever had. He was a most severe Judge of himself as well as others. One cannot say he wanted wit, but rather that he was frugal of it. In his works you find little to retrench or alter. Wit and Language, and Humour also in some measure we had before him ; but something of Art was wanting to the Drama till he came

Thomas Rymer, from TheTragedies of the Last Age Consider'd and Examined by the Practice of the Ancients and by the Common Sense of all Ages (1678) Rhymer criticized Shakespeare for ignoring the classical unities, violating decorum by descending into grossness, introducing low characters into stately scenes, and mingling buffoonery with high seriousness. Further, Shakespeare abandoned the use of the classical Chorus, which Rhymer felt essential, and committed outrageous puns and wrote in blank verse rather than rhymed. To the modern, this is what makes Shakespeare great, but it is well to remember that before the rise of bardolatry in the mid-eighteenth Century, there were dissenting views. I have chiefly consider'd the Fable or Plot, which all I conclude to be the Soul of a Tragedy; which with the Ancients is always found to be a reasonable Soul, but with us for the most part a brutish and often worse than brutish.

Nicholas Rowe in 1709 produced the first edition in the modern sense… He modernized the spelling frankly, repunctuated, corrected the grammar, made out lists of the dramatis personae, arranged the verse which was in disorder, and made a number of good emendations in difficult places. He added also exits and entrances, which in earlier prints were only inserted occasionally. Further, he completed the division of the plays into acts and scenes. Perhaps his most important work was writing a full life of Shakespeare in which several valuable traditions are preserved. The poems were not included in the edition, but were published in 1716 from the edition of 1640.

Nicholas Rowe, from Some Acount of the Life &c. of Mr. William Shakespear (1709) His Plays are properly to be distinguish'd only into Comedies and Tragedies. Those which are called Histories, and even some of his Comedies, are really Tragedies, with a run or mixture of Comedy amongst 'em. That way of Trage-Comedy was the common Mistake of that Age, and is indeed become so agreeable to the English Tast, that tho' the severer Critiques among us cannot bear it, yet the generality of our Audiences seem to be better pleas'd with it than with an exact Tragedy. The Merry Wives of Windsor, The Comedy of Errors, and The Taming of the Shrew are all pure Comedy; the rest, however they are call'd have something of both Kinds. 'Tis not very easie to determine which way of Writing he was most Excellent in.

His Images are indeed everywhere so lively, that the Thing he would represent stands full before you, and you possess every Part of it. I will venture to point out one more, which is, I think, as strong and as uncommon as any thing I ever saw; 'tis an Image of Patience. Speaking of a Maid in Love, he says--She never told her Love, But let Concealment, like a Worm i'th' Bud Feed on her Damask Cheek: She pin'd in Thought, And sate like Patience on a Monument, Smiling at Grief. What an Image is here given! and what a Task would it have been for the greatest Masters of Greece and Rome to have express'd the Passions design'd by this Sketch of Statuary? The Stile of his Comedy is, in general, Natural to the Characters, and easie in it self; and the Wit most commonly sprightly and pleasing, except in those places where he runs into Dogrel Rhymes, as in The Comedy of Errors, and a Passage or two in some other Plays. As for his Jingling sometimes, and playing upon Words, it was the common Vice of the Age he liv'd in: And if we find it in the Pulpit, made use of as an Ornament to the Sermons of some of the Gravest Divines of those Times; perhaps it may not be thought too light for the Stage.

Алексей Сумароков ( ) Димитрий Российский я народ с престола презираю И власть тиранскую неволей простираю. Возможно ли отцем мне быти в той стране, Котора, мя гоня, всего противней мне ? Здесь царствуя, я тем себя увеселяю, Что россам ссылку, казнь и смерть определяю. Сыны отечества поляки будут здесь ; Отдам под иго им народ российский весь. … Грызеньем совести я много мук терплю, Но мука мне и то, что Ксению люблю. …Я к ужасу привык, злодейством разъярен, Наполнен варварством и кровью обагрен.

Я гибну, множество народа погубя. Беги, тиран, беги !.. Кого бежать ?.. Себя ? Не вижу никого другого пред собою. Беги !.. Куда бежать ?.. Твой ад везде с тобою. Убийца здесь ; беги !.. Но я убийца сей. Страшуся сам себя и тени я моей. Отмщу !.. Кому ?.. Себе ?.. Себя ль возненавижу ? Люблю себя... Люблю... За что ?.. Того не вижу.

Георгий ( отступив и обратився к народу ) Спасения лишен, на смерть лечу к нему. ( Бросаяся на него.) Прости, любезная ! Ксения Прости ! Димитрий ( устремився Ксению заколоть ) Увяньте, розы ! Пармен ( с обнаженным мечем, вырывая Ксению из рук его ) Прошли уже твои жестокости и грозы ! Избавлен наш народ смертей, гонений, ран, Не страшен никому в бессилии тиран. Димитрий Ступай, душа, во ад и буди вечно пленна ! ( Ударяет себя во грудь кинжалом и, издыхая, падущий в руки стражей.) Ах, если бы со мной погибла вся вселенна ! Конец трагедии

ДѢЙСТВУЮЩІЯ ЛИЦА. КЛАВДІЙ, незаконный Король Даніи. ГЕРТРУДА, супруга ево. ГАМЛЕТЪ, сынъ Гертрудинъ. ПОЛОНІЙ, наперстникъ Клавдіевъ. ОФЕЛІЯ, дочь Полоніева. АРМАНСЪ, наперстникъ Гамлетовъ. ФЛЕМИНА, наперстница Офеліина. РАТУДА, мамка Офеліина. ПАЖЪ Гамлетовъ, ВОИНЫ. Дѣйствіе есть въ Даніи, въ столичномъ городѣ, въ Королевскомъ домѣ.

Первый монолог Гамлета О долгъ ! преодолѣй любовь и красоту, Остави щастливымъ приятну суету ! Отрыгни мнѣ теперь тирановъ гнусныхъ злоба, Свирѣпство къ должности, на жертву къ мѣсту гроба, Гдѣ Царь мой и отецъ себѣ отмщенья ждетъ ! Онъ совѣсти моей покою не даетъ : Я слышу гласъ ево, и въ ребрахъ вижу рану : О сынъ мой ! вопіетъ, отмсти, отмсти тирану ! И свободи гражданъ.

ПОЛОНІЙ. Кому прощать Царя ? народъ въ ево рукахъ. Онъ Богъ, не человѣкъ, въ подверженныхъ странахъ. Когда кому даны порфира и корона, Тому вся правда власть, и нѣтъ ему закона. ГЕРТРУДА. На все готова я ; я городъ оставляю, Который мерзостью своею наполняю. Но мню, что оскверню и жительство звѣрей ; Я тигровъ превзошла жестокостью своей. КЛАВДІЙ. Во всѣмъ я царствіи единаго зрю друга ! Изгнала днесь меня изъ сердца и супруга. Раби не чувствуютъ любви ко мнѣ, лишъ страхъ Еще содержитъ ихъ въ тиранскихъ сихъ рукахъ, Когда природа въ свѣтъ меня производила, Она свирѣпствы всѣ мнѣ въ сердце положила. Во мнѣ изкоренить природное мнѣ зло, О воспитаніе ! и ты не возмогло

КЛАВДІЙ. … Но прежде погубимъ наслѣдника ея, И взыдетъ въ Царскій одръ прекрасна дщерь твоя. ПОЛОНІЙ. Сія щедрота весь мой разумъ превосходитъ. КЛАВДІЙ. Усердіе, тебя въ толику честь возводитъ ; Когдажъ Офеліи я старъ явлюся быть, Ты можешъ властію къ любви ея склонить. ПОЛОНІЙ. Сѣдины подъ вѣнцемъ не могутъ быть примѣтны, Со дщерію моей вы Царь единолѣтны.

To be, or not to be ГАМЛЕТЪ одинъ. Что дѣлать мнѣ теперь ? не знаю, что зачать. Легколь Офелію на вѣки потерять ! Отецъ ! любовница ! о имена драгія ! Вы были щастьемъ мнѣ во времена другія. Днесь вы мучительны, днесь вы несносны мнѣ ; Предъ кѣмъ нибудь изъ васъ мнѣ должно быть въ винѣ. Предъ кѣмъ я преступлю ? вы мнѣ равно любезны : Здержитеся въ очахъ моихъ потоки слезны ! Не зрюсь способенъ быть я къ долгу своему, И нѣтъ пристанища блудящему уму ( Хватается за шпагу.) Въ тебѣ единомъ, мечъ, надежду ощущаю,

Soliloquy continued А праведную месть я небу поручаю. Постой великое днесь дѣло предлежитъ : Мое сей тѣло часъ съ душею раздѣлитъ. Отверсть ли гроба дверь, и бѣдствы окончати ? Или во свѣтѣ семъ еще претерпѣвати ? Когда умру ; засну, засну и буду спать ? Но что за сны сія ночь будетъ представлять ! Умреть и внити въ гробъ спокойствіе прелестно ; Но что послѣдуетъ сну сладку ? неизвѣстно. Мы знаемъ, что судитъ намъ щедро Божество : Надежда есть, духъ бодръ ; но слабо естество. О смерть ! противный часъ ! минута вселютѣйша ! Послѣдняя напасть, но всѣхъ напастей злѣйша ! Воображеніе мучительное намъ ! Неизреченный страхъ отважнѣйшимъ серцамъ ! Единымъ именемъ твоимъ вся плоть трепещетъ. И отъ пристанища опять въ валы отмещетъ.

[Exeunt KING CLAUDIUS and POLONIUS] [Enter HAMLET] HAMLETTo 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;

Но есть ли бы въ бѣдахъ здѣсь жизнь была вѣчна ; Ктобъ не хотѣлъ имѣть сего покойна сна ? И кто бы могъ снести зла щастія гоненье, Болѣзни, нищету, и сильныхъ нападенье, Неправосудіе безсовѣстныхъ судей, Грабежъ, обиды, гнѣвъ, невѣрности друзей, Вліянный ядъ въ серца великихъ льсти устами ? Когдабъ мы жили въ вѣкъ, и скорбь жилабъ въ вѣкъ съ нами. Во обстоятельствахъ такихъ намъ смерть нужна ; 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, The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, The insolence of office and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin?

But that the dread of something after death, The undiscover'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 pith and moment With this regard their currents turn awry, And lose the name of action.--Soft you now! The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons Be all my sins remember'd.

Умри ! но что потомъ въ нещастной сей странѣ Подъ тяжкимъ бременемъ народъ речетъ о мнѣ ? Онъ скажетъ, что любовь геройство побѣдила, Что я мнѣ данну жизнь безславно окончалъ, И малодушіемъ токъ крови проливалъ, Котору за него пролить мнѣ должно было. Успокоеніе ! почто ты духу льстило ? Не льзя мнѣ умереть ; исполнить надлежитъ, Что совѣсти моей днесь истинна гласитъ. А ты отчаянну Гертруда въ мысль не впала, Жестокость Клавдія на тебя возстала. Войдемъ, и скажемъ ей, чтобъ Клавдія бреглась ; Чтобъ только кровь однихъ тирановъ пролилась. Конецъ третьяго дѣйствія.

Narrative monologue: И какъ я отъ нея пошелъ сюды назадъ, И прикоснулся лишъ святыхъ порогу вратъ : Разбойники ко мнѣ съ стремленіемъ бѣжали, Ихъ острыя мечи какъ молніи сверкали, Но лишъ съ Армансомъ мы оружье извлекли, Они покинувъ насъ, во всѣ страны текли : Знать имъ возмнилося, что насъ во храмѣ мног Увидяжъ только двухъ, опять напали строго. Противъ нападковъ ихъ мы стали во вратахъ, И защищалися пренебрегая страхъ.

« Гамлет мой, кроме монолога в окончании третьего действия и Клавдиева на колени падения, на Шекеспирову трагедию едва ли походит ». Claudius O limed soul, that, struggling to be free, Art more engaged! Help, angels! Make assay! Bow, stubborn knees; and, heart with strings of steel, Be soft as sinews of the newborn babe! All may be well. [Retires and kneels] [Enter HAMLET] HAMLETNow might I do it pat, now he is praying; And now I'll do't. And so he goes to heaven; And so am I revenged. That would be scann'd: A villain kills my father; and for that, I, his sole son, do this same villain send To heaven. …'Tis heavy with him: and am I then revenged, To take him in the purging of his soul, When he is fit and season'd for his passage? No!... [Exit] KING CLAUDIUS[Rising] My words fly up, my thoughts remain below: Words without thoughts never to heaven go. [Exit]