O shame where is thy blush

After Hamlet backs out of killing Claudius, Hamlet says to his mother, "O shame, where is thy blush? He is voicing his distaste for Gertrude, not only for marrying his uncle, but also for not being true to herself.

Hamlet believes that she should show some shame for her sins, but she does not. Hamlet is contradicting himself in this. He has been duplicitous and untrue for two thirds of the play.

At this point, he still not sure Continue reading this essay Continue reading. Toggle navigation MegaEssays. Look you now what follows. Here is your husband, like a mildewed ear Blasting his wholesome brother.

Have you eyes? Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight, Ears without hands or eyes, smelling sans all, Or but a sickly part of one true sense 90 Could not so mope. O shame, where is thy blush? Proclaim no shame 95 When the compulsive ardor gives the charge, Since frost itself as actively doth burn, And reason panders will. It's like this, Hamlet says. On the one hand, there's my dad, your first husband, who was totally awesome. He had the qualities and the blessings of multiple gods.

And on the other hand, there's his deadbeat brother, Claudius, who is like a moldy ear of corn that infects everything around it.

What on earth made her choose to marry that jerkface? There's no explaining it except that she must have been motivated by some horrible evil. These words like daggers enter in my ears.

No more, sweet Hamlet! Gertrude begs Hamlet to stop. She's looking inside her soul now, like he wanted her to, and she doesn't like what she's seeing. HAMLET A murderer and a villain, A slave that is not twentieth part the tithe Of your precedent lord; a vice of kings, A cutpurse of the empire and the rule, That from a shelf the precious diadem stole And put it in his pocket— Hamlet keeps going, saying his mom married a murderer and a villain who stole his father's crown.

O, say! This visitation Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose. But look, amazement on thy mother sits. O, step between her and her fighting soul. Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works. The ghost of King Hamlet shows up in the middle of Prince Hamlet's rant.

Good timing. He reminds Hamlet that he's got some revenge to attend to, and talking to his mom is just part of the preparation. The ghost tells Hamlet to talk to his mom. She's watching him like he's totally cuckoo right now. O gentle son, Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper Sprinkle cool patience!

Whereon do you look? Look you how pale he glares. His form and cause conjoined, preaching to stones, Would make them capable. Makes a pass through the arras. A bloody deed! Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell! I took thee for thy better: take thy fortune; Thou find'st to be too busy is some danger.

Leave wringing of your hands: peace! What have I done, that thou darest wag thy tongue In noise so rude against me? Such an act That blurs the grace and blush of modesty, Calls virtue hypocrite, takes off the rose From the fair forehead of an innocent love And sets a blister there, makes marriage-vows As false as dicers' oaths: O, such a deed As from the body of contraction plucks The very soul, and sweet religion makes A rhapsody of words: heaven's face doth glow: Yea, this solidity and compound mass, With tristful visage, as against the doom, Is thought-sick at the act.

Look here, upon this picture, and on this, The counterfeit presentment of two brothers. See, what a grace was seated on this brow; Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself; An eye like Mars, to threaten and command; A station like the herald Mercury New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill; A combination and a form indeed, Where every god did seem to set his seal, To give the world assurance of a man: This was your husband.

Look you now, what follows: Here is your husband; like a mildew'd ear, Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes? Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed, And batten on this moor? You cannot call it love; for at your age The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble, And waits upon the judgment: and what judgment Would step from this to this? Sense, sure, you have, Else could you not have motion; but sure, that sense Is apoplex'd; for madness would not err, Nor sense to ecstasy was ne'er so thrall'd But it reserved some quantity of choice, To serve in such a difference.

What devil was't That thus hath cozen'd you at hoodman-blind? Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight, Ears without hands or eyes, smelling sans all, Or but a sickly part of one true sense Could not so mope. O shame! Rebellious hell, If thou canst mutine in a matron's bones, To flaming youth let virtue be as wax, And melt in her own fire: proclaim no shame When the compulsive ardour gives the charge, Since frost itself as actively doth burn And reason panders will.

O Hamlet, speak no more: Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul; And there I see such black and grained spots As will not leave their tinct. Nay, but to live In the rank sweat of an enseamed bed, Stew'd in corruption, honeying and making love Over the nasty sty,? O, speak to me no more; These words, like daggers, enter in mine ears; No more, sweet Hamlet! Do you have eyes? How could you leave the lofty heights of this man here and descend as low as this one? You cannot say you did it out of love, since at your age romantic passions have grown weak, and the heart obeys reason.

But what reason could move you from this one to that one? What devil was it that blindfolded you? Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight, ears without hands or eyes, smell without anything else, the use of even one impaired sense would not permit such a mistake as yours. O Hamlet, speak no more! Oh, Hamlet, stop!