 The quality of mercy is not strained. From the merchant of Venice, Act 4, Scene 1, by William Shakespeare. Read for LibriVox.org by Ray. The quality of mercy is not strained. It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed, it blessed him that gives and him that takes. It is mightiest in the mightiest. It becomes a thrown at monarch better than his crown. His scepter shows the force of temporal power, the attribute to awe and majesty, wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings. But mercy is about this sceptred sway. It is enthroned in the hearts of kings. It is an attribute to God himself. And earthly power doth then show likeest gods when mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, though justice be thy plea, consider this, that in the course of justice none of us should see salvation. We do pray for mercy, and that same prayer doth teach us all to render the deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much to mitigate the justice of thy plea, which if thou follow, the strict court of Venice must needs give sentence against the merchant there. End of the quality of mercy is not strained. From the merchant of Venice, Act 4, Scene 1. This recording is in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. So may the outward shows be least themselves. From the merchant of Venice, Act 3, Scene 2 by William Shakespeare. Read for LibriVox.org by Ray. So may the outward shows be least themselves. The world is still deceived with ornament. In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt, but being seasoned with a gracious voice obscures the show of evil. In religion, what damned error but some sober brow will bless it and approve it with a text, hiding the grossness with fair ornament. There is no vice so simple but assumes some mark of virtue on his outward parts. How many cowards whose hearts are all as false as stairs of sand, where yet upon their chins the beards of Hercules and frowning Mars, who inward search to have livers white as milk, and these assume but valour's excrement to render them redoubted. Look on beauty and you shall see it is purchased by the weight, which therein works a miracle in nature, making them lightest that wear most of it. So are those crisp, snaky golden locks, which make such wanton gambles with the wind. Upon supposed fairness, often known to be the dowry of the second head, the skull that bred them in the sepulchre. Thus ornament is but the gilded shore to a most dangerous sea, the beauty's scarf veiling in Indian beauty. In a word, the seeming truth which cunning times put on to entrap the wisest. Therefore, thou gordy gold, hard food for Midas, I will none of thee, nor none of thee thou pale and common drudge between man and man. But thou, thou meagre lead, which rather threatenest than dust promise ought, thy paleness moves me more than eloquence, and here choose I joy be the consequence. What find I here? Fair porcious counterfeit! What demigod had come so near creation? Move these eyes? Or whether riding on the balls of mine seem they in motion? Here are severed lips, parted with sugar breath, so sweet a bar should sonder such sweet friends. Here in her hairs the painter plays the spider and hath woven a golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men, faster than gnats and cobwebs. But her eyes, how could he see to do them, having made one meet things it should have power to steal both his and leave itself unfurnished? Yet look, how far the substance of my praise doth wrong the shadow in underprising it, so far the shadow doth limp behind the substance. Here's the scroll, the continent and summary of my fortune. You that choose not by the view, chance is fair and choose as true. Since this fortune falls to you, be content and seek no new. If you be well pleased with this and hold your fortune for your bless, turn you where your lady is and claim her with a loving kiss. A gentle scroll, fair lady by your leave, I come by note to give and to receive. Like one of two contending in a prize, that things he hath done well than people's eyes, hearing applause and universal shout, giddy in spirit, still gazing in a doubt, whether these pearls of praise be his or no, so thrice, fair lady, stand I, even so, as doubtful whether what I see be true until confirmed, signed, ratified by you. End of so may the outward shows be leased themselves from the merchant of Venice. Act 3, Scene 2. This reading is in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. These are the Forgeries of Jealousy from A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act 2, Scene 1 by William Shakespeare. Recorded for LibriVox.org by Rissa Byrne. These are the Forgeries of Jealousy and never since the middle summer spring met we on hill, in dale, forest or mead by paved fountain or by rushy brook or in the beached margin of the sea to dance our ringlets to the whistling wind, but with thy brawls thou hast disturbed our sport. Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain as in revenge, have sucked up from the secundigious fogs, which, falling in the land, have every pelting river made so proud that they have over-born their continents. The ox hath therefore stretched his yoke in vain, the plowman lost his sweat, and the green corn hath eroded ere his youth attained a beard. The fold stands empty in the drunken field, and crows are fatted with the murrian flock. The nine men's morris is filled up with mud and the quaint mazes in the wanton green for lack of tread are undistinguishable. The human mortals want their winter here. No knight is now with him or carol blessed. Therefore the moon, the governess of floods, pale in her anger washes all the air that rheumatic diseases do abound. And through this distemperature we see the season's altar, hoary-headed frosts far in the fresh lap of the crimson rose, and on old himes thin and icy crown an odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds is, as in mockery, set. The spring, the summer, the childing autumn, angry winter, change their wanted liveries, and the mazed world by their increase now knows not which is which. And this same progeny of evils comes from our debate, from our dissension. We are their parents and original. And of these are the forgeries of jealousy, from A Midsummer Night's Dream, Act 2, Scene 1. This recording is in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. A Wicked Day and Not a Holy Day. A monologue for Constance. From King John, Act 3, Scene 1, by William Shakespeare, recorded for LibriVox.org by Kate West. A Wicked Day and Not a Holy Day. What had this day deserved? What had it done that it in golden letters should be set among the high tides in the calendar? Nay, rather turn this day out of the week, this day of shame, oppression, perjury. Or, if it must stand still, let wives with child pray that their burdens may not fall this day, lest that their hopes prodigiously be crossed. But on this day, let's see men fear no wreck. No bargains break that are not this day made. This day, all things begun come to ill end, yea, faith itself to hollow falsehood change. You have beguiled me with a counterfeit resembling Majesty which, being touched and tried, proves valueless. You are foresworn, foresworn. You came in arms to spill my enemy's blood, but now in arms you strengthen it with yours. The grappling vigor and rough frown of war is cold in amity and painted peace, and our oppression hath made up this league. Arm, arm, you heavens against these perjured kings. A widow cries, be husband to me, heavens, let not the hours of this ungodly day wear out the day in peace, but her sons set. Set, arm it, discord, twist these perjured kings. Hear me, oh, hear me. War, war, no peace. Peace is to me a war. Oh, Lomoto Austria, thou dost shame that bloody spoil, thou slave, thou wretch, thou coward, thou little valiant, great in villainy, thou ever strong upon the stronger side, thou fortunes champion, that dost never fight, but when her humorous ladyship is by to teach thee safety, thou art perjured too, and sooth stop greatness. What a fool art thou, a ramping fool to brag and stamp and swear upon my party. Thou cold-blooded slave, hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side, been sworn my soldier, bidding me depend upon thy stars, thy fortune, and thy strength, and dost thou now fall over to my foes? Thou where a lion's hide, doff it, for shame, and hang a calfskin on those requriant limbs. A wicked day and not a holy day. A monologue for Constance. From King John, Act 3, Scene 1, by William Shakespeare. This recording is in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. When my cue comes, call me. From a Midsummer Night's Dream. Act 4, Scene 1, by William Shakespeare. Recorded for LibriVox.org by Evan Barnes. When my cue comes, call me, and I will answer. My next is Most Fair Pyramus. Hey-ho! Peter Quince. Flute, the bellows mender. Snout, the tinker. Starveling. God's my life. Stolen, hence, and left me asleep. I have had a most rare vision. I have had a dream. Past the wit of man to save what dream it was. Man is but an ass if he go about to expound this dream. Me thought I was. There is no man can tell what. Me thought I was. And me thought I had. But man is but a patched fool, if you will offer to say what me thought I had. The eye of man hath not heard. The ear of man hath not seen. Man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report what my dream was. I will get Peter Quince to write a ballad of this dream. It shall be called Bottom's Dream, because it hath no bottom. And I will sing it in the latter end of a play, before the duke. Per adventure, to make it the more gracious, I shall sing it at her death. End of When My Q Comes, Call Me. From a Midsummer Night's Dream, Act 4, Scene 1. This recording is in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Evan Barnes in Greenville, North Carolina. I would I had that corporal soundness now, from all's well that ends well. Act 1, Scene 2, by William Shakespeare. Recorded for LibriVox.org by Evan Barnes. I would I had that corporal soundness now, as when thy father and myself in friendship first tried our soldiership. He did look far into the service of the time, and was discipled of the bravest. He lasted long. But on us both did haggish age steal on, and wore us out of act. It much repairs me to talk of your good father. In his youth he had the wit, which I can well observe today in our young lords. But they may just till their own scorn return to them unnoted, ere they can hide their levity and honor. So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness were in his pride or sharpness. If they were, his equal had awaked them, and his honor, clocked to itself, knew the true minute when exception bid him speak. And at this time his tongue obeyed his hand, who were below him he used as creatures of another place, and bowed his eminent top to their low ranks, making them proud of his humility. In their poor praise he humbled. Such a man might be a copy to these younger times, which followed well, would demonstrate them now but goers backward. End of I would I had that corporal soundness now, from all's well that ends well, Act I, Scene II. This recording is in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Evan Barnes in Greenville, North Carolina. To bait fish with all, if it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge. He has disgraced me and hindered me half a million, laughed at my losses, mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated my enemies. And what's his reason? I am a Jew, half not a Jew eyes, half not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions, fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as a Christian is. If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you rung us, shall we die? And if you rung us, shall we not revenge? If we are like you and the rest, we will resemble you in that. If a Jew rung a Christian, what is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian rung a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian example? Why, revenge! The villainy you teach me, I will execute, and it shall go hard, but I will better the instruction. End of To Bait Fish With All From the Merchant of Venice Act 3, Scene 1 This recording is in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by David Lawrence on December the 1st, 2008. The Bishop of Ely's Descent From the Tragedy of King Richard II Act 4, Scene 1 by William Shakespeare Recorded for LibriVox.org by Father Xyle Mary, God forbid! Worse in this royal presence may I speak, yet best be seeming me to speak the truth. Would God that any in this noble presence were enough noble to be upright judge of noble Richard, then true nobless would learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong? What subject can give sentence on his king? And who sits here that is not Richard's subject? Thieves are not judged, but they are by to hear, although apparent guilt be seen in them, and shall the figure of God's Majesty, his captain, steward, deputy, elect, anointed, crowned, planted many years be judged by subject and inferior breath, and he himself not present? Oh, forfended God, that in a Christian climate souls refined should show, so heinous, black, obscene a deed! I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks, stirred up by God thus boldly for his king. My Lord of Hereford here, whom you call king, is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's king, and if you crown him, let me prophesy, the blood of English shall manure the ground, and future ages groan for this foul act. Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels, and in this seat of peace tumultuous wars shall kin with kin and kind with kind confound. Disorder, horror, fear and mutiny shall hear inhabit, and this land be called the field of Golgotha and dead men's skulls. Oh, if you rear this house against this house, it will be the woefulest division prove that ever fell upon this cursed earth. Prevent it, resist it, let it not be so, lest child's children cry against you woe. End of The Bishop of Ely's Descent From the Tragedy of King Richard II Act 4, Scene 1 This recording is in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Father Xyley, Detroit, Michigan, d-r-z-e-i-l-e dot net. O Reason Not the Need From King Lear, Act 2, Scene 4, by William Shakespeare, recorded for LibriVox.org by Andrew Morrison. O Reason Not the Need Our basis beggars are in the poorest things superfluous. Allow not nature more than nature's needs, man's life is cheap as beasts. Thou art a lady, if only to go warm or gorgeous. Why, nature needs not what thou gorgeous wearest, which keeps scarcely thee warm. But for true need, you heavens give me that patience, patience I need. You see me here, you gods, a poor man as full of grief as age, wretched in both. If it be you that stirs these daughters' hearts against their father, fool me not so much to bear it tamely. Touch me with noble anger, and let not woman's weapons water drops, stain my man's cheeks. No, you unnatural hags, I will have such revenges on you both, that all the world shall, I will do such things. What they are yet I know not, but they shall keep the terrors of the earth. You think I'll weep? No, I'll not weep. I have full cause of weeping, but this heart shall break into a thousand flaws, or ere I'll weep. O fool, I shall go mad. End of O Reason Not The Need, from King Lear, Act 2, Scene 4, by William Shakespeare. This recording is in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Thus do I ever make my fool my purse, from Othello, Act 1, Scene 3, by William Shakespeare. Recorded for LibriVox.org by Corey. Thus do I ever make my fool my purse, for I mine own gain knowledge should profane if I would time expend with such a snipe, but for my sport and profit, hate the more. And it is thought broad that twixed my sheets, he has done my office. I know not if it be true, but I, while mere suspicion in that kind, will do as if it for surety. He holds me well, the better show my purpose work on him. Casio's a proper man, let me see now, to get his place and to plume up my will, in double-navery. How, how? Let's see. Time to abuse Othello's ear, that he is too familiar with his wife. He hath a person and a smooth disposed to be suspected, framed to make women false. The more is of a free and open nature, that thinks men honest, that but seem to be so, and will as tenderly be led by the nose as asses are. I have it. It is engendered. Hell and night must bring this monstrous earth to world's light. End of Thus Do I Ever Make My Fool My Purse by William Shakespeare by Othello Act 1 Scene 3 This recording is in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. I have been so affrighted. From Hamlet Act 2 Scene 1 by William Shakespeare Recorded for LibriVox.org by Victoria Grace Oh, my Lord, my Lord, I have been so affrighted. With what in the name of God? My Lord, as I was sewing in my closet, Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbraced, no hat upon his head, his stockings fouled, unguarded, and down-guived of his ankle, pale as his shirt, his knees knocking each other, and with a look so piteous in purport as if he had been lucid out of hell. To speak of horrors he comes before me. Mad for thy love? My Lord, I do not know, but truly I do fear it. What said he? He took me by the wrist and held me hard. Then goes he to the length of all his arm, and with his other hand, thus or his brow, he falls to such perusal of my face as he would draw it. Long stayed he so. At last a little shaking of mine arm, and thrice his head thus waving up and down. He raised a sigh, so piteous and profound, as it did seem to shatter all his bulk, and end his beam. That done he lets me go. And with his head over his shoulder turned, he seemed to find his way without his eyes. For out of doors he went without their helps. And to the last, bended their light on me. End of, oh my Lord, my Lord, I have been so affrighted. From Hamlet, Act 2, Scene 1 This recording is in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, visit LibriVox.org My lovely Aaron Wherefore looks thou sad? From Titus Andronicus Act 2, Scene 3 by William Shakespeare Recorded for LibriVox.org by Victoria Grace My lovely Aaron Wherefore looks thou sad when everything doth make a gleeful boast? The birds chant melody on every bush, the snake lies rolled in the cheerful sun. The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind and make a checkered shadow on the ground. Under their sweet shade Aaron, let us sit. And whilst the babbling echo mocks the hounds, we're plying shrilly to the well-tuned horns as if a double hunt were heard at once. Let us sit down and mark their yelping noise. And after conflict, such as was supposed, the wandering Prince and Daito once enjoyed. When with a happy storm they were surprised and curtained with a council-keeping cave, we may, each wreathed in the other's arms, our pastimes done, possess a golden slumber, whilst hounds and horns and sweet melodious birds be unto us as is a nurse's song of lullaby to bring her babe asleep. End of my lovely Aaron, wherefore looks thou sad? From Titus Andronicus Act II, Scene III This recording is in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. O Caesar, what a wounding shame this is! From Anthony and Cleopatra Act V, Scene II by William Shakespeare Recorded for LibriVox.org by Lana Jordan Cleopatra O Caesar, what a wounding shame this is! That thou vouchsafing here to visit me doing the honor of thy lordliness to one so meek that mine own servant should parcel the sum of my disgraces by addition of his envy. Say, good Caesar, that I some Lady Trifles have reserved immoiment toys, things of such dignity as we greet modern friends with all. And say, some nobler token I have kept apart for Libya and Octavia to induce their meditation must I be unfolded with one that I have bred? The gods, it smites me beneath the fall I have to Saluchus. Prithee, go hence, or I shall show the cinders of my spirits through the ashes of my chants, where thou a man thou wouldst have mercy on me. End of O Caesar, what a wounding shame this is! From Anthony and Cleopatra Act V, Scene II This recording is in the public domain for information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Alana Jordan in St. Louis, Missouri should have died hereafter from Macbeth Act V, Scene V by William Shakespeare recorded for LibriVox.org by Dennis D should have died hereafter there would have been a time for such a word tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow 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 end of Macbeth Act V, Scene V this recording is in the public domain by Abigail Lulund if we shadows have offended think but this and all is mended that you have but slumbered here while these visions did appear and this weak and idle theme no more yielding but a dream Gentles do not rubbery hand if you pardon me we will mend and as I am an honest puck if we have unearned luck now to scape the serpent's tongue we will make amends ere long else the puck a liar call so good night and to you all give me your hands if we be friends and Robin shall restore amends end of if we shadows have offended from a mid-summer night's dream Act IV, Scene II this recording is in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Raven himself is horse for Macbeth, Act I, Scene V by William Shakespeare recorded for LibriVox.org by Abigail Lulund the Raven himself is horse that croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan under my battlements come you spirits that tend on mortal thoughts unsex me here and fill me from the crown to the toe top full of direst cruelty make thick my blood stop up the access and passes to remorse that no compunctious visitings of nature shake my fell purpose nor keep peace between the effects in it come to my woman's breasts and take my milk for Gaul you murdering ministers wherever in your sightless substances in nature's mischief come Thickknight and Pauly in the dunnest smoke of hell that my keen knives see not the wound it makes nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark to cry hold, hold great glames were they caught are greater than both the all hail hereafter thy letters have transported me beyond this ignorant present and I feel now the future in the instant end of the Raven himself is horse for Macbeth, Act I, Scene V this recording is in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Malvolio my masters are you mad from Twelfth Night Act II, Scene III by William Shakespeare recorded for LibriVox.org by David Federman my masters are you mad or what are you have ye no wit, manners nor honesty gabble like tinkers at this time of night do ye make an ale house of my lady's house that ye squeak out your kosher's catches without any mitigation or remorse of voice is there no respect of place persons nor time in you sir Tobi I must be round with you my lady paid me tell you that though she harbors you as her kinsman she's nothing alive to your disorders if you can separate yourself and your misdemeanors you are welcome to the house if not and it would please you to take leave of her she is very willing to bid you farewell end of my masters are you mad from Twelfth Night Act II, Scene III this recording is in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org sir spare your threats from the winter's tale this will be Scene II by William Shakespeare recorded for LibriVox.org by Rhonda Thetterman sir spare your threats the bug which you would fright me with I seek to me can life be no commodity the crown and comfort of my life your favor I do give lost for I do feel it gone do not how it went my second joy and first fruits of my body from his presence I am barred like one infectious my third comfort starred most unluckily is from my breast the innocent milk in its most innocent mouth held out to murder myself on every post proclaimed trumpet with immodest hatred the child bed privilege denied which longs to women of all fashion lastly hurried here to this place in the open air before I have got strength of limit now my liege tell me what blessings I have here alive that I should fear to die therefore proceed but yet hear this mistake me not no life I prize it not a straw but for my honor which I would free if I shall be condemned upon some rises all proof sleeping else but what your jealousies awake I tell you to his rigor and not law your honors all I do refer me to the oracle Apollo be my judge end of sir spare your threats from the winter's tale act 3 scene 2 this recording is in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org your actions are my dreams from the winter's tale act 3 scene 2 by William Shakespeare recorded for LibriVox.org by David Federman your actions are my dreams you had a pastored by Polyxonies and I but dreamed it as you were past all shame those of your fact are so so past all truth which to deny concerns more than avails for as thy brat have been cast out like to itself no father owning it which is indeed more criminal in thee than it so thou shalt feel our justice in whose easiest passage look for no less than death end of your actions are my dreams from the winter's tale act 3 scene 2 this recording is in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org The Elves of Hills from The Tempest act 5 scene 1 by William Shakespeare recorded for LibriVox.org by Jason Mills The Elves of Hills Brooks standing legs and groves and ye that on the sands and to fly him when he comes back you demipuppets that by moonshine do the green sour ringlets make whereof the you not buys and you whose past time is to make midnight mushrooms that rejoice to hear the solemn curfew by whose aid weak masters though ye be I have be dimmed the noontide sun cold forth the mutinous winds and twix the green sea and the azure vault set roaring war to the dread rattling thunder have I given fire and rifted jove stout oak with his own bolt the strong-based promontory have I made shake and by the spurs plucked up the pine and cedar graves at my command have worked their sleepers and let them forth I saw potent art but this rough magic I hear abdure and when I have required some heavenly music which even now I do to work mine end upon their senses that this air-rich arm is for I'll break my staff vary it, certain fathoms in the earth and deeper than did ever plummet sound I'll drown my book end of E Elves of Hills from the Tempest Act 5 Scene 1 this recording is in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please