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ORAZIO allo Spettro (I.1,131-133 ) Stay, illusion . If thou hast any sound or use of voice,

ORAZIO allo Spettro (I.1,131-133 ) Stay, illusion . If thou hast any sound or use of voice, Speak to me. OFELIA a Amleto (III.1,154-157) And I, of ladies most deject and wretched , That suck’d the honey of his music vows , Now see that noble and most sovereign reason

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ORAZIO allo Spettro (I.1,131-133 ) Stay, illusion . If thou hast any sound or use of voice,

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  1. ORAZIO allo Spettro(I.1,131-133) Stay, illusion. Ifthouhastany sound or use of voice, Speak to me. OFELIA a Amleto (III.1,154-157) And I, of ladies mostdeject and wretched, Thatsuck’d the honey of his music vows, Nowseethatnoble and mostsovereignreason Like sweetbellsjangled out of time and harsh (trad.Serpieri 171)

  2. HAMLET a Orazio (III.2,63-66) Blest are those Whoseblood and judgement are so wellcommeddled Thatthey are not a pipe for Fortune’s finger To sound what stop sheplease.

  3. III.2,325-351 Re-enterPlayers with recorders • HAMLET O, the recorders! let me seeone. To withdraw withyou:--why do you go about to recover the wind of me,asifyouwould drive me into a toil? […]HAMLET I do notwellunderstandthat. Will you play uponthis pipe?GUILDENSTERN My lord, I cannot. […]HAMLET 'Tisas easy aslying: governtheseventages withyourlingers and thumb, giveitbreath with yourmouth, and itwilldiscoursemosteloquent music.Look you, these are the stops.GUILDENSTERNButthesecannot I command to anyutterance of harmony; I havenot the skill.HAMLETWhy, look younow, howunworthy a thingyoumake ofme! Youwould play upon me; youwouldseem to knowmystops; youwouldpluck out the heart of mymystery; youwould sound me from mylowest note tothe top of mycompass: and thereismuch music,excellent voice, in thislittleorgan; yetcannotyoumakeitspeak. 'Sblood, do youthink I ameasier to be played on than a pipe? Call me whatinstrumentyouwill, thoughyou can fret me, yetyoucannot play upon me. Trad. Serpieri 195

  4. QUEEN to Laertes (IV.7,171-178) Her clothes spread wide;And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up:Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes;As one incapable of her own distress,Or like a creature native and induedUnto that element: but long it could not beTill that her garments, heavy with their drink,Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious layTo muddy death. (Trad. Serpieri 263)

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