Use every man after his desert, and who shall ‘scape whipping?
– Hamlet
I am myself indifferent honest, but yet I could accuse me of such things that it were better my mother had not borne me. I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious, with more offenses at my beck than I have time to act them in, words to speak them, or imagination to give them shape. What should such fellows as I do, crawling between earth and heaven? We are arrant knaves all.
– ibid
O, my offence is rank; it smells to heaven.…Pray can I not,Though inclination be as sharp as will:My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent;And, like a man to double business bound,I stand in pause where I shall first begin,And both neglect. What if this cursed handWere thicker than itself with brother’s blood,Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavensTo wash it white as snow? Whereto serves mercyBut to confront the visage of offence?And what’s in prayer but this two-fold force,To be forestalled ere we come to fall,Or pardon’d being down? Then I’ll look up;My fault is past. But, O, what form of prayerCan serve my turn? ‘Forgive me my foul [deeds]’?That cannot be; since I am still possess’dOf those effects for which I did the [deeds]…May one be pardon’d and retain the offence?In the corrupted currents of this worldOffence’s gilded hand may shove by justice,And oft ‘tis seen the wicked prize itselfBuys out the law: but ‘tis not so above;There is no shuffling, there the action liesIn his true nature; and we ourselves compell’d,Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults,To give in evidence. What then? what rests?Try what repentance can: what can it not?Yet what can it when one cannot repent?O wretched state! O bosom black as death!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.
…
My words fly up, my thoughts remain below:Words without thoughts never to heaven go.
– Hamlet’s Uncle Claudius
vlechtja almost 14 years ago
It is with or without a God.
cdward almost 14 years ago
He deserves those yellow pajamas.
pksampso almost 14 years ago
Most people want absolute triumph–which they’d like OTHER people to say they deserve.
Yukoneric almost 14 years ago
Actually, I’d like to return some things.
odeliasimone almost 14 years ago
Hoo Boy! That is a very dangerous prayer!!!
fritzoid Premium Member almost 14 years ago
Use every man after his desert, and who shall ‘scape whipping? – Hamlet
I am myself indifferent honest, but yet I could accuse me of such things that it were better my mother had not borne me. I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious, with more offenses at my beck than I have time to act them in, words to speak them, or imagination to give them shape. What should such fellows as I do, crawling between earth and heaven? We are arrant knaves all. – ibid
O, my offence is rank; it smells to heaven. …Pray can I not, Though inclination be as sharp as will: My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent; And, like a man to double business bound, I stand in pause where I shall first begin, And both neglect. What if this cursed hand Were thicker than itself with brother’s blood, Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens To wash it white as snow? Whereto serves mercy But to confront the visage of offence? And what’s in prayer but this two-fold force, To be forestalled ere we come to fall, Or pardon’d being down? Then I’ll look up; My fault is past. But, O, what form of prayer Can serve my turn? ‘Forgive me my foul [deeds]’? That cannot be; since I am still possess’d Of those effects for which I did the [deeds]… May one be pardon’d and retain the offence? In the corrupted currents of this world Offence’s gilded hand may shove by justice, And oft ‘tis seen the wicked prize itself Buys out the law: but ‘tis not so above; There is no shuffling, there the action lies In his true nature; and we ourselves compell’d, Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults, To give in evidence. What then? what rests? Try what repentance can: what can it not? Yet what can it when one cannot repent? O wretched state! O bosom black as death! 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. … My words fly up, my thoughts remain below: Words without thoughts never to heaven go. – Hamlet’s Uncle Claudius
bmonk almost 14 years ago
Me, I’d rather have what God sees fit to give me than what I deserve. I’m afraid of what I deserve…
fritzoid Premium Member almost 14 years ago
I fear for my country when I reflect that God is just. – Thomas Jefferson
lin4869 almost 14 years ago
Amen, FishStix!
lbejo almost 14 years ago
Anyone who prays that prayer is clueless. Thank God we don’t get what we deserve…