That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou see'st the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, As the death-bed whereon it must expire, Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by. This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong, To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
MACBETH She should have died hereafter; There would have been a time for such a word. To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, 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.
An exploration of Shakespeare's intentions when writing Othello, exploring the play's racial themes in a historical and contemporary setting and drawing wider parallels between immigration and blackness in the UK today.
Director: Shola Amoo Producer: Rienkje Attoh Writer/Artist: Phoebe Boswell Othello: Ashley Thomas Desdemona: Elisa Lasowski Spirit: Lanre Malaolu Nigerian Queen: Tega Okiti DP: Stil Williams Editor: Mdhamiri A Nkemi Composer: Segun Akinola Art Department: Tamar Clarke Brown Sound Design: Nikola Medic Location Sound: Phil Hutchins Grade: Johny Tulley Costume: Jeffrey Michael Steadicam: Andrew Bainbridge Make Up: Sheeba Raye 1st AD: Kole Onil
So smile the heavens upon this holy act, That after hours with sorrow chide us not!
Amen, amen! but come what sorrow can, It cannot countervail the exchange of joy That one short minute gives me in her sight: Do thou but close our hands with holy words, Then love-devouring death do what he dare; It is enough I may but call her mine.
These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which as they kiss consume: the sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness And in the taste confounds the appetite: Therefore love moderately; long love doth so; Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.
Here comes the lady: O, so light a foot Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint: A lover may bestride the gossamer That idles in the wanton summer air, And yet not fall; so light is vanity.
Good even to my ghostly confessor.
Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both.
As much to him, else is his thanks too much.
Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy Be heap'd like mine and that thy skill be more To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath This neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue Unfold the imagined happiness that both Receive in either by this dear encounter.
Conceit, more rich in matter than in words, Brags of his substance, not of ornament: They are but beggars that can count their worth; But my true love is grown to such excess I cannot sum up sum of half my wealth.
Come, come with me, and we will make short work; For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone Till holy church incorporate two in one.
Performed by Orchestra of the Swan, Tamsin Waley-Cohen- violin, conducted by David Curtis
Holy Trinity Church, Stratford-upon-Avon 21 April 2016 - Part of Shakespeare 400 commemorations
Immortal Shakespeare Choral symphony for choir and orchestra
Prelude (00'54) I. Brave new world (03'56) II. To thine own self be true (08'31) III. Never doubt I love (14'04) IV. Be fire with fire (21'35) V./VI. Truth will come to light / All the world’s a stage (24'08) VII. Set me free (27'30) Postlude (Stay passenger) (32'10)
The choral symphony 'Immortal Shakespeare' brings together three artistic strands- words, visuals and music, in celebration of the timeless words of the Bard. Key to the project are a series of sketches made by J.M.W. Turner on a visit to Stratford-upon-Avon in 1833, which I came across when researching this commission in 2011. The sketches can be arranged to form a journey from birthplace to resting place and on one of these Turner inscribes ‘The Immortal Shakespeare was born in this house’, which gave the title of this choral symphony.
The birthplace to resting place idea is mirrored in the choice of text, as I took Jacques’ famous monologue and compiled a selection of texts from Shakespeare’s plays which chart the seven ages of man: from Infant to Old Age. The final hymn sets the words on Shakespeare's funerary monument at Holy Trinity Church, where the work received its premiere.
The work is commissioned by Orchestra of the Swan and Sorel Organization, with special gratitude to Tate Britain for permission to display some of the sketches and Dominic Dromgoole (Artistic Director, Shakespeare's Globe) for his insightful guidance during the choice of text.
To mark the 400th anniversary of Shakespeare’s death, we asked leading actors to perform key speeches from his plays. Here, Damian Lewis performs Antony’s lines from act III, scene 2 of Julius Caesar. Antony has been granted permission to speak at Caesar’s funeral so long as he does not implicate the conspirators in his death, but he skilfully turns the crowd against them
To mark the 400th anniversary of Shakespeare’s death, we asked leading actors to perform key speeches from his plays. Here, Zawe Ashton speaks Jacques’s lines on the seven ages of man from Act II, Scene 7 of As You Like It
David Threlfall speaks Prospero’s lines from The Tempest, act IV, scene 1. As a masque comes to its close, the sorcerer contemplates the end of life – and the playwright, perhaps, considers the end of his career.
Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits and Are melted into air, into thin air: And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.