poem "My Last Duchess" is a splendid poem achieve within the format of the dramatic monologue‚ a poetic form in which there is only one speaker. Because there is only one speaker‚ we the reader must wonder carefully what the Duke is telling us‚ and we often have to read between the lines in order to keep an objective perspective on the what is happening in the poem. This paper will discuss how the use of the dramatic monologue makes the subject (the Duke) tell a story while‚ at the same time‚ unintentionally
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As I was chasing after Cassio‚ he ran up to Desdemona and gently pressed against her throat with a knife‚ I then stopped immediately and told him "Cassio?!... Please don’t hurt my Desdemona‚ it’s between me and you. He then continues to stare at me while slowly backing up to the door. As he got closer to the door‚ I start to run towards him‚ Cassio then used the knife to wound Desdemona in her left arm‚ and ran off outside. As I’m running up to her‚ Emilia enters and sees the blood pouring down
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Nervous‚ I took a steady breath to calm myself. The warm‚ dimly-lit classroom-turned-actors’-lounge was filled with children. These kids however‚ wore oddly assorted costumes completed with makeup-caked faces. A boy in a suit with a flamboyant tie and glasses commented‚ “Do I look shiny?” earning a giggle from the company. A girl dressed in similar clothing stood up‚ tap shoes clacking against the tiled floor‚ and‚ pulling the boy aside she announced‚ “Stop Len! We need to head onstage.” The actors
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It is under much strain that I withhold the flood of tears behind my eyes. For if the levy bursts‚ I fear I may meet a fate much like dear Ophelia. My dear Ophelia… my friend‚ my sister… I am aghast by your drowning‚ there was so much more for you in this world‚ you were like a blossoming flower‚ emerging into the light for all to see… and now‚ without even slowly wilting away‚ you are gone‚ and I am alone. Oh God‚ why would you take her and leave me so alone‚ and so soon after our own father’s
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Banquo lies on the side of the river after being ambushed by Macbeth’s hit men. He reflects on Macbeth’s and his own behavior since the prophecies made by the witches‚ as well as reflecting on Fleance and the person he is to become. The end of Act III‚ Scene 3. After Banquo’s murder. (Lying) Here I lie‚ cold‚ wet‚ alone and betrayed on my death bed. Is this what I deserve? Have I been dealt a hand fair to the way I have lived my life? No‚ I know that I lived my life justly. I acted on my beliefs
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Abigail could no longer take it; two months have gone by without her John. After the arrest of John Proctor‚ Abigail was left with nothing. He was the only reason she was doing all this for‚ but now soon he would be hanged. Reverend Hale already suspected of her; she would be next. In order to save herself she has to leave Salem‚ but she couldn’t go alone‚ Mercy Lewis had to go with her. Abigail convinced Mercy Lewis that if she didn’t go she would soon be arrested and hanged. Between the two of
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My wife‚ Tessie was in the midst of of people who were trying to kill her. I felt so disconsolate! I was in the house‚ trying to forget what had happened‚ but I could still hear her blood-curdling screams for help in my mind. “Papa‚ Papa! We smell something very egregious in the backyard!” opined the children. “Yes‚ I know children‚ I hate to say it but‚ your mother has passed away. Her corpse is buried in the backyard‚” I elucidated in a subdued tone. When I was trying to calm everyone down‚ Billy
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Banquo lies on the side of the river after being ambushed by Macbeths pass men. He reflects on Macbeths and his own behavior since the prophecies made by the witches‚ as well as reflecting on Fleance and the person he is to become. The nullify of Act III‚ Scene 3. After Banquos murder. (Lying) Here I lie‚ cold‚ wet‚ solely and betrayed on my death bed. Is this what I deserve? Have I been dealt a hand fair to the way I birth lived my life? No‚ I know that I lived my life justly. I acted on
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gentle buzz of pollinators. Of the cicadas’ cry. The quiescence‚ however‚ shattered instantaneously as a young boy crashed through the prickling bushes‚ his huffing and puffing scattering the little crickets. His bare foot catching a tangled root‚ Fleance stifled a shriek of pain as he collided face-first with the soggy ground. He did not move. He didn’t care that mud and grime littered his mouth‚ driveling out in slimy chunks. Didn’t care that his knee‚ filthy and sticky with blood‚ throbbed and screamed
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This was never a part of the plan. I did not know that this would be the way that I would feel. All I wanted was the best for my noble lord. We were just supposed to kill Duncan then we could have gotten what we desired for so long… freedom‚ power‚ Macbeth for king. Duncan’s death was not for us the tragedy I made out. I feel inside a boiling up of horrors‚ which I cannot escape from. For no longer can I endure the visions of my mind. I can no longer live knowing I was responsible for our king being
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