"My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, / And every tongue brings in a several tale, / And every tale condemns me for a villain."
— Shakespeare, William (1564-1616)
Work Title
Date
1597
Metaphor
"My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, / And every tongue brings in a several tale, / And every tale condemns me for a villain."
Metaphor in Context
Give me another horse! Bind up my wounds!
Have mercy, Jesu! -- Soft, I did but dream.
O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me?
The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight.
Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.
What do I fear? Myself? There's none else by.
Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I.
Is there a murderer here? No. Yes, I am.
Then fly! What, from myself? Great reason. Why?
Lest I revenge. Myself upon myself?
Alack, I love myself. Wherefore? For any good
That I myself have done unto myself?
O no, alas, I rather hate myself
For hateful deeds committed by myself.
I am a villain. Yet I lie: I am not.
Fool, of thyself speak well. -- Fool, do not flatter.
My conscience hath a thousand several tongues,
And every tongue brings in a several tale,
And every tale condemns me for a villain.
Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree!
Murder, stern murder, in the dir'st degree!
All several sins, all used in each degree,
Throng to the bar, crying all, "Guilty, guilty!"
I shall despair. There is no creature loves me,
And if I die no soul will pity me.
Nay, wherefore should they? -- Since that I myself
Find in myself no pity to myself.
Methought the souls of all that I had murdered
Came to my tent, and every one did threat
Tomorrow's vengeance on the head of Richard.
(V.5, ll. 131-60)
Have mercy, Jesu! -- Soft, I did but dream.
O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me?
The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight.
Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.
What do I fear? Myself? There's none else by.
Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I.
Is there a murderer here? No. Yes, I am.
Then fly! What, from myself? Great reason. Why?
Lest I revenge. Myself upon myself?
Alack, I love myself. Wherefore? For any good
That I myself have done unto myself?
O no, alas, I rather hate myself
For hateful deeds committed by myself.
I am a villain. Yet I lie: I am not.
Fool, of thyself speak well. -- Fool, do not flatter.
My conscience hath a thousand several tongues,
And every tongue brings in a several tale,
And every tale condemns me for a villain.
Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree!
Murder, stern murder, in the dir'st degree!
All several sins, all used in each degree,
Throng to the bar, crying all, "Guilty, guilty!"
I shall despair. There is no creature loves me,
And if I die no soul will pity me.
Nay, wherefore should they? -- Since that I myself
Find in myself no pity to myself.
Methought the souls of all that I had murdered
Came to my tent, and every one did threat
Tomorrow's vengeance on the head of Richard.
(V.5, ll. 131-60)
Categories
Provenance
Reading
Citation
Shakespeare, William. The Complete Works. Oxford Shakespeare. Electronic Edition for the IBM PC. Stanley Wells and Gary Taylor, Editor.
Date of Entry
02/02/2010
