Apostrophe

NowHyperbaton is the winter of our discontentMetaphor
Made glorious summerMetaphor by this son of York,Paronomasia
And all the clouds that louredMetaphor upon our houseMetonymy
In the deep bosom of the ocean MetaphorburiedHyperbaton & Ellipsis.
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O, that this too too sullied flesh would melt,
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew!Epizeuxis & Metaphor
Or that the Everlasting had not fix’d
His canon ‘gainst self-slaughter!Metonymy O God, God,
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable
Seem to me all the uses of this world!Apostrophe & Epizeuxis

O God,
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Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world
Like a Colossus, and we petty men
Walk under his huge legs, and peep about
To find ourselves dishonorable graves.Adynaton & Simile

The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings.

Men at some time are masters of their fates;
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And why should Caesar be a tyrant then?
Poor man, I know he would not be a wolf,
But that he sees the Romans are but sheep;
He were no lion, were not Romans hinds.
Those that with haste will make a mighty fire
Begin it with weak straws.Metaphors What trash is Rome?
What rubbish and what offal?
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Ghost
Adieu, adieu, adieu.Epizeuxis Remember me.
 He exits.
Hamlet
O all you host of heaven! O Earth!Anapodotons & Apostrophes What else?
And shall I couple hell?Pysma O fie! Hold, hold, my heart,
And you, my sinews, grow not instant old,
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They are the faction. O Conspiracy,
Sham’st thou to show thy dang’rous brow by night,
When evils are most free?Apostrophe O then, by day
Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enoughMetaphor
To mask thy monstrous visage?Personification Seek none, Conspiracy!Apostrophe
Hide it in smiles and affability;
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Isabella
At what hour tomorrow
Shall I attend your Lordship?
Angelo
At any time ‘fore noon.
Isabella
‘Save your honor!

Exeunt Isabella, Lucio, and Provost.

Angelo
From thee: even from thy virtue.Irony
What’s this? What’s this? Is this her fault,
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Angelo
Admit no other way to save his life—
As I subscribe not that, nor any other—
But, in the loss of question, that you, his sister,
Finding yourself desired of such a person
Whose credit with the judge, or own great place,
Could fetch your brother from Metaphorthe manacles
Of the binding law,
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O mighty Caesar! Dost thou lie so low?
AsyndetonAre all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils,
Shrunk to this little measure? Fare thee well!Apostrophe & Pysma
I know not, gentlemen, what you intend,
Who else must be let blood, who else is rank;Anaphora
If I myself,
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Antony
Friends, Romans, countrymenExordium, lend me your earsSynecdoche!
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.Antithesis
The evil that men do lives after them,
The good is oft interred with their bonesAntithesis;
So let it be with Caesar.
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