Фонетический материал для имитации и заучивания наизусть
Третий семестр
Poetry:
Twilight
It is the hour when from the boughs
The nightingale’s high note is heard;
It is the hour when lovers’ vows
Seem sweet in every whispered word;
And gentle winds and waters near,
Make music to the lonely ear.
Each flower the dews have lightly wet,
And in the sky the stars are met.
And on the way is deeper blue,
And on the leaf a browner hue,
And in the heaven that clear obscure.
So softly dark, and darkly pure,
Which follows the decline of day,
As twilight melts beneath the moon away.
by G.G. Byron
The Daffodils
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay;
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee.
A poet could not but be gay
In such a jocund company
I gazed — and gazed — but little thought
What wealth, the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills
And dances with the daffodils.
by W. Wordsworth
Those Evening Bells
Those evening bells! Those evening bells!
How many a tale their music tells,
Of love, and home, and that sweet time,
When last I heard their soothing chime!
Those joyous hours are passed away!
And many a heart that then was gay
Within the tomb now darkly dwells
And hears no more those evening bells!
And so 'twill be when I am gone,
That tuneful peal will still ring on,
While other bards shall walk these dells,
And sing your praise, sweet evening bells!
Conversations:
“Nora! Nora!”
Harry: Nora! Nora!
Nora (coming into the room): Yes, what is it now, Harry?
Harry: Oh, there you are. Look here, Nora, I’m tired of lying here on my back with nothing to
do. I hate doing nothing.
Nora: Don’t be silly, Harry. You’ve got a temperature, and staying in bed is the only sensible
thing to do. Now just be quiet, and stop preventing me from doing my housework.
Harry: No, seriously, Nora. I can’t bear it. Lying flat on my back!
Nora: Well then, try lying on your stomach for a change!
Harry: Stop being funny. I’m going to get up. There! Look, I’m standing up. I’m quite all right.
What’s the use of staying in bed?
Nora: I think you are being very silly. You’ll only make your temperature go up again.
Harry: It’s no use talking, Nora-being ill doesn’t suit me.
Nora: No - and trying to nurse you doesn’t suit me!
Harry: Now don’t be bitter about it. You know I’m grateful to you for looking after me. But
you mustn’t try to keep me in bed like a naughty boy.
Nora: Well, you began it by behaving like a naughty boy.
Harry: I’m all against this staying in bed for no reason.
Nora: Harry, being ill is a reason. Now don’t stand by that window and catch another cold. Let
me see… half past eleven.
Harry: Why do you keep looking at the clock?
Nora: I’m expecting Mother – she’s coming over for the day.
Harry: Good heavens, I didn’t know that.
Nora: Yes, I think she has something she wants to talk to you about.
Harry: Oh heavens! Has she … (groans)… Oh, you know, Nora, I do feel a bit ill; perhaps, I
had better get back to bed. you might stay up to see her.
Nora (disingenuously): Oh, what a pity! I thought perhaps you might stay up to see her.
Harry (to himself): That’s the very reason I’m getting back into bed!
Nora: What did you say?
Harry: Oh, er – nothing.
“We shall be awfully late…”
Harry: We shall be awfully late home if that No. 12 bus doesn’t come soon… Let’s stand in
this doorway out of the wind.
Nora: All right, but we must be careful not to miss the bus. How did you enjoy the film?
Harry: I’d never have gone if I had known it was going to be so silly.
Nora: Why, what was silly about it?
Harry: Well, no sane man would have married that other girl so soon after he had murdered his
wife. It was sure to make people suspicious.
Nora: If he had been sane he wouldn’t have murdered her. Besides the girl wouldn’t have
waited for him if he hadn’t asked her immediately.
Harry: All the better for him if she hadn’t!
Nora: Yes, but then he wouldn’t have paid for his crime. Anyhow, I’d have enjoyed the film
much more if Elsa Hollywood had been in it instead of Linda Spangle.
Harry: And I’d have enjoyed it more, if we hadn’t gone at all.
Nora (sharply): And I’d have enjoyed it more, if you hadn’t been so rude to that woman in
front.
Harry: Well, I shouldn’t have been rude to her if she had stopped chattering when I asked her.
Nora: I wish you’d behave better in public places.
Harry: I behave better! I like that! Why, if that woman had … (Sound of bus starting up.) But
look, isn’t that a No. 12 bus just going?
Nora: Yes, it is, and we’ve missed it after all. We should have seen that bus, Harry, if you
hadn’t been so busy quarreling.
Harry (in injured tones): Really, Nora, I think it would have been much better if I stayed at
home tonight and let you go to the cinema alone.
4 семестр
The monologue of Hamlet
To be, or not to be--that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles
And by opposing end them. To die, to sleep-No more--and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep-To sleep--perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub,
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th' unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprise of great pitch and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry
And lose the name of action.
by William Shakespeare
If
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!
by Rudyard Kipling
Conversations:
“Good afternoon Mrs. Wood. You are looking pleased…”
Nora: Good afternoon Mrs. Wood. You are looking pleased. Have you found out who took your
missing spoons?
Mrs. Woods: Yes, it’s really very funny. I must tell you, of course, I’ve been awfully nervous
since yesterday, my husband being away and there being nobody else in the house. And then
coming back from shopping this afternoon I found the back gate open and suspicious noises coming
from the house.
Nora: Goodness.
Mrs. Woods: Thinking that if I went for help the fellow would get away I decided to catch him
myself.
Nora: How very brave of you.
Mrs. Woods: And then, looking in through the kitchen window what should I see, but –
Nora: A man?
Mrs. Woods: No, a monkey.
Nora: A monkey?
Mrs. Woods: Yes, a monkey, sitting on my kitchen table, and taking all my knives and forks
out of the table drawer.
Nora: Where ever had it come from?
Mrs. Woods: I just couldn’t think at first. And then I suddenly remember that the house at the
end of the road has just been taken over by an old sailor who has all sorts of strange pets.
Nora: I know, Mr. Benhow. So the monkey sitting on the table was his. What an extraordinary
creature! Taking you spoons one day and coming back for your knives and forks the next. Did you
manage to catch him?
Mrs. Woods: I couldn’t catch him myself, but I fetched Mr. Benhow and he soon did it.
Nora: And did you discover what the monkey had done with your spoons?
Mrs. Woods: Yes, we found them hidden at the end of our own garden.
Nora: How very funny. With the police hunting everywhere for the criminal too. Still “All’s
well that ends well”.
“Yes, of course, Mrs. Horward…”
Nora: Yes, of course, Mrs. Horward, I mustn’t boast but it really is a comfort to have such a
hardworking boy as Robert.
Mrs. Horward: You needn’t apologize, Mrs. Parker. It’s very natural for you to feel proud.
Will he go to the University, do you think?
Nora: Well, he may, or he may not. You see, we can’t really tell until he takes his scholarship
examination.
Mrs. Horward: Oh, but I’m sure he’ll win a scholarship.
Nora: Yes we hope he will. He’s done well in all his exams up to now. But we don’t count on
his winning one. If he doesn’t win a scholarship he may go to a technical College.
Mrs. Horward: Would he like to do that? What’s he studying now? Is he studying science?
Nora: Yes, and I think he’s getting on quite well at it. He’s certainly working very hard. Why,
this very afternoon, although it’s such a fine day, he’s been down at the library working all the time.
Robert (arriving): Hello, mum; Good afternoon, Mrs. Horward. It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?
Well, the Rovers won, Mum.
Nora: The Rovers, Robert? Why, where have you been?
Robert: At the football match, of course.
Nora: Haven’t you been at the library?
Robert: No.
Nora: But I thought ….
Mrs. Horward: Don’t worry, Mrs. Parker. A library is quite the wrong place for a boy on such
a fine afternoon.
O’Connor’s Dialogue 1
- Did you see Othello on television last night?
- The opera you mean? No, I didn’t. I was out.
- I saw it and quite enjoyed it.
- Did you? I thought you didn’t approve of television.
- I don’t as a regular thing, but I happened to be round at my sister’s and she wanted to see it,
so I watched it too.
- Have you thought any more about getting a set?
- No, I don’t think I shall. Though there’s a good deal of pressure, of course.
- From your family?
- From my daughter in particular. All her school friends talk about it so much.
- I know. You think they never did anything else but sit glued to the television screen.
- That’s mostly what I object to, the time it wastes.
- It isn’t the television that wastes the time, it’s you.
- I know that. But I have a deep distrust of myself. So it’s probably better to avoid the occasion
of sin. Don’t you think?
Additional practice in reading and memory work.
MY HEART’S IN THE HIGHLANDS
My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here,
My heart’s in the Highlands a-chasing the deer,
Chasing the wild deer and following the roe.
My heart’s in the Highlands wherever I go.
Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North,
The birth-place of Valour, the country of Worth;
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,
The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.
Chorus
My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here,
My heart’s in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer,
A-chasing the wild deer and following the roe.
My heart’s in the Highlands wherever I go.
Farewell to the mountains, high cover’d with snow
Farewell to the straths and green valleys below;
Farewell to the forests and high-hanging woods;
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods.
My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here,
My heart’s in the Highlands a-chasing the deer,
Chasing the world deer and following the roe.
My heart’s in the Highlands wherever I go.
by Robert Burns
Adieu! Adieu!
“Adieu! Adieu! my native shore
Fades o'er the waters blue;
The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar,
And shrieks the wild sea-mew.
Yon sun that sets upon the sea
We follow in his flight;
Farewell awhile to him and thee,
My Native Land — Good Night!
"A few short hours, and he will rise
То give the morrow birth;
And I shall hail the main and skies,
But not my mother earth.
Deserted is my own good hall,
Its hearth is desolate;
Wild weeds are gathering on the wall;
My dog howls at the gate.
"With thee, my bark, I’ll swiftly go
Athwart the foaming brine;
Nor care what land thou bear'st me to,
So not again to mine.
Welcome, welcome, ye -dark blue waves!
And when you fall my sight,
Welcome, ye deserts, and ye caves!
My native Land — Good Night!"
(by G.G. Byron From "Childe Harold's Pilgrimages")
My Soul is Dark
My soul is dark — Oh! quickly string
The harp I yet can brook to hear;
And let thy gentle fingers fling
Its melting murmurs o'er mine ear.
If in this heart a hope be dear,
That sound shall charm it forth again:
If in there eyes there lurk a tear,
“Twill flow, and cease to burn my brain.
But bid the strain be wild and deep,
Nor let thy notes of joy be first:
I tell thee, minstrel, I must weep
Or else this heavy heart will burst;
For it hath been by sorrow nursed,
And ached in sleepless silence long:
And now 'tis doomed to know the worst,
And break at once — or yield to song.
Hartley Coleridge
She is not Fair
She is not fair to outward view,
As many maidens be;
Her loveliness I never knew
Until she, smiled on me.
Oh, then I saw her eye was bright,
A well of love, a spring of light.
But now her looks are coy and cold To mine they ne'er reply;
And yet I cease not to behold
The love-light in her eye.
Her very frowns are sweeter far
Than smiles of other maidens are.
by Th. Moore