COD7 Computer amason directory text files (cont)

November 12, 2010 in Black Ops, Glitch

(mackers1.txt)

Is this a dagger which I see before me,
The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee.
I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
To feeling as to sight? or art thou but
A dagger of the mind, a false creation,
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
I see thee yet, in form as palpable
As this which now I draw.
Thou marshall’st me the way that I was going;
And such an instrument I was to use.
Mine eyes are made the fools o’ the other senses,
Or else worth all the rest; I see thee still,
And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood,
Which was not so before. There’s no such thing:
It is the bloody business which informs
Thus to mine eyes. Now o’er the one half-world
Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse
The curtain’d sleep; witchcraft celebrates
Pale Hecat’s off’rings; and wither’d Murder,
Alarum’d by his sentinel, the wolf,
Whose howl’s his watch, thus with his stealthy pace,
With Tarquin’s ravishing strides, towards his design
Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set earth,
Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear
Thy very stones prate of my whereabout,
And take the present horror from the time,
Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he lives:
Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives.

A bell rings.

I go, and it is done; the bell invites me.
Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell
That summons thee to heaven or to hell.

This is from:
Shakespeare
Macbeth: Act 2, Scene 1

(notex.txt)

June 30, 1978

Mr. Mason –

Clarke was intending to hide in Johannesburg. He has a brother there.
It’s a good place to start.

– X –

(notex2.txt)

July 4, 1978

Mr. Mason –

Woods is alive and remains the sole remaining American guest at the
Hanoi Hilton.

Thought you should know.

– X –

(ozy.txt)

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

Poetry
“Ozymandias”
(Percy Bysshe Shelley)
Ozymandias was another name for Ramesses the Great, Pharaoh of the nineteenth dynasty of ancient Egypt.

(sis-letter1.txt)

March 22, 1966

Alex,

By now you should’ve received dad’s letter. Dot and I don’t necessarily
Agree, but he’s got a point. You should have been here.
It’s unforgivable that you weren’t. We know you’ve been through a lot,
but this was our mom. She needed you and you weren’t there for her when
it was most important.

She asked after you, before. We told her you would be here, just hang on.
But she shook her head and smiled. She said, “He’s got more important
things to do. My son’s a hero. And I know I’m in his thoughts wherever
he is.”

She closed her eyes, sighed, and didn’t take another breath. Was she right?
Was she in your thought? Marshall, me, and the kids are heading back to
Renier in the morning. If you need a place to go, my door is always open to
you. The kids would love to see you, too. Their hero uncle Alex.

Love,
Marion

(ta1.txt)

Come, come, Lavinia; look, thy foes are bound.
Sirs, stop their mouths, let them not speak to me;
But let them hear what fearful words I utter.
O villains, Chiron and Demetrius!
Here stands the spring whom you have stain’d with mud,
This goodly summer with your winter mix’d.
You kill’d her husband, and for that vile fault
Two of her brothers were condemn’d to death,
My hand cut off and made a merry jest;
Both her sweet hands, her tongue, and that more dear
Than hands or tongue, her spotless chastity,
Inhuman traitors, you constrain’d and forced.
What would you say, if I should let you speak?
Villains, for shame you could not beg for grace.
Hark, wretches! how I mean to martyr you.
This one hand yet is left to cut your throats,
Whilst that Lavinia ‘tween her stumps doth hold
The basin that receives your guilty blood.
You know your mother means to feast with me,
And calls herself Revenge, and thinks me mad:
Hark, villains! I will grind your bones to dust
And with your blood and it I’ll make a paste,
And of the paste a coffin I will rear
And make two pasties of your shameful heads,
And bid that strumpet, your unhallow’d dam,
Like to the earth swallow her own increase.
This is the feast that I have bid her to,
And this the banquet she shall surfeit on;
For worse than Philomel you used my daughter,
And worse than Progne I will be revenged:
And now prepare your throats. Lavinia, come,
He cuts their throats
Receive the blood: and when that they are dead,
Let me go grind their bones to powder small
And with this hateful liquor temper it;
And in that paste let their vile heads be baked.
Come, come, be every one officious
To make this banquet; which I wish may prove
More stern and bloody than the Centaurs’ feast.

Titus Andronicus
(Act 5, Scene 2)
~~~This part left out~~~
So, now bring them in, for I’ll play the cook,
And see them ready ‘gainst their mother comes.

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