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Nor sense to ecstasy was ne'er so thrall'd,
To serve in such a difference. What devil was 't
Could not so mope.§
O shame! where is thy blush ?
If thou canst mutine in a matron's bones,
To flaming youth let virtue be as wax,
And melt in her own fire: proclaim no shame,
And reason panders will.
O Hamlet, speak no more:
my very soul;
Thou turn'st mine eyes into
And there I see such black and grained spots,
As will not leave their tinct. ||
HAMLET. Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings,
You heavenly guards! What would your gracious
QUEEN. Alas, he's mad.
HAMLET. Do you not come your tardy son to chide, That, lapsed in time and passion, lets go by
The important acting of your dread command?
GHOST. Do not forget: this visitation Is but to whet thy almost blunted
Could not be so absurd.
|| Tinge, hue.
But, look! amazement on thy mother sits:
How is it with you, lady?
QUEEN. Alas, how is't with you?
That you do bend your eye on vacancy,
And with the incorporal air do hold discourse.
His form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to stones,
My stern effects; then what I have to do
Will want true colour; tears, perchance, for blood.
Do you see nothing there?
QUEEN. Nothing at all; yet all that is I see.
HAMLET. Nor did you nothing hear?
No, nothing, but ourselves.
HAMLET. Why look you there! look, how it steals
My father, in his habit as he lived!
Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal!
QUEEN. This is the very coinage of your brain :
+ Would make them comprehend.
This bodiless creation ecstasy
Is very cunning in.
My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time,
How all occasions do inform against me, spur my dull revenge! what is a man
If his chief good, and market* of his time,
That capability and god-like reason
To fust in us unused. Now, whether it be
Of thinking too precisely on the event,—
A thought which quarter'd hath but one part wisdom And, ever, three parts coward,—I do not know Why yet I live to say, "This thing's to do ;"
Sith I have cause, and will, and strength, and means To do't. Examples gross as earth exhort me.
Sorrows rarely single.
When sorrows come, they come not single spies, But in battalions!
The Divinity of Kings.
There's such divinity doth hedge a king, That treason can but peep to what it would, Acts little of his will.
Hamlet's Reflections on Yorick's Skull.
GRAVE-DIGGER. A pestilence on him for a mad rogue! he poured a flagon of Rhenish on my head once. This same skull, Sir, was Yorick's skull, the king's jester.
GRAVE-DIGGER, E'en that.
HAMLET. Alas poor Yorick!-I knew him, Horatio; a fellow of infinite jest; of most excellent fancy; he hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now to mock your own grinning quite chap-fallen? Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour* she must come ; make her laugh at that.
Lay her i' the earth;
And from her fair and unpolluted flesh,
May violets spring!-I tell thee, churlish priest,
When thou liest howling.
This is mere madness;
And thus a while the fit will work on him:
When that her golden couplets are disclosed,
Providence directs our Actions.
There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will.
Brutus and Cassius, noble Romans, envious of the popularity of Cæsar, conspire with Casca, Decius, and others to assassinate him. Cæsar is warned by his wife Calphurnia and a soothsayer against attending the Capitol; he however disregards their admonitions, and is killed by the conspirators at the foot of Pompey's In the commotion which ensues Brutus harangues the citizens, and wins them over to his side, but Mark Antony (called in the play Marcus Antonius), who is a strong adherent of Cæsar's, afterwards addresses the populace, and excites in them a desire to avenge the death of Cæsar. Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus, march with an army against Brutus and Cassius, who have fled from Rome and await with their forces the attack of Antony and his confederates. A quarrel ensues between Brutus and Cassius in the tent of the former, prior to the battle which is to decide their fates; their differences, however, are soon healed, and they meet the hostile army at Philippi where they are defeated, and, rather than fall into the hands of their foes, kill themselves. Portia, the