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Him. O all you host of hearen! O earth! What
else? And shall I couple hell?-0 fie!-Hold, hold, my
["Vriling. So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word: It is, Adieu, adicu! remember me.
ADDRESS TO HER.
My lord, I do not know But, truly, I do fear it. * Head.
+ Sayings, sentences # Memorandum-book. g Hanging down like fatters.
What said he? Oph. He took me by the wrist, and held me hard; Then goes he to the length of all his arm; And, with his other hand thus o’er his brow, He falls to such perusal of my face, As he would draw it. Long stay'd be so; At last a little shaking of mine arm, And thrice his head thus waving up and down, He rais’ıl a sigh so piteous and profound, As it did seem to sbatter all his bulk, * And end his being: That done, he lets me go And, with his head over bis shoulder turn'd, He seem'd to find his way without his eyes: For out o’ doors he went without their helps, And, to the last, bended their light on me.
REFLECTIONS ON MAN.
Beshrew my jealousy!
HAPPINESS CONSISTS IN OPINION. Why, then 'tis none to you; for there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so; to me it is a prison.
I have of late, (but, wherefore, I know not,) lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises: and indeed, it goes so heavily with my disposition, that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory; this inost excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o’erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why it appears no other thing to me, than a soul and pestilent congregation of vapours. What a piece of work is man! How noble in reason! how infinite in faculties! in form and moving, how express and admirable! in action, how like an angel! in apprehension, how like
2 god! the beauty of the world! the paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence ol dust! Man delights not me, nor woman neither; though, by your smiling, you seeni to say so.
HAMLET'S REFLECTIONS ON THE PLAYER AND
0, what a rogue and peasant slave am I! Is it not inonstrous, that this player here, But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, Could force his soulto his own conceit. That from her working, all his visage wann'd; Tears in his eyes, distraction in's aspect, A broken voice, and his whole function suiting, With forms to his conceit? And all for nothing! For Hecuba! What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, That he should weep for her? What would he do, Had he the motive and the cue for passion That I have? He would drown the stage with tears, And cleave the general ear with horrid speech; Make mad the guilty, and appal the free, Confound the ignorant; and amaze, indeed, The very faculties of eyes and ears. Yet I, A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak, Like John a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause, And can say nothing; no, not for a king, Upon whose property, and most dear life, A dainn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward? Who calls nie villain? breaks my pate across? Plucks off my bear, and blows it in my face? Tweaks me by the nose? gives me the lie i'th
throat, As deep as to the lungs? Who does me this? lla! Why, I should take it: for it cannot be, But I am pigeon liver'd, and lack gall To make oppression bitter; or, ere this, I should have fatted all the region kites With this slave's offal: Bloody, bawdy villain! Remorseless, trcacherous, lecherous, kindless villain!
Why, what an ass am I? This is most brave,
, perhaps, Out of my weakness, and my melancholy, (As he is very potent with such spirits) À buses me to clann me: I'll have grounds More relative than this: The play's the thing Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king.
0, 'tis too true! how smart
SOLILOQUY ON LIFE AND DEATI.
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune;
thou shalt not escape calumny.
A DISORDERED MIND.
* Stir, bustle. † Consideration. Rudeness.