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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

And you, my sinews, grow not instant old,
B't bear me stiffly up-Remember thee?
Av, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a scat
In this distracted globe.* Remember thee?
Yea, from the table of my memory
I'll wipe away all trivial fond records,
All sawst of books, all forins, all pressures past,
That vouth and observation copied there;
And thy commandment all alone shall live
Within the hoo's and volume of my brain,
Unmix'd with baser matter: yes, by heaven,
() most pernicious woman'.
O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain!
My tables, t-meet it is, I set it down,
That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain:
At least, I am sure, it may be so in Denmark:

["Vriling. So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word: It is, Adieu, adicu! remember me.


My lord, as I was sewing in my closet,
Lurd Hamlet,--with his doublet all unbrac'd;
No hat upon his head; his stockings fould,
Ungarter'd, and down-gyved to his ankle;
Pale as his shirt; his knees knocking each other,
And with a look so piteous in purport,
As if he had been loosed out of hell,
To speak of horrors,-he comes before me.
Pol. Mad for thy love?

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.



Beshrew my jealousy!
It seems it is as proper to our age
To cast beyond ourselves in our opinions,
As it is common for the younger sort
To lack discretion.

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

• Body

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.



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,
That I, the son of a dear father murder',
Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell,
Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words,
And l'all a cursing, like a very drab,
A scullion.
Fie upon’ı! soh! About my brains! Humph! I hare

That guilty creatures, sitting at a play,
Have by the very cunning of the scene
Bern struck so to the soul, that presently
They have proclaimed their malesactions:
For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak
With most miraculous organ. I'll have these players
Plav something like the murder of my father,
Before mine uncle: l'll observe his looks;
I'll tent him to the quick; if he do blench,
I know my course. The spirit I have seen,
May be a devil: and the devil hath power
To assume a pleasing shape; yea, ariil

, 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.


We are oft to blame in this.
'Tis too much prov'!,-that, with devotion's risage,
And pious action, we do sugar o'er
The devil limself.

0, 'tis too true! how smart
A lash that speech doth give my conscience!
The harlot's cheek, beautied with plastering art,
Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it,
Than is my deed to my most painted word.

To bc, or not to be, that is the question:-
Whcther '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 heart-ach, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to,-'tis a consummation
-Devontly to be wish't. To die;-to sleep;-
To slemp! perchance to dream;--av, there's the rub:
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuttled off this mortal coil,*
Must zive us pause: 'There's the respect,
That makes calamity of so long life:
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,t
The pangs of despised lore, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietuss make
With a bare bodkin?|| who would lardelst bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life;
But that the dread of some!hing after death,
The undiscover'd 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 witla the pale cast of thought;
And enterprises of great pith and moment,
With this regard, their currents turn away,
And lose the name of action.

Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow,

thou shalt not escape calumny.

0, what a noble mind is here o’erthrown!
The courtier's, soldier's, scholars, eye, tongue,sword:
The expectancy and rose of the fair state,

* Stir, bustle. † Consideration. Rudeness.
§ Arquittance. || The ancient term for a small dagger.
1 Pack, burden. ** Boundary, limits.

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