'Tis as easy as lying. [Hamlet continued. Act iii. Sc. 2. Ibid. Ibid. It will discourse most eloquent music. Pluck out the heart of my mystery. Ham. Do you see yonder cloud that's almost in shape of a camel?1 Pol. By the mass, and 't is like a camel, indeed. Ham. Methinks it is like a weasel. Pol. It is back'd like a weasel. Ham. Or, like a whale? Pol. Very like a whale. They fool me to the top of my bent. Ibid. Ibid. 'Tis now the very witching time of night, When churchyards yawn,and Hell itself breathes out Contagion to this world. I will speak daggers to her, but use none. Ibid. Ibid. O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven; Act iii. Sc. 3. Help, angels! make assay: Bow, stubborn knees; and, heart, with strings of steel, Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe. About some act, That has no relish of salvation in 't. Dead, for a ducat, dead. Ibid. Ibid. Act iii. Sc. 4. And let me wring your heart: for so I shall, If it be made of penetrable stuff. 1 'in shape like a camel'; so the folios. Ibid. Hamlet continued.] False as dicers' oaths. Act iii. Sc. 4. Look here, upon this picture, and on this; At your age, Ibid. The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble. And I the matter will re-word, which madness Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace, Lay not that flattering unction to your soul. Assume a virtue, if you have it not. Ibid. Ibid. I must be cruel, only to be kind : Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind. For, 't is the sport to have the engineer Ibid. Ibid. [Hamlet continued. Diseases, desperate grown, By desperate appliance are relieved, Act iv. Sc. 3. A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a king; and eat of the fish that hath fed of that worm. Ibid. Sure, He that made us with such large discourse, That capability and godlike reason, Act iv. Sc. 4. Greatly to find quarrel in a straw, So full of artless jealousy is guilt, Ibid. Act iv. Sc. 5. We know what we are, but know not what we may be. Ibid. When sorrows come, they come not single spies, But in battalions. Ibid. There's such divinity doth hedge a king, That treason can but peep to what it would. Ibid. There's rosemary, that 's for remembrance ;.. and there is pansies, that 's for thoughts. Ibid. You must wear your rue with a difference. Ibid. A very riband in the cap of youth. Act iv. Sc. 7. Ibid. Hamlet continued.] 1 Clo. Argal, he that is not guilty of his own death shortens not his own life. 2 Clo. But is this law? 1 Clo. Ay, marry, is't; crowner's-quest law. Act v. Sc. I. Cudgel thy brains no more about it. Ibid. Has this fellow no feeling of his business? Ibid. Ibid. The hand of little employment hath the daintier sense. A politician . . . One that could circumvent God. One, that was a woman, sir; but, rest her soul, she 's dead. Ibid. Ibid. How absolute the knave is! we must speak by the card, or equivocation will undo us. Ibid. The age has grown so picked, that the toe of the peasant comes so near the heel of the courtier, he galls his kibe. Ibid. 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 my imagination is my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kiss'd 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? No one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen? Now, get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let [Hamlet continued. her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come. Act v. Sc. I. To what base uses we may return, Horatio! Why may not imagination trace the noble dust of Alexander, till he find it stopping a bunghole? So. Ibid. "T were to consider too curiously, to consider Ibid. Imperial Cæsar, dead, and turn'd to clay, Might stop a hole to keep the wind away. Ibid. Lay her i' the earth; And from her fair and unpolluted flesh, May violets spring.1 Sweets to the sweet: farewell. Ibid. Ibid. I thought thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid, And not t' have strewed thy grave. Ibid. For though I am not splenetive and rash, Yet have I in me something dangerous. Ibid. Forty thousand brothers Could not, with all their quantity of love, The cat will mew, and dog will have his day. And from his ashes may be made The violet of his native land. Ibid. Tennyson, In Memoriam, xviil. |