He is justly served;
It is a poison temper'd by himself.
Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet:
Mine and my father's death come not upon thee,
Nor thine on me.

It is here, Hamlet: Hamlet, thou art slain;
No medicine in the world can do thee good;
In thee there is not half an hour of life;
The treacherous instrument is in thy hand,
Unbated and envenom'd: the foul practise
Hath turn'd itself on me lo, here I ...

Why, as a woodcock to mine own springe, Osric;
I am justly kill'd with mine own treachery.

Have at you now!

Say you so? come on.

Aside And yet 'tis almost 'gainst my conscience.

My lord, I'll hit him now.

A touch, a touch, I do confess.

Well; again.

No.

Come, my lord.

This is too heavy, let me see another.

You mock me, sir.

Come, one for me.

I am satisfied in nature,
Whose motive, in this case, should stir me most
To my revenge: but in my terms of honour
I stand aloof; and will no reconcilement,
Till by some elder masters, of known honour,
I have a voice and precedent of peace,
To keep my name ...

The devil take thy soul!

O, treble woe
Fall ten times treble on that cursed head,
Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense
Deprived thee of! Hold off the earth awhile,
Till I have caught her once more in mine arms:
Leaps into the grave
Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead,
Till ...

Lay her i' the earth:
And from her fair and unpolluted flesh
May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest,
A ministering angel shall my sister be,
When thou liest howling.

Must there no more be done?

What ceremony else?

What ceremony else?

Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia,
And therefore I forbid my tears: but yet
It is our trick; nature her custom holds,
Let shame say what it will: when these are gone,
The woman will be out. Adieu, my lord:
I have a speech of fire, that fain ...

Alas, then, she is drown'd?

Drown'd! O, where?

I will do't:
And, for that purpose, I'll anoint my sword.
I bought an unction of a mountebank,
So mortal that, but dip a knife in it,
Where it draws blood no cataplasm so rare,
Collected from all simples that have virtue
Under the moon, can save the ...

To cut his throat i' the church.

Why ask you this?

What out of this, my lord?

I know him well: he is the brooch indeed
And gem of all the nation.

Upon my life, Lamond.

A Norman was't?

What part is that, my lord?

My lord, I will be ruled;
The rather, if you could devise it so
That I might be the organ.

Ay, my lord;
So you will not o'errule me to a peace.

I'm lost in it, my lord. But let him come;
It warms the very sickness in my heart,
That I shall live and tell him to his teeth,
'Thus didest thou.'

Know you the hand?

And so have I a noble father lost;
A sister driven into desperate terms,
Whose worth, if praises may go back again,
Stood challenger on mount of all the age
For her perfections: but my revenge will come.

It well appears: but tell me
Why you proceeded not against these feats,
So crimeful and so capital in nature,
As by your safety, wisdom, all things else,
You mainly were stirr'd up.

Let this be so;
His means of death, his obscure funeral--
No trophy, sword, nor hatchment o'er his bones,
No noble rite nor formal ostentation--
Cry to be heard, as 'twere from heaven to earth,
That I must call't in question.

Do you see this, O God?

Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself,
She turns to favour and to prettiness.

A document in madness, thoughts and remembrance fitted.

This nothing's more than matter.

Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade revenge,
It could not move thus.

How now! what noise is that?
Re-enter OPHELIA
O heat, dry up my brains! tears seven times salt,
Burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye!
By heaven, thy madness shall be paid by weight,
Till our scale turn the beam. O rose of May!
Dear maid, kind sister ...

To his good friends thus wide I'll ope my arms;
And like the kind life-rendering pelican,
Repast them with my blood.

None but his enemies.

My will, not all the world:
And for my means, I'll husband them so well,
They shall go far with little.

How came he dead? I'll not be juggled with:
To hell, allegiance! vows, to the blackest devil!
Conscience and grace, to the profoundest pit!
I dare damnation. To this point I stand,
That both the worlds I give to negligence,
Let come what comes; only I'll be revenged ...

Where is my father?