All of Shakespeare’s plays.
No, no, the drink, the drink,--O my dear Hamlet,--
The drink, the drink! I am poison'd.
Come, let me wipe thy face.
I will, my lord; I pray you, pardon me.
He's fat, and scant of breath.
Here, Hamlet, take my napkin, rub thy brows;
The queen carouses to thy fortune, Hamlet.
This is mere madness:
And thus awhile the fit will work on him;
Anon, as patient as the female dove,
When that her golden couplets are disclosed,
His silence will sit drooping.
For love of God, forbear him.
O my son, what theme?
Sweets to the sweet: farewell!
I hoped thou shouldst have been my Hamlet's wife;
I thought thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid,
And not have strew'd thy grave.
There is a willow grows aslant a brook,
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream;
There with fantastic garlands did she come
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,
But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them:
One woe doth tread upon another's heel,
So fast they follow; your sister's drown'd, Laertes.
But not by him.
Calmly, good Laertes.
How cheerfully on the false trail they cry!
O, this is counter, you false Danish dogs!
Alack, what noise is this?
Alas, look here, my lord.
Nay, but, Ophelia,--
Alas, sweet lady, what imports this song?
How now, Ophelia!
Let her come in.
To my sick soul, as sin's true nature is,
Each toy seems prologue to some great amiss:
So full of artless jealousy is guilt,
It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.
What would she have?
I will not speak with her.
To draw apart the body he hath kill'd:
O'er whom his very madness, like some ore
Among a mineral of metals base,
Shows itself pure; he weeps for what is done.
Mad as the sea and wind, when both contend
Which is the mightier: in his lawless fit,
Behind the arras hearing something stir,
Whips out his rapier, cries, 'A rat, a rat!'
And, in this brainish apprehension, kills
The unseen good old man.
Bestow this place on us a little while.
Exeunt ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN
Ah, my good lord, what have I seen to-night!
I had forgot: 'tis so concluded on.
Be thou assured, if words be made of breath,
And breath of life, I have no life to breathe
What thou hast said to me.
What shall I do?
O Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart in twain.
This the very coinage of your brain:
This bodiless creation ecstasy
Is very cunning in.
No, nothing but ourselves.
Nothing at all; yet all that is I see.
To whom do you speak this?
Alas, how is't with you,
That you do bend your eye on vacancy
And with the incorporal air do hold discourse?
Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep;
And, as the sleeping soldiers in the alarm,
Your bedded hair, like life in excrements,
Starts up, and stands on ...
Alas, he's mad!
O, speak to me no more;
These words, like daggers, enter in mine ears;
No more, sweet Hamlet!
O Hamlet, speak no more:
Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul;
And there I see such black and grained spots
As will not leave their tinct.
Ay me, what act,
That roars so loud, and thunders in the index?
What have I done, that thou darest wag thy tongue
In noise so rude against me?
As kill a king!
O, what a rash and bloody deed is this!
O me, what hast thou done?
What wilt thou do? thou wilt not murder me?
Help, help, ho!
Nay, then, I'll set those to you that can speak.
Have you forgot me?
Why, how now, Hamlet!
Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue.
Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended.
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