The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble, Nor sense to ecstasy was ne'er so thrall'd, But it reserved some quantity of choice, To serve in such a difference. What devil was't, O shame! where is thy blush? Rebellious hell, And melt in her own fire: proclaim no shame, Queen. O Hamlet, speak no more: Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul; Enter Ghost. Ham. Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings, You heavenly guards!-What would your gracious figure. Queen. Alas! he's mad. Ham. Do you not come your tardy son to chide, That, lapsed in time and passion, lets go by The important acting of your dread command ? Ꮶ Ghost. Do not forget: this visitation Ham. How is it with you, lady? Queen. Alas! how is't with you? That you do bend your eye on vacancy, And with the incorporeal air do hold discourse? Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep; And, as the sleeping soldiers in the alarm, * Imagination. Your bedded hair, like life in excrements,* Ham. On him! On him! Look you, how pale he His form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to stones, My stern effects: then what I have to do Will want true colour; tears, perchance, for blood. Ham. Do you see nothing there? Queen. Nothing at all; yet all that is I see. Queen. No, nothing, but ourselves. Ham. Why look you there! look, how it steals away! My father, in his habit as he lived! Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal! [Exit Ghost. Queen. This is the very coinage of your brain: My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time, * The hair of animals is excrementitious; that is, without life or sensation. + Intelligent. + Actions. Frenzy. Infects unseen. Confess yourself to Heaven; Yea, curb and woo, for leave to do him good. Queen. O Hamlet! thou hast cleft my heart in twain. Ham. Then throw away the worser part of it, And live the purer with the other half. That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat, To the next abstinence: the next more easy: [Pointing to Polonius. I do repent: but Heaven hath pleased it so Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind. SORROWS RARELY SINGLE. O Gertrude, Gertrude, When sorrows come, they come not single spies, THE DIVINITY OF KINGS. Let him go, Gertrude; do not fear our person; That treason can but peep to what it would, DESCRIPTION OF OPHELIA'S DEATH. Queen. There is a willow grows ascaunt the brook, That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream; Therewith fantastic garlands did she make Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples, Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide; Or like a creature native and indued Unto that element; but long it could not be, OPHELIA'S INTERMENT. Lay her i' the earth ; And from her fair and unpolluted flesh, * Licentious. + Insensible. |