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action addressed affection already answer appearance approaching become calls cause character comes conduct conversation dead death disorder distraction doubt dreadful England excitement expression eyes father fear feeling feigning figure follows friends ghost give given grave grief Guildenstern Hamlet hear heard heart heaven Horatio imagination impression insane interview kind king king's Laertes language late leave less letters live look lord lost madness manner Marcellus marriage matter mental merely mind mother murder nature never night observation once Ophelia passed passion perhaps play players Polonius present prince queen question reason reflections remember reply resolve revenge Rosencrantz scarcely scene seems seen sent Shakspeare soliloquy sorrow soul speak speech spirit stage strange sweet talk tell thee things thou thoughts tion troubled true uncle uttered watch whole wild words
133. oldal - Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me ! You would play upon me ; you would seem to know my stops ; you would pluck out the heart of my mystery ; you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass : and there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ ; yet cannot you make it speak. 'Sblood, do you think I am easier to be played on than a pipe ? Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me.
38. oldal - What may this mean, That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon, Making night hideous; and we fools of nature So horridly to shake our disposition With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?
21. oldal - That it should come to this! But two months dead : nay, not so much, not two : So excellent a king; that was, to this, Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother That he might nqt beteem the winds of heaven Visit her face too roughly.
155. oldal - My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time, And makes as healthful music. It is not madness That I have utter'd : bring me to the test, And I the matter will re-word, which madness Would gambol from.
112. oldal - Get thee to a nunnery : why wouldst thou be a breeder of sinners ? I am myself indifferent honest : but yet I could accuse me of such things, that it were better my mother had not borne me...
114. oldal - I have heard of your paintings too, well enough; God hath given you one face, and you make yourselves another: you jig, you amble, and you lisp, and nickname God's creatures, and make your wantonness your ignorance.
61. oldal - 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.
113. oldal - I'll give thee this plague for thy dowry: Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny.