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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 11, 2014 21:09:29 GMT
HAMLET How is it with you, lady?
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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 11, 2014 21:09:43 GMT
QUEEN GERTRUDE 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 end. O gentle son, Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look?
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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 11, 2014 21:10:01 GMT
HAMLET On him, on him! Look you, how pale he glares! His form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to stones, Would make them capable. Do not look upon me; Lest with this piteous action you convert My stern effects: then what I have to do Will want true colour; tears perchance for blood.
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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 11, 2014 21:10:32 GMT
QUEEN GERTRUDE To whom do you speak this?
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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 11, 2014 21:11:08 GMT
HAMLET Do you see nothing there?
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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 11, 2014 21:11:20 GMT
QUEEN GERTRUDE Nothing at all; yet all that is I see.
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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 11, 2014 21:11:31 GMT
HAMLET Nor did you nothing hear?
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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 11, 2014 21:11:44 GMT
QUEEN GERTRUDE No, nothing but ourselves.
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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 11, 2014 21:11:56 GMT
HAMLET 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
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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 11, 2014 21:12:08 GMT
QUEEN GERTRUDE This the very coinage of your brain: This bodiless creation ecstasy Is very cunning in.
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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 11, 2014 21:12:19 GMT
HAMLET Ecstasy! 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. Mother, for love of grace, Lay not that mattering unction to your soul, That not your trespass, but my madness speaks: It will but skin and film the ulcerous place, Whilst rank corruption, mining all within, Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven; Repent what's past; avoid what is to come; And do not spread the compost on the weeds, To make them ranker. Forgive me this my virtue; For in the fatness of these pursy times Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg, Yea, curb and woo for leave to do him good.
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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 11, 2014 21:12:38 GMT
QUEEN GERTRUDE O Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart in twain.
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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 11, 2014 21:12:52 GMT
HAMLET O, throw away the worser part of it, And live the purer with the other half. Good night: but go not to mine uncle's bed; Assume a virtue, if you have it not. That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat, Of habits devil, is angel yet in this, That to the use of actions fair and good He likewise gives a frock or livery, That aptly is put on. Refrain to-night, And that shall lend a kind of easiness To the next abstinence: the next more easy; For use almost can change the stamp of nature, And either [ ] the devil, or throw him out With wondrous potency. Once more, good night: And when you are desirous to be bless'd, I'll blessing beg of you. For this same lord,
Pointing to POLONIUS
I do repent: but heaven hath pleased it so, To punish me with this and this with me, That I must be their scourge and minister. I will bestow him, and will answer well The death I gave him. So, again, good night. I must be cruel, only to be kind: Thus bad begins and worse remains behind. One word more, good lady.
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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 11, 2014 21:13:05 GMT
QUEEN GERTRUDE What shall I do?
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Post by Jonny Fairplay on Dec 11, 2014 21:13:16 GMT
HAMLET Not this, by no means, that I bid you do: Let the bloat king tempt you again to bed; Pinch wanton on your cheek; call you his mouse; And let him, for a pair of reechy kisses, Or paddling in your neck with his damn'd fingers, Make you to ravel all this matter out, That I essentially am not in madness, But mad in craft. 'Twere good you let him know; For who, that's but a queen, fair, sober, wise, Would from a paddock, from a bat, a gib, Such dear concernings hide? who would do so? No, in despite of sense and secrecy, Unpeg the basket on the house's top. Let the birds fly, and, like the famous ape, To try conclusions, in the basket creep, And break your own neck down.
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