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Hamlet - Continued.

Act ii. Sc. 2.

The play 's the thing, Wberein I'll catch the conscience of the king.

Act iii. Sc. 1. To be, or not to be ? that is the question:Whether 't is nobler in the mind, to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And, by opposing, end them? — To die — to sleep —

and, by a sleep, to say we end The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to ;- 't is a consummation Deroutly to be wished. To die; - to sleep; To sleep! perchance, to dream :- -ay, there's the rub; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,

No more ;

Must give us pause.

The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely.

The spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes ;
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin. Who would fardels bear,
To
grunt

and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death
The undiscovered country, from whose bourne
No traveller returns

puzzles the will, And makes us

bear those ills we have, Than fly to others that we know not of?

Hamlet - Continued.

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought.

Nymph, in thy orisons Be all my sins remembered.

Act iii. Sc. 1. Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny.

Act iii. Sc. 1.

The glass of fashion, and the mould of form,
The observed of all observers !

Act iii. Sc. 1.
Now see that noble and most sovereign reason,
Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh.

Act iii. Sc. 2. Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand thus.

Tear a passion to tatters.

Act iii. Sc. 2. It out-herods Herod.

Act iii. Sc. 2. Suit the action to the word, the word to the action.

Act iii. Sc. 2.
To hold, as 't were, the mirror up to nature.

Hamlet - Continued.

Act iii. Sc. 2. I have thought some of nature's journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abominably.

Act iii. Sc. 2.
No, let the candid tongue lick absurd pomp ;
And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee,
Where thrift may follow fawning.

Act iii. Sc. 2.

Give me that man
That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him
In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of hearts,
As I do thee.

Act iii. Sc. 2.
Something too much of this.

Act üïi. Sc. 2. Here's metal more attractive.

Act iii. Sc. 2.
The lady doth protest too much, methinks.

Act iii. Sc. 2.
Let the galled jade wince, our withers are unwrung.

Act iii. Sc. 2.

Why, let the strucken deer go weep,

The hart ungalled play ;
For some must watch, while some must sleep;

Thus runs the world away.

Hamlet -- Continued.

Act iii. Sc. 2.
It will discourse most eloquent music

Act iii. Sc. 2.

Very like a whale.

Act iii. Sc. 2.

They fool me to the

top
of
my

bent.

Act iii. Sc. 2.
'Tis now the very witching time of night,
When churchyards yawn, and hell itself breathes out
Contagion to this world.

Act iii. Sc. 3.
O my offence is rank, it smells to heaven.

Act iii. Sc. 4.
Look here, upon this picture, and on this;
The counterfeit presentment of two brothers.
See what a grace was seated on this brow!
Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself;
An

eye like Mars, to threaten and command.

A combination, and a form, indeed,
Where every god did seem to set his seal,
To give the world assurance of a man.

Act iii. Sc. 4.

A king Of shreds and patches.

Act iii. Sc. 4. This is the very coinage of your brain.

Hamlet - Continued.

Act iii. Sc. 4.

Lay not that flattering unction to your soul.

Act iii. Sc. 4. Assume a virtue, if you have it not.

Act iïi. Sc. 4.
For 't is the sport, to have the engineer
Hoist with his own petar.

Act iv. Sc. 4. Looking before, and after.

Act iv. Sc. 5.
When sorrows come, they come not single spies,
But in battalions !

Act iv. Sc. 5.
There's such divinity doth hedge a king,
That treason can but peep to what it would.

Act v. Sc. 1. How absolute the knave is ! we must speak by the card or equivocation will undo us.

Act v. Sc. 1. Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio : a fellow of infinite jest; of most excellent fancy.

Act v. Sc. 1. Where be your gibes now? your gambols ? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar ?

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