But soft! methinks I scent the morning air; Brief let me be Sleeping within mine orchard, My custom always in the afternoon. Act i. Sc. 5.

Unhouseled, disappointed, unaneled,

No reckoning made, but sent to my account
With all my imperfections on my head.

Act i. Sc. 5.

Leave her to heaven

And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge,
To prick and sting her.

Act i. Sc. 5.

The glow-worm shows the matin to be near,
And 'gins to pale his uneffectual fire. Act. i. Sc. 5.

While memory holds a seat

In this distracted globe. Remember thee?
Yea, from the table of my memory,
I'll wipe away all trivial, fond records.

Within the book and volume of my

Act i. Sc. 5.

brain.

Act i. Sc. 5.

My tables, my tables,— meet it is, I set it down,
That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain.
Act i. Sc. 5.

There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave,
To tell us this.
Act i. Sc. 5.

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

Act i. Sc. 5.

That he is mad, 't is true; 't is true, 't is pity;

Though this be madness, yet there 's method in it.

Act ii. Sc. 2.

On fortune's cap we are not the very button.

Act ii. Sc. 2.

This goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory; this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to me, than a foul

and pestilent congregation of vapors. What a piece of work is man! How noble in reason! how infinite in faculties ! in form and moving, how express and admirable! in action, how like an angel! in apprehension, how like a God!

Act ii. Sc. 2.

Man delights not me,— no, nor woman neither.

Act ii. Sc. 2.

I know a hawk from a hand-saw.

Act ii. Sc. 2.

Come, give us a taste of your quality.

Act ii. Sc. 2.

'T was caviare to the general.

Act ii. Sc. 2.

They are the abstracts and brief chronicles of the time.

Act ii. Sc. 2.

Use every man after his desert, and who should 'scape whipping.

Act ii. Sr. 2.

What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,

For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak

With most miraculous organ.

Act ii. Sc. 2.

With devotion's visage,

And pious action, we do sugar o'er

The devil himself.

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— No more ; — 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 Devoutly 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,

Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life:

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and 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 bourn
No traveller returns — puzzles the will;

And makes us rather bear those ills we have,
Than fly to others that we know not of?
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;
And enterprises of great pith and moment,
With this regard, their currents turn awry
And lose the name of action.

Nymph, in thy orisons

Be all my sins remembered.

Act iii. Sc. 1.

Act iii. Sc. 1.

Rich gifts wax poor, when givers prove unkind.

Act iii. Sc. 1.

Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny.

Act iii. Sc. 1.

O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown!

The courtier's, scholar's, soldier's eye, tongue,

sword.

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. 1.