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Nor sense to ecstasy* was ne'er so thrallid,
O Hamlet, speak no more :
into And there I see such black and grained spots, As will not leave their tinct. ||
Enter Ghost. Hamlet. Save me, and hover o’er me with your
wings, You heavenly guards ! — What would your gracious
figure? QUEEN. Alas, he's mad. HAMLET. 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 ? O, say!
Ghost. Do not forget : this visitation Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose. * Frenzy.
+ Blindman's-buff. I Without. s Could not be so absurd.
|| Tinge, hue.
my very soul;
But, look ! amazement on thy mother sits :
How is it with
you, lady? QUEEN. Alas, how is’t with you? That
you do bend your eye on vacancy,
look ? HAMLET. On him ! On him! Look you, how
pale he glares !
Queen. To whom do you speak this ?
No, nothing, but ourselves. 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. QUEEN. This is the very coinage of your brain :
+ Would make them comprehend.
This bodiless creation ecstasy
Confess yourself to heaven;
revenge! what is a man If his chief good, and market* of his time, Be but to sleep and feed ? a beast, no more. Sure, he that made us with such large discourse, t Looking before and after, gave us not That capability and god-like reason To fustI in us unused. Now, whether it be Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple Of thinking too precisely on the event A thought which quarter'd hath but one part wisdom And, ever, three parts coward,—I do not know I live to
“ This thing's to do ;' Sith I have cause, and will, and strength, and means To do't. Examples gross as earth exhort me. * Profit. + Capacity.
Sorrows rarely single.
The Divinity of Kings.
Act V. Hamlet's Reflections on Yorick's Skull. GRAVE-DIGGER. A pestilence on him for a mad rogue ! he poured a flagon of. Rhenish on my head
This same skull, Sir, was Yorick's skull, the king's jester.
HAMLET. This ?
Yorick !-I knew him, Horatio ; a fellow of infinite jest; of most excellent fancy; he hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is ! my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now ? your gambols ? your songs ? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar ? Not one now to mock your own grinning : quite chap-fallen? Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour* she must come ; make her laugh at that.
May violets spring !- I tell thee, churlish priest,
Providence directs our Actions.
Brutus and Cassius, noble Romans, envious of the popularity of Cæsar, conspire with Casca, Decius, and others to assassinate him. Cæsar is warned by his wife Calphurnia and a soothsayer against attending the Capitol; he however disregards their admonitions, and is killed by the conspirators at the foot of Pompey's statue. In the commotion which ensues Brutus harangues the citizens, and wins them over to his side, but Mark Antony (called in the play Marcus Antonius), who is a strong adherent of Cæsar's, afterwards addresses the populace, and excites in them a desire to avenge the death of Cæsar. Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus, march with an army against Brutus and Cassius, who have fled from Rome and await with their forces the attack of Antony and his confederates. A quarrel ensues between Brutus and Cassius in the tent of the former, prior to the battle which is to decide their
their differences, however, are soon healed, and they meet the hostile army at Philippi where they are defeated, and, rather than fall into the hands of their foes, kill themselves. Portia, the