« PreviousContinue »
Sure, he, that made us with such large discourse*,
SORROWS RARELY SINGLE.
O Gertrude, Gertrude, * Power of comprehension.
of Grow mouldy.
When sorrows come, they come not single spies, But in battalions!
THE DIVINITY OF KINGS.
Let him go, Gertrude; do not fear our person; There's such divinity doth hedge a king, That treason can but peep to what it would, Acts little of his will.
DESCRIPTION OF OPHELIA'S DEATH. Queen. There is a willow grows ascaunt the brook, That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream; Therewith fantastic garlands did she make Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples", That liberalt shepherds give a grosser name, But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them: There on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke; When down her weedy trophies, and herself, Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide; And, mermaid-like, a while they bore her up; Which time, she chanted snatches of old tunes; As one incapable of her own distress, Or, like a creature native and indu'd Unto that element: but long it could not be, Till that her garments, heavy with their drink, Pulld the poor wretch from her melodious lay To muddy death.
ACT V. HAMLET'S REFLECTIONS ON YORICK'S SCULL. Grave-digger. A pestilence on him for a mad rogue! he poured a flagon of Rhenish on my head Orchis morio mas.
+ Licentious. Insensible.
This same scull, sir, was Yorick's scull, the king's jester. Ham. This?
[Takes the Scull. Grave-digger. E'en that. Ham. Alas!
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. 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.
Where be your
Lay her i' the earth ;And from her fair and unpolluted flesh, May violets spring!—I tell thee, churlish priest, A ministering angel shall my sister be, When thou liest howling.
This is mere madness:
PROVIDENCE DIRECTS OUR ACTIONS. And that should teach us,
* Countenance, complexion. + Hatched.
There's a divinity that shapes our ends,
Give me the
cups; And let the kettle to the trumpet speak, The trumpet to the cannoneer without, The cannons to the heavens, the heaven to earth, Now the king drinks to Hamlet.
What is it that you would impart to me?
CONTEMPT OF CASSIUS FOR CÆSAR.
I was born free as Cæsar; so were you:
The torrent roar'd; and we did baffet it
Bru. Another general shout!
Cas. Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow Like a Colossus: and we petty men world Walk under his huge legs, and peep about To find ourselves dishonourable graves. Men at some time are masters of their fates : The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, But in ourselves, that we are underlings.
* Temperament, constitution.