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No, my good lord. But as you did command I did repel his fetters and denied His access to me.
That hath made him mad. I am sorry that with better heed and judgment I had not quoted him. I feared he did but trifle And meant to wreck thee. But beshrew my jealousy!
I will be brief: your noble son is mad. Mad call I it, for, to define true madness, What is 't but to be nothing else but mad? Mad let us grant him then. And now remains That we find out the cause of this effect, Or rather say, the cause of this defect, For this effect defective comes by cause.
The spirit that I have seen May be the devil, and the devil hath power T' assume a pleasing shape. Yea, and perhaps Out of my weakness and my melancholy, As he is very potent with such spirits, Abuses me to damn me.
To be, or not to be? That is the question-- Whether 'tis 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?
Give me some light, away!
How fares my lord?
He poisons him i' th' garden for 's estate. His name's Gonzago. The story is extant, and writ in choice Italian. You shall see anon how the murderer gets the love of Gonzago's wife.
Give o'er the play
A villain kills my father, and, for that, I, his sole son, do this same villain send To heaven. Oh, this is hire and salary, not revenge. He took my father grossly, full of bread, With all his crimes broad blown, as flush as May. And how his audit stands who knows save heaven?
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