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- No more!
- A murderer and a villain,A slave that is not twentieth part the titheOf your precedent lord, a vice of kings,A cutpurse of the empire and the rule,That from a shelf the precious diadem stoleAnd put it in his pocket ...
- Alas, he's mad!
- A king of shreds and patches ...me with your wings,You heavenly guards! What would you, gracious figure?
- Do not forget. This visitationIs but to whet thy almost blunted purpose.But look. Amazement on thy mother sits.Oh, step between her and her fighting soul!Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works.Speak to her, Hamlet.
- Oh gentle son,Upon the heat and flame of thy distemperSprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look?
- How is it with you, lady?
- To whom do you speak this?
- On him, on him! Look you how pale he glares! His form and cause conjoined, preaching to stones, Would make them capable
- Oh, Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart in twain
- My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time,And makes as healthful music. It is not madnessThat I have uttered. Bring me to the test,And I the matter will reword, which madnessWould gambol from
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