O, that this too too solid flesh would melt Thaw and resolve itself into a dew! Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! God! How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable, Seem to me all the uses of this world!
How strange or odd some'er I bear myself (As I perchance hereafter shall think meet To put an antic disposition on)
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.
He knew me not at first; he said I was a fishmonger: he is far gone, far gone: and truly in my youth I suffered much extremity for love; very near this.
I am but mad north-north-west: when the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw.
Mad as the sea and wind when both contend Which is the mightier. In his lawless fit, Behind the arras hearing something stir, Whips out his rapier, cries 'A rat, a rat,' And in this brainish apprehension, kills The unseen good old man.