I took thee for thy better; take thy fortune: Leave wringing of your hands: Peace; sit you down, And let me wring your heart: for so I shall, If it be made of penetrable stuff; If damned custom have not braz'd it so, That it be proof and bulwark against sense. Queen. What have I done, that thou dar'st wag thy tongue In noise so rude against me? Such an act, Ham. A rhapsody of words: Heaven's face doth glow; With tristful visage, as against the doom, Queen. Ah me, what act, That roars so loud, and thunders in the index? Ham. Look here, upon this picture, and on this; A station like the herald Mercury $5, This was your husband.-Look you now, what follows: Here is your husband; like a mildew'd ear, The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble, And waits upon the judgement; And what judge ment Would step from this to this? Sense, sure, you have, Else, could you not have motion: But, sure, that sense Is apoplex'd: for madness would not err; Nor sense to ecstasy was ne'er so thrall'd, But it reserv'd some quantity of choice, To serve in such a difference. What devil was't, O shame! where is thy blush? Rebellious hell, And melt in her own fire: proclaim no shame, And reason panders will. Queen. O Hamlet, speak no more: Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul: Ham. Nay, but to live In the rank sweat of an enseamed bed 87; Stew'd in corruption; honeying, and making love Over the nasty stye; Queen. These words like daggers enter in mine ears; Ham. O, speak to me no more; A murderer, and a villain: A slave, that is not twentieth part the tythe Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings, You heavenly guards!-What would your gracious figure? Queen. Alas, he's mad. Ham. Do you not come your tardy son to chide, That, laps'd in time and passion, lets go by Ghost. Do not forget: This visitation Ham. How is it with you, lady? Queen. Alas, how is't with you? That you do bend your eye on vacancy, And with the incorporal air do hold discourse? Ham. On him! on him!-Look you, how pale he glares! His form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to stones, Will want true colour; tears, perchance, for blood. Ham. Hum. Nor did you nothing hear? Queen. No, nothing, but ourselves. Ham. Why, look you there! look, how it steals away! My father, in his habit as he liv'd! Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal! [Exit Ghost. Queen. This is the very coinage of your brain: This bodiless creation ecstasy Is very cunning in. Ham. Ecstasy! 90 My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time, Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg; Yea, curb 91 and woo, for leave to do him good. Queen. O Hamlet! thou hast cleft my heart in twain. |