Hamlet: You cannot call it love, for at your age
The hey-day in the blood is tame, it’s humble,
And waits upon the judgment: and what judgment
Would step from this to this?
Ophelia: O, what a noble mind is here o’erthrown!
The courtier’s, soldier’s, scholar’s, eye, tongue, sword;
The expectancy and rose of the fair state,
The glass of fashion and the mould of form,
Th’ observed of all observers, quite, quite down!
King Claudius: The head is not more native to the heart,
The hand more instrumental to the mouth,
Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father.
What wouldst thou have, Laertes?
Osric: How is ’t, Laertes?
Laertes: Why, as a woodcock to mine own springe, Osric; I am justly kill’d with mine own treachery.
Polonius: Good madam, stay awhile; I will be faithful. [Reads.]
‘Doubt thou the stars are fire;
Doubt that the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar;
But never doubt I love.
‘O dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers;
I have not art to reckon my groans: but that
I love thee best, O most best, believe it. Adieu.
‘Thine evermore, most dear lady, whilst this machine is to him,
Hamlet: He does well to commend it himself; there are no tongues else for ’s turn.
Horatio: This lapwing runs aways with the shell on his head.
Laertes: Lay her i' th' 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.
First Clown [digs and sings]: In youth when I did love, did love,
Methought it was very sweet
To contract–o–the time, for–a–my behove,
Oh, methought, there–a–was nothing–a–meet.
King Claudius: Break not your sleeps for that: you must not think
That we are made of stuff so flat and dull
That we can let our beard be shook with danger
And think it pastime.
Hamlet: To die, to sleep. To sleep, perchance to dream - ay, there's the rub, for in this sleep of death what dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil.