Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself; This was your husband.-Look you now, what fol- · lows: Here is your husband; like a mildew'd ear, 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, To serve in such a difference. What devil was't, Could not so mope. O shame! where is thy blush? Rebellious hell, To flaming youth let virtue be as wax, And reason panders will. Queen. O Hamlet, speak no more: Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul; And there I see such black and grained spots, Ham. Nay, but to live In the rank sweat of an enseamed bed; 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 your precedent lord:-a vice of kings: A cutpurse of the empire and the rule; That from a shelf the precious diadem stole, Queen. No more. Enter Ghost. A king Ham. Of shreds and patches: 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, His form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to stones, me; Lest, with this piteous action, you convert Ham. Do you see nothing there? Queen. Nothing at all; yet all, that is, I see. Ham. 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! Queen. This is the very coinage of This bodiless creation ecstasy Is very cunning in. Ham. Ecstasy! [Exit Ghost. your brain: My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time, Yea, curb and woo, for leave to do him good. twain. Ham. O, throw away the worser part of it, And live the purer with the other half. That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat Of habit's devil, is angel yet in this; To the next abstinence: the next more easy: I'll blessing beg of you.-For this same lord, [Pointing to Polonius. I do repent; But heaven hath pleas'd it so,— Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind.- Queen. What shall I do? do: Ham. Not this, by no means, that I bid you Let the bloat king tempt you again to bed; Pinch wanton on your cheek; call you, his mouse; And let him, for a pair of reechy kisses, Or padling in your neck with his damn'd fingers, Make you to ravel all this matter out, That I essentially am not in madness, But mad in craft. "Twere good, you let him know: |