Hamlet: Entire Play - 16 views
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The graves stood tenantless and the sheeted dead
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Chloe Horsfall on 17 Oct 13The theme of Death is noticed throughout the whole play
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immortal
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skull,
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O, that this too too solid flesh would melt Thaw and resolve itself into a dew! Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd
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How strange or odd soe'er I bear myself, As I perchance hereafter shall think meet To put an antic disposition on,
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He will stay till ye come.
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Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
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To be, or not to be: that is the question:
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Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
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O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I!
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'Swounds, I should take it: for it cannot be But I am pigeon-liver'd and lack gall To make oppression bitter, or ere this I should have fatted all the region kites With this slave's offal: bloody, bawdy villain! Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain! O, vengeance! Why, what an ass am I!
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Bernardo?
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HAMLET
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That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature
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To die: to sleep; No more; and by a sleep to say we end The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep; To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub
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For who would bear the whips and scorns of time
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But that the dread of something after death, The undiscover'd country from whose bourn No traveller returns, puzzles the will And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of?
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Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.
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Give thy thoughts no tongue, Nor any unproportioned thought his act. Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel; But do not dull thy palm with entertainment Of each new-hatch'd, unfledged comrade. Beware Of entrance to a quarrel, but being in, Bear't that the opposed may beware of thee. Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice; Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment. Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy; For the apparel oft proclaims the man, And they in France of the best rank and station Are of a most select and generous chief in that. Neither a borrower nor a lender be; For loan oft loses both itself and friend, And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. This above all: to thine ownself be true, And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man. Farewell: my blessing season this in thee!
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Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit, And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, I will be brief: your noble son is mad:
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In heaven; send hither to see: if your messenger find him not there, seek him i' the other place yourself. But indeed, if you find him not within this month, you shall nose him as you go up the stairs into the lobby.
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There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will,--
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[Aside] A little more than kin, and less than kind
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We heard it all. My lord, do as you please; But, if you hold it fit, after the play Let his queen mother all alone entreat him To show his grief: let her be round with him; And I'll be placed, so please you, in the ear Of all their conference. If she find him not, To England send him, or confine him where Your wisdom best shall think
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I mean, my head upon your lap?
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country matters
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I think nothing, my lord
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You are naught, you are naught: I'll mark the play.
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Hamlet, this deed, for thine e
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How can that be, unless she drowned herself in her own defence?
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HORATIO
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Now might I do it pat, now he is praying; And now I'll do't. And so he goes to heaven; And so am I revenged. That would be scann'd: A villain kills my father; and for that,
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To have proved most royally
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What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! in form and moving how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the world! the paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? man delights not me: no, nor woman neither, though by your smiling you seem to say so.
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HORATIO
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Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother