Shakespeare's Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark (Google eBook)

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Harper & Brothers, 1879
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Page 129 - Rightly to be great Is not to stir without great argument, But greatly to find quarrel in a straw When honour's at the stake.
Page 91 - Tears in his eyes, distraction in 's aspect, A broken voice, and his whole function suiting With forms to his conceit? and all for nothing! For Hecuba! What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, That he should weep for her! What would he do, Had he the motive and the cue for passion That I have?
Page 117 - 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...
Page 119 - Ecstasy ! My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time, And makes as healthful music : it is not madness That I have utter'd : bring me to the test, And I the matter will re-word ; which madness Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace, Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, That not your trespass, but my madness speaks : It will but skin and film the ulcerous place, Whilst rank corruption, mining all within, Infects unseen.
Page 110 - Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me ! You would play upon me ; you would seem to know my stops ; you would pluck out the heart of my mystery ; you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass : and there is much music, excellent voice in this little organ ; yet cannot you make it speak. Why ! do you think I am easier to be played on than a pipe ? Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me.
Page 50 - Nor the dejected haviour of the visage, Together with all forms, moods, shows of grief, That can denote me truly : these, indeed, seem, For they are actions that a man might play ; But I have that within, which passeth show, These but the trappings and the suits of woe.
Page 62 - What may this mean, That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon, : . Making night hideous ; and we fools of nature So horridly to shake our disposition With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls ? Say, why is this ? wherefore ? what should we do ? [Ghost beckons Hamlet.
Page 47 - It faded on the crowing of the cock. Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, The bird of dawning singeth all night long...
Page 152 - There is a willow grows aslant a brook, That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream ; There with fantastic garlands did she come Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples, That liberal shepherds give a grosser name, But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them...
Page 91 - O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I ! Is it not monstrous, that this player here, But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, Could force his soul so to his own conceit...

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