Murder most foul, as in the best it is;
But this most foul, strange and unnatural.
Haste me to know't, that I, with wings as swift
As meditation or the thoughts of love,
May sweep to my
I find thee apt;
And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed
That roots itself in ease on Lethe wharf,
thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear:
'Tis given out that, sleeping in my orchard,
A serpent stung me; so
the whole ear of Denmark
Is by a forged process of my death
Rankly abused: but know, thou noble youth,
serpent that did sting thy father's life
Now wears his crown.
O my prophetic soul! My uncle!
Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast,
With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts,
O wicked wit and
gifts, that have the power
So to seduce!won to his shameful lust
The will of my most seeming-virtuous
O Hamlet, what a falling-off was there!
From me, whose love was of that dignity
That it went hand
in hand even with the vow
I made to her in marriage, and to decline
Upon a wretch whose natural gifts
To those of mine!
But virtue, as it never will be moved,
Though lewdness court it in a shape of
So lust, though to a radiant angel link'd,
Will sate itself in a celestial bed,
And prey on garbage.
soft! methinks I scent the morning air;
Brief let me be. Sleeping within my orchard,
My custom always of
Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole,
With juice of cursed hebenon in a vial,
And in the
porches of my ears did pour
The leperous distilment; whose effect
Holds such an enmity with blood of
That swift as quicksilver it courses through
The natural gates and alleys of the body,
And with a sudden
vigour doth posset
And curd, like eager droppings into milk,
The thin and wholesome blood: so did it mine;
a most instant tetter bark'd about,
Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust,
All my smooth body.
was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand
Of life, of crown, of queen, at once dispatch'd:
Cut off even in the
blossoms of my sin,
Unhousel'd, disappointed, unanel'd,
No reckoning made, but sent to my account
all my imperfections on my head:
O, horrible! O, horrible! most horrible!
If thou hast nature in thee, bear
Let not the royal bed of Denmark be
A couch for luxury and damned incest.
But, howsoever thou
pursuest this act,
Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive
Against thy mother aught: leave her to heaven
to those thorns that in her bosom lodge,
To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once!
shows the matin to be near,
And 'gins to pale his uneffectual fire:
Adieu, adieu! Hamlet, remember me.
O all you host of heaven! O earth! what else?
And shall I couple hell? O, fie! Hold, hold, my heart;
you, my sinews, grow not instant old,
But bear me stiffly up. Remember thee!
Ay, thou poor ghost, while
memory holds a seat
In this distracted globe. Remember thee!
Yea, from the table of my memory
away all trivial fond records,
All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past,
That youth and observation
And thy commandment all alone shall live
Within the book and volume of my brain,
with baser matter: yes, by heaven!
O most pernicious woman!
O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain!