1 But break my heart, for I must hold my tongue.
2 But this eternal blazon must not be To ears of flesh and blood.
3 But to persevere In obstinate condolement is a course Of impious stubbornness.
4 But look, the morn in russet mantle clad, Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastward hill.
5 And, sister, as the winds give benefit And convoy is assistant, do not sleep, But let me hear from you.
6 But even then the morning cock crew loud, And at the sound it shrunk in haste away, And vanish'd from our sight.
7 In what particular thought to work I know not; But in the gross and scope of my opinion, This bodes some strange eruption to our state.
8 My lord, I did; But answer made it none: yet once methought It lifted up it head, and did address Itself to motion, like as it would speak.
9 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.
10 Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them unto thy soul with hoops of steel; But do not dull thy palm with entertainment Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade.
11 In few, Ophelia, Do not believe his vows; for they are brokers, Not of that dye which their investments show, But mere implorators of unholy suits, Breathing like sanctified and pious bawds, The better to beguile.
12 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.
13 But good my brother, Do not as some ungracious pastors do, Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven; Whilst like a puff'd and reckless libertine Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads, And recks not his own rede.
14 Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet, To give these mourning duties to your father; But you must know, your father lost a father, That father lost, lost his, and the survivor bound In filial obligation, for some term To do obsequious sorrow.
15 Madam, come; This gentle and unforc'd accord of Hamlet Sits smiling to my heart; in grace whereof, No jocund health that Denmark drinks today But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell, And the King's rouse the heaven shall bruit again, Re-speaking earthly thunder.
16 But that I am forbid To tell the secrets of my prison-house, I could a tale unfold whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul; freeze thy young blood, Make thy two eyes like stars start from their spheres, Thy knotted and combined locks to part, And each particular hair to stand on end Like quills upon the fretful porcupine.
17 Now, sir, young Fortinbras, Of unimproved mettle, hot and full, Hath in the skirts of Norway, here and there, Shark'd up a list of lawless resolutes, For food and diet, to some enterprise That hath a stomach in't; which is no other, As it doth well appear unto our state, But to recover of us by strong hand And terms compulsatory, those foresaid lands So by his father lost.
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