1 It is not madness That I have utter'd.
2 Go to, I'll no more on't, it hath made me mad.
3 A document in madness, thoughts and remembrance fitted.
4 Mad as the sea and wind, when both contend Which is the mightier.
5 I like him not, nor stands it safe with us To let his madness range.
6 By heaven, thy madness shall be paid by weight, Till our scale turn the beam.
7 Bring me to the test, And I the matter will re-word; which madness Would gambol from.
8 If't be so, Hamlet is of the faction that is wrong'd; His madness is poor Hamlet's enemy.
9 Why, because he was mad; he shall recover his wits there; or if he do not, it's no great matter there.
10 What I have done That might your nature, honour, and exception Roughly awake, I here proclaim was madness.
11 Mother, for love of grace, Lay not that flattering unction to your soul That not your trespass, but my madness speaks.
12 To draw apart the body he hath kill'd, O'er whom his very madness, like some ore Among a mineral of metals base, Shows itself pure.
13 Friends both, go join you with some further aid: Hamlet in madness hath Polonius slain, And from his mother's closet hath he dragg'd him.
14 Nor do we find him forward to be sounded, But with a crafty madness keeps aloof When we would bring him on to some confession Of his true state.
15 This is mere madness: And thus awhile the fit will work on him; Anon, as patient as the female dove, When that her golden couplets are disclos'd, His silence will sit drooping.
16 Not this, by no means, that I bid you do: 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 paddling 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.
17 Not this, by no means, that I bid you do: 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 paddling 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.
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