1 Thou art a scholar; speak to it, Horatio.
2 Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.
3 Thou still hast been the father of good news.
4 So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear.
5 Thou dost lie in't, to be in't and say it is thine.
6 And these few precepts in thy memory Look thou character.
7 Take thy fortune, Thou find'st to be too busy is some danger.
8 Horatio, I am dead, Thou liv'st; report me and my cause aright To the unsatisfied.
9 Thou know'st 'tis common, all that lives must die, Passing through nature to eternity.'
10 Now, the next day Was our sea-fight, and what to this was sequent Thou know'st already.
11 Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul, And there I see such black and grained spots As will not leave their tinct.
12 This above all: to thine own self be true; And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man.
13 I find thee apt; And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed That rots itself in ease on Lethe wharf, Wouldst thou not stir in this.
14 As thou art to thyself: Such was the very armour he had on When he th'ambitious Norway combated; So frown'd he once, when in an angry parle He smote the sledded Polacks on the ice.
15 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.
16 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 abus'd; but know, thou noble youth, The serpent that did sting thy father's life Now wears his crown.
17 Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, and time agreeing, Confederate season, else no creature seeing; Thou mixture rank, of midnight weeds collected, With Hecate's ban thrice blasted, thrice infected, Thy natural magic and dire property On wholesome life usurp immediately.
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