1 But this eternal blazon must not be To ears of flesh and blood.
2 Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing To what I shall unfold.
3 There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave To tell us this.
4 The dram of evil Doth all the noble substance often doubt To his own scandal.
5 It beckons you to go away with it, As if it some impartment did desire To you alone.
6 As I do live, my honour'd lord, 'tis true; And we did think it writ down in our duty To let you know of it.'
7 I would not hear your enemy say so; Nor shall you do my ear that violence, To make it truster of your own report Against yourself.
8 Then weigh what loss your honour may sustain If with too credent ear you list his songs, Or lose your heart, or your chaste treasure open To his unmaster'd importunity.
9 But howsoever thou pursu'st this act, Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive Against thy mother aught; leave her to heaven, And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge, To prick and sting her.
10 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 were poor To those of mine.
11 I have heard The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn, Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat Awake the god of day; and at his warning, Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air, Th'extravagant and erring spirit hies To his confine.
12 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.
13 Dread my lord, Your leave and favour to return to France, From whence though willingly I came to Denmark To show my duty in your coronation; Yet now I must confess, that duty done, My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France, And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon.
14 Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death The memory be green, and that it us befitted To bear our hearts in grief, and our whole kingdom To be contracted in one brow of woe; Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature That we with wisest sorrow think on him, Together with remembrance of ourselves.
15 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.
16 My lord, as I was sewing in my chamber, Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbrac'd, No hat upon his head, his stockings foul'd, Ungart'red, and down-gyved to his ankle, Pale as his shirt, his knees knocking each other, And with a look so piteous in purport As if he had been loosed out of hell To speak of horrors, he comes before me.
17 Now follows, that you know young Fortinbras, Holding a weak supposal of our worth, Or thinking by our late dear brother's death Our state to be disjoint and out of frame, Colleagued with this dream of his advantage, He hath not fail'd to pester us with message, Importing the surrender of those lands Lost by his father, with all bonds of law, To our most valiant brother.
Your search result possibly is over 17 sentences. If you upgrade to a VIP account, you will see up to 500 sentences for one search.