1 I will bestow him, and will answer well The death I gave him.
2 O, this is the poison of deep grief; it springs All from her father's death.
3 I doubt it is no other but the main, His father's death and our o'erhasty marriage.
4 After your death you were better have a bad epitaph than their ill report while you live.
5 One scene of it comes near the circumstance Which I have told thee, of my father's death.
6 O my dear Gertrude, this, Like to a murdering piece, in many places Gives me superfluous death.
7 Let the King have the letters I have sent, and repair thou to me with as much haste as thou wouldst fly death.
8 What it should be, More than his father's death, that thus hath put him So much from th'understanding of himself, I cannot dream of.
9 That I am guiltless of your father's death, And am most sensibly in grief for it, It shall as level to your judgment 'pear As day does to your eye.'
10 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.
11 I bought an unction of a mountebank So mortal that, but dip a knife in it, Where it draws blood no cataplasm so rare, Collected from all simples that have virtue Under the moon, can save the thing from death This is but scratch'd withal.
12 First, her father slain; Next, your son gone; and he most violent author Of his own just remove; the people muddied, Thick and and unwholesome in their thoughts and whispers For good Polonius' death; and we have done but greenly In hugger-mugger to inter him.
13 Examples gross as earth exhort me, Witness this army of such mass and charge, Led by a delicate and tender prince, Whose spirit, with divine ambition puff'd, Makes mouths at the invisible event, Exposing what is mortal and unsure To all that fortune, death, and danger dare, Even for an eggshell.
14 If he be now return'd, As checking at his voyage, and that he means No more to undertake it, I will work him To exploit, now ripe in my device, Under the which he shall not choose but fall; And for his death no wind shall breathe, But even his mother shall uncharge the practice And call it accident.
15 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.
16 Last, and as much containing as all these, Her brother is in secret come from France, Feeds on his wonder, keeps himself in clouds, And wants not buzzers to infect his ear With pestilent speeches of his father's death, Wherein necessity, of matter beggar'd, Will nothing stick our person to arraign In ear and ear.
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.
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