1 A mote it is to trouble the mind's eye.
2 Tomorrow shall I beg leave to see your kingly eyes.
3 Look, where he has not turn'd his colour, and has tears in's eyes.
4 Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off, And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark.
5 Before my God, I might not this believe Without the sensible and true avouch Of mine own eyes.
6 If that his Majesty would aught with us, We shall express our duty in his eye; And let him know so.
7 Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul, And there I see such black and grained spots As will not leave their tinct.
8 Give him heedful note; For I mine eyes will rivet to his face; And after we will both our judgments join In censure of his seeming.
9 Roasted in wrath and fire, And thus o'ersized with coagulate gore, With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus Old grandsire Priam seeks.
10 Therefore I have entreated him along With us to watch the minutes of this night, That if again this apparition come He may approve our eyes and speak to it.
11 That done, he lets me go, And with his head over his shoulder turn'd He seem'd to find his way without his eyes, For out o doors he went without their help, And to the last bended their light on me.
12 For your intent In going back to school in Wittenberg, It is most retrograde to our desire: And we beseech you bend you to remain Here in the cheer and comfort of our eye, Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son.
13 For the satirical slave says here that old men have grey beards; that their faces are wrinkled; their eyes purging thick amber and plum-tree gum; and that they have a plentiful lack of wit, together with most weak hams.
14 Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, Nor customary suits of solemn black, Nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath, No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, Nor the dejected haviour of the visage, Together with all forms, moods, shows of grief, That can denote me truly.
15 See what a grace was seated on this brow, Hyperion's curls, the front of Jove himself, An eye like Mars, to threaten and command, A station like the herald Mercury New lighted on a heaven-kissing hill: A combination and a form indeed, Where every god did seem to set his seal, To give the world assurance of a man.
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 Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen, Th'imperial jointress to this warlike state, Have we, as 'twere with a defeated joy, With one auspicious and one dropping eye, With mirth in funeral, and with dirge in marriage, In equal scale weighing delight and dole, Taken to wife; nor have we herein barr'd Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone With this affair along.'
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