1 Laertes, I must commune with your grief, Or you deny me right.
2 But sure the bravery of his grief did put me Into a tow'ring passion.
3 O, this is the poison of deep grief; it springs All from her father's death.
4 The violence of either grief or joy Their own enactures with themselves destroy.
5 But yet do I believe The origin and commencement of his grief Sprung from neglected love.
6 Where joy most revels, grief doth most lament; Grief joys, joy grieves, on slender accident.
7 This must be known, which, being kept close, might move More grief to hide than hate to utter love.
8 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.'
9 My lord, do as you please, But if you hold it fit, after the play, Let his queen mother all alone entreat him To show his grief, let her be round with him, And I'll be plac'd, so please you, in the ear Of all their conference.
10 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.
11 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.