1 O step between her and her fighting soul.
2 Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet.
3 Follow her close; give her good watch, I pray you.
4 He takes her up, and declines his head upon her neck.
5 She desires to speak with you in her closet ere you go to bed.
6 The chariest maid is prodigal enough If she unmask her beauty to the moon.
7 O, this is the poison of deep grief; it springs All from her father's death.
8 Then thus she says: your behaviour hath struck her into amazement and admiration.
9 I will speak daggers to her, but use none; My tongue and soul in this be hypocrites.
10 The Poisoner with some three or four Mutes, comes in again, seeming to lament with her.
11 And then I precepts gave her, That she should lock herself from his resort, Admit no messengers, receive no tokens.
12 If he love her not, And be not from his reason fall'n thereon, Let me be no assistant for a state, But keep a farm and carters.
13 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.
14 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.
15 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.
16 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.
17 Her speech is nothing, Yet the unshaped use of it doth move The hearers to collection; they aim at it, And botch the words up fit to their own thoughts, Which, as her winks, and nods, and gestures yield them, Indeed would make one think there might be thought, Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily.
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