1 Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet.
2 And these few precepts in thy memory Look thou character.
3 If thou dost marry, I'll give thee this plague for thy dowry.
4 Sleep rock thy brain, And never come mischance between us twain.
5 Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing To what I shall unfold.
6 Give thy thoughts no tongue, Nor any unproportion'd thought his act.
7 Do not for ever with thy vailed lids Seek for thy noble father in the dust.
8 Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off, And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark.
9 So think thou wilt no second husband wed, But die thy thoughts when thy first lord is dead.
10 Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice: Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.
11 I prythee, when thou see'st that act a-foot, Even with the very comment of thy soul Observe mine uncle.
12 Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them unto thy soul with hoops of steel; But do not dull thy palm with entertainment Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade.
13 I am thy father's spirit, Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night, And for the day confin'd to fast in fires, Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature Are burnt and purg'd away.
14 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.
15 Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy: For the apparel oft proclaims the man; And they in France of the best rank and station Are of a most select and generous chief in that.
16 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.
17 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.
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