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- Now you must admit that I'm innocent, and accept me for a friend, since you've heard and been convinced that the man who killed your father was actually trying to kill me
- For two reasons, the queen loves and devotes to him. She is so closely connected to my life and soul. The commoners over look all his faults.
- Why you didn't take legal action?
- Break not your sleeps for that. You shrtly shall hear more.
- I lost my noble father, and my sister has been driven crazy. I'll get my revenge.
- "High and mighty, you shall now I am set naked on your kingdom. Tomorrow, shall I beg leave to see your kingly eyes, when I shall, first asking your pardon thereunto, recount the occasion of my sudden and more strange return." Hamlet
- What should this mean? Are all the rest come back? Or is it some abuse, and no such thing?
- If he be now returned, As checking at his voyage, and that he means No more to undertake it, I will work him To an exploit , now ripe in my devise, Under the which he shall not choose but fall. And for his death no wind of blame shall breathe, But even his mother shall uncharge the pracrice And call it accident.
- The rather if you could devise it so That I might be the organ
- Let him come. It warms my sick heart to say "you did this".
- He (Lamond) made confession of you, And gave you such a masterly report For art and exercise in your defense.
- Was father dear to you? Or are you like the painting of a sorrow, A face without a heart?What you would undertake to show yourself in deed you father's son More than in words?
- To cut his throat i' th' church
- Will you do this, keep close within your chamber. Hamlet returned shall know you are come home. We'll put on those shall praise your excellence And set a double varnish on the fame The Frenchman gave you, bring you in fine together And wager on your hands.
- With ease, Or with a little shuffling, you may choose A sword unbated, and in a pass of practice Requite him for your father.
- I will do't. And for that purpose I'll anoint my sword. I bought an unction of a mountebank, So mortal that, but dip a knife in it, Where it draws blood no cataplasm so rare, can save the thin
- Your sister 's drowned, Lertes.
- There is a willow grows aslant a brook That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream. Of crowflowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples,That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,But our cold maids do “dead men’s fingers” call them.
- Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia,And therefore I forbid my tears.
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