Part IV, Chapter 21: "The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark," Act 5

What, art a heathen? How dost thou understand the Scripture?

I like thy wit well in good faith, the gallows does well, but how does it well? It does well to those that do ill. Now thou dost ill to say the gallows is built stronger than the church.

This might be the pate of a politician, which this ass now o'erreaches; one that would circumvent God, might it not?

Will his vouchers vouch him no more of his purchases, and double ones too, than the length and breadth of a pair of indentures?

How absolute the knave is, we must speak by the card, or equivocation will undo us.

A pestilence on him for a mad rogue, a' poured a flagon of Rhenish on my head once; this same skull sir, was sir, Yorick's skull, the king's jester.

Alas poor Yorick, I knew him Horatio, a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy, he hath borne me on his back a thousand times: and now how abhorred in my imagination it is: my gorge rises at it.

Where be your gibes now? your gambols, your songs, your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar?

Alexander died, Alexander was buried, Alexander returneth to dust, the dust is earth, of earth we make loam, and why of that loam whereto he was converted, might they not stop a beer-barrel?

Who is this they follow?
And with such maiméd rites? This doth betoken
The corse they follow did with desp'rate hand
Fordo it own life

We should profane the service of the dead,
To sing sage requiem and such rest to her
As to peace-parted souls.

I tell thee churlish priest,
A minist'ring angel shall my sister be,
When thou liest howling.

Pluck them asunder.

An earnest conjuration from the king,
As England was his faithful tributary,
As love between them like the palm might flourish,
As peace should still her wheaten garland wear
And stand a comma 'tween their amities

An earnest conjuration from the king,
As England was his faithful tributary,
As love between them like the palm might flourish,
As peace should still her wheaten garland wear
And stand a comma 'tween their amities

Why man, they did make love to this employment,
They are not near my conscience, their defeat
Does by their own insinuation grow

But yet methinks it is very sultry and hot for my complexion.

...but in the verity of extolment, I take him to be a soul of great article...

...but in the verity of extolment, I take him to be a soul of great article...

Your lordship speaks most infallibly of him.

I mean sir for his weapon, but in the imputation laid on him by them in his meed, he's unfellowed.

The king sir, hath wagered with him six Barbary horses, against which he has impawned, as I take it, six French rapiers and poniards...

I knew you must be edified by the margent ere you had done.

The phrase would be more germane to the matter, if we could carry cannon by our sides: I would it might be hangers till then...

A' did comply sir, with his dug before a' sucked it: thus has he—and many more of the same bevy that I know the drossy age dotes on—only got the tune of the time, and out of an habit of encounter, a kind of yeasty collection, which carries them through and through the most fond and winnowed opinions; and do but blow them to their trial, and bubbles are out.

A' did comply sir, with his dug before a' sucked it: thus has he—and many more of the same bevy that I know the drossy age dotes on—only got the tune of the time, and out of an habit of encounter, a kind of yeasty collection, which carries them through and through the most fond and winnowed opinions; and do but blow them to their trial, and bubbles are out.

A' did comply sir, with his dug before a' sucked it: thus has he—and many more of the same bevy that I know the drossy age dotes on—only got the tune of the time, and out of an habit of encounter, a kind of yeasty collection, which carries them through and through the most fond and winnowed opinions; and do but blow them to their trial, and bubbles are out.

Not a whit, we defy augury; there is a special providence in the fall of a sparrow.

Set me the stoups of wine upon that table:
If Hamlet give the first or second hit,
Or quit in answer of the third exchange,
Let all the battlements their ordnance fire.

A hit, a very palpable hit.

The queen carouses to thy fortune, Hamlet.

If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart,
Absént thee from felicity awhile,
And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain
To tell my story.

This quarry cries on havoc. O proud death,
What feast is toward in thine eternal cell,
That thou so many princes at a shot
So bloodily hast struck?

And let me speak to th'yet unknowing world
How these things came about; so shall you hear
Of carnal, bloody and unnatural acts

And in this upshot, purposes mistook,
Fall'n on th'inventors' heads: all this can I
Truly deliver.