| Self depricate | Yet I, A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause, And can say nothing! No, not for a king, Upon whose property and most dear life A damn’d defeat was made. Am I a coward? Who calls me villain? breaks my pate across? Plucks off my beard and blows it in my face? “Tweaks me by th’ nose? gives me the lie i’ th’ throat As deep as to the lungs? Who does me this, ha? |
| I should be braver to avenge my father. I need to be. | Swounds, I should take it! for it cannot be But I am pigeon-liver’d and lack gall To make oppression bitter, or ere this I should have fatted all the region kites With this slave’s offal. Bloody bawdy villain! Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain! O, vengeance! |
| Beat self. I hate myself. I could be different. | Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave, That I, the son of a dear father murther’d, Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell, Must (like a *****) unpack my heart with words And fall a-cursing like a very drab, A scullion! Fie upon’t! foh! About, my brain! |
| Discover. | Hum, I have heard That guilty creatures, sitting at a play, Have by the very cunning of the scene Been struck so to the soul that presently They have proclaim’d their malefactions; For murther, though it have no tongue, will speak With most miraculous organ, I’ll have these Players Play something like the murther of my father Before mine uncle. I’ll observe his looks; I’ll tent him to the quick. If he but blench, I know my course. |
| Settle it. | The spirit that I have seen May be a devil; and the devil hath power T’ assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhaps Out of my weakness and my melancholy, As he is very potent with such spirits, Abuses me to damn me. I’ll have grounds More relative than this. The play’s the thing Wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the King |
Hamlet
September 7, 2019