Prince Hamlet Shakespeare's work act ii scene ii

PRINCE HAMLET 

Now I am alone. O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I! Is it not monstrous that this player here, But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, Could force his soul so to his own conceit. That from her working all the visage wann’d, Tears in his eyes, distraction in his aspect, A broken voice, an’ his whole function suiting. With forms to his conceit? And all for nothing, For Hecuba! What’s Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, That he should weep for her? What would he do. Had he the motive and the cue for passion. That I have? He would drown the stage with tears, And cleave the general ear with horrid speech, Make mad the guilty, and appall the free, Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed. The very faculties of eyes and ears. 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 the nose, gives me the lie i’ th’ throat. As deep as to the lungs? Who does me this? Hah, ’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 ’a’ fatted all the region kites. With this slave’s offal. This is most brave, That I, the son of a dear father murdered, Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell, Must like a whore unpack my heart with words, And fall a-cursing like a very drab, A stallion. Fie upon’t, foh! About, my brains! 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 murder, though it have no tongue, will speak. With most miraculous organ. I’ll have these players. Play something like the murder of my father. Before mine uncle. I’ll observe his looks, I’ll tent him to the quick. If ’a do blench, I know my course. The spirit that I have seen. May be a dev’l, and the dev’l hath power. Out of my weakness and my melancholy

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