Identifier: completeworkssha03shak (find matches)
Title: The complete works of Shakespeare, from the original text: carefully collated and compared with the editions of Halliwell, Knight, and Colloer: with historical and critical introductions, and notes to each play; and a life of the great dramatist
Year: 1861 (1860s)
Authors: Shakespeare, William, 1564-1616 Knight, Charles, 1791-1873 Halliwell-Phillipps, J. O. (James Orchard), 1820-1889
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Publisher: New York : Johnson, Fry and company
Contributing Library: University of California Libraries
Digitizing Sponsor: Internet Archive

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een. Pol. Ophelia, walk you here :—Gracious, soplease you,We will bestow ourselves:—Read on this book ; (To Oiii.That show of such an exercise may colourYour loneliness.—We are oft to blame in this.—T is too much provd,—that, with devotions visage.And pious action, we do sugar oerThe devil himself. King. O, t is too true ! how smart A lash that speech doth give my conscience!The harlots cheek, beautied with plastring art,Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it.Than is my deed to my most painted word:0 heavy burden ! (Aside, Pol. I hear him coming; lets withdraw, mylord. (Exeunt King and Pol. Enter Hamlet. Ham. To be, or not to be, that is the ques tion:—Whether t is nobler in the mind, to sufferThe slings and arrows of outrageous fortune;Or to take arms against a sea of troubles.And, by opposing, end them ?—To die,— to sleep,—No more;—and, by a sleep, to say we endThe heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocksThat flesh is heir too,—t is a consummation ^;.^^
Text Appearing After Image:
uthirt du»tcz crJTTl < ACT in. HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENISIARK. SCENi: I. Devoutly to be wishd. To die;—to sleep;—To sleep perchance to dream;—ay, theres the rub;For in that sleep of death what dreams may come.When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,Must give us pause : There s the respect,That makes calamity of so long life :For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,The oppressors wrong, the proud mans con-tumely,Tlie pangs of despisd love, the laws delay,The insolence of office, and the spurnsThat patient merit of the unworthy takes,When he himself might his quietus makeWith a bare bodkin ? who would fardels bear.To grunt and sweat under a weary life;But that the dread of something after death,—The undiscoverd country, from whose bournNo traveller returns, puzzles the will;And makes us rather bear those ills we have,Than fly to others that we know not of?Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;And thus the native hue of resolutionIs sicklied oer with the pale ca

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