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Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck,

Till thou applaud the deed.

Nay, speak thy mind; and let him ne'er speak more That speaks thy words again to do thee harm.

I pray you all,

If you have hitherto conceal'd this sight,
Let it be tenable in your silence still;
And whatsoever else shall hap to-night,
Give it an understanding, but no tongue.

Queen. What shall I do?


do :

Hamlet. Not this, by no means, that I bid
Lest the bloat king tempt you again to bed;
Pinch wanton on your cheek; call you, his mouse;
And let him, for a pair of reechy kisses,

Or paddling in your neck with his damn'd fingers,
Make you to ravel all this matter out.

Be thou assur'd, if words be made of breath,
And breath of life, I have no life to breathe
What thou hast said to me.

I well believe,

Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know;
And so far will I trust thee.


Ay, so you serve us,

Till we serve you: but when you have our roses, You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves, And mock us with our bareness.

Then weigh what loss your honour may sustain,
If with too credent ear you list his songs;
Or lose your heart; or your chaste treasure open



To his unmaster'd importunity.

Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister;
And keep you in the rear of your affection,
Out of the shot and danger of desire.


The shepherd's homely curds,

His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle,
His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade,
All which secure and sweetly he enjoys,
Is far beyond a prince's delicates,
His viands sparkling in a golden cup,
His body couched in a curious bed,

When care, mistrust, and treason wait on him.

Ah, what a life were this! how sweet, how lovely!
Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade
To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep,
Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy

To kings, that fear their subjects' treachery?
O, yes it doth; a thousand-fold it doth.

By my christendom !

So I were out of prison, and kept sheep,
I should be merry as the day is long.


The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne,
Burn'd on the water: the poop was beaten gold;

Purple the sails, and so perfum'd, that

The winds were love-sick with them: the oars were


Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made
The water, which they beat, to follow faster

As amorous of their strokes.

Suppose, that you have seen,

The well-appointed King at Hampton pier
Embark his royalty; and his brave fleet
With silken streamers the young Phoebus fanning,
Play with
your fancies; and in them behold,
Upon the hempen tackle, ship-boys climbing:
Hear the shrill whistle, which doth order give
To sounds confus'd: behold the threaden sails,
Borne with th' invisible and creeping wind,
Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow'd sea,
Breasting the lofty surge.

Do but think,

You stand upon the rivage, and behold
A city on th' inconstant billows dancing;
For so appears this fleet majestical,
Holding due course to Harfleur.

Your ships are not well mann'd:
Your mariners are muleteers, reapers, people
Ingross'd by swift impress.


I saw your brother,

Most provident in peril, bind himself

(Courage and hope both teaching him the practice)
To a strong mast, that liv'd upon the sea;
Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back,

I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves,
So long as I could see.

A rotten carcass of a boat, not rigg'd,
Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats
Instinctively had quit it: there they hoist us,
To cry to the sea that roar'd to us; to sigh
To the winds, whose pity, sighing back again,
Did us but loving wrong.



O, I have suffer'd

With those that I saw suffer! a brave vessel,
Who had no doubt some noble creature in her,
Dash'd all to pieces. O, the cry did knock
Against my very heart! Poor souls! they perish'd.


Silence is only commendable
In a neat's tongue dry'd, and a maid not vendible.

O, my Anthonio, I do know of these,

That therefore only are reputed wise,
For saying nothing.

The silence often of pure


Persuades, when speaking fails.


'Tis slander;

Whose edge is sharper than the sword; whose tongue
Out-venoms all the worms of Nile; whose breath
Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie
All corners of the world: kings, queens, and states,
Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave
This viperous slander enters.

No might nor greatness in mortality

Can censure 'scape; back-wounding calumny
The whitest virtue strikes: What king so strong,
Can tie the gall up in the slanderous tongue ?

For slander lives upon succession;
For ever housed, where it gets possession.

Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou
Shalt not escape calumny.

So viperous slander,

Whose whisper o'er the world's diameter,

As level as the cannon to his blank,

Transports his poison'd shot,-may miss our name, And hit the woundless air.

The best way is, to slander Valentine

With falsehood, cowardice, and poor descent;
Three things that women highly hold in hate.

I'll devise some honest slanders

To stain my cousin with: One doth not know,
How much an ill word may empoison liking.

I will be hang'd, if some eternal villain,
Some busy and insinuating rogue,

Some cogging cozening slave, to get some office,
Have not devis'd this slander.

What have I done, that thou dar'st wag thy tongue In noise so rude against me?

I see, the jewel, best enamelled,

Will lose his beauty; and though gold 'bides still,
That others touch, yet often touching will
Wear gold and no man, that hath a name,
But falsehood and corruption doth it shame.

She hath abated me of half

my train ;

Look'd black upon me; Struck me with her tongue, Most serpent-like upon the very heart.

Let me see wherein

My tongue hath wrong'd him if it do him right, Then he hath wrong'd himself; if he be free, Why then, my taxing like a wild goose flies, Unclaim'd of any man.

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