Oh royal knavery! an exact command, / Larded with many several sorts of reasons, / Importing Denmark’s health, and England’s too, / With ho! such bugs and goblins in my life, / That on the supervise, no leisure bated, / No, not to stay the grinding of the axe, / My head should be struck off.

It is here, Hamlet. Hamlet, thou art slain. / No medicine in the world can do thee good. / In thee there is not half an hour of life; / The treacherous instrument is in thy hand, / Unbated and envenom’d.

Let four captains / Bear Hamlet like a soldier to the stage, / For he was likely, had he been put on, / To have prov’d most royally; and for his passage, / The soldiers’ music and the rites of war / Speak loudly for him.

Since no man has aught of what he leaves, what is't to leave betimes?

I am sorry that with better heed and judgement / I had not quoted him. I fear'd he did but trifle, / And meant to wreck thee.

Marry, this is miching mallecho; it means mischief.

It was a brute part of him to kill so capital a calf there.

Has this fellow no feeling of his business, that he sings at grave-making?

O villany! Ho! Let the door be lock’d: / Treachery! Seek it out.

A hit, a very palpable hit.