You cannot, sir, take from me anything that I will more willingly part withal, except my life, except my life, except my life.

O, what a noble mind is here o’erthrown! / The courtier’s, soldier’s, scholar’s, eye, tongue, sword, / Th’expectancy and rose of the fair state, / The glass of fashion and the mould of form, / Th’observ’d of all observers, quite, quite down!

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, / The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely, / The pangs of dispriz’d love, the law’s delay, / The insolence of office, and the spurns / That patient merit of the unworthy takes, / When he himself might his quietus make / With a bare bodkin?

To hell, allegiance! Vows, to the blackest devil! Conscience and grace, to the profoundest pit! I dare damnation.

That we would do, / We should do when we would; for this ‘would’ changes, / And hath abatements and delays as many / As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents;

Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar?

No, no, the drink, the drink! O my dear Hamlet! The drink, the drink! I am poison'd.

Does it not, thinks’t thee, stand me now upon,— / He that hath kill’d my king, and whor’d my mother, / Popp’d in between th’election and my hopes, / Thrown out his angle for my proper life, / And with such cozenage—is’t not perfect conscience / To quit him with this arm?

Was’t Hamlet wrong’d Laertes? Never Hamlet. / If Hamlet from himself be ta’en away, / And when he’s not himself does wrong Laertes, / Then Hamlet does it not, Hamlet denies it. / Who does it, then? His madness.

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?