The cease of majesty / Dies not alone; but like a gulf doth draw / What’s near it with it.

See what a grace was seated on this brow, / Hyperion’s curls, the front of Jove himself, / An eye like Mars, to threaten and command, / A station like the herald Mercury / New lighted on a heaven-kissing hill

O'er whom his very madness, like some ore / Among a mineral of metals base, / Shows itself pure. He weeps for what is done.

And, like the kind life-rendering pelican, / Repast them with my blood.

The ocean, overpeering of his list, / Eats not the flats with more impetuous haste / Than young Laertes, in a riotous head, / O’erbears your offices.

the great love the general gender bear him, / Who, dipping all his faults in their affection, / Would like the spring that turneth wood to stone, / Convert his gyves to graces;

I’ll be your foil, Laertes; in mine ignorance / Your skill shall like a star i’ th’ darkest night, / Stick fiery off indeed.