’Tis too much prov’d, that with devotion’s visage / And pious action we do sugar o’er / The devil himself.

Let me be cruel, not unnatural. / I will speak daggers to her, but use none; / My tongue and soul in this be hypocrites.

Marry, how? Tropically. This play is the image of a murder done in Vienna.

I prithee, when thou see’st that act a-foot, / Even with the very comment of thy soul / Observe mine uncle. If his occulted guilt / Do not itself unkennel in one speech, / It is a damned ghost that we have seen;

Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me.

O good Horatio, I'll take the ghost's word for a thousand pound. Didst perceive?

May one be pardon’d and retain th’offence? / In the corrupted currents of this world / Offence’s gilded hand may shove by justice, / And oft ’tis seen the wicked prize itself / Buys out the law.

You are the Queen, your husband’s brother’s wife, / And, would it were not so. You are my mother.

Come, come, and sit you down, you shall not budge. / You go not till I set you up a glass / Where you may see the inmost part of you.

Assume a virtue, if you have it not.