Hamlet Act 3 Scene 4

Line 1 Mother mother mother
I’ll warrant you. Fear me not. Withdraw, I hear him coming. Now mother, what’s the matter?
Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended. Mother, you have my father much offended.
Come, come, you answer me with an idle tongue. Go, go you question with a wicked tongue.
Why, how now Hamlet? What’s the matter now?
Have you forgot me? No, by the rood, not so, you are the queen, your husband’s brother’s wife, and would it were not so, you are my mother.
Nay, I’ll set those to you that can speak 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.
What wilt thou do? Thou wilt not murder me? Help, help, ho!P: What, ho? help, help, help How, now a rat? Dead for a ducat, dead!
O, me what hast thou done? Nay, I know not. Is it the king?
Oh, what a rash and bloody deed is this! A bloody deed? Almost as bad good mother, as kill a king and marry with his brother.
As kill a king? Ay, lady, ’twas my word. Thou wretched, rash and intruding fool, farewell. I took thee for thy better. Peace. sit you. and let me wring your heart.
What have I done, that thou darest wag thy tongue in noise so rude against me Such an act that blurs the modesty, calls virtue hypocrite, takes off the rose from the fair forehead of an innocent love and sets a blister there, makes marriage vows, as false as dicers oaths!
Ay me, what act that roars so loud and thunders in the index? Here is your husband, like a mildewed ear blasting his wholesome brother. You cannot call it love, for at your age the heydey in the blood is tame, it’s humble, and wait upon the judgement.
O, Hamlet, speak no more! Thou turnst mine eyes into my very soul, and there I see such black and grained spots as will not leave their tinct. Nay, but to live in the rank of an enseamed bed, stewed in corruption, honeying, and making love over the nasty sty-
O, speak to me no more! These words are like daggers enter in my ears. No more, sweet Hamlet. A murderer and a villain, a slave that is not the twentieth part the tithe of your precedent lord, a vice of kings, a cutpurse of the empire and the rule, that from a shelf the precious diadem stole, and put it in his pocket-

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