1 No medicine in the world can do thee good.
2 None, my lord, but that the world's grown honest.
3 Ay sir, to be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand.
4 I do not know from what part of the world I should be greeted, if not from Lord Hamlet.
5 O, that that earth which kept the world in awe Should patch a wall t'expel the winter's flaw.
6 Tis now the very witching time of night, When churchyards yawn, and hell itself breathes out Contagion to this world.
7 Why, let the strucken deer go weep, The hart ungalled play; For some must watch, while some must sleep, So runs the world away.
8 And the more pity that great folk should have countenance in this world to drown or hang themselves more than their even Christian.
9 To this point I stand, That both the worlds, I give to negligence, Let come what comes; only I'll be reveng'd Most throughly for my father.
10 If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart, Absent thee from felicity awhile, And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain, To tell my story.
11 The best actors in the world, either for tragedy, comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral-comical, historical-pastoral, tragical-historical, tragical-comical-historical-pastoral, scene individable, or poem unlimited.
12 But since, so jump upon this bloody question, You from the Polack wars, and you from England Are here arriv'd, give order that these bodies High on a stage be placed to the view, And let me speak to th yet unknowing world How these things came about.
13 We pray you throw to earth This unprevailing woe, and think of us As of a father; for let the world take note You are the most immediate to our throne, And with no less nobility of love Than that which dearest father bears his son Do I impart toward you.
14 Full thirty times hath Phoebus' cart gone round Neptune's salt wash and Tellus' orbed ground, And thirty dozen moons with borrow'd sheen About the world have times twelve thirties been, Since love our hearts, and Hymen did our hands Unite commutual in most sacred bands.
15 Come, Gertrude, we'll call up our wisest friends, And let them know both what we mean to do And what's untimely done, so haply slander, Whose whisper o'er the world's diameter, As level as the cannon to his blank, Transports his poison'd shot, may miss our name, And hit the woundless air.
16 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: A combination and a form indeed, Where every god did seem to set his seal, To give the world assurance of a man.