Hamlet Page #3

Fear it, Ophelia.

Fear it, my dear sister.

Keep you in the rear

of your affection,

out of shot and danger of desire.

Best safety lies in fear.

Youth to itself rebels,

though none else near.

I shall the effect of

this good lesson keep,

as watchman to my heart.

But good my brother do not,

as some ungracious pastors do,

show me the steep and thorny

way to heaven

while like a puffed

and reckless libertine

himself the primrose path

of dalliance treads...

and recks not his own creed.

Fear me not.

I stay too long.

A double blessing

is a double grace.

Occasin smiles upon a second leave.

Yet here, Laertes?

Aboard, aboard for shame.

The wind sits in the shoulder

of your sail, and you stayed for?

My blessing with thee.

And these few precepts,

in thy memory look thou character.

Give thy thoughts no tongue,

nor unproportioned thought his act.

Be thou familiar,

but by no means vulgar.

Those friends thou hast,

and their adoption tried,

grapple them to thy soul

with hoops of steel.

But do not dull thy palm

with entertainment of each

new-hatched, unpledged comrade.

Beware of entrance to a quarrel,

but being in it,

bear it that the opposed

may beware of thee.

Give every man thy ear,

but few thy voice.

Take each man's censure,

but reserve thy judgement.

Costly thy habit

as thy purse can buy,

but not expressed in fancy.

Rich, not gaudy.

For the apparel

oft proclaims the man.

Neither a borrower

nor a lender be,

for loan oft loses

both itself and friend.

This above all,

to thine own self be true,

and it must follow,

as the night the day,

thou canst not be false to any man.

I humbly take my leave, my lord.

The time invites you. Go.

Farewell, Ophelia.

Remember well what I said to you.

Angels and ministers of grace

defend us!

Be thou a spirit of health

or goblin damned,

bring with thee airs of heaven

or blasts from hell,

thou com'st in such questionable

shape that I'll speak to thee.

Mark me.

I will.

My hour is almost come

when I to sulphurous and tormenting

flames must render up myself.

Alas, poor ghost.

Pity me not.

But lend thy serious hearing

to what I shall unfold.

Speak. I am bound to hear.

I am thy father's spirit,

doomed for a term to walk the night

and by day to fast in fires till

the foul crimes done in my days

of nature of are burnt and purged.

But that I am forbid to tell

the secrets of my prison house,

I could a tale unfold whose

lightest word would harrow thy soul,

freeze thy young blood,

make thy two eyes like stars

start from their spheres,

thy knotted and combined locks

to part,

and each to stand on end

like upon the fretful porcupine.

But this eternal blazon must not

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