“In sooth, I know not why I am so sad:It wearies me; you say it wearies you;But how I caught it, found it, or came by it,What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born,I am to learn;And such a want-wit sadness makes of me,That I have much ado to know myself.”

“Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I were but little happy, if I could say how much. Lady, as you are mine, I am yours: I give away myself foryou and dote upon the exchange.”

“I do not well understand that. Will you play upon this pipe?GUILDENSTERN: My lord, I cannot.HAMLET: I pray you.GUILDENSTERN: Believe me, I cannot.HAMLET: I do beseech you.GUILDENSTERN: I know no touch of it, my lord.HAMLET: It is as easy as lying. Govern these ventages with our fingers and thumb, give it breath with your mouth, and it will discourse most eloquent music. Look you, these are the stops.GUILDENSTERN: But these cannot I command to any utterance of harmony. I have not the skill.HAMLET: Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me! You would play upon me, you would seem to know my stops, you would pluck out the heart of my mystery, you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass, and there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ, yet cannot you make it speak. 'Sblood, do you think I am easier to be played on than a pipe? Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me.”

“Presume not that I am the thing I was;For God doth know, so shall the world perceive,That I have turn'd away my former self;So will I those that kept me company.”

“Thus play I in one person many people, And none contented: sometimes am I king; Then treasons make me wish myself a beggar, And so I am: then crushing penury Persuades me I was better when a king; Then am I king'd again: and by and by Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke, And straight am nothing: but whate'er I be, Nor I nor any man that but man is With nothing shall be pleased, till he be eased With being nothing.”

“I yet beseech your majesty,--If for I want that glib and oily art,To speak and purpose not; since what I well intend,I'll do't before I speak,--that you make knownIt is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness,No unchaste action, or dishonour'd step,That hath deprived me of your grace and favour;But even for want of that for which I am richer,A still-soliciting eye, and such a tongueAs I am glad I have not, though not to have itHath lost me in your liking.”

“I pray you, do not fall in love with me, for I am falser than vows made in wine.”