for there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so:
do'st thou
Guildensterne? Oh, Rosincrane; good Lads: How doe ye
both?
Rosin. As the indifferent Children of the earth
to expostulate
What Maiestie should be, what Dutie is,
Why day is day; night, night; and time is time,
Were nothing but to waste Night, Day, and Time.
There are more things in Heauen and Earth, Horatio,
Then are dream't of in our Philosophy.
Ham. Let me see. Alas poore Yorick, I knew him Horatio, a fellow of infinite Iest; of most excellent fancy, he hath borne me on his backe a thousand times: And how abhorred my Imagination is, my gorge rises at it. Heere hung those lipps, that I haue kist I know not how oft. Where be your Iibes now? Your Gambals? Your Songs? Your flashes of Merriment that were wont to set the Table on a Rore? No one now to mock your own Ieering? Quite chopfalne? Now get you to my Ladies Chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thicke, to this fauour she must come. Make her laugh at that: prythee Horatio tell me one thing
Be wary then, best safety lies in feare;
A Violet in the youth of Primy Nature;
Froward, not permanent; sweet not lasting
The suppliance of a minute? No more
He was a man, take him for all in all:
encrease of Appetite had growne
By what is fed on
A little more then kin, and lesse then kinde
