Hamlet, Act 2, Scene 2. Polonius.
Modern version:
“You may wonder if the stars are fire, You may wonder if the sun moves across the sky. You may wonder if the truth is a liar, But never wonder if I love.”
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Music to hear, why hear’st thou mu… Sweets with sweets war not, joy de… Why lov’st thou that which thou re… Or else receiv’st with pleasure th… If the true concord of well-tunèd…
O me! what eyes hath love put in m… Which have no correspondence with… Or, if they have, where is my judg… That censures falsely what they se… If that be fair whereon my false e…
FROM off a hill whose concave wo… A plaintful story from a sistering… My spirits to attend this double v… And down I laid to list the sad-t… Ere long espied a fickle maid full…
Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid. Fly away, fly away, breath; I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with…
Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and caldron bubble. Fillet of a fenny snake, In the caldron boil and bake; Eye of newt and toe of frog,
The other two, slight air and purg… Are both with thee, wherever I ab… The first my thought, the other my… These present-absent with swift mo… For when these quicker elements ar…
Canst thou, O cruel, say I love t… When I against my self with thee… Do I not think on thee when I for… Am of my self, all tyrant, for thy… Who hateth thee that I do call my…
Since brass, nor stone, nor earth,… But sad mortality o’er—sways their… How with this rage shall beauty ho… Whose action is no stronger than a… O, how shall summer’s honey breath…
When thou shalt be disposed to set… And place my merit in the eye of s… Upon thy side against myself I’ll… And prove thee virtuous, though th… With mine own weakness being best…
Thine eyes I love, and they, as p… Knowing thy heart torment me with… Have put on black, and loving mour… Looking with pretty ruth upon my p… And truly not the morning sun of h…
Be wise as thou art cruel; do not… My tongue-tied patience with too m… Lest sorrow lend me words and word… The manner of my pity-wanting pain… If I might teach thee wit, better…
No more be grieved at that which t… Roses have thorns, and silver foun… Clouds and eclipses stain both moo… And loathsome canker lives in swee… All men make faults, and even I i…
Those parts of thee that the world… Want nothing that the thought of h… All tongues, the voice of souls, g… Utt’ring bare truth, even so as fo… Thy outward thus with outward prai…
Not from the stars do I my judgme… And yet methinks I have astronomy… But not to tell of good or evil lu… Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons… Nor can I fortune to brief minute…
Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more… Men were deceivers ever; One foot in sea, and one on shore, To one thing constant never. Then sigh not so,