William Shakespeare

THE TRAGEDY OF HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK
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Scene IV. The Queen's closet.

Enter Queen and Polonius.

  Pol. He will come straight. Look you lay home to him.
    Tell him his pranks have been too broad to bear with,
    And that your Grace hath screen'd and stood between
    Much heat and him. I'll silence me even here.
    Pray you be round with him.
  Ham. (within) Mother, mother, mother!
  Queen. I'll warrant you; fear me not. Withdraw; I hear him
coming.
                              [Polonius hides behind the arras.]

Enter Hamlet.

  Ham. Now, mother, what's the matter?
  Queen. Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended.
  Ham. Mother, you have my father much offended.
  Queen. Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue.
  Ham. Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue.
  Queen. Why, how now, Hamlet?
  Ham. What's the matter now?
  Queen. Have you forgot me?
  Ham. No, by the rood, not so!
    You are the Queen, your husband's brother's wife,
    And (would it were not so!) you are my mother.
  Queen. Nay, then I'll set those to you that can speak.
  Ham. Come, come, and sit you down. You shall not budge;
    You go not till I set you up a glass
    Where you may see the inmost part of you.
  Queen. What wilt thou do? Thou wilt not murther me?
    Help, help, ho!
  Pol. [behind] What, ho! help, help, help!
  Ham. [draws] How now? a rat? Dead for a ducat, dead!
            [Makes a pass through the arras and] kills Polonius.
  Pol. [behind] O, I am slain!
  Queen. O me, what hast thou done?
  Ham. Nay, I know not. Is it the King?
  Queen. O, what a rash and bloody deed is this!
  Ham. A bloody deed- almost as bad, good mother,
    As kill a king, and marry with his brother.
  Queen. As kill a king?
  Ham. Ay, lady, it was my word.
                         [Lifts up the arras and sees Polonius.]
    Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell!
    I took thee for thy better. Take thy fortune.
    Thou find'st to be too busy is some danger.
    Leave wringing of your hands. Peace! sit you down
    And let me wring your heart; for so I shall
    If it be made of penetrable stuff;
    If damned custom have not braz'd it so
    That it is proof and bulwark against sense.
  Queen. What have I done that thou dar'st wag thy tongue
    In noise so rude against me?
  Ham. Such an act
    That blurs the grace and blush of modesty;
    Calls virtue hypocrite; takes off the rose
    From the fair forehead of an innocent love,
    And sets a blister there; makes marriage vows
    As false as dicers' oaths. O, such a deed
    As from the body of contraction plucks
    The very soul, and sweet religion makes
    A rhapsody of words! Heaven's face doth glow;
    Yea, this solidity and compound mass,
    With tristful visage, as against the doom,
    Is thought-sick at the act.
  Queen. Ah me, what act,
    That roars so loud and thunders in the index?
  Ham. (...)

(......)