a psychological portrait by Rafael HAMLET a psychological portrait by Rafael

A Little more than kin and less than kind.

”Seems,”madam? Nay, it is. I know not “Seems.” These but the trappings and suits of woe.

Fie on ‘t, ah fie. ‘Tis an unweeded garden That grows to seed Fie on ‘t, ah fie! ‘Tis an unweeded garden That grows to seed. Things rank and gross in nature

My father’s spirit- in arms! All is not well.

So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word.

Have you a daughter?

One fair daughter, and no more, The which he loved passing well.

My excellent good friends! Guildenstern? Ah, Rosencrantz!

your secrecy to the King and Queen molt no feather.

The play’s the thing Wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the King.

‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer Or take arms against a sea troubles

End Them

To Die

To Sleep

in that sleep of death what dreams may come Must give us pause

Get thee to a nunnery

We are arrant knaves all

Speak the speech, I pray you

Now could I drink hot Blood And do such bitter business as the day Would quake to look on

When he is fit and seasoned for his passage? now I’ll do’t When he is fit and seasoned for his passage?

no

Mother, you have my father much offended.

Come, come, and sit you down see the inmost part of you

How now, a rat?

Thou wretched, rash intruding fool, farewell. I took thee for thy better.

Good sir, whose powers are these?

This is th’ impostume of much wealth and peace

That inward breaks and shows no cause without Why

THE MAN DIES

Whose grave’s this, sirrah?

Alas, poor Yorick!

Now get you to my lady’s chamber Make her laugh

What, the fair Ophelia?

I loved Ophelia.

I loved Ophelia. Forty thousand brothers Could not with all their quantity of love Make up my sum. What wilt thou do for her? I loved Ophelia. Forty thousand brothers Could not with all their quantity of love Make up my sum. What wilt thou do for her?

Not a whit. We defy augury

If it be now, ‘tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come. The readiness is all.

His madness is poor Hamlet’s enemy.

Come on, sir.

5

2

4

3

One

4

2

1

5

2

Come, for the third

5

3

1

How does the Queen?

O Villainy! Treachery! Seek it out

The point envenomed too! Then, venom, to thy work.

Here, thou incestuous, murd’rous, damned Dane,

Drink off this potion. Follow my mother.

I am dead, Horatio. Wretched queen, adieu