Vulgar words in Hamlet (Page 1)
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Angels and ministers of grace defend us!-- Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn'd, Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell, Be thy intents wicked or charitable, Thou com'st in such a questionable shape That I will speak to thee: I'll call thee Hamlet, King, father, royal Dane; O, answer me!
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Yet I, A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak, Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause, And can say nothing; no, not for a king Upon whose property and most dear life A damn'd defeat was made.
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Why, what an ass am I!
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This is most brave, That I, the son of a dear father murder'd, Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell, Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words And fall a-cursing like a very drab, A scullion!
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The spirit that I have seen May be the devil: and the devil hath power To assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhaps Out of my weakness and my melancholy,-- As he is very potent with such spirits,-- Abuses me to damn me: I'll have grounds More relative than this.--the play's the thing Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king.
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Up, sword, and know thou a more horrid hent: When he is drunk asleep; or in his rage; Or in the incestuous pleasure of his bed; At gaming, swearing; or about some act That has no relish of salvation in't;-- Then trip him, that his heels may kick at heaven; And that his soul may be as damn'd and black As hell, whereto it goes.
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Nay, but to live In the rank sweat of an enseamed bed, Stew'd in corruption, honeying and making love Over the nasty sty,-- Queen.
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Not this, by no means, that I bid you do: Let the bloat king tempt you again to bed; Pinch wanton on your cheek; call you his mouse; And let him, for a pair of reechy kisses, Or paddling in your neck with his damn'd fingers, Make you to ravel all this matter out, That I essentially am not in madness, But mad in craft.
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That drop of blood that's calm proclaims me bastard; Cries cuckold to my father; brands the harlot Even here, between the chaste unsmirched brow Of my true mother.
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Cudgel thy brains no more about it, for your dull ass will not mend his pace with beating; and when you are asked this question next, say 'a grave-maker;' the houses he makes last till doomsday.
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This might be the pate of a politician, which this ass now o'erreaches; one that would circumvent God, might it not?
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Why, man, they did make love to this employment; They are not near my conscience; their defeat Does by their own insinuation grow: 'Tis dangerous when the baser nature comes Between the pass and fell incensed points Of mighty opposites.
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and is't not to be damn'd To let this canker of our nature come In further evil?