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When sorrows come, they come not single spies,
But in battalions: first, her father slain;
Next, your read more
When sorrows come, they come not single spies,
But in battalions: first, her father slain;
Next, your son gone, and he most violent author
Of his own just remove; the people muddied,
Thick and unwholesome in their thoughts and whispers
For good Polonius' death, and we have done but greenly
In hugger-mugger to inter him; poor Ophelia
Divided from herself and her fair judgment,
Without the which we are pictures or mere beasts;
Last, and as much containing as all these,
Her brother is in secret come from France,
Feeds on his wonder, keeps himself in clouds,
And wants not buzzers to infect his ear
With pestilent speeches of his father's death,
Wherein necessity, of matter beggared,
Will nothing stick our person to arraign
In ear and ear.
Never less alone, than when alone.
Never less alone, than when alone.
Whom drink made wits, though nature made them fools.
Whom drink made wits, though nature made them fools.
It will please though ten times repeated.
It will please though ten times repeated.
If you are capable of submitting to insult you ought to be
insulted.
If you are capable of submitting to insult you ought to be
insulted.
There is an hour wherein a man might be happy all his life, could
he find it.
There is an hour wherein a man might be happy all his life, could
he find it.
It is success that colours all in life,
Success makes fools admir'd, makes villains honest.
It is success that colours all in life,
Success makes fools admir'd, makes villains honest.
