Page:Hamlet - The Arden Shakespeare - 1899.djvu/54

 Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come away.

Ham. O! that this too too solid flesh would melt, Thaw and resolve itself into a dew;— Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God! How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable Seem to me all the uses of this world! Fie on't! O fie! 'tis an unweeded garden That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature Possess it merely. That it should come to this! But two months dead! nay, not so much, not two: So excellent a king; that was, to this, Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother That he might not beteem the winds of heaven