Hamlet pray can i not

O wretched state! O bosom black as death! O limed soul, that, struggling to be free, Art more engaged! Help, angels! Make assay! Bow, stubborn knees; and, heart with strings of steel, Be soft as sinews of the newborn babe! All may be well. Bow, stubborn knees, and heart with strings of steel,. Be soft as sinews of the newborn babe!

All may be well. Now might I do it pat. Now he is praying,. And now I'll do't. And so he goes to heaven,. And so I am revenged? That would be scanned. A villain kills my father and for that,. I, his sole son, do this same villain send. To heaven. Oh, this is hire and salary , not revenge. He took my father grossly , full of bread,. With all his crimes broad blown , as flush as May,. And how his audit stands, who knows, save heaven?

But in our circumstance and course of thought ,. And am I then revenged,. To take him in the purging of his soul,. When he is fit and seasoned for his passage? Up, sword, and know thou a more horrid hent. When he is drunk asleep, or in his rage ,. Or in th' incestuous pleasure of his bed,. At game , swearing, or about some act. Then trip him, that his heels may kick at heaven,. And that his soul may be as damned and black. As hell, whereto it goes. My mother stays. This physic but prolongs thy sickly days.

My words fly up, my thoughts remain below. Words without thoughts never to heaven go. On the bat's back I do fly After summer merrily: Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.

Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud? Like a swift-fleeing meteor, a fast-flying cloud, A flash of the Lightning, a break of the wave, Man passes from life to his rest in the grave. The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade, Be scattered around and together be laid; And the young and the old, and the low and the high, Shall molder to dust and together shall lie.

The maid, on whose cheek, on whose brow, in whose eye, Shone beauty and pleasure——her triumphs are by; And the memories of those who have loved her and praised Are alike from the minds of the living erased. The hand of the king that the scepter hath borne, The brow of the priest that the miter hath worn, The eye of the sage, and the heart of the brave, Are hidden and lost in the depth of the grave.

The peasant, whose lot was to sow and to reap, The herdsman, who climbed with his goats up the steep, The beggar, who wandered in search of his bread, Have faded away like the grass that we tread.

The saint, who enjoyed the communion of Heaven, The sinner, who dared to remain unforgiven, The wise and the foolish, the guilty and just, Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust. So the multitude goes, like the flower or the weed, That withers away to let others succeed; So the multitude comes, even those we behold, To repeat every tale that has often been told. For we are the same that our fathers have been; We see the same sights that our fathers have seen; We drink the same stream, and we view the same sun, And run the same course that our fathers have fun.

The thoughts we are thinking, our fathers would think; From the death that we shrink from, our fathers would shrink; To the life that we cling to, they also would cling; But it speeds for us all, like a bird on the wing.

They loved, but the story we can not unfold; They scorned, but the heart of the haughty is cold: They grieved, but no wail from their slumbers will come; They joyed, but the tongue of their gladness is dumb.

They died——ah! National Poetry Month. Materials for Teachers Teach This Poem. Poems for Kids. Poetry for Teens. Lesson Plans. Resources for Teachers. Academy of American Poets. And, as you said and wisely was it said 'Tis meet that some more audience than a mother— Since nature makes them partial—should o'erhear The speech, of vantage.

Fare you well, my liege. Oh, my offence is rank. It smells to heaven. Pray can I not. Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens To wash it white as snow?