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HAMLET A TRAGEDY No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,y meanting
my Nor the dejected Shavious of the visage, Together with all forms, moods, shapes of grief, That can denote me truly: these indeed seem, For they are actions that a man might play: But I have that within which passeth show; These but the trappings and the suits of woe.
KING. 'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature,
Hamlet, To give these mourning duties to your father: But, you must know, your father lost a father, That father lost, lost his, and the survivor bound In filial obligation for some term To do obsequious sorrow: but to persever In obstinate condolement is a course Of impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief: It shows a will most incorrect to heaven, A heart unfortified, a mind impatient, An understanding simple and unschool’d. We pray you, throw to earth This unprevailing woe, and think of us As of a father: for let the world take note, You are the most immediate to our throne, Our chiefest courtier, cousin and our son.