Hamlet
·I iv 18 ·
Verse
Hamlet Ay, marry, is't;
But to my mind, though I am native hereAnd to the manner born, it is a custom More honour'd in the breach than the observance. This heavy-headed revel east and west Makes us traduc'd and tax'd of other nations; They clip us drunkards and with swinish phrase Soil our addition; and indeed it takes From our achievements, though perform'd at height, The pith and marrow of our attribute. So oft it chances in particular men That, for some vicious mole of nature in them, As in their birth,- wherein they are not guilty, Since nature cannot choose his origin,- By the o'ergrowth of some complexion, Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason, Or by some habit that too much o'erleavens The form of plausive manners, that these men Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect, Being nature's livery, or fortune's star, Their virtues else- be they as pure as grace, As infinite as man may undergo- Shall in the general censure take corruption From that particular fault. The dram of e'il Doth all the noble substance often dout To his own scandal. |