And he * * * (a short tale to make), Fell into a sadness; then into a fast; Thence to a watch; thence into a weakness; Thence to a lightness; and, by this declension Into the madness wherein now he raves. _Hamlet, Act II., Sc. II._
He took me by the wrist and held me hard; Then goes he to the length of all his arm; And with his other hand thus o’er his brow, He falls to such perusal of my face, As he would draw it. Long stay’d he so; At last,—a little shaking of mine arm, And thrice his head thus waving up and down, He raised a sigh so piteous and profound, That it did seem to shatter all his bulk, And end his being: That done, he lets me go: And, with his head o’er his shoulder turn’d, He seem’d to find his way without his eyes; For out o’ doors he went without their help, And, to the last, bended their light on me. _Hamlet, Act II., Sc. I._
Alas, how is it with you, That you do bend your eye on vacancy, And with the incorporal air do hold discourse? Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep; And, as the sleeping soldiers in the alarm, Your bedded hair, like life in excrements, Starts up, and stands on end. _Hamlet, Act III., Sc. IV._
O, what a noble mind is here o’erthrown! The courtier’s, scholar’s, soldier’s, eye, tongue, sword: The expectancy and rose of the fair state, The glass of fashion and the mould of form, The observed of all observers,—quite, quite down! And I, of ladies most deject and wretched, That suck’d the honey of his music vows, Now see that noble and most sovereign reason, Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh; That unmatch’d form and feature of blown youth, Blasted with ecstasy. _Hamlet, Act III., Sc. I._
There’s something in his soul, O’er which his melancholy sits on brood; And I do doubt the hatch and the disclose, Will be some danger. _Hamlet, Act III., Sc. I._
Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas’d; Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow; Raze out the written troubles of the brain; And, with some sweet oblivious antidote, Cleanse the stuff’d bosom of that perilous stuff Which weighs upon the heart? _Macbeth, Act V., Sc. III._
* * * * * * Infected minds To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets. * * * * * Remove from her the means of all annoyance, And still keep eyes upon her. _Macbeth, Act V., Sc. I._