Hamlet I

Hamlet: methinks the very air is strange, filled with dust and fury, methinks this is the time for revolution, take the throne, take the power, which mere men make to fill their lust... why I the Prince of Denmark, this gray, immutable space. Of what stuff am I made, a girl-man dolled up by the Queen to make a mockery of manhood, of what stuff was my father made, a man of action and grace, warring with all feet and hands, methinks I remember my father. How graceful is a man in daring, how like Ares in action, why all the forces in heaven could not stop his ambition, and yet I, stuffed with ambivalence, am not fit enough to mend his shoes. Who bestowed upon me the Title of Prince but nature and lineage and time. What am I that I do not rebuke the tides of righteousness and make myself King and kill the Uncle-King, the false king. Polonius: Have you met my daughter, she is of such sweet stuff made, daises and roses dance at her feet/ while the wind willows and billows/ her kisses are sweeter than honeyed summer/ and lasts twice as long/ she longs for you, Prince Hamlet/ please be courteous to her willing heart. Ophelia:  My dear Lord/ cast thy darkened armour off/ and rejoice in the bright light of day/ why be so serious and unkind and rude and talk of such unseemly things. Hamlet: Oh sweet Ophelia/ tis true thou are the paragon of etiquette/ and thy presence doth lighten my mood/ but I do not love thee nor anyone/ I indifferently love then cast my attention elsewhere/ do not love me/ for my nature is filled with such a nasty and thorny hole/ that it may sting thee hard/ for as you know my Mother did love my Father and now she loves my Uncle/ which is very very unfunny. Ophelia: Who speaks of love, who speaks of lust/ I speak of our combined trust/ Who cares about mere dalliance and mere lust/ lest our power rust/ let us not speak of such mere appearances... to love is mere concession to the other sex of what we rightly possess/ no more love, no more faith...