[first lines]
Narrator:
So oft it chances in particular men / That through some vicious mole of nature in them, / By the o'ergrowth of some complexion / Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason, / Or by some habit grown too much; that these men - / Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect, / Their virtues else - be they as pure as grace, / Shall in the general censure take corruption / From that particular fault.... This is the tragedy of a man who could not make up his mind.
[last lines]
Horatio:
Good night, sweet prince; and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.
Marcellus:
[referring to the Ghost] Peace, break thee off. Look where it comes again!
Bernardo:
In the same figure, like the dead King Hamlet.
Horatio:
I have heard, the cock that is the herald to the morn, Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat Awake the god of day.
Horatio:
Take up the bodies: such a sight as this / Becomes the field, but here shows much amiss. / Go, bid the soldiers shoot!