vii. she hears there's tricks i' th' world
The gentleman assigned to divine Ophelia's mind never speaks of the girl who was leaving her room as he entered it. When he thinks on what to tell the king, he runs his hands over the object he was given, and bites his lower lip.
-I took this from in her elbow (she told him). It's what makes wounds better with a kiss.
vi. list, list, o, list!
She finds him in the mist, which is made of drops of water, which reflect like shards of mirror so numerous they swarm. He cries for vengeance, cries for honor, cries for his wife and kingdom and son.
She holds him fast, strong and clammy and with no comfort, as she cradles much of royal Denmark.
v. forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting
What do you think? the smile says. Laertes sees things writ invisible on the tongue. Justice, adoration, your sister intact? Honor, renown, the rule of your fate? Laertes moves forward to learn the smiler's secrets, but gated teeth rebut him.
"Are you Justice?" he asks. "Do you set the world as it should be?"
The pale throat laughs. There is not a one of us for that.
iv. stronger than either the mason, the shipwright, or the carpenter
The gravedigger passes a man on the road. "Which way to the palace?" he asks him. The gravedigger shrugs and tells him where to find the greater part of the line, for he has just come from the yard and has them on his hands, no doubt. The man laughs, and the sound fills the fields. "I have met them already, but I thank you for the jest."
The gravedigger points him down the road, and the man, whistling, keeps walking.
iii. here's yet some liquor left
Horatio drifts through ruined rows of colonnades. "I know how men of old would dictate such a course, but he is modern. I cannot rein him in with history or with reason."
His companion lifts a pale chin. He mentioned me to you, if I recall.
"If he did?"
He is correct. They come to a place full of treasures. Horatio's sleeping eyes open wide.
ii. so fast they follow
The hall is quiet around them. Neither woman looks away from the other. "I am not a mother," she says.
The queen weeps to see her smile. "For all you love, I cannot believe that."
i. let us haste to hear it, and call the noblest to the audience.
Let it be noted that a certain man will write, a sonnet-scribbler, an actor beloved of the rabble, and he will serve them all as he works under one.