HAMLETNot this, by no means, that I bid you do:Let the bloat King tempt you again to bed,Pinch wanton on your cheek, call you his mouse,And let him, for a pair of reechySmoky, sooty, or begrimed with smoke. kisses,Or paddling in your neck with his damn’d fingers,Make you to ravel all this matter out,That I essentially am not in madness,But mad in craft. ’Twere good you let him know,For who that’s but a queen, fair, sober, wise,Would from a paddockA toad., from a bat, a giba male cat, especially an old castrated tomcat.,Such dear concernings hide? Who would do so?No, in despite of sense and secrecy,Unpeg the basket on the house’s top,Let the birds fly, and like the famous ape,To try conclusions, in the basket creepAnd break your own neck down.