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      Author: Kylie Drawdy
      Date: 09/16/24
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<title>Hands-on Project 5-4</title>
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   <h1> Hamlet, Act II Scene ii </h1>
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   <blockquote>
      <h3>Hamlet</h3>
      <p>O, what a rogue and <dfn>peasant slave</dfn> am I!<br>
         Is it not <dfn>monstrous</dfn> that this player here,<br>
         But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,<br>
         Could force his soul so to his own <dfn>conceit</dfn> <br>
         That from her working all the visage <dfn>wann'd</dfn> <br>
         Tears in his eyes, distraction in his <dfn>aspect</dfn> <br>
         A broken voice, an' his whole function suiting<br>
         With forms to his conceit? And all for nothing,
      </p>
      <p>For <dfn>Hecuba</dfn>!
         What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba<br>
         That he should weep for her? What would he do<br>
         Had he the motive and the <dfn>cue</dfn> for passion<br>
         That I have? He would drown the stage with tears,<br>
         And cleave the general ear with horrid speech,<br>
         Make mad the guilty, and appall the free,<br>
         Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed<br>
         The very faculties of eyes and ears.
      </p>
      <p>Yet I,
         A dull and <dfn>muddy-mettled</dfn> rascal, peak<br>
         Like John-a-dreams, <dfn>unpregnant of my cause</dfn>,<br>
         And can say nothing; no, not for a king,<br>
         Upon whose property and most dear life<br>
         A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward?
      </p>
      <p>Who calls me villain, breaks my <dfn>pate</dfn> across, <br>
         Plucks off my beard and blows it in my face,<br>
         Tweaks me by the nose, <br>
         gives me the lie i' th' throat <dfn>as deep as to the lungs?</dfn><br>
         Who does me this? <br>
         Hah, <dfn>'swounds</dfn>, I should take it; for it cannot be<br>
         But I am <dfn>pigeon-liver'd</dfn>, and lack gall.
      </p>
      <p>To make oppression bitter, or <dfn>ere</dfn> this<br>
         I should 'a' fatted all the <dfn>region kites</dfn><br>
         With this slave's <dfn>offal</dfn>. Bloody, bawdy villain!<br>
         Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, <dfn>kindless</dfn> villain!<br>
         Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave,<br>
         That I, the son of a dear father murthered,<br>
         Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell,<br>
         Must like a whore unpack my heart with words,<br>
         And <dfn>fall a-cursing</dfn> like a very <dfn>drab</dfn>,<br>
         A <dfn>scullion</dfn>. Fie upon't, foh! <dfn>About, my brains!</dfn>
      </p>
      <p>Hum—I have heard<br>
         That guilty creatures sitting at a play<br>
         Have by the <dfn>very cunning of the scene</dfn><br>
         Been strook so to the soul, that presently<br>
         They have proclaim'd their malefactions:<br>
         For murther, though it have no tongue, will speak<br>
         With most miraculous organ. I'll have these players<br>
         Play something like the murther of my father<br>
         Before mine uncle. I'll observe his looks,<br>
         <dfn>I'll tent him to the quick</dfn>. If 'a do <dfn>blench</dfn>, I know my course.
      </p>
      <p>The spirit that I have seen<br>
         May be a dev'l, and the dev'l hath power<br>
         T' assume a pleasing shape, yea, and perhaps,<br>
         Out of my weakness and my melancholy,<br>
         As he is very potent with such spirits,<br>
         <dfn>Abuses me to damn me</dfn>. I'll have grounds<br>
         More <dfn>relative</dfn> than this—the play's the thing<br>
         Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king</p>
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