Elsinore. A room in the castle.
She is importunate, indeed distract: Her mood will needs be pitied.
She speaks much of her father; says she hears There’s tricks i’ the world; and hems, and beats her heart; Spurns enviously at straws; speaks things in doubt, That carry but half sense: her speech is nothing, Yet the unshaped use of it doth move The hearers to collection; they aim at it, And botch the words up fit to their own thoughts; Which, as her winks, and nods, and gestures yield them, Indeed would make one think there might be thought, Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily.
’Twere good she were spoken with; for she may strew Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds.