I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow-student; I think it was to see my mother’s wedding.

Thrift, thrift, Horatio! the funeral baked meats Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables. Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio! My father!⁠—methinks I see my father.

He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again.

Season your admiration for a while With an attent ear, till I may deliver, Upon the witness of these gentlemen, This marvel to you.