| | the stars extinct, the winds blowing, the bells tolling, | |
| | the owls shrieking, the toads croaking, the minutes | |
| | jarring, and the clock striking twelve. And then | |
| | at last, sir, starting, behold a man hanging, and | |
| | tottering and tottering, as you know the wind will | |
| | wave a man, and I with a trice to cut him down. | |
| | And looking upon him by the advantage of my | |
| | torch, find it to be my son Horatio. There you | |
| | may show a passion, there you may show a passion! | |
| | Draw me like old Priam of Troy, crying: 'The | |
| | house is a-fire, the house is a-fire, as the torch over | |
| | my head!' Make me curse, make me rave, make | |
| | me cry, make me mad, make me well again, make me | |
| | curse hell, invocate heaven, and in the end leave | |
| | me in a trance--and so forth. | 163 |
| Paint. | And is this the end? | |
| Hier. | O no, there is no end: the end is death and | |
| | madness! As I am never better than when I am | |
| | mad: then methinks I am a brave fellow; then I | |
| | do wonders: but reason abuseth me, and there's | |
| | the torment, there's the hell. At the last, sir, bring | |
| | me to one of the murderers; were he as strong as | |
| | Hector, thus would I tear and drag him up and | |
| | down. | 172 |
| [He beats the painter in, then comes out again, | |
| | with a book in his hand. | |