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Click on the verses to see them in context. Shakespeare's plays are available from the Gutenberg Projet.

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A whoreson, mad fellow's it was: whose do you think it was?

 'Twill not he seen in him there; there the men are as mad as he. And makes as healthful music: it is not madness But, with a crafty madness, keeps aloof Into the madness wherein now he raves, 
  • This is mere madness:
 Is apoplex'd; for madness would not err; Mad call I it; for to define true madness, His madness is poor Hamlet's enemy. Madness in great ones must not unwatch'd go. A whoreson, mad fellow's it was: whose do you think it was? That not your trespass, but my madness speaks: Who does it, then? His madness: if't be so, Make mad the guilty, and appal the free; But mad in craft. 'Twere good you let him know; Into the madness wherein now he raves, That I essentially am not in madness, Roughly awake, I here proclaim was madness. O'er whom his very madness, like some ore For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring. Was not like madness. There's something in his soul But that this folly douts it. But we think you're the kind of man who enjoys life's greatest pleasures. Mad as the sea and wind, when both contend But, with a crafty madness, keeps aloof