'tis an unweeded garden, (135) / That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature / Possess it merely. / But two months dead: nay, not so much, not two / So excellent a king; that was, to this, / Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother (140) / That he might not beteem the winds of heaven / Visit her face too roughly. — / A little month, or ere those shoes were old / With which she follow'd my poor father's body, / Like Niobe, all tears:—why she, even she— / O, God! why, she would hang on him / As if increase of appetite had grown / By what it fed on: and yet, within a month— (145) / Let me not think on't—Frailty, thy name is woman!His soliloquy opens up the central idea of the play, that the world is a painful place to live in – where even suicide is not possible.Tags: Rainforest Facts For Kids HomeworkAssignment Of RentWhy Nursing EssayHelp Writing Good Thesis StatementCandle Making Business PlanDroit Au Respect De La Vie Privee DissertationUcla Mba EssayEssay On Importance Of Colours In LifeEssay Works Cited MlaHow To Outline A Business Plan
He continues to criticize his mother's quick marriage to an inferior person so soon after his father's death.
Hamlet's heart his broken and must not speak of his disgust in public.
It is, in Claudius’ words, a “warlike state,” where preparations are underway (9).
This scene also points towards the weakness and corruption of King Claudius, as is pointed out in his own moral treatise in which he is engaged, giving to others.
Hamlet calls his father an excellent king and his uncle a scoundrel.
He then comments that his mother's affection for his uncle increases, causing Hamlet to curse women in general.
He then scorns all that life and the world has to offer, comparing it to an unweeded garden.
Beginning with line 136, Hamlet curses his mother for marrying his uncle two months after his father died.
Who would fardels bear, (75) / To grunt and sweat under a weary life, / But that the dread of something after death, / The undiscovere'd country, from whose bourn / No traveller returns, puzzles the will, / And makes us rather bear those ills we have (80) / Than fly to others that we know not of?
/ Thus conscience does make cowards of us all, / And thus the native hue of resolution / Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, / And enterprises of great pitch and moment (85)/ With this regard their currents turn awry / And lose the name of action.