Spoken by Hamlet, Hamlet Act 2 Scene 2:
Now I am alone.  Now I’m alone. Oh, what a mean low-life I am! It’s
Oh, what a rogue and peasant slave am I!
Is it not monstrous that this player here,
But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,
Could force his soul so to his own conceit
That from her working all his visage wanned,
Tears in his eyes, distraction in his aspect,
A broken voice, and his whole function suiting
With forms to his conceit? And all for nothing—
For Hecuba!
What’s Hecuba to him or he to Hecuba
That he should weep for her? What would he do
Had he the motive and the cue for passion
That I have? He would drown the stage with tears
And cleave the general ear with horrid speech,
Make mad the guilty and appall the free,
Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed
The very faculties of eyes and ears. Yet I,
A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak
Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause,
And can say nothing—no, not for a king,
Upon whose property and most dear life
A damned defeat was made. Am I a coward?
Who calls me “villain”? Breaks my pate across?
Plucks off my beard and blows it in my face?
Tweaks me by the nose? Gives me the lie i' th' throat
As deep as to the lungs? Who does me this?
Ha!
'Swounds, I should take it, for it cannot be
But I am pigeon-livered and lack gall
To make oppression bitter, or ere this
I should have fatted all the region kites
With this slave’s offal. Bloody, bawdy villain!
Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain!
O vengeance!
Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave,
That I, the son of a dear father murdered,
Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell,
Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words
And fall a-cursing like a very drab,
A scullion! Fie upon ’t, foh!
About, my brain.—Hum, I have heard
That guilty creatures sitting at a play
Have, by the very cunning of the scene,
Been struck so to the soul that presently
awful that this actor could force his soul to feel made-
up feelings in a work of make-believe. He grew pale,
shed real tears, became overwhelmed, his voice
breaking with feeling and his whole being, even,
meeting the needs of his act—and all for nothing. For
Hecuba!
What is Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, that he
would weep for her? Just imagine what he would do if
he had the cause for feeling that I do. He would drown
the stage with his tears and burst the audience’s ears
with his terrible words, drive the guilty spectators
crazy, terrify the innocent ones, confuse the ignorant
ones, and astound absolutely everyone’s eyes and
ears. But what do I, a grim and uncourageous rascal,
do? Mope around like a dreamer, not even bothering
with plans for revenge, and I can say nothing—nothing
at all—on behalf of a king whose dear life was stolen.
Am I a coward? Is there anyone out there who’ll call
me “villain” and slap me hard? Pull off my beard?
Pinch my nose? Call me the worst liar? By God, if
someone would do that to me, I’d take it, because I’m
a lily-livered man—otherwise, I would’ve fattened up
the local vultures with the intestines of that low-life
king a long time ago. Bloody, inhuman villain!
Remorseless, treacherous, sex-obsessed, unnatural
villain!
Ah, revenge! What an ass I am. I’m so damn brave.
My dear father’s been murdered, and I’ve been urged
to seek revenge by heaven and hell, and yet all I can
do is stand around cursing like a whore in the streets.
Damn it! I need to get myself together here! Hmm….
I’ve heard that guilty people watching a play have
been so affected by the artistry of the scene that they
are driven to confess their crimes out loud.
They have proclaimed their malefactions.
For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak
With most miraculous organ. I’ll have these players
Play something like the murder of my father
Before mine uncle. I’ll observe his looks.
I’ll tent him to the quick. If he do blench,
I know my course. The spirit that I have seen
May be the devil, and the devil hath power
T' assume a pleasing shape. Yea, and perhaps
Out of my weakness and my melancholy,
As he is very potent with such spirits,
Abuses me to damn me. I’ll have grounds
More relative than this. The play’s the thing
Wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the king.
Murder has no tongue, but miraculously it still finds a
way to speak. I’ll have these actors perform something
like my father’s murder in front of my uncle. I’ll watch
my uncle. I’ll probe his conscience and see if he
flinches. If he becomes pale, I know what to do. The
ghost I saw may be the devil, and the devil has the
power to assume a pleasing disguise, and so he may
be taking advantage of my weakness and sadness to
bring about my damnation. I need better evidence
than the ghost to work with. The play’s the thing to
uncover the conscience of the king.
Exit HAMLET exits

“O, What A Rogue And Peasant Slave Am I” Soliloquy Translation:

In this speech Hamlet wonders at players ability to weep for a fictional character
Hecuba. (Shakespeare often inserted a literary device called copiousness to help to
increase the intensity for the mood.)
What a deceitful fellow – a rogue, a peasant slave – he was! It was monstrous that this
actor had only to imagine grief for his face to go pale and his eyes to stream. In a
fiction! A made-up script of passion! He was able to effect a broken voice, a desperation
in his body language, and everything he felt necessary to the situation he was
imagining. And it was all for nothing! For Hecuba, dead for a thousand years! What was
Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, that he should weep for her?

What would that actor do if he had the motive and the reason for grief that Hamlet
had? He would flood the stage with tears and split the ears of the audience with the
language he would find, terrifying the innocent and making the guilty mad. He would
bewilder the ignorant and amaze the eyes and ears of all.

He is to harsh toward himself and refers to himself as a coward. He imagines what a

bully would do to him. Is there anyone out there who’ll call me “villain” and break his
had? Pull off my beard? Pinch my nose? Gives me lies as deep down to my throught? By
God, if someone would do that to me , I’d take it, because I’m a lily-livered man. If he
wasn’t like that he would have revenged his father lonfg time ago.
He refers to Claudius as a Bloody, inhuman villain! Remorseless, treacherous, sex-
obsessed, unnatural villain!
Hamlet takes a self-repraoch towards his emotional outburst. Heaven and hell have
asked for a revenge and all he does is cursing like a whore in the streets.
He is working out a plan to test the ghoat’s words. He has heard that people have been
driven so much by a play that they confess their crimes. He decides that he will have
the players play something like the death of his father in front of his uncle and he will
be observing Claudius. He will do so because he fears that the ghost might be a devil
who has missused his weakness and sadness. He needs a better evidence than the
ghost. If Claudius goes pale, he will know that is the truth.