I have not art to reckon my groans …

Thine evermore, most dear lady, whilst this machine is to him.

ophelia: He took me by the wrist, and held me hard;

Then goes he to the length of all his arm,

And, with his other hand thus o'er his brow,

He falls to such perusal of my face,

As he would draw it. Long stay'd he so:

At last, – a little shaking of mine arm,

And thrice his head thus waving up and down, –

He rais'd a sigh so piteous and profound,

That it did seem to shatter all his bulk,

And end his being. That done he lets me go,

And with his head over his shoulder turn'd:

He seem'd to find his way without his eyes;

For out o' doors he went without their help,

And to the last bended their light on me.

polonius: This is the very ecstasy of love.

Blocus sentimental! Messageries du Levant! …

Oh, tombée de la pluie! Oh! tombée de la nuit,

Oh! le vent! …

La Toussaint, la Noël et la Nouvelle Année,

Oh, dans les bruines, toutes mes cheminées! …

D'usines …

On ne peut plus s'asseoir, tous les banes sont mouillés;

Crois-moi, c'est bien fini jusqu'à l'année prochaine,

Tant les banes sont mouillés, tant les bois sont rouillés,

Et tant les cors ont fait ton ton, ton taine! … […]