No Fear Shakespeare: Hamlet: Act 2, scene ii

	Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed
525	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
530	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?
535	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
540	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,
545	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!
550	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
	They have proclaimed their malefactions.
555	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,
560	I know my course. The spirit that I have seen

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.