act 1 scene 2 Hamlet

Hamlet: Oh, that this too too sullied flesh would melt, thaw, and resolve itself into a dew! Or that the everlasting had not fixed His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! Oh, God, God, how weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world! Fie on't, ah, fie! 'Tis an unweeded garden that grows to seed. Things rank and gross innature possess it merely. That it should come to this. 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 that he might not beteem the winds of Heaven visit her face too roughly. Heaven and Earth must I remember?"