If in general the language of violent passion ought to be broken and interrupted, soliloquies ought to be so in a peculiar manner. Language is intended by nature for society; and a man when alone, though he always clothes his thoughts in words, seldom gives his words utterance unless when prompted by some strong emotion; and even then by starts and intervals only[69]. Shakespear’s soliloquies may be justly established as a model; for it is not easy to conceive any model more perfect. Of his many incomparable soliloquies, I confine myself to the two following, being different in their manner. _Hamlet._ Oh, that this too too solid flesh would melt, Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew! Or that the Everlasting had not fix’d His cannon ’gainst self slaughter? O God! O God! How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable Seem to me all the uses of this world! Fie on’t! O fie! ’tis an unweeded garden, That grows to seed: things rank and gross in nature 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 permitted not the winds of heav’n Visit her face too roughly. Heav’n and earth! Must I remember,--why, she would hang on him, As if increase of appetite had grown By what it fed on; yet, within a month---- Let me not think----Frailty, thy name is _Woman_! 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, ev’n she---- (O Heav’n! a beast that wants discourse of reason Would have mourn’d longer----) married with mine uncle, My father’s brother; but no more like my father Than I to Hercules---- Within a month---- Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears Had left the flushing in her gauled eyes, She married---- Oh, most wicked speed, to post With such dexterity to incestuous sheets! It is not, nor it cannot come to good. But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue. _Hamlet, act 1. sc. 3._ _Ford._ Hum! ha! is this a vision? is this a dream? do I sleep? Mr Ford, awake; awake Mr Ford; there’s a hole made in your best coat, Mr Ford! this ’tis to be married! this ’tis to have linen and buck baskets! Well, I will proclaim myself what I am; I will now take the leacher; he is at my house, he cannot ’scape me; ’tis impossible he should; he cannot creep into a halfpenny-purse, nor into a pepper-box. But lest the devil that guides him should aid him, I will search impossible places; though what I am I cannot avoid, yet to be what I would not, shall not make me tame. _Merry Wives of Windsor, act 3. sc. last._