Out of breath, fat, out of condition, grunting and sweating under a weary life, I, Hamlet, confront things rank and gross in nature and the ranker sweat of an unseamed bed; and the ears, the mildewed ears, the violent ears, the abused ears of Denmark, the ears potently poisoned; nosing the dead, life in excrements, kings as fish in beggars' guts, stopping a bung-hole; so why should not I, pigeon-livered, fatted with this slave's offal, make my quietus with a bare bodkin?
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