All The World's A Grave, Queen monologue—Act 4, Scene VII

ACT 4, SCENE VII

QUEEN 

It will be laid to us, whose providence

Should have kept short, restrained and out of haunt,

This mad young man: but so much was our love,

We would not understand what was most fit;

But, like the owner of a foul disease,

To keep it from divulging, let it feed

Even on the pith of Life.  Come, let's not weep. 

A mother's hand shall right a mother's wrong. 

Weep not,  for all the grace that I have left

Is that I will not add to his damnation. 

Young Hamlet is my son, and he is lost.

Should I forget my son's  eternal soul? 

(Queen loses her hair)

Or that these hands could so redeem my son,

As they have given these hairs their liberty? 

His soul to heaven; his blood upon my head.