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.