POLONIUS: What do you read, my lord? HAMLET: Words, words, words.
O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!
They say miracles are past.
My pride fell with my fortunes.
What is honour? a word. What is in that word honour? what is that honour? air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? he that died o' Wednesday. Doth he feel it? no. Doth he hear it? no.
There's villainous news abroad.