Hamlet's monologue at the end of Act 2, Scene 2 gives us an example of Hamlet's mental state, and its one that isn't particularly sane. He jumps from metaphor to metaphor like an ADHD child distracted by shiny toys. His sentence structure is erratic, his language is philosophical, his mind unclear. What makes this important is that this is the one point in the play where he is alone and talking to himself after he has declared to feign madness to hide his true intentions of revenge. This is the only point the audience gets to see what Hamlet is REALLY thinking and yet his speech is so inconsistent and strange the audience can't help but wonder how mad Hamlet really is.
Note: the text after the // represents my thoughts on the current line
Ay, so goodbye to you.--Now I am alone.
O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I!
Is not a monstrous that this player here,
But in a fiction, a dream of passion,
Could force his soul so to his own conceit?
That from her working all his visage wanned,
Tears in his eyes, distraction in his aspect,
A broken voice, and his whole function suiting
With forms to his conceit And all for nothing!
For Hecuba! //The heck is that? Not even the book explains what that is
What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,
That he should weep for her? What would he do
Had he the motive and the cue for passion
That I have? He would drown the stage with tears //So he's questioning how the player would act if he were in Hamlet's position
And cleave the general ear with horrid speech,
Make mad the guilty and appall the free,
Confound hte ignorant, and amaze indeed
The very faculties of eyes and ears. Yet I,
A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak
Like John-a-dreams, unpregant of my cause,
And can say nothing--no, not for a king
Upon whose property and most dear life //Now he's doubting his resolve for his revenge plan
A damned defeat was made. Am I a coward?
Who calls me villain? Breaks my pate across?
Plucks off his beard and blows it in my face?
Tweaks me by the nose? Gives me the lie i' the throat
As deep as to the lungs? Who does me this?
Ha, 'swounds, I should take it; for it cannot be //Then suddenly changes topic to refute those who would cast him into villainy
But I am pigeon-livered and lack gall
To make oppression bitter, or ere this
I should ha'fatted all the region kites
With this slave's offal. Bloody, bawdy villain! //Example of his rapid change in metaphor
O, vengeance!
Why, what an ass am I? This is most brave,
That I, the son of a dear father murdered,
Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell
Must like a whore unpack my heart with words //He's doubting his plans at this point?
And fall a-cursing, like a very drab,
A scullion! Fie upon 't, foh! About, my brains! //What?
Hum, I have heard
That guilty creatures sitting at a play
Have by the very cunning of the scene //So he's completely forgotten about doubting himself?
Been struck so to the soul that presently
They have proclaimed their malefacitons;
For muurder, though it have no tongue, will speak
With most miraculous organ. I'll have these players
Play somethign like the murder of my father
Before mine uncle. I'll observe his looks;
I'll tent him to the quick. If 'a do blench,
I know my course. The spirit that I ahve seen //So now he's spelling out his plan
May be the deveil, and the devil hath power
T'assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhaps
Out of my weakness and my melancholy,
As he is very potent with such spirits,
Abuses me to damn me. I'll have grounds
More relative than this. The play's the thing
Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the King
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