Read it through once

_Oh that this too, too solid Flesh would melt, Thaw, and resolve it self into a Dew! Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd His Cannon 'gainst Self-slaughter! Oh God! Oh God! How weary, stale, and unprofitable, Seem to me all the Uses of this World! Fie on't! Oh fie! 'tis an unweeded Garden, That grows to Seed; Things rank and gross in Nature, Possess it merely. That it should come to this, But two Months dead! Nay, not so much, not Two! So Excellent a King, that was to this_, Hyperion _to a Satyr: So Loving to my Mother, That he would not let e'en the Winds of Heav'n Visit her Face too roughly. Heav'n and Earth! Must I remember? Why, she would hang on him, As if Increase of Appetite had grown By what it fed on; yet within a Month! Let me not think. Frailty! Thy Name is Woman. A little Month; e'er yet those Shoes were old, With which she follow'd my poor Father's Body, Like_ Niobe, _all Tears; Why she, even she, (Oh Heav'n, a Beast that wants Discourse of Reason, Would have mourn'd longer) married with mine Uncle, My Father's Brother; but no more like my Father, Than I to_ Hercules. _Within a Month, E'er yet the Salt of most unrighteous Tears Had left the flushing in her gaul'd Eyes, She married. Oh! most wicked Speed, to post With such Dexterity to incestuous Sheets!_