that often madness hits on, which reason and sanity
could not so prosperously be delivered of.
(again it's meet to say i think not hamlet mad (when the wind is southerly), but merely mad in craft)
a dull and muddy-mettled rascal,
[who] peak[s] like john-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause
also, it's clear,
my lungs are tickle o' th' sear