O Hamlet, what a falling-off was there!

Hamlet. Act i. Sc. 5.

But, soft! methinks I scent the morning air;

Brief let me be. Sleeping within my orchard,

My custom always of the afternoon.

Hamlet. Act i. Sc. 5.

Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin,

Unhousell'd, disappointed, unaneled,

No reckoning made, but sent to my account

With all my imperfections on my head.