Hamlet and Jesus. Cross? Does he represent all THREE, including Tao and Islam? He is a warrior, he kills.
Here is the protestant spirit:
He bring the conflict with him everywhere.
... Olivier "To Be or Not to Be"
Hamlet's Letter to Ophelia
"To the celestial and my soul's idol, the most
beautified Ophelia,
"Doubt thou the stars are fire;
Doubt that the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar;
But never doubt I love.
O dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers;
I have not art to reckon my groans: but that
I love thee best, O most best, believe it. Adieu.
Thine evermore most dear lady, whilst
this machine is to him, HAMLET."
O, that this too too solid flesh would melt
Thaw and resolve itself into a dew! (1.2.130)
Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd
His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! God!
How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable,
Seem to me all the uses of this world!
Fie on't! ah fie! 'tis an unweeded garden,
That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature
Possess it merely. That it should come to this! (1.2.136)
But two months dead: nay, not so much, not two:
So excellent a king; that was, to this, (1.2.139)
Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother
That he might not beteem the winds of heaven
Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth!
Must I remember? why, she would hang on him, (1.2.143)
As if increase of appetite had grown
By what it fed on: and yet, within a month-- (1.2.145)
Let me not think on't--Frailty, thy name is woman!-- (1.2.146)
A little month, or ere those shoes were old
With which she follow'd my poor father's body,
Like Niobe, all tears:--why she, even she--
O, God! a beast, that wants discourse of reason,
Would have mourn'd longer--married with my uncle,
My father's brother, but no more like my father
Than I to Hercules: within a month: (1.2.153)
Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears
Had left the flushing in her galled eyes,
She married. O, most wicked speed, to post
With such dexterity to incestuous sheets! (1.2.157)
It is not nor it cannot come to good:
But break, my heart; for I must hold my tongue.
Ophelia is onstage (editors and various productions disagree about whether Hamlet sees her or not), while Polonius and the King are hidden behind an arras.
Hamlet
To be, or not to be,--that is the question:--
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them?--To die,--to sleep,--
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to,--'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die,--to sleep;--
To sleep! perchance to dream:--ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would these fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,--
The undiscover'd country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns,--puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought;
And enterprises of great pith and moment,
With this regard, their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.--Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia!--Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd.
Act III, Scene 1, before breaking up with Ophelia
...
NB
To die = to sleep. We all die, we all sleep. The Dreams.
+ UAF Cut (scenes) * 
