Is it not monstrous that this player here, But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, Could force his soul so to his own conceit That from her working all his visage wann’d, Tears in his eyes, distraction in his aspect, A broken voice, and his whole function suiting With forms to his conceit?

Who better to wonder about the power of acting than an actor? And yet such is the power of this particular writer that we almost never feel that. We think of Hamlet as a person, going through his experience and the Players as the actors. It almost makes the outside story more real because there are actors acting inside it.

These lines are also a great clue to the actor playing The First Player


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