Gertrude: Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off, And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark. Do not for ever with thy vailed lids Seek for thy noble father in the dust. Thou know'st 'tis common. All that lives must die, Passing through nature to eternity. Hamlet: Ay, madam, it is common. Gertrude: If it be, Why seems it so particular with thee