Hamlet Look, with what mud you have mixed me. You are going to play me. You credit yourself with knowing my valves. You are sure you will squeeze the voice of my secret out of me. You imagine that all my notes are open to you from top to bottom. And this little thing is deliberately designed for play, it has a wonderful tone, and yet you cannot make it speak. What do you think, it's easier with me than with a flute? Declare me to be whatever instrument you want, you can upset me, but you can't play me.