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Alexander Pope [1747], The works of Shakespear in eight volumes. The Genuine Text (collated with all the former Editions, and then corrected and emended) is here settled: Being restored from the Blunders of the first Editors, and the Interpolations of the two Last: with A Comment and Notes, Critical and Explanatory. By Mr. Pope and Mr. Warburton (Printed for J. and P. Knapton, [and] S. Birt [etc.], London) [word count] [S11301]. To look up a word in a dictionary, select the word with your mouse and press 'd' on your keyboard.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
ROMEO and JULIET.
PROLOGUE.
Enter old Capulet in his gown, and lady Capulet.
Signior Martino, and his wife and daughters: Count
Enter Nurse, with Peter.
Enter Lady Capulet.
Enter Friar Lawrence with lanthorn, crow, and spade.
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DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
HAMLET, Prince of Denmark.
Adieu. Thine evermore, most dear Lady, whilst
Enter Rosincrantz and Guildenstern.
Enter Rosincrantz, and Guildenstern.
Enter King.
He that thou knowest thine, Hamlet.
Enter Messenger.
Hamlet.
Next section
CLAUDIUS, King of Denmark.
Fortinbras, Prince of Norway.
Hamlet, Son to the former, and Nephew to the present, King.
Polonius, Lord Chamberlain.
Horatio, Friend to Hamlet.
Laertes, Son to Polonius.
Voltimand [Voltemand], Courtier.
Cornelius, Courtier.
Rosencrantz, Courtier.
Guildenstern, Courtier.
Osrick [Osric], a Fop.
Marcellus, an Officer.
Bernardo, Soldier.
Francisco, Soldier.
Reynoldo [Reynaldo], Servant to Polonius.
Ghost of Hamlet's Father.
Gertrude, Queen of Denmark, and Mother to Hamlet.
Ophelia, Daughter to Polonius, belov'd by Hamlet.
Ladies attending on the Queen.
Players, Grave makers, Sailors, Messengers, and other Attendants.
[Player 1], [Player], [Prologue], [Player King], [Player Queen], [Lucianus], [Captain], [Gentleman], [Messenger], [Danes], [Sailor], [Clown 1], [Clown 2], [Priest], [Lord], [Ambassador]
SCENE, ELSINOOR.
note
Who's there?
Nay, answer me: stand, and unfold your self.
Long live the King!
Bernardo?
He.
You come most carefully upon your hour.
'Tis now struck twelve; get thee to bed, Francisco.
For this relief, much thanks: 'tis bitter cold,
And I am sick at heart.
Have you had quiet Guard?
Not a mouse stirring.
Well, good night.
If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus,
1 noteThe rivals of my Watch, bid them make haste.
I think, I hear them. Stand, ho! who is there?
Friends to this ground.
And liege-men to the Dane.
Give you good night.
Oh, farewel, honest soldier; who hath reliev'd you?
Bernardo has my place: give you good night.
[Exit Francisco.
Holla! Bernardo,—
Say, what, is Horatio there?
A piece of him.
Welcome, Horatio; welcome, good Marcellus,
What, has this thing appear'd again to night?
I have seen nothing.
Horatio says, 'tis but our phantasie;
And will not let belief take hold of him,
3 noteTouching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us;
Therefore I have intreated him along
With us, to watch the minutes of this night;
That if again this apparition come,
He may approve our eyes, and speak to it.
Tush! tush! 'twill not appear.
Sit down a while,
And let us once again assail your ears,
That are so fortified against our story,
What we have two nights seen.
Well, sit we down,
And let us hear Bernardo speak of this.
Last night of all,
When yon same Star, that's westward from the Pole,
Had made his course t'illume that part of heav'n
Where now it burns, Marcellus and my self,
The bell then beating one,—
Peace, break thee off;
Enter the Ghost.
Look where it comes again.
In the same figure, like the King that's dead.
Thou art a scholar, speak to it, Horatio.
Looks it not like the King? mark it, Horatio.
Most like: it harrows me with fear and wonder.
It would be spoke to.
Speak to it, Horatio.
What art thou, that usurp'st this time of night,
Together with that fair and warlike form,
In which the Majesty of buried Denmark
Did sometime march? by Heav'n, I charge thee, speak.
It is offended.
See! it stalks away.
Stay; speak; I charge thee, speak.
'Tis gone, and will not answer.
How now, Horatio? you tremble and look pale.
Is not this something more than phantasie?
What think you of it?
Before my God, I might not this believe,
4 note
Of mine own eyes.
Is it not like the King?
As thou art to thy self.
Such was the very armour he had on,
When he th' ambitious Norway combated:
So frown'd he once, when in an angry parle,
5 noteHe smote the sleaded Polack on the ice.
'Tis strange—
Thus twice before, 6 noteand just at this dead hour,
With martial stalk, he hath gone by our Watch.
In what particular thought to work, I know not;
But, in the gross and scope of my opinion,
This bodes some strange eruption to our State.
Good now sit down, and tell me, he that knows,
Why this same strict and most observant Watch
So nightly toils the Subjects of the Land?
And why such daily cast of brazen Canon,
And foreign mart for implements of war?
Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore task
Does not divide the Sunday from the week?
What might be toward, that this sweaty haste
Doth make the night joint labourer with the day:
Who is't, that can inform me?
That can I;
At least, the whisper goes so. Our last King,
Whose image but even now appear'd to us,
Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway,
(Thereto prickt on by a most emulate pride)
Dar'd to the fight: In which, our valiant Hamlet,
(For so this side of our known world esteem'd him)
Did slay this Fortinbras: 7 note
Well ratified by law of heraldry,
Did forfeit (with his life) all those his Lands,
Which he stood seiz'd of, to the Conqueror:
Against the which, a moiety competent
Was gaged by our King; which had Return
To the inheritance of Fortinbras,
Had he been vanquisher; 8 note
And carriage of the articles design'd,
His fell to Hamlet. Now young Fortinbras,
9 noteOf unimproved mettle hot and full,
Hath in the skirts of Norway, here and there,
Shark'd up a list of landless resolutes,
For food and diet, to some enterprize
That hath a stomach in't: which is no other,
As it doth well appear unto our State,
But to recover of us by strong hand,
1 noteAnd terms compulsatory those foresaid Lands
So by his father lost: and this, I take it,
Is the main motive of our preparations,
The source of this our watch, and the chief head
Of this post-haste and romage in the Land.
I think, it be no other, but even so:
Well may it sort, that this portentous figure
Comes armed through our watch so like the King,
That was, and is the question of these wars.
A mote it is to trouble the mind's eye.
&wlquo;In the most high and 2 notepalmy State of Rome,
&wlquo;A little ere the mightiest Julius fell
&wlquo;The Graves stood tenantless; the sheeted Dead
&wlquo;Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets;
&wlquo;Stars shone with trains of fire, Dews of blood fel;
&wlquo;3 noteDisasters veil'd the Sun; and the moist Star,
&wlquo;Upon whose influence Neptune's Empire stands,
&wlquo;Was sick almost to dooms-day with eclipse.
And even the like 4 noteprecurse of fierce events,
As harbingers preceding still the fates,
5 noteAnd prologue to the omen coming on,
Have heav'n and earth together demonstrated
Unto our climatures and country-men.
Enter Ghost again.
But soft, behold! lo, where it comes again!
I'll cross it, though it blast me. Stay illusion!
[Spreading his Arms.
If thou hast any sound, or use of voice,
Speak to me.
If there be any good thing to be done,
That may to thee do ease, and grace to me;
Speak to me.
If thou art privy to thy Country's fate,
Which, happily, Foreknowing may avoid,
Oh speak!—
Or, if thou hast uphoorded, in thy life
6 noteExtorted treasure, in the womb of earth,
[Cock crows.
For which, they say, you Spirits oft walk in death,
Speak of it. Stay, and speak—Stop it, Marcellus.—
Shall I strike at it with my partizan?
Do, if it will not stand.
'Tis here—
'Tis here—
'Tis gone.
[Exit Ghost.
We do it wrong, being so majestical,
To offer it the shew of violence;
For it is as the air, invulnerable;
And our vain blows, malicious mockery.
It was about to speak, when the cock crew.
&wlquo;And then it started like a guilty thing
&wlquo;Upon a fearful Summons. I have heard,
&wlquo;The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn,
&wlquo;Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat
&wlquo;Awake the God of day; and, at his warning,
&wlquo;Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air,
&wlquo;7 noteTh' extravagant and erring Spirit hies
&wlquo;To his Confine: And of the truth herein
This present object made probation.
It faded on the crowing of the cock.
&wlquo;Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comes
&wlquo;Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,
&wlquo;The bird of Dawning singeth all night long:
&wlquo;And then, they say, no Spirit walks abroad;
&wlquo;The nights are wholesome, then no planets strike,
&wlquo;No Fairy takes, no witch hath power to charm;
&wlquo;So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.
So have I heard, and do in part believe it.
&wlquo;But look, the morn, in russet mantle clad,
&wlquo;Walks o'er the dew of yon 8 notehigh eastward hill;
Break we our watch up; and, by my advice,
Let us impart what we have seen to night
Unto young Hamlet. For, upon my life,
This Spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him:
Do you consent, we shall aquaint him with it,
As needful in our loves, fitting our duty?
Let's do't, I pray; and I this morning know
Where we shall find him most conveniently.
Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death
The memory be green, and that it fitted
To bear our hearts in grief, and our whole Kingdom
To be contracted in one brow of woe;
Yet so far hath Discretion fought with Nature,
That we with wisest sorrow think on him,
Together with remembrance of our selves.
Therefore our sometime sister, now our Queen,
Th' imperial Jointress of this warlike State,
Have we, as 'twere, with a defeated joy,
With one auspicious, and one dropping eye,
With mirth in funeral, and with dirge in marriage,
In equal scale weighing delight and dole,
Taken to wife.—Nor have we herein barr'd
Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone
With this affair along: (for all, our thanks.)
Now follows, that you know, young Fortinbras,
Holding a weak supposal of our worth;
Or thinking by our late dear brother's death
Our State to be disjoint and out of frame;
9 noteColleagued with this dream of his advantage,
He hath not fail'd to pester us with message,
Importing the surrender of those Lands
Lost by his father, by all bands of law,
To our most valiant brother.—So much for him.—
Now for our self, and for this time of meeting:
Thus much the business is. We have here writ
To Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras,
(Who, impotent and bed-rid, scarcely hears
Of this his nephew's purpose,) to suppress
His further gate herein; in that the Levies,
The Lists, and full Proportions are all made
Out of his Subjects: and we here dispatch
You, good Cornelius, and you Voltimand,
For bearers of this Greeting to old Norway;
Giving to you no further personal power
To business with the King, more than the scope
Which these dilated articles allow.
Farewel, and let your haste commend your duty.
In that, and all things, will we shew our duty.
We doubt it nothing; heartily farewel.
[Exeunt Voltimand and Cornelius.
And now, Laertes, what's the news with you?
You told us of some suit. What is't, Laertes?
You cannot speak of Reason to the Dane,
And lose your voice. What wouldst thou beg, Laertes,
That shall not be my offer, not thy asking?
1 note
The hand more instrumental to the mouth,
Than to the Throne of Denmark is thy father.
What would'st thou have, Laertes?
My dread lord,
Your leave and favour to return to France;
From whence, though willingly I came to Denmark
To shew my duty in your Coronation;
Yet now I must confess, that duty done,
My thoughts and wishes bend again tow'rd France:
And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon.
Have you your father's leave? what says Polonius?
He hath, my lord, by laboursome petition,
Wrung from me my slow leave; and, at the last,
Upon his will I seal'd my hard consent.
I do beseech you, give him leave to go.
Take thy fair hour, Laertes, time be thine;
And thy best Graces spend it at thy will.
2 note
A little more than kin, and less than kind.
How is it, that the clouds still hang on you?
Not so, my lord, I am too much i'th' Sun.
Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off,
And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark.
Do not, for ever, with thy veiled lids,
Seek for thy noble father in the dust;
Thou know'st, 'tis common; all that live, must die;
Passing through nature to eternity.
Ay, Madam, it is common.
If it be,
Why seems it so particular with thee?
Seems, Madam? nay, it is; I know not seems:
'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,
Nor customary suits of solemn Black,
Nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath,
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,
Nor the dejected 'haviour of the visage,
Together with all forms, moods, shews of grief,
That can denote me truly. These indeed seem,
For they are actions that a man might play;
But I have That within, which passeth shew:
These, but the trappings, and the suits of woe.
'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet,
To give these mourning duties to your father:
&wlquo;But you must know, 3 note
&wlquo;That father, his; and the surviver bound
&wlquo;In filial obligation, for some term,
&wlquo;To do obsequious sorrow. But to persevere
&wlquo;4 noteIn obstinate condolement, is a course
&wlquo;Of impious stubbornness, unmanly grief.
&wlquo;It shews 5 notea will most incorrect to heav'n,
&wlquo;A heart unfortify'd, a mind impatient,
&wlquo;An understanding simple, and unschool'd:
&wlquo;For, what we know must be, and is as common
&wlquo;As any the most vulgar thing to sense,
&wlquo;Why should we, in our peevish opposition,
&wlquo;Take it to heart? fie! 'tis a fault to heav'n,
&wlquo;A fault against the dead, a fault to nature,
&wlquo;6 noteTo Reason most absurd; whose common theam
&wlquo;Is death of fathers, and who still hath cry'd,
&wlquo;From the first coarse, 'till he that died to day,
&wlquo;This must be so. We pray you 7 notethrow to earth
8 noteThis unprevailing woe, and think of us
As of a father: for let the world take note,
You are the most immediate to our Throne;
9 noteAnd with no less nobility of love,
Than that which dearest father bears his son,
1 noteDo I impart tow'rd you. For your intent
In going back to school to Wittenberg,
It is most retrograde to our desire:
And we beseech you, bend you to remain
Here in the cheer and comfort of our eye,
Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son.
Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet:
I pr'ythee, stay with us, go not to Wittenberg.
I shall in all my best obey you, Madam.
Why, 'tis a loving, and a fair reply;
Be as our self in Denmark. Madam, come;
This gentle and unforc'd accord of Hamlet
Sits smiling to my heart, in grace whereof
No jocund health, that Denmark drinks to day,
But the great Cannon to the clouds shall tell;
And the King's rowse the heav'n shall bruit again,
Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come, away.
&wlquo;Oh, that this too-too-solid flesh would melt,
&wlquo;Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew!
&wlquo;Or that the Everlasting had not fixt
&wlquo;His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! Oh God! oh God!
&wlquo;How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable
&wlquo;Seem to me all the uses of this world!
&wlquo;Fie on't! oh fie! 'tis an unweeded garden,
&wlquo;That grows to seed; things rank, and gross in nature,
&wlquo;Possess it meerly. That it should come to this!
&wlquo;But two months dead! nay, not so much; not two;—
&wlquo;2 note
So excellent a King, that was, to this,
&wlquo;Hyperion to a Satyr: so loving to my mother,
&wlquo;That he permitted not the winds of heav'n
&wlquo;Visit her face too roughly. Heav'n and earth!
&wlquo;Must I remember—why, she would hang on him,
&wlquo;As if Increase of Appetite had grown
&wlquo;By what it fed on; yet, within a month,—
&wlquo;Let me not think—Frailty, thy name is Woman!
&wlquo;A little month! or ere those shoes were old,
&wlquo;With which she follow'd my poor father's body,
&wlquo;Like Niobe, all tears—Why she, ev'n she,—
&wlquo;(O heav'n! 3 notea beast that wants discourse of reason,
&wlquo;Would have mourn'd longer—) married with mine uncle,
&wlquo;My father's brother; but no more like my father,
&wlquo;Than I to Hercules. Within a month!—
&wlquo;Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears
&wlquo;Had left the flushing in her gauled eyes,
&wlquo;She married.—Oh, most wicked speed, to post
4 noteWith such dexterity to incestuous sheets!
It is not, nor it cannot come to Good.
But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue.
Hail to your lordship!
I am glad to see you well;
Horatio,—or I do forget myself?
The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever.
Sir, my good friend; I'll change that name with you:
And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio?
Marcellus!
My good lord—
I am very glad to see you; good morning, Sir.
But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg?
A truant disposition, good my lord.
I would not hear your enemy say so;
Nor shall you do mine ear that violence,
To make it Truster of your own report
Against yourself. I know, you are no truant;
But what is your affair in Elsinoor?
We'll teach you to drink deep, ere you depart.
My lord, I came to see your father's funeral.
I pr'ythee, do not mock me, fellow-student;
I think, it was to see my mother's wedding.
Indeed, my lord, it follow'd hard upon.
Thrift, thrift, Horatio; the funeral bak'd meats
Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.
'Would, I had met my dearest foe in heav'n,
Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio!
My father—methinks I see my father.
Oh where, my lord?
In my mind's eye, Horatio.
I saw him once, he was a goodly King.
He was a man, take him for all in all,
I shall not look upon his like again.
My lord, I think, I saw him yesternight.
Saw! who?—
My lord, the King your father.
The King my father!
5 noteSeason your admiration but a while,
With an attentive ear; 'till I deliver
Upon the witness of these gentlemen,
This marvel to you.
For heaven's love, let me hear.
Two nights together had these gentlemen,
Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch,
In the dead waste and middle of the night,
Been thus encountred: A figure like your father,
Arm'd at all points exactly, Cap-à-pe,
Appears before them, and with solemn march
Goes slow and stately by them; thrice he walk'd,
By their opprest and fear-surprized eyes,
Within his truncheon's length; whilst they (distill'd
Almost to jelly 6 note
with th' effect of fear)
Stand dumb, and speak not to him. This to me
In dreadful secrecy impart they did,
And I with them the third night kept the watch;
Where, as they had deliver'd both in time,
Form of the thing, each word made true and good,
The Apparition comes. I knew your father:
These hands are not more like.
But where was this?
My lord, upon the Platform where we watcht.
Did you not speak to it?
My lord, I did;
But answer made it none; yet once, methought,
It lifted up its head, and did address
Itself to motion, like as it would speak:
But even then the morning-cock crew loud;
And at the sound it shrunk in haste away,
And vanisht from our sight.
'Tis very strange.
As I do live, my honour'd lord, 'tis true;
And we did think it writ down in our duty
To let you know of it.
Indeed, indeed, Sirs, but this troubles me.
Hold you the watch to night?
We do, my lord.
Arm'd, say you?
Arm'd, my lord.
From top to toe?
My lord, from head to foot.
Then saw you not his face?
Oh, yes, my lord; he wore his beaver up.
What, look'd he frowningly?
A count'nance more in sorrow than in anger.
Pale, or red?
Nay, very pale.
And fixt his eyes upon you?
Most constantly.
I would I had been there!
It would have much amaz'd you.
Very like; staid it long?
While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred.
Longer, longer.
Not when I saw't.
7 note
It was, as I have seen it in his life,
A sable silver'd.
I'll watch to night; perchance, 'twill walk again.
I warrant you, it will.
If it assume my noble father's person,
I'll speak to it, tho' hell itself should gape
And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all,
If you have hitherto conceal'd this sight,
8 note
And whatsoever shall befall to night,
Give it an understanding, but no tongue;
I will requite your loves: so, fare ye well.
Upon the platform 'twixt eleven and twelve
I'll visit you.
Our duty to your Honour.
Your loves, as mine to you: farewel.
My father's Spirit in arms! all is not well:
I doubt some foul play: 'would, the night were come!
'Till then sit still, my soul: foul deeds will rise
(Tho' all the Earth o'erwhelm them) to men's eyes.
My necessaries are imbark'd, farewel;
And, sister, as the winds give benefit,
And Convoy is assistant, do not sleep,
But let me hear from you.
Do you doubt That?
For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favour,
&wlquo;Hold it a fashion and a toy in blood;
&wlquo;A violet in the youth of primy nature,
&wlquo;Forward, not permanent, tho' sweet, not lasting;
&wlquo;The perfume, and suppliance of a minute;
No more—
No more but so?
Think it no more:
For Nature, crescent, does not grow alone
In thews and bulk; but, as this Temple waxes,
The inward service of the mind and soul
Grows wide withal. Perhaps he loves you now;
9 note
The virtue of his will: but you must fear,
His Greatness weigh'd, his will is not his own:
For he himself is subject to his Birth;
He may not, as unvalued persons do,
Carve for himself; for on his choice depends
1 noteThe safety and the health of the whole State:
And therefore must his choice be circumscrib'd
Unto the 2 notevoice and yielding of that body,
Whereof he's head. Then, if he says, he loves you,
It fits your wisdom 3 noteso far to believe it,
As he in his peculiar act and place
May give his Saying deed; which is no further,
Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal.
Then weigh, what loss your Honour may sustain,
If with too credent ear you list his songs;
Or lose your heart, or your chaste treasure open
To his unmaster'd importunity.
Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister;
And keep within the rear of your affection,
Out of the shot and danger of desire.
&wlquo;The chariest maid is prodigal enough,
&wlquo;If she unmask her beauty to the moon:
&wlquo;Virtue itself 'scapes not calumnious strokes;
&wlquo;The canker galls the Infants of the Spring,
&wlquo;Too oft before their buttons be disclos'd;
&wlquo;And in the morn and liquid dew of youth
&wlquo;Contagious blastments are most imminent.
Be wary then, best safety lies in fear;
Youth to itself rebels, though none else near.
4 noteI shall th' effects of this good lesson keep,
As watchman to my heart. &wlquo;But, good my brother,
&wlquo;Do not, as some ungracious pastors do,
&wlquo;Shew me the steep and thorny way to heav'n;
&wlquo;5 note
&wlquo;Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads,
&wlquo;And 6 noterecks not his own reed.
Oh, fear me not.
I stay too long;—but here my father comes:
A double Blessing is a double grace;
Occasion smiles upon a second leave.
Yet here, Laertes! aboard, aboard for shame;
The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail,
And you are staid for. There, my blessing with you;
[Laying his hand on Laertes's head.
And these few precepts in thy memory
See thou character. &plquo;Give thy thoughts no tongue,
&plquo;Nor any unproportion'd thought his act:
&plquo;Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar;
&plquo;The friends thou hast, and their Adoption try'd,
&plquo;Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel:
&plquo;But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
&plquo;Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Beware
&plquo;Of Entrance to a quarrel: but being in,
&plquo;Bear't that the opposed may beware of thee.
&plquo;Give ev'ry Man thine ear; but few thy voice.
&plquo;Take each man's censure; but reserve thy judgment,
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
But not exprest in fancy; rich, not gaudy:
For the apparel oft proclaims the man,
And they in France of the best rank and station
7 noteAre most select and generous, chief in That.
Neither a borrower, nor a lender be;
For Loan oft loses both itself and friend:
And Borrowing dulls the edge of Husbandry.
This above all; to thine own self be true;
8 note
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
Farewel; 9 notemy Blessing season this in thee!
Most humbly do I take my leave, my lord.
The time invests you; go, your servants tend.
Farewel, Ophelia, and remember well
What I have said.
'Tis in my mem'ry lockt,
And you your self shall keep the key of it.
Farewel.
[Exit Laer.
What is't, Ophelia, he hath said to you?
So please you, something touching the lord Hamlet.
Marry, well bethought!
'Tis told me, he hath very oft of late
Given private time to you; and you your self
Have of your audience been most free and bounteous.
If it be so, (as so 'tis put on me,
And that in way of caution,) I must tell you,
You do not understand your self so clearly,
As it behoves my daughter, and your honour.
What is between you? give me up the truth.
He hath, my lord, of late, made many tenders
Of his affection to me.
Affection! puh! you speak like a green girl,
1 noteUnsifted in such perilous circumstance.
Do you believe his tenders, as you call them?
I do not know, my lord, what I should think.
Marry, I'll teach you; think yourself a baby;
That you have ta'en his tenders for true pay,
Which are not sterling. 2 note
Tender yourself more dearly;
Or (not to crack the wind of the poor phrase,
Wringing it thus) you'll tender me a fool.
My lord, he hath importun'd me with love,
In honourable fashion.
Ay, fashion you may call't: go to, go to.
And hath giv'n count'nance to his speech, my lord,
With almost all the holy vows of heaven.
Ay, springes to catch woodcocks. I do know,
When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul
Lends the tongue vows. These blazes, oh my daughter,
Giving more light than heat, extinct in both,
Ev'n in the promise as it is a making,
You must not take for fire. From this time,
Be somewhat scanter of your maiden-presence,
3 note
Than a command to parley. For lord Hamlet,
Believe so much in him, that he is young;
And with a 4 notelarger tether he may walk,
Than may be given you. In few, Ophelia,
Do not believe his vows; for they are brokers,
Not of that Die which their investments shew,
But meer implorers of unholy suits,
5 noteBreathing like sanctified and pious Bonds,
The better to beguile. This is for all:
6 note
I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth,
Have you so slander any moment's leisure,
As to give words or talk with the lord Hamlet.
Look to't, I charge you, come your way.
I shall obey, my lord.
The Air bites shrewdly; it is very cold.
It is a nipping and an eager air.
What hour now?
I think, it lacks of twelve.
No, it is struck.
I heard it not: it then draws near the season,
Wherein the Spirit held his wont to walk.
[Noise of warlike musick within.
What does this mean, my lord?
The King doth wake to night, and takes his rouse,
Keeps wassel, and the swagg'ring up-spring reels;
And as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down,
The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out
The triumph of his pledge.
Is it a custom?
Ay, marry, is't:
But, to my mind, though I am native here,
And to the manner born, it is a custom
More honour'd in the breach, than the observance.
7 noteThis heavy-headed revel east and west,
Makes us traduc'd, and tax'd of other nations;
They clepe us drunkards, and with swinish phrase
Soil our addition; and, indeed, it takes
From our atchievements, though perform'd at height,
The pith and marrow of our attribute.
So, oft it chances in particular men,
That for some vicious mole of nature in them,
As, in their birth, (wherein they are not guilty,
Since nature cannot chuse his origin)
By the 8 noteo'ergrowth of some complexion,
Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason;
Or by some habit, that too much o'er-leavens
The form of plausive manners; that these men
Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect,
(Being nature's livery, or fortune's scar)
Their virtues else, be they as pure as grace,
As infinite as man may undergo,
Shall in the general censure take corruption
From that particular fault. (a) note The dram of Base
Doth all the noble substance of Worth out,
To his own scandal.
Look, my lord, it comes!
&wlquo;Angels and ministers of grace defend us!
&wlquo;Be thou a Spirit of health, or Goblin damn'd,
&wlquo;Bring with thee airs from heav'n, or blasts from hell,
&wlquo;9 note
&wlquo;Thou com'st in such a questionable shape,
&wlquo;That I will speak to thee. I'll call thee Hamlet,
&wlquo;King, Father, Royal Dane: oh! answer me;
&wlquo;Let me not burst in ignorance; but 1 note
&wlquo;Why thy canoniz'd bones, hearsed in Earth,
&wlquo;Have burst their cearments? why the sepulchre,
&wlquo;Wherein we saw thee quietly in-urn'd,
&wlquo;Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws,
&wlquo;To cast thee up again? What may this mean?
&wlquo;That thou, dead coarse, again, in compleat steel,
&wlquo;Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon,
&wlquo;Making night hideous, and 2 noteus fools of nature
&wlquo;So horribly 3 noteto shake our disposition
&wlquo;With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?
Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we do?
It beckons you to go away with it,
As if it some impartment did desire
To you alone.
Look, with what courteous action
It waves you to a more removed ground:
But do not go with it.
No, by no means.
It will not speak; then I will follow it.
Do not, my lord.
Why, what should be the fear?
I do not set my life at a pin's fee;
And, for my soul, what can it do to That,
Being a thing immortal as itself?
It waves me forth again.—I'll follow it—
&wlquo;What if it tempt you tow'rd the flood, my lord?
&wlquo;Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff,
&wlquo;That beetles o'er his Base into the sea;
&wlquo;And there assume some other horrible form,
&wlquo;Which might 4 note
&wlquo;And draw you into madness? think of it.
&wlquo;5 noteThe very place 6 noteputs toys of desperation,
&wlquo;Without more motive, into ev'ry brain,
&wlquo;That looks so many fathoms to the sea;
&wlquo;And hears it roar beneath.
It waves me still: go on, I'll follow thee—
You shall not go, my lord.
Hold off your hands.
Be rul'd, you shall not go.
My fate cries out,
And makes each petty artery in this body
As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve:
Still am I call'd: unhand me, gentlemen—
[Breaking from them.
By heaven, I'll make a Ghost of him that lets me—
I say, away—go on—I'll follow thee—
He waxes desp'rate with imagination.
Let's follow 'tis not fit thus to obey him.
Have after.—To what issue will this come?
Something is rotten in the State of Denmark.
Heav'n will direct it.
Nay, let's follow him.
Where wilt thou lead me? speak; I'll go no further.
Mark me.
I will.
My hour is almost come,
When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames
Must render up my self.
Alas, poor Ghost!
Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing
To what I shall unfold.
Speak, I am bound to hear.
So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear.
What?
I am thy father's Spirit;
Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night,
And, for the day, 7 note
'Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature,
Are burnt and purg'd away. But that I am forbid
To tell the secrets of my prison-house,
I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word
Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood,
Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres,
8 noteThy knotty and combined locks to part,
And each particular hair to stand on end
Like quills upon the fretful porcupine:
But this eternal blazon must not be
To ears of flesh and blood; list, list, oh list!
If thou didst ever thy dear father love—
O heav'n!
Revenge his foul and most unnatural murther.
Murther?
Murther most foul, as in the best it is;
But this most foul, strange, and unnatural.
&wlquo;Haste me to know it, that I, with wings as swift
&wlquo;9 noteAs meditation or the thoughts of love,
&wlquo;May sweep to my revenge.
I find thee apt;
&wlquo;1 note
And duller shouldst thou be, than the fat weed
&wlquo;That roots itself in ease on Lethe's wharf,
Wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear:
'Tis given out, that, sleeping in my orchard,
A serpent stung me. So, the whole ear of Denmark
Is by a forged process of my death
Rankly abus'd: but know, thou noble Youth,
The serpent, that did sting thy father's life,
Now wears his crown.
Oh, my prophetick soul! my uncle?
Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast,
With witchcraft of his wit, with trait'rous gifts,
(O wicked wit, and gifts, that have the power
So to seduce!) won to his shameful lust
The will of my most seeming-virtuous Queen.
Oh Hamlet, what a falling off was there!
From me, whose love was of that dignity,
That it went hand in hand ev'n with the vow
I made to her in marriage; and to decline
Upon a wretch, whose natural gifts were poor
To those of mine!
But virtue, as it never will be mov'd,
Though lewdness court it in a shape of heav'n;
So lust, though to a radiant angel link'd,
Will sate itself in a celestial bed,
And prey on garbage—
But, soft! methinks, I scent the morning air—
Brief let me be; Sleeping within mine orchard,
My custom always of the afternoon,
Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole
With juice of cursed hebenon in a viol,
And in the porches of mine ears did pour
The leperous distilment; whose effect
Holds such an enmity with blood of man,
That swift as quick-silver it courses through
The nat'ral gates and allies of the body;
And, with a sudden vigour, it doth posset
And curd, like eager droppings into milk,
The thin and wholesome blood: so did it mine,
And a most instant tetter bark'd about,
Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust
All my smooth body.—
Thus was I sleeping, by a brother's hand,
Of life, of Crown, of Queen, 2 noteat once dispatcht;
Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin,
3 noteUnhousel'd, 4 noteunanointed, 5 noteunanel'd:
No reck'ning made, but sent to my account
With all my imperfections on my head.
Oh, horrible! oh, horrible! most horrible!
If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not;
Let not the royal bed of Denmark be
A couch for luxury and damned incest.
But howsoever thou pursu'st this act,
Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive
Against thy mother aught; leave her to heav'n,
And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge,
To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once!
The glow-worm shews the Matin to be near,
And 'gins to pale his 6 noteuneffectual fire.
Adieu, adieu, adieu; remember me.
Oh, all you host of heav'n! oh earth! what else?
And shall I couple hell? oh fie! hold my heart!
And you, my sinews, grow not instant old;
But bear me stifly up. Remember thee!
Ay, thou poor Ghost, while memory holds a seat
In this distracted globe? &wlquo;remember thee!
&wlquo;Yea, from the table of my memory
&wlquo;I'll wipe away all trivial fond records,
&wlquo;All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past,
&wlquo;That youth and observation copied there;
&wlquo;And thy commandment all alone shall live
&wlquo;Within the book and volume of my brain,
&wlquo;Unmix'd with baser matter. Yes, by heav'n:
Oh most pernicious woman!
Oh villain, villain, smiling damned villain!
My tables,—meet it is, I set it down,
That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain;
At least, I'm sure, it may be so in Denmark.
[Writing.
So, uncle, there you are; now to my word;
It is; Adieu, adieu, remember me:
I've sworn it—
My lord, my lord,—
Lord Hamlet,—
Heav'n secure him!
So be it.
Illo, ho, ho, my lord!
Hillo, ho, ho, boy; 7 notecome, bird, come.
How is't, my noble lord?
What news, my lord?
Oh, wonderful!
Good my lord, tell it.
No, you'll reveal it.
Not I, my lord, by heav'n.
Nor I, my lord.
How say you then, would heart of man once think it?
But you'll be secret—
Ay, by heav'n, my lord.
There's ne'er a villain, dwelling in all Denmark,
But he's an arrant knave.
There needs no Ghost, my lord, come from the Grave
To tell us this.
Why, right, you are i' th' right;
And so without more circumstance at all,
I hold it fit that we shake hands, and part;
You, as your business and desires shall point you;
(For every man has business and desire,
Such as it is) and, for my own poor part,
I will go pray.
These are but wild and whurling words, my lord.
I'm sorry they offend you, heartily;
Yes, heartily.
There's no offence, my lord.
Yes, 8 noteby St. Patrick, but there is, my lord,
And much offence too. Touching this Vision here—
It is an honest Ghost, that let me tell you:
For your desire to know what is between us,
O'er-master it as you may. And now, good friends,
As you are friends, scholars, and soldiers,
Give me one poor request.
What is't, my lord?
Never make known what you have seen to night.
My lord, we will not.
Nay, but swear't.
In faith, my lord, not I.
Nor I, my lord, in faith.
Upon my sword.
We have sworn, my lord, already.
Indeed, upon my sword, indeed.
Swear.
Ah ha, boy, say'st thou so? art thou there, true-penny?
Come on, you hear this fellow in the cellaridge.
Consent to swear.
Propose the oath, my lord.
Never to speak of this that you have seen,
9 noteSwear by my sword.
Swear.
Hic & ubique? then we'll shift our ground.
Come hither, gentlemen,
And lay your hands again upon my sword.
Never to speak of this which you have heard,
Swear by my sword.
Swear by his sword.
Well said, old mole, can'st work i' th' ground so fast?
A worthy pioneer! Once more remove, good friends.
Oh day and night, but this is wondrous strange.
1 noteAnd therefore as a stranger give it welcome.
There are more things in heav'n and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy. But come,
Here, as before, never (so help you mercy!)
How strange or odd soe'er I bear my self
(As I, perchance, hereafter shall think meet
To put an antick disposition on)
That you, at such time seeing me, never shall,
With arms encumbred thus, or this head-shake,
Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase,
As, well—we know—or, we could, and if we would—
Or, if we list to speak—or, there be, and if there might—
(Or such ambiguous givings out) denote
That you know aught of me; This do ye swear,
So grace and mercy at your most need help you!
Swear.
Swear.
Rest, rest, perturbed Spirit. So, Gentlemen,
With all my love do I commend me to you;
And what so poor a man as Hamlet is
May do t' express his love and friending to you,
God willing, shall not lack; let us go in together,
And still your fingers on your lips, I pray:
The Time is out of joint; oh, cursed spight!
That ever I was born to set it right.
Nay, come, let's go together.
Give him this mony, and these notes, Reynoldo.
I will, my lord.
You shall do marvellous wisely, good Reynoldo,
Before you visit him, to make inquiry
Of his behaviour.
My lord, I did intend it.
Marry, well said; very well said. Look you, Sir,
Enquire me first what Danskers are in Paris;
And how, and who, what means, and where they keep,
What company, at what expence; and finding,
By this encompassment and drift of question,
That they do know my son, come you more near;
Then your particular demands will touch it;
Take you, as 'twere some distant knowledge of him,
As thus—I know his father and his friends,
And, in part, him—Do you mark this, Reynoldo?
Ay, very well, my lord.
And, in part, him—but you may say—not well;
But if't be he, I mean, he's very wild;
Addicted so and so—and there put on him
What forgeries you please; marry, none so rank,
As may dishonour him; take heed of that;
But Sir, such wanton, wild, and usual slips,
As are companions noted and most known
To youth and liberty.
As gaming, my lord—
Ay, or 1 notedrinking, [fencing,] swearing,
Quarrelling, drabbing—You may go so far.
My lord, that would dishonour him.
Faith, no, as you may season it in the Charge;
You must not put (a) note an utter scandal on him,
That he is open to incontinency,
That's not my meaning; but breathe his faults so quaintly,
That they may seem the taints of liberty;
The flash and out-break of a fiery mind,
2 noteA savageness in unreclaimed blood
3 noteOf general assault.
But, my good lord—
Wherefore should you do this?
Ay, my lord, I would know that.
Marry, Sir, here's my drift;
And I believe it is a fetch of wit.
You, laying these slight sullies on my son,
As 'twere a thing a little soil'd i' th' working,
Mark you, your party in converse, he you would sound,
Having ever seen, in the prenominate crimes,
The youth, you breathe of, guilty, be assur'd,
4 noteHe closes with you in this consequence;
5 note
Good sir, or sire, or friend, or gentleman,
(According to the phrase or the addition
Of man and country.)
Very good, my lord.
And then, Sir, does he this;
He does—what was I about to say?
I was about to say something—where did I leave?—
At, closes in the consequence.
At, closes in the consequence—Ay marry.
He closes thus;—I know the gentleman,
I saw him yesterday, or t' other day,
Or then, with such and such; and, as you say,
There was he gaming, there o'ertook in's rowse,
There falling out at tennis; or, perchance,
I saw him enter such a house of sale,
Videlicet, a Brothel, or so forsooth.—See you now;
Your bait of Falshood takes this carp of Truth;
And thus do we of wisdom and of reach,
With windlaces, and with assays of Byas,
By indirections find directions out:
So by my former lecture and advice
Shall you my son; you have me, have you not?
My lord, I have.
God b' w' you; fare you well.
Good my lord—
Observe his inclination (a) note e'en yourself.
I shall, my lord.
And let him ply his musick.
Well, my lord.
Farewel. How now, Ophelia, what's the matter?
Alas, my lord, I have been so affrighted!
With what, in the name of heav'n?
My lord, as I was sewing in my closet,
Lord Hamlet, with his Doublet all unbrac'd,
No hat upon his head, his stockings loose,
Ungarter'd, and down-gyred to his ancle;
Pale as his shirt, his knees knocking each other,
And with a look so piteous in purport,
As if he had been loosed out of hell,
To speak of horrors; thus he comes before me.
Mad for thy love?
My lord, I do not know:
But, truly, I do fear it.
What said he?
He took me by the wrist, and held me hard;
Then goes he to the length of all his arm;
And with his other hand, thus o'er his brow,
He falls to such perusal of my face,
As he would draw it. Long time staid he so;
At last, a little shaking of mine arm,
And thrice his head thus waving up and down,
He rais'd a sigh, so piteous and profound,
That it did seem to shatter all his bulk,
And end his Being. Then he lets me go,
And, with his head over his shoulder turn'd,
He seem'd to find his way without his eyes;
For out o'doors he went without their help,
And, to the last, bended their light on me.
Come, go with me, I will go seek the King.
This is the very ecstasie of love;
Whose violent property foregoes itself,
And leads the will to desp'rate undertakings,
As oft as any passion under heav'n,
That does afflict our natures. I am sorry;
What, have you giv'n him any hard words of late?
No, my good lord; but, as you did command,
I did repel his letters, and deny'd
His access to me.
That hath made him mad.
I'm sorry, that with better speed and judgment
6 noteI had not noted him. I fear'd, he trifl'd,
And meant to wreck thee; but beshrew my jealousy;
It seems, it is as proper to our age
To cast beyond ourselves in our opinions,
As it is common for the younger sort
To lack discretion. Come; go we to the King.
7 note
This must be known; which, being kept close, might move
More grief to hide, than hate to utter love.
Welcome, dear Rosincrantz, and Guildenstern!
Moreover that we much did long to see you,
The need, we have to use you, did provoke
Our hasty sending. Something you have heard
Of Hamlet's transformation; so I call it,
Since not th' exterior, nor the inward man
Resembles That it was. What it should be
More than his Father's death, that thus hath put him
So much from th' understanding of himself,
I cannot dream of. I entreat you Both,
That being of so young days brought up with him,
And since so neighbour'd to his youth and 'havour,
That you vouchsafe your Rest here in our Court
Some little time; so by your companies
To draw him on to pleasures, and to gather,
So much as from occasions you may glean,
If aught, to us unknown, afflicts him thus,
That open'd lies within our remedy.
Good gentlemen, he hath much talk'd of you;
And, sure I am, two men there are not living,
To whom he more adheres. If it will please you
8 noteTo shew us so much gentry and good will,
As to extend your time with us a while,
9 noteFor the supply and profit of our hope,
Your visitation shall receive such thanks,
As fits a King's remembrance.
Both your Majesties
Might, by the sov'reign power you have of us,
Put your dread pleasures more into command
Than to entreaty.
But we both obey,
And here give up our selves, * notein the full bent,
To lay our service freely at your feet.
Thanks, Rosincrantz, and gentle Guildenstern.
Thanks, Guildenstern, and gentle Rosincrantz.
And, I beseech you, instantly to visit
My too much changed son. Go some of ye,
And bring these gentlemen where Hamlet is.
Heav'ns make our presence and our practices
Pleasant and helpful to him!
Amen.
Th' ambassadors from Norway, my good Lord,
Are joyfully return'd.
Thou still hast been the father of good news.
Have I, my lord? assure you, my good liege,
I hold my duty, as I hold my soul,
Both to my God, and to my gracious King;
And I do think, (or else this brain of mine
Hunts not the trail of policy so sure
As I have us'd to do) that I have found
The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy.
Oh, speak of that, that do I long to hear.
Give first admittance to th' ambassadors:
My news shall be the fruit to that great feast.
Thyself do grace to them, and bring them in.
[Exit Pol.
He tells me, my sweet Queen, that he hath found
The head and source of all your son's distemper.
I doubt, it is no other but the main,
His father's death, and our o'er-hasty marriage.
Well, we shall sift him.—Welcome, my good friends!
Say, Voltimand, what from our brother Norway?
Most fair return of Greetings, and Desires.
Upon our first, he sent out to suppress
His Nephew's levies, which to him appear'd
To be a preparation 'gainst the Polack:
But, better look'd into, he truly found
It was against your Highness: Whereat griev'd,
That so his sickness, age, and impotence
Was falsely borne in hand, sends out Arrests
On Fortinbras; which he, in brief, obeys;
Receives rebuke from Norway; and, in fine,
Makes vow before his uncle, never more
To give th' assay of arms against your Majesty.
Whereon old Norway, overcome with joy,
Gives him three thousand crowns in annual fee;
And his Commission to employ those soldiers,
So levied as before, against the Polack:
With an entreaty, herein further shewn,
That it might please you to give quiet Pass
Through your Dominions for this enterprize,
On such regards of safety and allowance,
As therein are set down.
It likes us well;
And at our more consider'd time we'll read,
Answer, and think upon this business.
Mean time, we thank you for your well-took labour.
Go to your Rest; at night we'll feast together.
Most welcome home!
&wlquo;This business is well ended.
&wlquo;1 note
&wlquo;What Majesty should be, what duty is,
&wlquo;Why day is day, night night, and time is time,
&wlquo;Were nothing but to waste night, day, and time.
&wlquo;Therefore, since brevity's the soul of wit,
&wlquo;And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes,
&wlquo;I will be brief; your noble son is mad;
&wlquo;Mad, call I it; for, to define true madness,
&wlquo;What is't, but to be nothing else but mad?
&wlquo;But let that go.—
More matter, with less art.
&wlquo;Madam, I swear, I use no art at all:—
&wlquo;That he is mad, 'tis true; 'tis true, 'tis pity;
&wlquo;And pity 'tis, 'tis true; A foolish figure;
&wlquo;But farewel it; for I will use no art.
&wlquo;Mad let us grant him then; and now remains
&wlquo;That we find out the cause of this effect,
&wlquo;Or rather say, the cause of this defect,
&wlquo;For this effect, defective, comes by cause;
&wlquo;Thus it remains, and the remainder thus.—Perpend.—
&wlquo;I have a daughter; have, whilst she is mine;
&wlquo;Who in her duty and obedience, mark,
&wlquo;Hath giv'n me this; now gather, and surmise.
[He opens a letter, and reads.]
Good Madam, stay a while, I will be faithful.
Doubt thou, the stars are fire,
[Reading.
Doubt, that the Sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt, I love.
this Machine is to him, Hamlet.
This in obedience hath my daughter shewn me:
And, more above, hath his sollicitings,
As they fell out by time, by means, and place,
All given to mine ear.
But how hath she receiv'd his love?
What do you think of me?
As of a man, faithful and honourable.
I would fain prove so. But what might you think?
When I had seen this hot love on the wing,
(As I perceiv'd it, I must tell you that,
Before my daughter told me:) what might you,
Or my dear Majesty your Queen here, think?
3 note
If I had play'd the desk or table-book,
Or giv'n my heart a working mute and dumb,
Or look'd upon this love with idle sight;
&wlquo;What might you think? no, I went round to work,
&wlquo;And my young mistress thus I did bespeak;
&wlquo;Lord Hamlet is a Prince out of thy sphere,
&wlquo;This must not be; and then, I precepts gave her,
&wlquo;That she should lock herself from his resort,
&wlquo;Admit no messengers, receive no tokens:
&wlquo;4 note
Which done, see too the fruits of my advice;
&wlquo;For, he repulsed, 5 note
a short tale to make,
&wlquo;Fell to a sadness, then into a fast,
&wlquo;Thence to a watching, thence into a weakness,
&wlquo;Thence to a lightness, and, by this declension,
&wlquo;Into the madness wherein now he raves,
&wlquo;And all we wail for.
Do you think this?
It may be very likely.
&wlquo;Hath there been such a time, I'd fain know that,
&wlquo;That I have positively said, 'tis so,
&wlquo;When it prov'd otherwise?
Not that I know.
Take this from this, if this be otherwise.
[Pointing to his Head and Shoulder.
&wlquo;If circumstances lead me, I will find
&wlquo;Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed
&wlquo;Within the center.
How may we try it further?
You know, sometimes he walks four hours together,
Here in the lobby.
So he does, indeed.
At such a time I'll loose my daughter to him;
Be you and I behind an Arras then,
Mark the encounter: If he love her not,
And be not from his reason fal'n thereon,
Let me be no assistant for a State,
But keep a farm and carters.
We will try it.
But, look, where, sadly the poor wretch comes reading.
Away, I do beseech you, both away.
I'll board him presently.
[Exeunt King and Queen.
Oh, give me leave.—How does my good lord Hamlet?
6 note
For if the Sun breed maggots in a dead dog,
Being a God, kissing carrion—
Have you a daughter?
&wlquo;How say you by that? still harping on my daughter!—
&wlquo;Yet he knew me not at first; he said, I was a fishmonger.
&wlquo;He is far gone; and, truly, in my youth,
[Aside.
&wlquo;I suffer'd much extremity for love;
&wlquo;Very near this.—I'll speak to him again.
What do you read, my lord?
Though this be madness, yet there's method in't:
Will you walk out of the air, my lord?
Into my Grave.—
Indeed, that is out o'th' air:—
&wlquo;How pregnant (sometimes) his replies are?
&wlquo;A happiness that often madness hits on,
&wlquo;Which sanity and reason could not be
&wlquo;So prosp'rously deliver'd of. I'll leave him,
And suddenly contrive the means of meeting
Between him and my daughter.
My honourable lord, I will most humbly
Take my leave of you.
You cannot, Sir, take from me any thing that
I will more willingly part withal, except my life.
Fare you well, my lord.
These tedious old fools!
You go to seek lord Hamlet; there he is.
God save you, Sir
Mine honour'd lord!
My most dear lord!
My excellent good friends! How dost thou, Guildenstern?
Oh, Rosincrantz, good lads! how do ye both?
As the indifferent children of the earth.
My lord, I have news to tell you.
When Roscius was an Actor in Rome—
Why, one fair daughter, and no more,
The which he loved passing well.
The rugged Pyrrhus, he,
Black as his purpose, did the Night resemble
When he lay couched in the ominous horse;
Hath now his dread and black complexion smear'd
With heraldry more dismal; head to foot,
Now is he total gules; horridly trickt
With blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, sons,
Bak'd and impasted with the parching fires,
That lend a tyrannous and damned light
To murthers vile. Roasted in wrath and fire,
And thus o'er-sized with coagulate gore,
With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus
Old grandsire Priam seeks.
Anon he finds him,
Striking, too short, at Greeks. His antique sword,
Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls,
Repugnant to Command; unequal match'd,
Pyrrhus at Priam drives, in rage strikes wide;
But with the whif and wind of his fell sword
Th'unnerved father falls. &wlquo;Then senseless Ilium
&wlquo;Seeming to feel this blow, with flaming top
&wlquo;Stoops to his Base; and with a hideous crash
Takes prisoner Pyrrhus' ear. For lo, his sword,
Which was declining on the milky head
Of rev'rend Priam, seem'd i'th' air to stick;
So, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrhus stood;
And, like a neutral to his will and matter,
Did nothing.
&wlquo;But as we often see, against some storm,
&wlquo;A silence in the heav'ns, the rack stand still,
&wlquo;The bold winds speechless, and the orb below
&wlquo;As hush as death: anon the dreadful thunder
Doth rend the region: So after Pyrrhus' pause,
A roused vengeance sets him new a-work:
And never did the Cyclops' hammers fall
On Mars his armour, forg'd for proof eterne,
With less remorse than Pyrrhus' bleeding sword
Now falls on Priam.—
Out, out, thou strumpet Fortune! all you Gods,
In general synod take away her power:
Break all the spokes and fellies from her wheel,
And bowl the round nave down the hill of heav'n,
As low as to the fiends.
But who, oh! who, had seen 1 notethe mobled Queen,—
Run bare-foot up and down, threatning the flames
With bisson rheum; a clout upon that head,
Where late the Diadem stood; and for a robe
About her lank and all-o'er-teemed loyns,
A blanket in th' alarm of fear caught up:
Who this had seen, with tongue in venom steep'd,
'Gainst fortune's state would treason have pronounc'd:
But if the Gods themselves did see her then,
When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious sport
In mincing with his sword her husband's limbs;
The instant burst of clamour that she made,
(Unless things mortal move them not at all)
Would have made milch the burning eyes of heav'n,
And passion in the Gods.
Ay, so, God b' w' ye: now I am alone.
Oh, what a rogue and peasant slave am I!
&wlquo;Is it not monstrous that this Player here,
&wlquo;But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,
&wlquo;Could force his soul so to his own conceit,
&wlquo;That, from her working, 2 note
&wlquo;Tears in his eyes, distraction in his aspect,
&wlquo;A broken voice, and his whole function suiting,
&wlquo;With forms, to his conceit? and all for nothing?
&wlquo;For Hecuba?
&wlquo;What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,
&wlquo;That he should weep for her? what would he do,
&wlquo;Had he the motive and the cue for passion,
&wlquo;That I have? he would drown the stage with tears,
&wlquo;And cleave the gen'ral ear with horrid speech;
&wlquo;Make mad the guilty, and appall the free;
&wlquo;Confound the ign'rant, and amaze, indeed,
&wlquo;The very faculty of eyes and ears.—Yet I,
A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak,
Like John-a-dreams, 3 noteunpregnant of my cause,
And can say nothing,—no, not for a King,
Upon whose property and most dear life
4 noteA damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward?
Who calls me villain, breaks my pate a-cross,
Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face?
Tweaks me by th' nose, gives me the lye i'th' throat,
As deep as to the lungs? who does me this?
Yet I should take it—for it cannot be,
But I am pidgeon-liver'd, and lack gall
To make oppression bitter; or, ere this,
I should have fatted all the region kites
With this slave's offal. Bloody, bawdy villain!
Remorseless, treacherous, letcherous, kindless villain!
Why, what an ass am I? this is most brave,
That I, the son of a dear father murthered,
Prompted to my revenge by heav'n and hell,
Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words,
And fall a cursing like a very drab—
A scullion,—fye upon't! foh!—about, my brain!—
I've heard, that guilty creatures, at a Play,
Have by the very cunning of the Scene
Been struck so to the soul, that presently
They have proclaim'd their malefactions.
For murther though it have no tongue, will speak
With most miraculous organ. I'll have these Players
Play something like the murther of my father,
Before mine uncle. I'll observe his looks;
I'll tent him to the quick; if he but blench,
I know my course. The spirit, that I have seen,
May be the Devil; and the Devil hath power
T' assume a pleasing shape; yea, and, perhaps,
Out of my weakness and my melancholy,
(As he is very potent with such spirits)
Abuses me to damn me. I'll have grounds
5 noteMore relative than this: The Play's the thing,
Wherein I'll catch the Conscience of the King.
And can you by no drift of conference
Get from him why he puts on this confusion,
Grating so harshly all his days of quiet,
With turbulent and dang'rous lunacy?
He does confess, he feels himself distracted;
But from what cause he will by no means speak.
Nor do we find him forward to be sounded;
But with a crafty madness keeps aloof,
When we would bring him on to some confession
Of his true state.
Did he receive you well?
Most like a gentleman.
But with much forcing of his disposition.
1 note
Niggard in his reply.
Did you assay him to any pastime?
Madam, it so fell out, that certain Players
2 noteWe o'er-rode on the way; of these we told him;
And there did seem in him a kind of joy
To hear of it: they are about the Court;
And (as I think) they have already order
This night to play before him.
'Tis most true:
And he beseech'd me to intreat your Majesties
To hear and see the matter.
With all my heart, and it doth much content me
To hear him so inclin'd.
Good gentlemen, give him a further edge,
And drive his purpose into these delights.
We shall, my lord.
Sweet Gertrude, leave us too;
For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither,
That he, as 'twere by accident, may here
Affront Ophelia. Her father, and my self,
Will so bestow our selves, that, seeing, unseen,
We may of their encounter frankly judge;
And gather by him, as he is behaved,
If't be th' affliction of his love, or no,
That thus he suffers for.
I shall obey you:
And for my part, Ophelia, I do wish,
That your good beauties be the happy cause
Of Hamlet's wildness: So shall I hope, your virtues
May bring him to his wonted way again
To both your honours.
Madam, I wish it may.
Ophelia, walk you here.—Gracious, so please ye,
We will bestow ourselves—Read on this book;
That shew of such an exercise may colour
Your loneliness. We're oft to blame in this,
'Tis too much prov'd, that with devotion's visage,
And pious action, we do sugar o'er
The devil himself.
Oh, 'tis too true.
How smart a lash that speech doth give my conscience!
The harlot's cheek, beautied with plastring art,
Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it,
Than is my deed to my most painted word.
[Aside.
Oh heavy burthen!
I hear him coming; let's withdraw, my lord.
&wlquo;To be, or not to be? that is the question.—
&wlquo;Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to suffer
&wlquo;The slings and arrows of outragious fortune;
&wlquo;3 note
&wlquo;And by opposing end them?—to die,—to sleep—
&wlquo;No more; and by a sleep, to say, we end
&wlquo;The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks
&wlquo;That flesh is heir to; 'tis a consummation
&wlquo;Devoutly to be wish'd. To die—to sleep—
&wlquo;To sleep? perchance, to dream; ay, there's the rub—
&wlquo;For in that sleep of Death what dreams may come,
&wlquo;When we have shuffled off this 4 notemortal coil,
&wlquo;Must give us pause.—5 noteThere's the respect,
&wlquo;That makes Calamity of so long life.
&wlquo;For who would bear 6 note
&wlquo;Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
&wlquo;The pang of despis'd love, the law's delay,
&wlquo;The insolence of office, and the spurns
&wlquo;That patient merit of th' unworthy takes;
&wlquo;When he himself might his Quietus make
&wlquo;With a bare bodkin? who would fardles bear,
&wlquo;To groan and sweat under a weary life?
&wlquo;But that the dread of something after death,
&wlquo;(That undiscover'd country, from whose bourne
&wlquo;No traveller returns) puzzles the will;
&wlquo;And makes us rather bear those ills we have,
&wlquo;Than fly to others that we know not of.
&wlquo;Thus conscience does make cowards of us all:
&wlquo;And thus the native hue of resolution
&wlquo;Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought;
&wlquo;And enterprizes of great pith, and moment,
&wlquo;With this regard their currents turn awry,
&wlquo;And lose the name of action—Soft you, now!
[Seeing Oph.
The fair Ophelia? Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remembred.
Good my lord,
How does your Honour for this many a day?
I humbly thank you, well;—
My lord, I have remembrances of yours,
That I have longed long to re-deliver.
I pray you, now receive them.
No, I never gave you aught.
My honour'd lord, you know right well, you did;
And with them words of so sweet breath compos'd,
As made the things more rich: that perfume lost,
Take these again; for to the noble mind
Rich gifts wax poor, when givers prove unkind.
There, my lord.
&wlquo;Oh, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown!
&wlquo;The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's, eye, tongue, sword!
&wlquo;Th' expectancy and rose of the fair State,
&wlquo;The glass of fashion, and the mould of form,
&wlquo;Th' observ'd of all observers, quite, quite down!
I am of ladies most deject and wretched,
That suck'd the hony of his musick vows:
&wlquo;Now see that noble and most sovereign reason,
&wlquo;Like sweet bells jangled out of tune, and harsh;
&wlquo;That unmatch'd form, and feature of blown youth,
&wlquo;Blasted with extasie. Oh, woe is me!
T' have seen what I have seen; see what I see.
Love! his affections do not that way tend,
Nor what he spake, tho' it lack'd form a little,
Was not like madness. Something's in his soul,
O'er which his melancholy sits on brood;
And, I do doubt, the hatch and the disclose
Will be some danger, which, how to prevent,
I have in quick determination
Thus set it down. He shall with speed to England,
For the demand of our neglected Tribute:
Haply, the Seas and Countries different,
With variable objects, shall expel
This something-settled matter in his heart;
Whereon his brains still beating, puts him thus
From fashion of himself. What think you on't?
It shall do well. But yet do I believe,
The origin and commencement of this grief
Sprung from neglected love. How now, Ophelia?—
You need not tell us what lord Hamlet said,
We heard it all.—My lord, do as you please;
[Exit Ophelia.
But if you hold it fit, after the Play
Let his Queen-mother all alone intreat him
To shew his griefs; let her be round with him:
And I'll be plac'd, so please you, in the ear
Of all their conf'rence. If she find him not,
To England send him; or confine him, where
Your wisdom best shall think.
It shall be so:
Madness in Great ones must not unwatch'd go.
How now, my lord; will the King hear this piece of work?
And the Queen too, and that presently.
Bid the Players make haste.
[Exit Polonius.
Will you two help to hasten them?
We will, my lord.
What, ho, Horatio!
Here, sweet lord, at your service.
Horatio, thou art e'en as just a Man,
As e'er my conversation coap'd withal.
Oh my dear lord,—
&wlquo;Nay, do not think, I flatter:
&wlquo;For what advancement may I hope from thee,
&wlquo;That no revenue hast, but thy good spirits,
&wlquo;To feed and cloath thee? Should the poor be flatter'd?
&wlquo;No, let the candied tongue lick absurd Pomp,
&wlquo;And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee,
&wlquo;Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou hear?
&wlquo;Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice,
&wlquo;And could of men distinguish, her election
&wlquo;Hath seal'd thee for herself. For thou hast been
&wlquo;As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing:
&wlquo;A man, that fortune's buffets and rewards
&wlquo;Hast ta'en with equal thanks. And blest are those,
&wlquo;Whose blood and judgment are so well comingled,
&wlquo;That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger,
&wlquo;To sound what stop she please. Give me that man,
&wlquo;That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him
&wlquo;In my heart's core: ay, in my heart of heart,
As I do thee.—Something too much of this.—
There is a Play to night before the King,
One Scene of it comes near the circumstance,
Which I have told thee, of my father's death.
I pr'ythee, when thou see'st that Act a-foot,
Ev'n with the very comment of thy soul
Observe mine uncle: if his occult guilt
Do not itself unkennel in one speech,
It is a damned Ghost that we have seen:
And my imaginations are as foul
As Vulcan's Stithy. Give him heedful note;
For I mine eyes will rivet to his face;
And, after, we will both our judgments join,
In censure of his Seeming.
Well, my lord.
If he steal aught, the whilst this Play is playing,
And 'scape detecting, I will pay the theft.
For us, and for our tragedy,
Here stooping to your clemency,
We beg your bearing patiently.
Full thirty times hath Phœbus' Carr gone round
Neptune's salt wash, and Tellus' orbed ground;
And thirty dozen moons with borrowed sheen
About the world have time twelve thirties been,
Since love our hearts, and Hymen did our hands,
Unite commutual, in most sacred bands.
So many journeys may the Sun and Moon
Make us again count o'er, ere love be done.
But woe is me, you are so sick of late,
So far from cheer and from your former state,
That I distrust you; yet though I distrust,
Discomfort you, my lord, it nothing must:
For women fear too much, ev'n as they love.
And womens' fear and love hold quantity;
'Tis either none, or in extremity.
Now, what my love is, proof hath made you know;
And as my love is siz'd, my fear is so.
Where love is great, the smallest doubts are fear;
Where little fears grow great, great love grows there.
Faith, I must leave thee, Love, and shortly too:
My operant powers their functions leave to do,
And thou shalt live in this fair world behind,
Honour'd, belov'd; and, haply, one as kind
For husband shalt thou—
Oh, confound the rest!
Such love must needs be treason in my breast:
In second husband let me be accurst!
None wed the second, but who kill the first.
Wormwood, wormwood!—
The instances, that second marriage move,
Are base respects of thrift, but none of love.
A second time I kill my husband dead,
When second husband kisses me in bed.
I do believe, you think what now you speak;
But what we do determine, oft we break;
Purpose is but the slave to memory,
Of violent birth, but poor validity:
Which now, like fruits unripe, sticks on the tree,
But fall unshaken, when they mellow be.
Most necessary 'tis, that we forget
To pay ourselves what to ourselves is debt:
What to ourselves in passion we propose,
The passion ending, doth the purpose lose;
The violence of either grief or joy,
Their own enactors with themselves destroy.
Where joy most revels, grief doth most lament;
Grief joys, joy grieves, on slender accident.
This world is not for aye; nor 'tis not strange,
That ev'n our loves should with our fortunes change.
For 'tis a question left us yet to prove,
Whether love leads fortune, or else fortune love.
The Great man down, you mark, his fav'rite flies;
The poor advanc'd, makes friends of enemies.
And hitherto doth love on fortune tend,
For who not needs, shall never lack a friend;
And who in want a hollow friend doth try,
Directly seasons him his enemy.
But orderly to end where I begun,
Our wills and fates do so contrary run,
That our devices still are overthrown;
Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own.
Think still, thou wilt no second husband wed;
But die thy thoughts, when thy first lord is dead.
Nor earth to me give food, nor heaven light!
Sport and repose lock from me, day and night!
To desperation turn my trust and hope!
4 noteAn Anchor's cheer in prison be my scope!
Each opposite, that blanks the face of joy,
Meet what I would have well, and it destroy!
Both here, and hence, pursue me lasting strife!
If, once a widow, ever I be wife.
If she should break it now—
'Tis deeply sworn; Sweet, leave me here a while;
My spirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile
The tedious day with sleep.
Sleep rock thy brain,
And never come mischance between us twain!
So you mistake your husbands.
Begin, murtherer.—Leave thy damnable faces, and begin.
Come, the croaking raven doth bellow for revenge.
Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, and time agreeing:
Confederate season, and no creature seeing:
Thou mixture rank, of mid-night weeds collected,
With Hecate's ban thrice blasted, thirce infected,
Thy natural magick, and dire property,
On wholsom life usurp immediately.
Why, let the strucken deer go weep,
The hart ungalled play;
For some must watch, whilst some must sleep;
So runs the world away.
A whole one, I.
&wlquo;For thou dost know, oh Damon dear,
&wlquo;This realm dismantled was
&wlquo;Of Jove himself, and now reigns here
&wlquo;6 noteA very, very,—Peacock.
Oh, ha! come, some musick: Come, the recorders.
For if the King like not the comedy;
Why, then, belike, he likes it not, perdy.
Come, some musick.
Good my lord, vouchsafe me a word with you.
Sir, a whole history.
The King, Sir—
Ay, Sir, what of him?
Is, in his retirement, marvellous distemper'd—
With drink, Sir?
No, my lord, with choler.
By and by is easily said. Leave me, friends.
[Exeunt.
&wlquo;'Tis now the very witching time of night,
&wlquo;When Church-yards yawn, and hell itself breathes out
&wlquo;Contagion to this world. Now could I drink hot-blood,
&wlquo;8 note
&wlquo;Would quake to look on. Soft, now to my mother—
&wlquo;O heart, lose not thy nature; let not ever
&wlquo;The Soul of Nero enter this firm bosom;
&wlquo;Let me be cruel, not unnatural;
I will speak daggers to her, but use none.
My tongue and soul in this be hypocrites;
How in my words soever she be shent,
9 noteTo give them seals never my soul consent!
I like him not, nor stands it safe with us
To let his madness range. Therefore, prepare you;
I your Commission will forthwith dispatch,
And he to England shall along with you.
The terms of our estate may not endure
Hazard so near us, as doth hourly grow
Out of his Lunacies.
We will provide ourselves;
Most holy and religious fear it is,
To keep those many, many, Bodies safe,
That live and feed upon your Majesty.
The single and peculiar life is bound,
With all the strength and armour of the mind,
To keep itself from noyance; but much more,
That spirit, on whose weal depends and rests
The lives of many. The cease of Majesty
Dies not alone, but, like a gulf, doth draw
What's near it with it. It's a massy wheel
Fixt on the summit of the highest mount,
To whose huge spokes ten thousand lesser things
Are mortiz'd and adjoin'd; which, when it falls,
Each small annexment, petty consequence,
Attends the boist'rous ruin. Ne'er alone
Did the King sigh; but with a general groan.
Arm you, I pray you, to this speedy voyage;
For we will fetters put upon this fear,
Which now goes too free-footed.
We will haste us.
My lord, he's going to his mother's closet;
Behind the arras I'll convey my self
To hear the process, I'll warrant, she'll tax him home.
And, as you said, and wisely was it said,
'Tis meet, that some more audience than a mother
(Since nature makes them partial,) should oe'r-hear
The speech, of vantage. Fare wou well, my liege;
I'll call upon you ere you go to bed,
And tell you what I know.
Thanks, dear my lord.
&plquo;Oh! my offence is rank, it smells to heav'n,
&plquo;It hath the primal, eldest, curse upon't;
&plquo;A brother's murther.—Pray I cannot,
&plquo;1 note
Though inclination be as sharp as th' ill;
&plquo;My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent:
&plquo;And, like a man to double business bound,
&plquo;I stand in pause where I shall first begin,
&plquo;And both neglect. What if this cursed hand
&plquo;Were thicker than itself with brother's blood?
&plquo;Is there not rain enough in the sweet heav'ns
&plquo;To wash it white as snow? whereto serves Mercy,
&plquo;But to confront the visage of offence?
&plquo;And what's in prayer, but this two-fold force,
&plquo;To be fore-stalled ere we come to fall,
&plquo;Or pardon'd being down? then I'll look up;
&plquo;My fault is past.—But oh, what form of prayer
&plquo;Can serve my turn? Forgive me my foul murther!—
&plquo;That cannot be, since I am still possest
&plquo;Of those effects for which I did the murther,
&plquo;My Crown, mine own Ambition, and my Queen,
&plquo;2 note
&plquo;In the corrupted currents of this world,
&plquo;Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice;
&plquo;And oft 'tis seen, the wicked prize itself
&plquo;Buys out the law; but 'tis not so above:
&plquo;There, is no shuffling; there, the action lies
&plquo;In his true nature, and we ourselves compell'd,
&plquo;Ev'n to the teeth and forehead of our faults,
&plquo;To give in evidence. What then? what rests?
Try, what repentance can: What can it not?
3 note
Oh wretched state! oh bosom, black as death!
Oh limed soul, that, struggling to be free,
Art more engaged! help, angels! make assay!
Bow, stubborn knees; and, heart, with strings of steel,
Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe!
All may be well.
&wlquo;Now might I do it pat, now he is praying,
&wlquo;And now I'll do't—and so he goes to heav'n.—
&wlquo;And so am I reveng'd? that would be scann'd;
&wlquo;A villain kills my father, and for that
&wlquo;4 noteI, his fal'n son, do this same villain send
&wlquo;To heav'n—O, this is hire and salary, not revenge.
&wlquo;He took my father grosly, full of bread,
&wlquo;With all his crimes broad blown, and flush as May;
&wlquo;5 note
And how his audit stands, who knows, save heaven?
&wlquo;But in our circumstance and course of thought,
&wlquo;'Tis heavy with him. Am I then reveng'd,
&wlquo;To take him in the purging of his soul,
&wlquo;When he is fit and season'd for his passage?
&wlquo;Up, sword, and know thou a more horrid bent;
&wlquo;When he is drunk, asleep, or in his rage,
&wlquo;Or in th' incestuous pleasure of his bed;
&wlquo;At gaming, swearing, or about some act
&wlquo;That has no relish of salvation in't;
&wlquo;Then trip him, that his heels may kick at heav'n;
&wlquo;And that his soul may be as damn'd and black
&wlquo;As hell, whereto it goes. My mother stays;
This physick but prolongs thy sickly days.
My words fly up, my thoughts remain below;
Words, without thoughts, never to heaven go.
He will come straight; look, you lay home to him;
Tell him, his pranks have been too broad to bear with;
And that your Grace hath screen'd, and stood between
Much heat and him. (a) note I'll 'sconce me e'en here;
Pray you, be round with him.
Mother, Mother, Mother.—
I'll warrant you, fear me not.
Withdraw, I hear him coming.
Now, mother, what's the matter?
Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended.
Mother, you have my father much offended.
Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue.
Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue.
Why, how now, Hamlet?
What's the matter now?
Have you forgot me?
No, by the rood, not so;
You are the Queen, your husband's brother's wife,
But, 'would you were not so!—You are my mother.
Nay, then I'll set those to you that can speak.
Come, come, and sit you down; you shall not budge:
You go not, 'till I set you up a glass
Where you may see the inmost part of you.
What wilt thou do? thou wilt not murther me?
Help, ho.
What ho, help.
How now, a rat? dead for a ducate, dead.
Oh, I am slain.
Oh me, what hast thou done?
Nay, I know not: is it the King?
Oh, what a rash and bloody deed is this!
A bloody deed; almost as bad, good mother,
As kill a King, and marry with his brother.
As kill a King?
Ay, lady, 'twas my word.
Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewel,
[To Polonius.
I took thee for thy Betters; take thy fortune;
Thou find'st, to be too busy, is some danger.
Leave wringing of your hands; peace, sit you down,
And let me wring your heart, for so I shall,
If it be made of penetrable stuff:
If damned custom have not braz'd it so,
That it is proof and bulwark against sense.
What have I done, that thou dar'st wag thy tongue
In noise so rude against me?
Such an act,
That blurs the grace and blush of modesty;
Calls virtue hypocrite; 6 notetakes off the rose
From the fair forehead of an innocent love,
And sets a blister there; makes marriage-vows
As false as dicers' oaths. Oh, such a deed,
As 7 notefrom the body of Contraction plucks
The very soul, and sweet Religion makes
A rhapsody of words. 8 note
O'er this solidity and compound mass
With tristful visage; and, as 'gainst the doom,
Is thought-sick at the act.
Ay me! what act?
That roars so loud, it thunders to the Indies.—
Look here upon this picture, and on this,
The counterfeit presentment of two brothers:
&wlquo;See, what a grace was seated on this brow;
&wlquo;Hyperion's curles; 1 notethe front of Jove himself;
&wlquo;An eye, like Mars, to threaten or command;
&wlquo;A station, like the herald Mercury
&wlquo;New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill;
&wlquo;A combination, and a form indeed,
&wlquo;Where every God did seem to set his seal,
&wlquo;To give the world assurance of a man.
&wlquo;This was your husband,—Look you now, what follows;
&wlquo;Here is your husband, like a mildew'd ear,
&wlquo;Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes?
Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed,
And batten on this moore? ha! have you eyes?
You cannot call it Love; for, at your age,
The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble,
And waits upon the judgment; and what judgment
Would step from this to this? 2 note
Else could you not have notion: but, sure, that sense
Is apoplex'd: for madness would not err;
Nor sense to ecstasy was ne'er so thrall'd,
But it reserv'd some quantity of choice
To serve in such a diff'rence.—What devil was't,
That thus hath cozen'd you at hoodman blind?
Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight,
Ears without hands or eyes, smelling sans all,
Or but a sickly part of one true sense
Could not so mope.—
O shame! where is thy blush? 3 note
If thou canst mutiny in a matron's bones;
To flaming youth let virtue be as wax,
And melt in her own fire. Proclaim no shame,
When the compulsive ardour gives the charge;
Since frost itself as actively doth burn,
And Reason panders Will.
O Hamlet, speak no more.
Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul,
And there I see such black and grained spots,
As will not leave their tinct.
Nay, but to live
In the rank sweat of an incestuous bed,
Stew'd in corruption, honying and making love
Over the nasty sty;—
Oh, speak no more;
These words like daggers enter in mine ears.
No more, sweet Hamlet.
A murtherer, and a villain!—
A slave, that is not twentieth part the tythe
Of your precedent lord. A Vice of Kings;—
A cutpurse of the Empire and the Rule,
4 noteThat from a shelf the precious Diadem stole
And put it in his pocket.
No more.
A King of shreds and patches—
&wlquo;Save me! and hover o'er me with your wings,
[Starting up.
&wlquo;You heav'nly guards!—What would your gracious figure?
Alas, he's mad—
&wlquo;Do you not come your tardy son to chide,
&wlquo;That laps'd in time and passion, lets go by
&wlquo;Th' important acting of your dread command?
&wlquo;O say!
Do not forget: this visitation
Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose.
But, look! amazement on thy mother sits;
O step between her and her fighting soul:
Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works.
Speak to her, Hamlet.
How is it with you, lady?
Alas, how is't with you?
That thus you bend your eye on vacancy,
And with th' incorporal air do hold discourse?
Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep,
And, as the sleeping soldiers in th' alarm,
Your bedded hairs, 5 notelike life in excrements,
Start up, and stand on end. O gentle son,
Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper
Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look?
&wlquo;On him! on him!—look you, how pale he glares!
&wlquo;His form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to stones,
&wlquo;Would make them capable. Do not look on me,
&wlquo;Lest with this piteous action you convert
&wlquo;My stern effects; then what I have to do,
Will want true colour; tears, perchance, for blood.
To whom do you speak this?
Do you see nothing there?
Nothing at all; yet all, that is, I see.
Nor did you nothing hear?
No, nothing but ourselves.
Why, look you there! look, how it steals away!
My father in his habit as he lived!
Look where he goes ev'n now, out at the portal.
This is the very coinage of your brain,
This bodiless creation Ecstasy
Is very cunning in.
What Ecstasy?
&wlquo;My pulse, as yours, doth temp'rately keep time,
&wlquo;And makes as healthful musick. 'Tis not madness
&wlquo;That I have utter'd; bring me to the test,
&wlquo;And I the matter will re-word; which madness
&wlquo;Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace,
Lay not that flattering unction to your soul,
That not your trespass, but my madness speaks:
It will but skin and film the ulcerous place;
Whilst rank corruption, mining all within,
Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heav'n;
Repent what's past, avoid what is to come;
And do not spread the compost on the weeds
To make them ranker. Forgive me this my virtue;
For, in the fatness of these pursy times,
Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg,
Yea, courb, and wooe, for leave to do it good.
Oh Hamlet! thou hast cleft my heart in twain.
O, throw away the worser part of it,
And live the purer with the other half.
Good night; but go not to mine uncle's bed:
Assume a virtue, if you have it not.
That monster custom, who all sense doth eat
Of (a) note habits evil, is angel yet in this;
That to the use of actions fair and good
He likewise gives a frock, or livery,
That aptly is put on: Refrain to night;
And That shall lend a kind of easiness
To the next abstinence; the next, more easy;
For use can almost change the stamp of Nature,
And master ev'n the Devil, or throw him out
With wondrous potency. Once more, good night!
And when you are desirous to be blest,
I'll Blessing beg of you.—For this same lord,
[Pointing to Polonius.
I do repent: but heav'n hath pleas'd it so,
To punish me with this, and this with me,
That I must be their scourge and minister.
I will bestow him, and will answer well
The death I gave him; so, again, good night!
I must be cruel, only to be kind;
Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind.
What shall I do?
Not this by no means, that I bid you do.
6 note
Pinch wanton on your cheek; call you his mouse;
And let him, for a pair of reechy kisses,
Or padling in your neck with his damn'd fingers,
Make you to ravel all this matter out,
That I essentially am not in madness,
But mad in craft. 'Twere good you let him know.
For who that's but a Queen, fair, sober, wise,
Would from a paddock, from a bat, a gibbe,
Such dear concernings hide? who would do so?
No, in despight of sense and secrecy,
Unpeg the basket on the house's top,
Let the birds fly, and like the famous ape,
To try conclusions, in the basket creep;
And break your own neck down.
Be thou assur'd, if words be made of breath,
And breath of Life, I have no life to breathe
What thou hast said to me.
I must to England, you know that?
Alack, I had forgot; 'tis so concluded on.
7 noteThere's letters seal'd, and my two school-fellows,
(Whom I will trust, as I will adders fang'd;)
They bear the mandate; they must sweep my way,
Ad note marshal me to knavery: let it work.—
&wlquo;For 'tis the sport, to have the engineer
&wlquo;Hoist with his own petar: and 't shall go hard,
But I will delve one yard below their mines,
And blow them at the moon. O, 'tis most sweet,
When in one line two crafts directly meet!
This man shall set me packing;—
I'll lug the guts into the neighbour room;
Mother, good night.—Indeed, this Counsellor
Is now most still, most secret, and most grave,
Who was in life a foolish prating knave.
Come, Sir, to draw toward an end with you.
Good night, mother.
There's matter in these sighs; these profound heaves
You must translate; 'tis fit, we understand them.
Where is your son?
Bestow this place on us a little while.
[To Rosincrantz and Guildenstern, who go out.
Ah, my good lord, what have I seen to night?
What, Gertrude? How does Hamlet?
Mad as the seas, and wind, when both contend
Which is the mightier; in his lawless fit,
Behind the arras hearing something stir,
He whips his rapier out, and cries, a rat!
And, in this brainish apprehension, kills
The unseen good old man.
O heavy deed!
It had been so with us, had we been there:
His liberty is full of threats to all,
To you yourself, to us, to every one.
Alas! how shall this bloody deed be answer'd?
It will be laid to us, whose providence
Should have kept short, restrain'd, and out of haunt,
This mad young man. But so much was our love,
We would not understand what was most fit;
But, like the owner of a foul disease,
To keep it from divulging, let it feed
Ev'n on the pith of life. Where is he gone?
To draw apart the body he hath kill'd
O'er whom his very madness, like some ore
Among a mineral of metals base,
Shews itself pure. He weeps for what is done.
O Gertrude, come away:
The sun no sooner shall the mountains touch,
But we will ship him hence; and this vile deed
We must, with all our Majesty and Skill,
Both countenance and excuse. Ho! Guildenstern!
Enter Rosincrantz and Guildenstern.
Friends both, go join you with some further aid:
Hamlet in madness hath Polonius slain,
And from his mother's closet hath he drag'd him.
Go seek him out, speak fair, and bring the body
Into the chappel. Pray you, haste in this.
[Ex. Rosincrantz and Guildenstern.
Come, Gertrude, we'll call up our wisest friends,
And let them know both what we mean to do,
And what's untimely done. [1 noteFor, haply, Slander]
(Whose whisper o'er the world's diameter,
As level as the cannon to his blank,
Transports its poyson'd shot;) may miss our Name,
And hit the woundless air.—O, come away;
My soul is full of discord and dismay.
Safely stowed.—
Hamlet! lord Hamlet!
What noise? who calls on Hamlet?
Oh, here they come.
What have you done, my lord, with the dead body?
Compounded it with dust, whereto 'tis kin.
Tell us where 'tis, that we may take it thence,
And bear it to the chappel.
I've sent to seek him, and to find the body;
How dang'rous is it, that this man goes loose!
Yet must not we put the strong law on him;
He's lov'd of the distracted multitude,
Who like not in their judgment, but their eyes:
And where 'tis so, th' offender's scourge is weigh'd,
But never the offence. To bear all smooth,
This sudden sending him away must seem
Deliberate pause: diseases, desp'rate grown,
By desperate appliance are relieved,
Or not at all.
Enter Rosincrantz.
How now? what hath befall'n?
Where the dead body is bestow'd, my lord,
We cannot get from him.
But where is he?
Without, my lord, guarded to know your pleasure.
Bring him before us.
Ho, Guildenstern! bring in my lord.
Hamlet, this deed, for thine especial safety,
(Which we do tender, as we dearly grieve
For That which thou hast done) must send thee hence
With fiery quickness; therefore prepare thyself;
The bark is ready, and the wind at help,
Th' associates tend, and every thing is bent
For England.
For England?
Ay, Hamlet.
Good.
So is it, if thou knew'st our purposes.
Follow him at foot; tempt him with speed aboard;
Delay it not, I'll have him hence to night.
Away, for every thing is seal'd and done
That else leans on th' affair; pray you make haste.
[Exeunt Rosincrantz and Guildenstern.
And, England! if my love thou hold'st at aught,
As my great power thereof may give thee sense,
Since yet thy cicatrice looks raw and red
After the Danish sword, and thy free awe
Pays homage to us; thou may'st not coldly set
Our sovereign process, which imports at full,
By letters congruing to that effect,
The present death of Hamlet. Do it, England:
For like the hectick in my blood he rages,
And thou must cure me; 'till I know 'tis done,
How-e'er my haps, my joys will ne'er begin.
Go, Captain, from me, greet the Danish King;
Tell him, that, by his license, Fortinbras
Claims the conveyance of a promis'd March
Over his Realm. You know the rendezvous.
If that his Majesty would aught with us,
We shall express our duty in his eye,
And let him know so.
I will do't, my lord.
Go softly on.
Good Sir, whose Powers are these?
They are of Norway, Sir.
How purpos'd, Sir, I pray you?
Against some part of Poland.
Who commands them, Sir?
The nephew of old Norway, Fortinbras.
Goes it against the main of Poland, Sir,
Or for some frontier.
Truly to speak it, and with no addition,
We go to gain a little patch of ground,
That hath in it no profit but the name.
To pay five ducats—five, I would not farm it;
Nor will it yield to Norway, or the Pole,
A ranker rate, should it be sold in fee.
Why, then the Polacke never will defend it.
Yes, 'tis already garrison'd.
Two thousand souls, and twenty thousand ducats,
Will not debate the question of this straw;
This is th' imposthume of much wealth and peace,
That inward breaks, and shews no cause without
Why the man dies. I humbly thank you, Sir.
God b' w' ye, Sir.
Will't please you go, my lord?
I'll be with you strait, go a little before.
[Exeunt.
Manet Hamlet.
&wlquo;How all occasions do inform against me,
&wlquo;And spur my dull-revenge? what is a man,
&wlquo;If his chief good and market of his time
&wlquo;Be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more.
&wlquo;Sure, he that made us with such 4 notelarge discourse,
&wlquo;Looking before and after, gave us not
&wlquo;That capability and god-like reason
&wlquo;To rust in us unus'd. Now whether it be
&wlquo;Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple
&wlquo;Of thinking too precisely on th' event,
&wlquo;(A thought, which, quarter'd, hath but one part wisdom,
&wlquo;And ever three parts coward:) &wlquo;I do not know
&wlquo;Why yet I live to say this thing's to do;
&wlquo;Sith I have cause, and will, and strength, and means
&wlquo;To do't. Examples, gross as earth, exhort me;
&wlquo;Witness this army of such mass and charge,
&wlquo;Led by a delicate and tender Prince,
&wlquo;Whose spirit, with divine ambition puft,
&wlquo;Makes mouths at the invisible event;
&wlquo;Exposing what is mortal and unsure
&wlquo;To all that fortune, death, and danger dare,
&wlquo;Ev'n for an egg-shell. 'Tis not to be great,
Never to stir without great argument;
But greatly to find quarrel in a straw,
When Honour's at the stake. How stand I then,
That have a father kill'd, a mother stain'd,
(Excitements of my reason and my blood)
And let all sleep? while, to my shame, I see
The imminent death of twenty thousand men;
That for a fantasie and trick of fame
Go to their Graves like beds; fight for a Plot,
Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause,
Which is not tomb enough and continent
To hide the slain? O, then, from this time forth,
My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth.
I will not speak with her.
She is importunate,
Indeed, distract; her mood will needs be pitied.
What would she have?
She speaks much of her father; says, she hears,
There's tricks i' th' world; and hems and beats her heart;
Spurns enviously at straws; speaks things in doubt,
That carry but half sense: her speech is nothing,
Yet the unshaped use of it doth move
The hearers to collection; they aim at it,
And botch the words up fit to their own thoughts;
Which as her winks, and nods, and gestures yield them,
Indeed would make one think, there might be thought;
5 noteTho' nothing sure, yet much unhappily.
'Twere good she were spoken with, for she may strow
Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds.
Let her come in.—
To my sick soul, as sin's true nature is,
Each Toy seems prologue to some great Amiss;
So full of artless jealousy is guilt,
It spills itself, in fearing to be spilt.
Where is the beauteous Majesty of Denmark?
How now, Ophelia?
How should I your true Love know from another one?
6 noteBy his cockle hat and staff, and his sandal shoon.
Alas, sweet lady; what imports this Song?
Say you? nay, pray you, mark.
He's dead and gone, lady, he's dead and gone;
At his head a grass-green turf, at his heels a stone.
Nay, but Ophelia—
Pray you, mark.
White the shrowd as the mountain snow.
Alas, look here, my lord.
Larded all with sweet flowers:
Which bewept to the grave did go
With true love showers.
To morrow is St. Valentine's day, all in the morn betime,
And I a maid at your window, to be your Valentine.
Then up he rose, and don'd his cloaths, 8 noteand do'pt the chamber door;
Let in the maid, that out a maid never departed more.
By Gis, and by S. Charity,
Alack, and fie for shame!
Young men will do't, if they come to't,
By cock, they are to blame.
Quoth she, before you tumbled me,
You promis'd me to wed:
So would I ha' done, by yonder sun,
And thou hadst not come to my bed.
Follow her close, give her good watch, I pray you;
[Exit Horatio.
This is the poison of deep grief; it springs
All from her father's death. O Gertrude, Gertrude!
When sorrows come, they come not single spies,
But in battalions. First, her father slain;
Next your Son gone, and he most violent author
Of his own just Remove; the people muddied,
Thick and unwholesome in their thoughts and whispers,
For good Polonius' death; (We've done but greenly,
In private to interr him;) poor Ophelia,
Divided from herself, and her fair judgment;
(Without the which we're pictures, or mere beasts:)
Last, and as much containing as all these,
Her brother is in secret come from France:
Feeds on this wonder, keeps himself in clouds,
And wants not buzzers to infect his ear
With pestilent speeches of his father's death;
Wherein necessity, of matter beggar'd,
Will nothing stick our persons to arraign
In ear and ear. O my dear Gertrude, this,
9 noteLike to a murthering piece, in many places
Gives me superfluous death!
Alack! what Noise is this?
Where are my Switzers? let them guard the door.
What is the matter?
Save yourself, my lord.
The ocean, over-peering of his list,
Eats not the flats with more impetuous haste,
Than young Laertes, in a riotous head,
O'er-bears your officers; the rabble call him lord;
And as the world were now but to begin,
Antiquity forgot, custom not known,
1 note
The cry, “Chuse we Laertes for our King.”
Caps, hands, and tongues, applaud it to the Clouds;
“Laertes shall be King, Laertes King!”
How chearfully on the false trail they cry!
Oh, this is counter, you false Danish dogs.
The doors are broke.
Where is this King? Sirs! stand you all without.
No, let's come in.
I pray you, give me leave.
We will, we will.
I thank you, keep the door.
O thou vile King, give me my father.
Calmly, good Laertes.
That drop of blood that's calm, proclaims me bastard;
Cries cuckold to my father; brands the harlot
Even here, between the chaste and unsmirch'd brow
Of my true mother.
What is the cause, Laertes,
That thy Rebellion looks so giant-like?
Let him go, Gertrude; do not fear our person:
There's such divinity doth hedge a King,
That treason can but peep to what it would,
Acts little of its will. Tell me, Laertes,
Why are you thus incens'd? Let him go, Gertrude.
Speak, man.
Where is my father?
Dead.
But not by him.
Let him demand his fill.
How came he dead? I'll not be juggled with:
To hell, allegiance! vows, to the blackest devil!
Conscience and grace, to the profoundest pit!
I dare damnation; to this point I stand,
That both the worlds I give to negligence,
Let come, what comes; only I'll be reveng'd
Most throughly for my father.
Who shall stay you?
My will, not all the world;
And for my means, I'll husband them so well,
They shall go far with little.
Good Laertes,
If you desire to know the certainty
Of your dear father, is't writ in your revenge,
(That sweep-stake) you will draw both friend and foe,
Winner and loser?
None but his enemies.
Will you know them then?
To his good friends thus wide I'll ope my arms,
And like the kind life-rendring pelican,
Repast them with my blood.
Why, now you speak
Like a good child, and a true gentleman.
That I am guiltless of your father's death,
And am most sensible in grief for it,
It shall as level to your judgment pierce,
As day does to your eye. [A noise within. &wlquo;Let her come in.]
How now, what noise is that?
O heat, dry up my brains! tears, seven times salt,
Burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye!
By heav'n, thy madness shall be paid with weight,
'Till our scale turn the beam. O rose of May!
Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia!
O heav'ns, is't possible a young maid's wits
Should be as mortal as an old man's life?
2 note
Nature is fal'n in love; and where 'tis fal'n,
It sends some precious instance of itself
After the thing it loves.
They bore him bare-fac'd on the bier,
And on his Grave remains many a tear;
Fare you well, my dove!
Had'st thou thy wits, and didst perswade Revenge,
It could not move thus.
Thought, and affliction, passion, hell itself,
She turns to favour, and to prettiness.
And will he not come again?
And will he not come again?
No, no, he is dead, go to thy death-bed,
He never will come again.
His beard was as white as snow,
All flaxen was his pole:
He is gone, he is gone, and we cast away mone,
Gramercy on his soul!
And of all christian souls! God b' w' ye.
Do you see this, you Gods!
Laertes, I must commune with your grief,
Or you deny me right: go but a-part,
Make choice of whom your wisest friends you will,
And they shall hear and judge 'twixt you and me;
If by direct or by collateral hand
They find us touch'd, we will our Kingdom give,
Our Crown, our life, and all that we call ours,
To you in satisfaction. But if not,
Be you content to lend your patience to us,
And we shall jointly labour with your soul,
To give it due content.
Let this be so.
His means of death, his obscure funeral,
No trophy, sword, nor hatchment o'er his bones,
No noble rite, nor formal ostentation,
Cry to be heard, as 'twere from heav'n to earth,
That I must call't in question.
So you shall:
5 note
I pray you, go with me.
What are they, that would speak with me?
Sailors, Sir; they say, they have letters for you.
Let them come in.
I do not know from what part of the world
I should be greeted, if not from lord Hamlet.
Come, I will make you way for these your letters;
And do't the speedier, that you may direct me
To him from whom you brought them.
Now must your conscience my acquittance seal,
And you must put me in your heart for friend;
Sith you have heard, and with a knowing ear,
That he, which hath your noble father slain,
Pursued my life.
It well appears. But tell me,
Why you proceeded not against these feats,
So crimeful and so capital in nature,
As by your safety, wisdom, all things else,
You mainly were stirr'd up?
Two special reasons,
Which may to you, perhaps, seem much unsinew'd,
And yet to me are strong. The Queen, his mother,
Lives almost by his looks; and for my self,
(My virtue or my plague, be't either which,)
She's so conjunctive to my life and soul,
That, as the star moves not but in his sphere,
I could not but by her. The other motive,
Why to a publick count I might not go,
Is the great love the general gender bear him;
Who, dipping all his faults in their affection,
Would, like the spring that turneth wood to stone,
Convert his gyves to graces. So that my arrows,
Too slightly timbred for so loud a wind,
Would have reverted to my bow again,
And not where I had aim'd them.
And so have I a noble father lost,
A sister driven into desperate terms,
Whose worth, if praises may go back again,
Stood challenger on mount of all the age
For her perfections—But my revenge will come.
Break not your sleeps for that; you must not think,
That we are made of stuff so flat and dull,
That we can let our beard be shook with danger,
And think it pastime. You shall soon hear more.
I lov'd your father, and we love our self,
And that, I hope, will teach you to imagine—
How now? what news?
Letters, my lord, from Hamlet.
These to your Majesty: this to the Queen.
From Hamlet? who brought them?
Sailors, my lord, they say; I saw them not:
They were given me by Claudio, he receiv'd them.
Laertes, you shall hear them: leave us, all—
[Exit Mes.
What should this mean? are all the rest come back?
Or is it some abuse—and no such thing?
Know you the hand?
'Tis Hamlet's character;
Naked, and (in a postscript here, he says)
Alone: can you advise me?
I'm lost in it, my lord: but let him come;
It warms the very sickness in my heart,
That I shall live and tell him to his teeth,
Thus diddest thou.
If it be so, Laertes,
As how should it be so?—how, otherwise?—
Will you be rul'd by me?
I, so you'll not o'er-rule me to a peace.
To thine own peace: if he be now return'd,
As liking not his voyage, and that he means
No more to undertake it; I will work him
To an exploit now ripe in my device,
Under the which he shall not chuse but fall:
And for his death no wind of Blame shall breathe;
But ev'n his mother shall uncharge the practice,
And call it accident.
I will be rul'd,
The rather, if you could devise it so,
That I might be the organ.
It falls right:
You have been talkt of since your travel much,
And that in Hamlet's Hearing, for a quality
Wherein, they say, you shine; your sum of parts
Did not together pluck such envy from him,
As did that one, and that in my regard
Of the unworthiest siege.
What part is that, my lord?
A very feather in the cap of youth,
Yet needful too; for youth no less becomes
The light and careless livery that it wears,
Than settled age his sables, and his weeds
6 note
Here was a gentleman of Normandy;
I've seen my self, and serv'd against the French,
And they can well on horse-back; but this Gallant
Had witchcraft in't, he grew unto his seat;
And to such wondrous doing brought his horse,
As he had been incorps'd and demy-natur'd
With the brave beast; so far he top'd my thought,
That I in forgery of shapes and tricks
Come short of what he did.
A Norman, was't?
A Norman.
Upon my life, Lamond.
The same.
I know him well; he is the brooch, indeed,
And gem of all the nation.
He made confession of you,
And gave you such a masterly report,
For art and exercise in your defence;
And for your rapier most especial,
That he cry'd out, 'twould be a Sight indeed,
If one could match you. The Scrimers of their nation,
He swore, had neither motion, guard, nor eye,
If you oppos'd 'em—Sir, this Report of his
Did Hamlet so envenom with his envy,
That he could nothing do, but wish and beg
Your sudden coming o'er to play with him.
Now out of this—
What out of this, my lord?
Laertes, was your father dear to you?
Or are you like the painting of a sorrow,
A face without a heart?
Why ask you this?
Not that I think, you did not love your father,
But that I know, love is begun by time;
And that I see in passages of proof,
Time qualifies the spark and fire of it:
&wlquo;There lives within the very flame of love
&wlquo;A kind of wick, or snuff, that will abate it,
And nothing is at a like goodness still;
7 note
Dies in his own too much; what we would do,
We should do when we would; for this would changes,
And hath abatements and delays as many
As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents;
8 note
That hurts by easing; but to th' quick o' th' ulcer—
Hamlet comes back; what would you undertake
To shew yourself your father's Son indeed
More than in words?
To cut his throat i' th' church.
No place indeed, should murther sanctuarise;
Revenge should have no bounds; but, good Laertes,
Will you do this? keep close within your chamber;
Hamlet, return'd, shall know you are come home:
We'll put on those shall praise your excellence,
And set a double varnish on the fame
The Frenchmen gave you; bring you in fine together,
And wager on your heads. He being remiss,
Most generous, and free from all contriving,
Will not peruse the foils; so that with ease,
Or with a little shuffling, you may chuse
9 noteA sword unbated, and in a pass of practice
Requite him for your father.
I will do't;
And for the purpose I'll anoint my sword:
I bought an unction of a Mountebank,
So mortal, that but dip a knife in it,
Where it draws blood, no Cataplasm so rare,
Collected from all Simples that have virtue
Under the Moon, can save the thing from death,
That is but scratch'd withal; I'll touch my point
With this contagion, that if I gall him slightly,
It may be death.
Let's farther think of this;
Weigh, what convenience both of time and means
May fit us to our shape. If this should fail,
And that our drift look through our bad performance,
'Twere better not assay'd; therefore this project
Should have a back, or second, that might hold,
If this should blast in proof. Soft—let me see—
We'll make a solemn wager on your cunnings;
I ha't—when in your motion you are hot,
(As make your bouts more violent to that end)
And that he calls for Drink, I'll have prepar'd him
A Chalice for the nonce; whereon but sipping,
If he by chance escape your venom'd tuck,
Our purpose may hold there.
How now, sweet Queen?
One woe doth tread upon another's heel,
So fast they follow: your sister's drown'd, Laertes.
Drown'd! oh where?
&wlquo;There is a willow grows aslant a Brook,
&wlquo;That shews his hoar leaves in the glassie stream:
&wlquo;There with fantastick garlands did she come,
&wlquo;Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples,
&wlquo;(That liberal shepherds give a grosser name to;
&wlquo;But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them;)
&wlquo;There on the pendant boughs, her coronet weeds
&wlquo;Clambring to hang, an envious sliver broke;
&wlquo;When down her weedy trophies and herself
&wlquo;Fell in the weeping brook; her cloaths spread wide,
&wlquo;And mermaid-like, a while they bore her up;
&wlquo;1 note
Which time she chaunted snatches of old tunes,
&wlquo;As one incapable of her own distress;
&wlquo;Or like a creature native, and indued
&wlquo;Unto that element: but long it could not be,
'Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death.
Alas then, she is drown'd!
Drown'd, drown'd.
Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia,
And therefore I forbid my tears: but yet
It is our trick; Nature her custom holds,
Let Shame say what it will; when these are gone,
The woman will be out: adieu, my lord!
I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze,
But that this folly drowns it.
Follow, Gertrude:
How much had I to do to calm his rage!
Now fear I, this will give it start again;
Therefore, let's follow.
In youth when I did love, did love,
Methought, it was very sweet;
To contract, oh, the time for, a, my behove,
Oh, methought, there was nothing so meet.
But age, with his stealing steps,
Hath claw'd me in his clutch:
And hath shipped me into his land,
As if I had never been such.
A pick-axe and a spade, a spade
For,—and a shrouding sheet!
O, a pit of clay for to be made
For such a guest is meet.
O, a pit of clay for to be made
For such a Guest is meet.
Imperial Cæsar, dead and turn'd to clay,
Might stop a hole to keep the wind away:
Oh, that that earth, which kept the world in awe,
Should patch a wall t'expel the winter's flaw!
But soft! but soft a while—here comes the King,
The Queen, the Courtiers. What is that they follow,
And with such maimed rites? this doth betoken,
The coarse, they follow, did with desperate hand
Foredo its own life; 'twas of some estate.
Couch we a while, and mark.
What ceremony else?
That is Laertes, a most noble youth: mark—
What ceremony else?
Her obsequies have been so far enlarg'd
As we have warranty; her death was doubtful;
And but that great Command o'er-sways the order,
She should in ground unsanctified have lodg'd
'Till the last Trump. For charitable prayers,
Shards, flints, and pebbles, should be thrown on her;
Yet here she is 6 noteallow'd her virgin chants,
Her maiden-strewments, and the bringing home
7 noteOf bell and burial.
Must no more be done?
No more be done!
We should profane the service of the dead,
To sing a Requiem, and such Rest to her
As to peace-parted souls.
Lay her i'th' earth;
&wlquo;And from her fair and unpolluted flesh
&wlquo;May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest,
&wlquo;A ministring angel shall my sister be,
&wlquo;When thou liest howling.
What, the fair Ophelia!
Sweets to the sweet, farewel!
I hop'd, thou should'st have been my Hamlet's wife;
I thought thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid,
And not have strew'd thy Grave.
O treble woe
Fall ten times treble on that cursed head,
Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense
Depriv'd thee of! Hold off the earth a while,
'Till I have caught her once more in my arms;
[Laertes leaps into the Grave.
Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead,
'Till of this flat a mountain you have made,
T' o'er-top old Pelion, or the skyish head
Of blue Olympus.
What is he, whose griefs
Bear such an emphasis? whose phrase of sorrow
Conjures the wandring stars, and makes them stand
Like wonder-wounded hearers? this is I,
[Hamlet leaps into the Grave.
Hamlet the Dane.
The Devil take thy soul!
Thou pray'st not well.
I pr'ythee, take thy fingers from my throat—
For though I am not splenitive and rash;
Yet have I in me something dangerous,
Which let thy wisdom fear. Hold off thy hand.
Pluck them asunder—
Hamlet, Hamlet—
Good my lord, be quiet.
Why, I will fight with him upon this theme,
Until my eye-lids will no longer wag.
Oh my son! what theme?
I lov'd Ophelia; forty thousand brothers
Could not with all their quantity of love
Make up my sum. What wilt thou do for her?
O, he is mad, Laertes.
For love of God, forbear him.
Come, shew me what thou'lt do.
Woo't weep? woo't fight? woo't fast? woo't tear thy self?
Woo't drink up 8 noteeisel, eat a crocodile?
I'll do't—Do'st thou come hither but to whine?
To out-face me with leaping in her Grave?
Be buried quick with her; and so will I;
And if thou prate of mountains, let them throw
Millions of acres on us, 'till our ground,
Singeing his pate 9 noteagainst the burning Sun,
Make Ossa like a wart! nay, an thou'lt mouth,
I'll rant as well as thou.
This is meer madness;
And thus a while the Fit will work on him:
&wlquo;Anon, as patient as the female dove,
&wlquo;1 noteE'er that her golden couplets are disclos'd
&wlquo;His silence will sit drooping.
Hear you, Sir—
What is the reason that you use me thus?
I lov'd you ever; but it is no matter—
Let Hercules himself do what he may,
The cat will mew, the dog will have his day.
I pray you, good Horatio, wait upon him.
[Exit Hor.
Strengthen your patience in our last night's speech.
[To Laertes.
We'll put the matter to the present push.
Good Gertrude, set some watch over your son:
This Grave shall have a living Monument.
An hour of quiet shortly shall we see;
'Till then, in patience our proceeding be.
So much for this, now shall you see the other.
You do remember all the circumstance?
Remember it, my lord?
Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting,
That would not let me sleep; methought, I lay
Worse than the mutines in the Bilboes; 2 note
Rashness
(And prais'd be rashness for it) lets us know;
Or indiscretion sometimes serves us well,
When our deep plots do fail; &wlquo;and that should teach us,
&wlquo;There's a Divinity that shapes our ends,
&wlquo;Rough-hew them how we will.
That is most certain.
Up from my cabin,
My sea-gown scarft about me, in the dark
Grop'd I to find out them; had my desire,
Finger'd their packet, and in fine withdrew
To mine own room again; making so bold
(My fears forgetting manners) to unseal
Their grand Commission, where I found, Horatio,
A royal knavery; an exact Command,
Larded with many several sorts of reasons,
Importing Denmark's health, and England's too,
With, ho! such buggs and goblins in my life;
That on the supervize, 3 noteno leisure bated,
No, not to stay the grinding of the ax,
My head should be struck off.
Is't possible?
Here's the commission, read it at more leisure;
But wilt thou hear now how I did proceed?
I beseech you.
4 note
(Ere I could mark the prologue to my Bane
They had begun the Play:) I sate me down,
Devis'd a new commission, wrote it fair:
(I once did hold it, as our Statists do,
A baseness to write fair; and labour'd much
How to forget that Learning; but, Sir, now
It did me yeoman's service;) wilt thou know
Th' effect of what I wrote?
Ay, good my lord.
An earnest conjuration from the King,
As England was his faithful tributary,
As love between them, like the palm, might flourish,
5 note
As Peace should still her wheaten garland wear,
And stand a Commere 'tween their amities;
And many such like As's of great charge;
That on the view and knowing these contents,
Without debatement further, more or less,
He should the bearers put to sudden death,
Not shriving time allow'd.
How was this seal'd?
Why, ev'n in that was heaven ordinant;
I had my father's Signet in my purse,
Which was the model of that Danish seal:
I folded the Writ up in form of th' other,
Subscrib'd it, gave th' impression, plac'd it safely,
The changling never known; now, the next day
Was our sea-fight, and what to this was sequent
Thou know'st already.
So, Guildenstern and Rosincrantz go to't.
Why, man, they did make love to this employment.—
They are not near my conscience; their defeat
6 noteDoth by their own insinuation grow:
&wlquo;'Tis dangerous when the baser nature comes
&wlquo;Between the pass, and fell incensed points,
&wlquo;Of mighty opposites.
Why, what a King is this?
Does it not, think'st thou, stand me now upon?
He that hath kill'd my King, and whor'd my mother,
Popt in between th' election and my hopes,
Thrown out his angle for my proper life,
And with such cozenage; is't not perfect conscience,
To quit him with this arm? and is't not to be damn'd,
To let this canker of our nature come
In further evil?
It must be shortly known to him from England,
What is the issue of the business there.
It will be short.
The Interim's mine; and a man's life's no more
Than to say, one.
But I am very sorry, good Horatio,
That to Laertes I forgot myself;
For by the image of my cause I see
The portraiture of his; I'll court his favour;
But, sure, the bravery of his grief did put me
Into a tow'ring passion.
Peace, who comes here?
Come, Hamlet, come, and take this hand from me.
Give me your pardon, Sir; I've done you wrong;
But pardon't, as you are a gentleman.
This presence knows, and you must needs have heard,
How I am punish'd with a sore distraction.
What I have done,
That might your Nature, Honour, and Exception
Roughly awake, I here proclaim was madness:
Was't Hamlet wrong'd Laertes? never, Hamlet.
If Hamlet from himself be ta'en away,
And, when he's not himself, does wrong Laertes,
Then Hamlet does it not; Hamlet denies it:
Who does it then? his madness. If't be so,
Hamlet is of the faction that is wrong'd;
His madness is poor Hamlet's enemy.
Let my disclaiming from a purpos'd Evil,
Free me so far in your most generous thoughts,
That I have shot mine arrow o'er the house,
And hurt my brother.
I am satisfied in nature,
Whose motive, in this case, should stir me most
To my revenge: but in my terms of honour
I stand aloof, and will no reconcilement;
'Till by some elder masters of known honour
I have a voice, and president of peace,
To keep my name ungor'd. But 'till that time,
I do receive your offer'd love like love,
And will not wrong it.
I embrace it freely,
And will this brother's wager frankly play.
Give us the foils.
Come, one for me.
I'll be your foil, Laertes; in mine Ignorance
Your skill shall like a star i'th' darkest night
Stick fiery off, indeed.
You mock me, Sir.
No, by this hand.
Give them the foils, young Osrick.
Hamlet, you know the wager.
Well, my lord;
Your Grace hath laid the odds o'th' weaker side.
I do not fear it, I have seen you both:
But since he's better'd, we have therefore odds.
This is too heavy, let me see another.
This likes me well; these foils have all a length.
Ay, my good lord.
Set me the stoops of wine upon that table:
If Hamlet gives the first, or second, Hit,
Or quit in answer of the third exchange,
Let all the battlements their ordnance fire;
The King shall drink to Hamlet's better breath:
And in the cup an Union shall be throw,
Richer than that which four successive Kings
In Denmark's Crown have worn. Give me the cups:
And let the kettle to the trumpets speak,
The trumpets to the cannoneer without,
The cannons to the heav'ns, the heav'ns to earth:
Now the King drinks to Hamlet.—Come, begin,
And you the Judges bear a wary eye.
Come on, Sir.
Come, my lord.
One—
No—
Judgment.
A hit, a very palpable hit.
Well—again—
Stay, give me Drink. Hamlet, this Pearl is thine,
Here's to thy health. Give him the cup.
I'll play this bout first, set it by a while.
[They play.
Come—another hit—what say you?
A touch, a touch, I do confess.
Our son shall win.
He's fat, and scant of breath.
Here, Hamlet, take my napkin, rub thy brows;
The Queen carouses to thy fortune, Hamlet.
Good Madam,—
Gertrude, do not drink.
I will, my lord; I pray you, pardon me.
It is the poison'd cup, it is too late.
I dare not drink yet, Madam, by and by.
Come, let me wipe thy face.
I'll hit him now.
I do not think't.
And yet it is almost against my conscience.
Come, for the third, Laertes, you but dally;
I pray you, pass with your best violence;
I am afraid you make a Wanton of me.
Say you so? come on.
Nothing neither way.
Have at you now.
Part them, they are incens'd.
Nay, come again—
Look to the Queen there, ho!
They bleed on both sides. How is't, my lord?
How is't, Laertes?
Why, as a woodcock to my own springe, Osrick;
I'm justly kill'd with mine own treachery.
How does the Queen?
She swoons to see them bleed.
No, no, the drink, the drink—
Oh my dear Hamlet, the drink, the drink,—
I am poison'd—
Oh villany! ho! let the door be lock'd:
Treachery! seek it out—
It is here, Hamlet, thou art slain,
No medicine in the world can do thee good:
In thee there is not half an hour of life;
The treach'rous instrument is in thy hand,
Unbated and envenom'd: the foul practice
Hath turn'd itself on me. Lo, here I lye,
Never to rise again; thy mother's poison'd;
I can no more—the King, the King's to blame.
The point envenom'd too?
Then venom do thy work.
Treason, treason.
O yet defend me, friends, I am but hurt.
Here, thou incestuous, murth'rous, damned Dane,
Drink off this potion: is the Union here?
Follow my mother.
He is justly served.
It is a poison temper'd by himself.
Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet;
Mine and my father's death come not on thee,
Nor thine on me!
Heav'n make thee free of it! I follow thee.
I'm dead, Horatio; wretched Queen, adieu!
You that look pale, and tremble at this chance,
That are but mutes or audience to this act,
Had I but time, (as this fell Serjeant death
Is strict in his arrest) oh, I could tell you—
But let it be—Horatio, I am dead;
Thou liv'st, report me and my cause aright
To the unsatisfied.
Never believe it.
I'm more an antique Roman than a Dane;
Here's yet some liquor left.
As th' art a man,
Give me the cup; let go; by heav'n, I'll hav't.
Oh good Horatio, what a wounded name,
Things standing thus unknown, shall live behind me?
If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart,
Absent thee from felicity a while,
And in his harsh world draw thy breath in pain,
To tell my tale.
[March afar off, and shout within.
What warlike noise is this?
Young Fortinbras, with Conquest come from Poland,
To the Ambassadors of England gives
This warlike volley.
O, I die, Horatio:
The potent poison quite o'er-grows my spirit;
I cannot live to hear the news from England.
But I do prophesie, th' election lights
On Fortinbras; he has my dying voice;
So tell him, with the occurrents more or less,
5 noteWhich have sollicited.—The rest is silence.
Now cracks a noble heart; good night, sweet Prince;
6 note
Why does the Drum come hither?
Where is this sight?
What is it you would see?
If aught of woe or wonder, cease your search.
This quarry cries—on havock. Oh proud death!
What feast is tow'rd in thy infernal cell,
That thou so many Princes at a shot
So bloodily hast struck?
The sight is dismal,
And our affairs from England come too late:
The ears are senseless, that should give us hearing;
To tell him, his commandment is fulfill'd,
That Rosincrantz and Guildenstern are dead:
Where should we have our thanks?
7 noteNot from his mouth,
Had it th' ability of life to thank you:
He never gave commandment for their death.
But since so jump upon this bloody question,
You from the Polack Wars, and you from England,
Are here arriv'd; give Order, that these bodies
High on a Stage be placed to the view,
And let me speak to th' yet unknowing world,
How these things came about. So shall you hear
Of cruel, bloody, and unnatural acts;
Of accidental judgments, casual slaughters;
Of deaths put on by cunning, and forc'd cause;
And, in this upshot, purposes mistook,
Fall'n on th' inventors' heads. All this can I
Truly deliver.
Let us haste to hear it,
And call the Nobless to the audience.
For me, with sorrow I embrace my fortune;
I have some rights of memory in this Kingdom,
Which, now to claim my vantage doth invite me.
Of that I shall have also cause to speak,
And from his mouth whose voice will draw on more:
But let this same be presently perform'd,
Even while men's minds are wild, lest more mischance
On plots and errors happen.
Let four captains
Bear Hamlet, like a soldier, to the Stage;
For he was likely, had he been put on,
To have prov'd most royally. And for this passage,
The Soldiers' musick, and the rites of war
Speak loudly for him—
Take up the body: such a sight as this
Becomes the field, but here shews much amiss.
Go, bid the soldiers shoot.
Previous section
Alexander Pope [1747], The works of Shakespear in eight volumes. The Genuine Text (collated with all the former Editions, and then corrected and emended) is here settled: Being restored from the Blunders of the first Editors, and the Interpolations of the two Last: with A Comment and Notes, Critical and Explanatory. By Mr. Pope and Mr. Warburton (Printed for J. and P. Knapton, [and] S. Birt [etc.], London) [word count] [S11301].
