Bernarrdo.
Who's there?

Fran.
Nay, answer me: stand, and unfold your self.

Ber.
Long live the King!

Fran.
Bernardo?

Ber.
He.

Fran.
You come most carefully upon your hour.

Ber.
'Tis now struck twelve; get thee to bed, Francisco.

Fran.
For this relief, much thanks: 'tis bitter cold,
And I am sick at heart.

Ber.
Have you had quiet Guard?

Franc.
Not a mouse stirring.

Ber.
Well, good night.
If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus,
^{1 note}The rivals of my Watch, bid them make haste. Enter Horatio and Marcellus.

Franc.
I think, I hear them. Stand, ho! who is there?

Hor.
Friends to this ground.

Mar.
And liege-men to the Dane.

Fran.
Give you good night.

Mar.
Oh, farewel, honest soldier; who hath reliev'd you?

Fran.
Bernardo has my place: give you good night. [Exit Francisco.

Mar.
Holla! Bernardo,—

Ber.
Say, what, is Horatio there?

^{2 note}Hor.
A piece of him. [Giving his hand.

Ber.
Welcome, Horatio; welcome, good Marcellus,

Mar.
What, has this thing appear'd again to night?

Ber.
I have seen nothing.

Mar.
Horatio says, 'tis but our phantasie;
And will not let belief take hold of him,
^{3 note}Touching 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.

Hor.
Tush! tush! 'twill not appear.

Ber.
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.

Hor.
Well, sit we down,
And let us hear Bernardo speak of this.

Ber.
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,—

Mar.
Peace, break thee off; Enter the Ghost.
Look where it comes again.

Ber.
In the same figure, like the King that's dead.

Mar.
Thou art a scholar, speak to it, Horatio.

Ber.
Looks it not like the King? mark it, Horatio.

Hor.
Most like: it harrows me with fear and wonder.

Ber.
It would be spoke to.

Mar.
Speak to it, Horatio.

Hor.
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.

Mar.
It is offended.

Ber.
See! it stalks away.

Hor.
Stay; speak; I charge thee, speak. [Exit Ghost.

Mar.
'Tis gone, and will not answer.

Ber.
How now, Horatio? you tremble and look pale.
Is not this something more than phantasie?
What think you of it?

Hor.
Before my God, I might not this believe,

^{4 note}

Mar.
Is it not like the King?

Hor.
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 note}He smote the sleaded Polack on the ice.
'Tis strange—

Mar.
Thus twice before, ^{6 note}and just at this dead hour,
With martial stalk, he hath gone by our Watch.

Hor.
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.

Mar.
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?

Hor.
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}

Had he been vanquisher; ^{8 note}

Ber.
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.

Hor.
A mote it is to trouble the mind's eye.
&wlquo;In the most high and ^{2 note}palmy 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 note}Disasters 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 note}precurse of fierce events,
As harbingers preceding still the fates,
^{5 note}And 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 note}Extorted 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.—

Mar.
Shall I strike at it with my partizan?

Hor.
Do, if it will not stand.

Ber.
'Tis here—

Hor.
'Tis here—

Mar.
'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.

Ber.
It was about to speak, when the cock crew.

&wlquo;Hor.
&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 note}Th' extravagant and erring Spirit hies
&wlquo;To his Confine: And of the truth herein
This present object made probation.

Mar.
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.

Hor.
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 note}high 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?

Mar.
Let's do't, I pray; and I this morning know
Where we shall find him most conveniently. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. Changes to the Palace. Enter Claudius King of Denmark, Gertrude the Queen, Hamlet, Polonius, Laertes, Voltimand, Cornelius, Lords and Attendants.

King.
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 note}Colleagued 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.

Vol.
In that, and all things, will we shew our duty.

King.
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?

Laer.
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.

King.
Have you your father's leave? what says Polonius?

Pol.
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.

King.
Take thy fair hour, Laertes, time be thine;
And thy best Graces spend it at thy will.
^{2 note}

Ham.
A little more than kin, and less than kind. [Aside.

King.
How is it, that the clouds still hang on you?

Ham.
Not so, my lord, I am too much i'th' Sun.

Queen.
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.

Ham.
Ay, Madam, it is common.

Queen.
If it be,
Why seems it so particular with thee?

Ham.
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.

King.
'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 note}In obstinate condolement, is a course
&wlquo;Of impious stubbornness, unmanly grief.
&wlquo;It shews ^{5 note}a 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 note}To 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 note}throw to earth
^{8 note}This 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 note}And with no less nobility of love,
Than that which dearest father bears his son,

^{1 note}Do 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.

Queen.
Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet:
I pr'ythee, stay with us, go not to Wittenberg.

Ham.
I shall in all my best obey you, Madam.

King.
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. [Exeunt. SCENE III. Manet Hamlet.

&wlquo;Ham.
&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 note}a 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 note}With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!
It is not, nor it cannot come to Good.
But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue.

SCENE IV. Enter Horatio, Bernardo, and Marcellus.

Hor.
Hail to your lordship!

Ham.
I am glad to see you well;
Horatio,—or I do forget myself?

Hor.
The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever.

Ham.
Sir, my good friend; I'll change that name with you:
And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio?
Marcellus!

Mar.
My good lord—

Ham.
I am very glad to see you; good morning, Sir.
But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg?

Hor.
A truant disposition, good my lord.

Ham.
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.

Hor.
My lord, I came to see your father's funeral.

Ham.
I pr'ythee, do not mock me, fellow-student;
I think, it was to see my mother's wedding.

Hor.
Indeed, my lord, it follow'd hard upon.

Ham.
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.

Hor.
Oh where, my lord?

Ham.
In my mind's eye, Horatio.

Hor.
I saw him once, he was a goodly King.

Ham.
He was a man, take him for all in all,
I shall not look upon his like again.

Hor.
My lord, I think, I saw him yesternight.

Ham.
Saw! who?—

Hor.
My lord, the King your father.

Ham.
The King my father!

Hor.
^{5 note}Season your admiration but a while,
With an attentive ear; 'till I deliver
Upon the witness of these gentlemen,
This marvel to you.

Ham.
For heaven's love, let me hear.

Hor.
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.

Ham.
But where was this?

Hor.
My lord, upon the Platform where we watcht.

Ham.
Did you not speak to it?

Hor.
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.

Ham.
'Tis very strange.

Hor.
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.

Ham.
Indeed, indeed, Sirs, but this troubles me.
Hold you the watch to night?

Both.
We do, my lord.

Ham.
Arm'd, say you?

Both.
Arm'd, my lord.

Ham.
From top to toe?

Both.
My lord, from head to foot.

Ham.
Then saw you not his face?

Hor.
Oh, yes, my lord; he wore his beaver up.

Ham.
What, look'd he frowningly?

Hor.
A count'nance more in sorrow than in anger.

Ham.
Pale, or red?

Hor.
Nay, very pale.

Ham.
And fixt his eyes upon you?

Hor.
Most constantly.

Ham.
I would I had been there!

Hor.
It would have much amaz'd you.

Ham.
Very like; staid it long?

Hor.
While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred.

Both.
Longer, longer.

Hor.
Not when I saw't.

Ham.
^{7 note}

Hor.
It was, as I have seen it in his life,
A sable silver'd.

Ham.
I'll watch to night; perchance, 'twill walk again.

Hor.
I warrant you, it will.

Ham.
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}

All.
Our duty to your Honour. [Exeunt.

Ham.
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. [Exit. SCENE V. Changes to an Apartment in Polonius's House. Enter Laertes and Ophelia.

Laer.
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.

Oph.
Do you doubt That?

Laer.
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—

Oph.
No more but so?

Laer.
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}

Whereof he's head. Then, if he says, he loves you,
It fits your wisdom ^{3 note}so 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.

Oph.
^{4 note}I 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 note}recks not his own reed.

Laer.
Oh, fear me not. SCENE VI. Enter Polonius.

I stay too long;—but here my father comes:
A double Blessing is a double grace;
Occasion smiles upon a second leave.

Pol.
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 note}Are 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}

Laer.
Most humbly do I take my leave, my lord.

Pol.
The time invests you; go, your servants tend.

Laer.
Farewel, Ophelia, and remember well
What I have said.

Oph.
'Tis in my mem'ry lockt,
And you your self shall keep the key of it.

Laer.
Farewel. [Exit Laer.

Pol.
What is't, Ophelia, he hath said to you?

Oph.
So please you, something touching the lord Hamlet.

Pol.
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.

Oph.
He hath, my lord, of late, made many tenders
Of his affection to me.

Pol.
Affection! puh! you speak like a green girl,
^{1 note}Unsifted in such perilous circumstance.
Do you believe his tenders, as you call them?

Oph.
I do not know, my lord, what I should think.

Pol.
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.

Oph.
My lord, he hath importun'd me with love,
In honourable fashion.

Pol.
Ay, fashion you may call't: go to, go to.

Oph.
And hath giv'n count'nance to his speech, my lord,
With almost all the holy vows of heaven.

Pol.
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}

But meer implorers of unholy suits,
^{5 note}Breathing 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.

Oph.
I shall obey, my lord. [Exeunt. SCENE VII. Changes to the Platform before the Palace. Enter Hamlet, Horatio, and Marcellus.

Ham.
The Air bites shrewdly; it is very cold.

Hor.
It is a nipping and an eager air.

Ham.
What hour now?

Hor.
I think, it lacks of twelve.

Mar.
No, it is struck.

Hor.
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?

Ham.
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.

Hor.
Is it a custom?

Ham.
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 note}This 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 note}o'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. Enter Ghost.

Hor.
Look, my lord, it comes!

&wlquo;Ham.
&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;Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon,
&wlquo;Making night hideous, and ^{2 note}us fools of nature
&wlquo;So horribly ^{3 note}to shake our disposition
&wlquo;With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?
Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we do? [Ghost beckons Hamlet.

Hor.
It beckons you to go away with it,
As if it some impartment did desire
To you alone.

Mar.
Look, with what courteous action
It waves you to a more removed ground:
But do not go with it.

Hor.
No, by no means. [Holding Hamlet.

Ham.
It will not speak; then I will follow it.

Hor.
Do not, my lord.

Ham.
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;Hor.
&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}

Ham.
It waves me still: go on, I'll follow thee—

Mar.
You shall not go, my lord.

Ham.
Hold off your hands.

Mar.
Be rul'd, you shall not go.

Ham.
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— [Exeunt Ghost and Hamlet.

Hor.
He waxes desp'rate with imagination.

Mar.
Let's follow 'tis not fit thus to obey him.

Hor.
Have after.—To what issue will this come?

Mar.
Something is rotten in the State of Denmark.

Hor.
Heav'n will direct it.

Mar.
Nay, let's follow him. [Exeunt. SCENE VIII. Changes to a more remote Part of the Platform. Re-enter Ghost and Hamlet.

Ham.
Where wilt thou lead me? speak; I'll go no further.

Ghost.
Mark me.

Ham.
I will.

Ghost.
My hour is almost come,
When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames
Must render up my self.

Ham.
Alas, poor Ghost!

Ghost.
Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing
To what I shall unfold.

Ham.
Speak, I am bound to hear.

Ghost.
So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear.

Ham.
What?

Ghost.
I am thy father's Spirit;
Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night,
And, for the day, ^{7 note}

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 note}Thy 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—

Ham.
O heav'n!

Ghost.
Revenge his foul and most unnatural murther.

Ham.
Murther?

Ghost.
Murther most foul, as in the best it is;
But this most foul, strange, and unnatural.

&wlquo;Ham.
&wlquo;Haste me to know it, that I, with wings as swift
&wlquo;^{9 note}As meditation or the thoughts of love,
&wlquo;May sweep to my revenge.

Ghost.
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.

Ham.
Oh, my prophetick soul! my uncle?

Ghost.
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 note}at once dispatcht;
Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin,
^{3 note}Unhousel'd, ^{4 note}unanointed, ^{5 note}unanel'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 note}uneffectual fire.
Adieu, adieu, adieu; remember me. [Exit.

Ham.
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— SCENE IX. Enter Horatio and Marcellus.

Hor.
My lord, my lord,—

Mar.
Lord Hamlet,—

Hor.
Heav'n secure him!

Mar.
So be it.

Hor.
Illo, ho, ho, my lord!

Ham.
Hillo, ho, ho, boy; ^{7 note}come, bird, come.

Mar.
How is't, my noble lord?

Hor.
What news, my lord?

Ham.
Oh, wonderful!

Hor.
Good my lord, tell it.

Ham.
No, you'll reveal it.

Hor.
Not I, my lord, by heav'n.

Mar.
Nor I, my lord.

Ham.
How say you then, would heart of man once think it?
But you'll be secret—

Both.
Ay, by heav'n, my lord.

Ham.
There's ne'er a villain, dwelling in all Denmark,
But he's an arrant knave.

Hor.
There needs no Ghost, my lord, come from the Grave
To tell us this.

Ham.
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.

Hor.
These are but wild and whurling words, my lord.

Ham.
I'm sorry they offend you, heartily;
Yes, heartily.

Hor.
There's no offence, my lord.

Ham.
Yes, ^{8 note}by 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.

Hor.
What is't, my lord?

Ham.
Never make known what you have seen to night.

Both.
My lord, we will not.

Ham.
Nay, but swear't.

Hor.
In faith, my lord, not I.

Mar.
Nor I, my lord, in faith.

Ham.
Upon my sword.

Mar.
We have sworn, my lord, already.

Ham.
Indeed, upon my sword, indeed.

Ghost.
Swear. [Ghost cries under the Stage.

Ham.
Ah ha, boy, say'st thou so? art thou there, true-penny?
Come on, you hear this fellow in the cellaridge.
Consent to swear.

Hor.
Propose the oath, my lord.

Ham.
Never to speak of this that you have seen,
^{9 note}Swear by my sword.

Ghost.
Swear.

Ham.
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.

Ghost.
Swear by his sword.

Ham.
Well said, old mole, can'st work i' th' ground so fast?
A worthy pioneer! Once more remove, good friends.

Hor.
Oh day and night, but this is wondrous strange.

Ham.
^{1 note}And 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.

Ghost.
Swear.

Ham.
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. [Exeunt.

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