SCENE II.
Enter Hamlet.
&wlquo;Ham.
&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
Or to take arms against assail of troubles,
&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,
-- 183 --
&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
the whips and scorns of time,
&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.
Oph.
Good my lord,
How does your Honour for this many a day?
Ham.
I humbly thank you, well;—
Oph.
My lord, I have remembrances of yours,
-- 184 --
That I have longed long to re-deliver.
I pray you, now receive them.
Ham.
No, I never gave you aught.
Oph.
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.
Ham.
Ha, ha! are you honest?
Oph.
My lord,—
Ham.
Are you fair?
Oph.
What means your lordship?
Ham.
That if you be honest and fair, you should
admit no discourse to your beauty.
Oph.
Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce
than with honesty?
Ham.
Ay, truly; for the power of beauty will
sooner transform honesty from what it is, to a bawd;
than the force of honesty can translate beauty into its
likeness. This was sometime a paradox, but now the
time gives it proof.—I did love you once.
Oph.
Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so.
Ham.
You should not have believed me. For virtue
cannot so inoculate our old stock, but we shall relish
of it. I lov'd you not.
Oph.
I was the more deceiv'd.
Ham.
Get thee to a nunnery. Why wouldst thou
be a breeder of sinners? I am myself indifferent honest;
but yet I could accuse me of such Things, that it
were better, my mother had not borne me. I am very
proud, revengeful, ambitious, 7 note
with more offences
at my beck, than I have thoughts to put them in
-- 185 --
name, imagination to give them shape, or time to
act them in. What should such fellows, as I, do
crawling between heav'n and earth? we are arrant
knaves, believe none of us—Go thy ways to a nunnery—Where's
your father?
Oph.
At home, my lord.
Ham.
Let the doors be shut upon him, that he
may play the fool no where but in's own house.
Farewel.
Oph.
Oh help him, you sweet heav'ns!
Ham.
If thou dost marry, I'll give thee this plague
for thy dowry. Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as
snow, thou shalt not escape calumny.—Get thee to a
nunnery,—farewel—Or, if thou wilt needs marry,
marry a fool; for wise men know well enough, what
monsters you make of them—To a nunnery, go—
and quickly too: farewel.
Oph.
Heav'nly powers, restore him!
Ham.
I have heard of your painting too, well
enough: God has given you one face, and you make
yourselves another. You jig, you amble, and you
lisp, and nick-name God's creatures, and make your
wantonness your ignorance. Go to, I'll no more
on't, it hath made me mad. I say, we will have no
more marriages. Those that are married already, all
but one, shall live; the rest shall keep as they are.
To a nunnery, go.
[Exit Hamlet.
&wlquo;Oph.
&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,
-- 186 --
&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.
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].
