Ham.
Why, let the strucken deer go weep,
  The hart ungalled play;
For some must watch, whilst some must sleep;
  So runs the world away.

Would not this, Sir, and a forest of Feathers, (if the rest of my fortunes turn Turk with me) with two provincial roses on my rayed shoes, get me a fellowship in ^{5 note}a cry of Players, Sir?

Hor.

Half a share.

Ham.
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 note}A very, very,—Peacock.

Hor.

You might have rhim'd.

Ham.

Oh, good Horatio, I'll take the Ghost's word for a thousand pounds. Didst perceive?

Hor.

Very well, my lord.

Ham.

Upon the talk of the poisoning?

Hor.

I did very well note him.

Enter Rosincrantz and Guildenstern.

Ham.
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.

Guil.
Good my lord, vouchsafe me a word with you.

Ham.
Sir, a whole history.

Guil.
The King, Sir—

Ham.
Ay, Sir, what of him?

Guil.
Is, in his retirement, marvellous distemper'd—

Ham.
With drink, Sir?

Guil.
No, my lord, with choler.

Ham.

Your wisdom should shew itself more rich, to signify this to his Doctor: for, for me to put him to his purgation, would, perhaps, plunge him into more choler.

Guil.

Good my lord, put your discourse into some frame, and start not so wildly from my affair.

Ham.

I am tame, Sir;—pronounce.

Guil.

The Queen your mother, in most great affliction of spirit, hath sent me to you.

Ham.

You are welcome.

Guil.

Nay, good my lord, this Courtesy is not of the right Breed. If it shall please you to make me a wholsom answer, I will do your mother's commandment; if not, your pardon, and my return shall be the end of my business.

Ham.

Sir, I cannot.

Guil.

What, my lord?

Ham.

Make you a wholsom answer: my wit's diseas'd. But, Sir, such answer as I can make, you shall command; or, rather, as you say, my mother—therefore no more but to the matter—my mother, you say—

Ros.

Then thus she says; your behaviour hath struck her into amazement, and admiration.

Ham.

O wonderful son, that can so astonish a mother! But is there no sequel at the heels of this mother's admiration?

Ros.

She desires to speak with you in her closet, ere you go to bed.

Ham.

We shall obey, were she ten times our mother. Have you any further trade with us?

Ros.

My lord, you once did love me.

Ham.

So I do still, by these pickers and stealers.

Ros.

Good my lord, what is your cause of distemper? you do, surely, bar the door of your own liberty, if you deny your griefs to your friend.

Ham.

Sir, I lack advancement.

Ros.

How can that be, when you have the voice of the King himself, for your succession in Denmark?

Ham.

Ay, but while the grass grows—the Proverb is something musty.

Oh, the Recorders; let me see one. To withdraw with you—why do you go about to recover the wind of me, as if you would drive me into a toil?

Guil.

^{7 note}Oh my lord, if my duty be too bold, my love is too unmannerly.

Ham.

I do not well understand that. Will you play upon this pipe?

Guil.

My lord, I cannot.

Ham.

I pray you.

Guil.

Believe me, I cannot.

Ham.

I do beseech you.

Guil.

I know no touch of it, my lord.

Ham.

'Tis as easy as lying; govern these ventige with your fingers and thumb, give it breath with your mouth, and it will discourse most eloquent musick. Look you, these are the stops.

Guil.

But these cannot I command to any utterance of harmony; I have not the skill.

&wlquo;Ham.

&wlquo;Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me; you would play upon me, you would seem to know my stops; you would pluck out the heart of my mystery; you would sound me from my lowest note, to the top of my compass; and there is much musick, excellent voice, in this little organ, yet cannot you make it speak. Why, do you think, that I am easier to be plaid on than a pipe? call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me.—God bless you, Sir.&wrquo;

Pol.

My lord, the Queen would speak with you, and presently.

Ham.

Do you see yonder cloud, that's almost in shape of a Camel?

Pol.

By the mass, and it's like a Camel, indeed.

Ham.

Methinks, it is like an Ouzle.

Pol.

It is black like an Ouzle.

Ham.

Or, like a Whale?

Pol.

Very like a Whale.

Ham.

Then will I come to my mother by and by— they fool me to the top of my bent.—I will come by and by.

Pol.

I will say so.

Ham.
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}