King.‡ ^note
Tho' yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death
The memory be green, and that it us befitted
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 ourselves.
Therefore, our sometime sister, now our queen,
Th' imperial jointress to this warlike state,
Have we, as 'twere, with a defeated joy,
Taken to wife. Nor have we herein barr'd
Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone
With this affair along.
But now, Laertes, what's the news with you?
You told us of some suit. What is't, Laertes?

Laer.
My dear lord,
Your leave and favour to return to France;

From whence, tho' 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'rds France;
And bow them to your gracious leave and favour.

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.
But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son—

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

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 nightly 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 this mourning suit, good mother,
Together with all forms, modes, shapes 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* ^note.

King.
'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet,
To give these mourning duties to your father:

But you must know, your father lost a father,
That father his, and the survivor bound
In filial obligation, for some term,
To do obsequious sorrow. But to persevere
In obstinate condolement, does express
An impious stubborness
We pray you throw to earth
This unavailing woe, and think of us,
As of a father; and let the world take note,
You are the most immediate to our throne,
Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son* ^note.

Queen.
Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet;
I pray thee 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 ourself in Denmark. Madam, come;
This gentle and unforc'd accord of Hamlet,
Sits smiling at my heart; in grace whereof,
No jocund health that Denmark drinks, to-day,
But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell it. [Exeunt. Manet Hamlet† ^note.

Ham.
O that this too, too solid flesh would melt,
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew!
Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd
His canon 'gainst self-murder!
How weary, stale, and unprofitable,
Seem to me all the uses of this world!
Fie on't! O fie! 'tis an unweeded garden,
That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature
Possess it meerly. That it should come to this!
But two months dead? nay, not so much! not two—
So excellent a king,
So loving to my mother,

That he permitted not the winds of heav'n,
Visit her face too roughly!
Why, she would hang on him,
As if increase of appetite had grown
By what it fed on; yet, within a month!—
Let me not think—frailty, thy name is woman!
A little month!—or ere those shoes were old,
With which she follow'd my poor father's body,
Like Niobe, all tears—she—
Married with mine uncle,
My father's brother; but no more like my father,
Than I to Hercules.
It is not, nor it cannot come to good.
But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue. Enter Horatio, Bernardo, and Marcellus* ^note.

Hor.
Hail to your lordship!

Ham.
I'm 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 makes you from Wittenberg, Horatio?
Marcellus!—

Mar.
My good lord!—

Ham.
I'm very glad to see you; good morning, sir.
But what, in faith, makes you from Wittenberg?

Hor.
A truant disposition, good my lord.

Ham.
I would not hear your enemy say so;
Nor shall you do my ear that violence,
To be a witness 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 direst foe in heav'n,
Ere I had seen that day, Horatio!
My father—methinks I see my father* ^note.

Hor.
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.
The King your father!

Ham.
The King my father!

Hor.
Defer your admiration, for a while,
With an attentive ear; till I deliver,
Upon the witness of these gentlemen,
This wonder to you.

Ham.
Pray 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 encounter'd: 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
Within their rapier's length; whilst they (distill'd
Almost to jelly with their 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† ^note.

Ham.
But where was this?

Mar.
My Lord, upon the platform where we watch'd.

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 vanish'd from our sight.

Ham.
'Tis very strange!

Hor.
As I do live, my honour'd Lord, 'tis true:
And we did think it then our duty
To let you know 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.
From head to foot.

Ham.
Then saw you not his face?

Hor.
O 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 fix'd 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 mod'rate haste might tell a hundred.

All.
Longer, longer.

Hor.
Not when I saw't.

Ham.
His beard was grisly?

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

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,
Let it be treble in your silence still:
And whatsoever else may hap, to-night,
Give it an understanding, but no tongue;
I will requite your loves. So fare you well.
Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve,
I'll visit you. [Exeunt.

All.
Our duty to your honour.

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. [Ex. Enter Laertes and Ophelia.

Laer.
My necessaries are embark'd; farewel.
And, sister, as the wind permits, pray
Let me hear from you.

Oph.
Do you doubt that?

Laer.
For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favours,
Hold it a fashion and a toy in blood,
A violet in the youth and prime of nature,
Forward, not permanent; tho' sweet, not lasting;
The perfume of a minute.

Oph.
No more but so?

Laer.
Think it no more:
He may not, as inferior persons do,

Carve for himself; for on his choice depends
The sanity and health of this whole state.
Then weigh what loss your honour may sustain,
If with too cred'lous ear you hear his passion.
Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister:
* ^noteThe chariest maid is prodigal enough,
If she unmask her beauty to the moon† ^note.

Oph.
I shall th' effect of this good lesson keep
About my heart: but, good my brother,
Do not, as some ungracious pastors do,
Shew me the steep and thorny way to heaven;
Whilst like a careless libertine,
Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads.

Laer.
Oh, fear me not.
I stay too long; but here my father comes. Enter Polonius.

Pol.
Yet here? Laertes! get aboard, for shame,
The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail,
And you are staid for.‡ ^note

Laer.
Most humbly I do take my leave, my Lord.
Farewel, Ophelia, and remember well
What I have said to you.

Oph.
'Tis in my mem'ry lock'd,
And you yourself shall keep the key of it.

Laer.
Farewel.* ^note. [Ex. Laer.

Pol.
What is't, Ophelia, he has 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
Giv'n private time to you; and you yourself
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 yourself 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! pugh! you speak like a green girl,
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 these tenders for your pay,
Which are not sterling. Tender yourself more dearly;
Or 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 it: go to, go to.

Oph.
And hath giv'n countenance 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. This is for all:
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.

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