Queen.
King.
There's matter in these sighs,
You must expound them:
How does Hamlet?
Queen.
Mad as the sea 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 his brainish apprehension, kills
The unseen good old man.
King.
O heavy deed!
It had been so with us, had we been there.
Where is he gone?
Queen.
To draw apart the body he hath kill'd.
King.
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 count'nance and excuse—Ho, Guildenstern!
Enter Rosencraus and Guildenstern.
Friends both, go join you with some farther aid;
Hamlet in madness hath Polonius slain,
And from his mother's closet he hath dragg'd him:
Go seek him out, speak fair, and bring the body
Into the chapel; I pray you haste in this.
Come, Gertrude.
[Exeunt.
Enter Hamlet.
Ham.
Safely stow'd. [Within.] Hamlet! Lord Hamlet!
Ham.
What noise? Who calls Hamlet?
Ros.
What have you done, my Lord, with the dead body?
Ham.
Compounded it with the dust, whereto it is akin.
-- 59 --
Ros.
Tell us where 'tis, that we may take it thence,
And bear it to the chapel.
Ham.
Do not believe it.
Ros.
Believe what?
Ham.
That I can keep your counsel, and not my
own; besides, to be demanded of a sponge, what replication
should be made by the son of a King?
Ros.
Take you me for a sponge, my Lord?
Ham.
Ay, sir, that soaks up the King's countenance,
his rewards, his authorities: but such officers do the
King best service in the end; he keeps them like an apple
in the corner of his jaw, first mouth'd, to be last
swallow'd; when he needs what you have glean'd, it is
* notebut squeezing you, and, sponge, you shall be dry again.
Ros.
I understand you not, my Lord.
Ham.
I am glad of it: a knavish speech sleeps in a
foolish ear.
Ros.
My Lord, you must tell us where the body is,
and go with us to the King.
Ham.
Bring me to him.
[Exeunt.
Enter King and Gentlemen.
King.
How dang'rous is it, that this man goes loose!
Yet must we not put the strong law upon 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 and even,
This sudden sending him away must seem
Delib'rate pause: diseases desperate grown.
By desperate appliance are reliev'd,
Or not at all.
Enter Rosencraus and Guildenstern.
King.
How now? What hath befallen?
Ros.
Where the dead body is bestow'd, my Lord,
We cannot get from him.
-- 60 --
King.
But where is he?
Ros.
Without, my Lord, guarded, to know your pleasure.
King.
Bring him before us.
Ros.
Hoa, bring in the Lord Hamlet.
Enter Hamlet and Guards.
King.
Now, Hamlet, where's Polonius?
Ham.
At supper.
King.
At supper! where?
Ham.
Not where he eats, but where he is eaten; a
certain convocation of politic worms are e'en at him.
King.
Where is Polonius?
Ham.
In heaven; send thither to see: if your messenger
find him not there, seek him i' th' other place,
yourself: but indeed, if you find him not within this
month, you shall nose him as you go up stairs into the
lobby.
King.
Go seek him there.
Ham.
He will stay till you come.
King.
Hamlet, this deed, for thine especial safety,
Must send thee hence;
Therefore prepare thyself,
The bark is ready, and the wind sits fair.
For England.
Ham.
For England?
King.
Ay, Hamlet.
Ham.
Good.
King.
So is it, if thou knew'st our purposes.
Ham.
I see a cherub that sees them; but come, for
England: Farewel, dear mother!
King.
Thy loving father, Hamlet.
Ham.
My mother: father and mother are man and
wife; man and wife are one flesh; and so my mother.
Farewel, mother! Come, for England* note!
[Exit.
King.
Follow him,
Tempt him with speed aboard;
-- 61 --
Away, for every thing is seal'd and done,
And, England! if my present love thou hold'st at aught,
Let it be testify'd in Hamlet's death* note.
[Exit.
Enter Queen, Horatio, and a Gentleman.
Queen.
I will not speak with her.
Gent.
She is importunate,
Indeed distracted, and deserves your pity.
Queen.
I will not speak with her.
Hor.
'Twere good she were spoken with, for she may strew
Dang'rous conjectures in ill-breeding minds.
Queen.
Let her come in.
Enter Ophelia.
Oph.
Where is the beauteous Majesty of Denmark?
Queen.
How now, Ophelia!
[she sings.
Oph.
How should I your true love know from another one?
By his cockle hat and staff, and his sandal shoon.
Queen.
Alas, sweet lady, what imports this song?
Oph.
Say you? nay, pray you mark:
He is dead and gone, lady, he is dead and gone;
[Sings.
At his head a grass-green turf, at his heels a stone.
Queen.
Nay, but Ophelia.
Oph.
Pray you mark.
White his shroud as the mountain snow,
Larded all with sweet flowers,
Which bewept to the grave did go
With true love-showers† note.
-- 62 --
Enter King.
Queen.
Alas! look here, my Lord!
King.
How do you, pretty lady?
Oph.
Well, God yield you! they say the owl was a
baker's daughter. We know what we are, but we know
not what we may be.
King.
Conceit upon her father.
Oph.
Pray let's have no words of this; but when they
ask you what it means, say this:
To-morrow is St. Valentine's day,
[Sings.
All in the morn betime;
And I a maid at your window,
To be your Valentine.
King.
Pretty Ophelia!
Oph.
Indeed, without an oath, I'll make an end on't.
Then up he arose, and don'd his cloaths, and ope'd his chamber-door,
Let in the maid, that out a maid, never departed more.
King.
How long hath she been thus?
Oph.
I hope all will be well; we must be patient;
but I cannot chuse but weep, to think they should lay
him i' th' cold ground: my brother shall know of it,
and so I thank you for your good counsel—
Come, my coach; good-night, ladies, good-night;
Sweet ladies, good-night, good-night* note.
King.
Follow her close, give her good watch, I pray you.
This is the poison of deep grief; it springs
All from her father's death.
[A noise within.
Enter Gentlemen.
Gen.
Save yourself, my Lord.
Young Laertes, in a riotous head,
O'er-bears your officers; the rabble call him Lord;
They cry, Chuse we Laertes for our King:
-- 63 --
Caps, hands, and tongues, applaud it to the clouds,
Laertes shall be King, Laertes King!
[A noise within.
Laer. [within.]
Where is the King? Sirs, stand you
all without.
Enter Laertes.
O thou vile King! give me my father.
Queen.
Calmly, good Laertes.
Laer.
That drop of blood that's calm, proclaims me bastard,
Cries cuckold to my father, brands the harlot,
Ev'n here, between the chaste unsmirched brow
Of my true mother.
King.
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 dares not reach at what it would.
Let him go, Gertrude.
Laer.
Where's my father?
King.
Dead.
Queen.
But not by him.
King.
Let him demand his fill.
Laer.
How came he dead? I'll not be juggled with.
To hell, allegiance! vows, to the blackest devil!
To this point I stand,
That both the worlds I give to negligence,
Let come what will; only I'll be reveng'd,
Most thoroughly for my father.
King.
Who shall stay you?
Laer.
My will, not all the world:
And for my means, I'll husband them so well,
They shall go far with little* note.
King.
Will you, in revenge of your
Dear father's death, destroy both friend and foe?
Laer.
None but his enemies.
-- 64 --
King.
Will you know them, then?
Laer.
To his good friends thus wide I'll ope my arms,
And, like the kind life-rend'ring pelican,
Relieve them with my blood.
King.
Why, now you speak
Like 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 lie,
As day does to your eye.
Hor. [within.]
O poor Ophelia!
Laer.
Let her come in.
Enter Ophelia.
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 a sick man's life?
Oph.
They bore him bare-fac'd on the bier,
[Sings.
And in his grave rain'd many a tear.
Laer.
Hadst thou thy wits, and didst perswade revenge,
It could not move thus.
Oph.
You must sing, down-a-down.
And you call him a-down-a. O how the wheel becomes it!
It is the false steward that stole his master's daughter.
Laer.
This nothing is much more, than matter.
Oph.
There's rosemary, that's for remembrance;
pray you, love, remember: and there's pancies, that's
for thoughts.
Laer.
A document in madness! thoughts and remembrance
fitted.
Oph.
There's fennel for you, and columbines; there's
rue for you, and here's some for me. We may call it
herb of grace, o'Sundays: O, you may wear your rue with
a difference. There's a daisy; I would give you some
violets, but they withered all when my poor father died.
They say he made a good end.
-- 65 --
For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy.
[Sings.
Laer.
Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself!
She turns to favour, and to prettiness.
Oph.
And will he not come again?
And will he not come again?
No, no, he is dead, gone to his death-bed,
He never will come again.
His beard was white as snow,
All flaxen was his pole;
He is gone, he is gone, and we cast away moan;
And peace be with his soul, and with all lovers souls.* note
[Exit.
King.
Laertes, I must share in your grief,
Or you deny me right: go but apart,
Make choice of whom your wisest friends you will,
And they shall hear and judge 'twixt you and me;
If by direct, or by collat'ral hand,
They find us touch'd, we will our kingdom give
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.
Laer.
Let this be so.
His means of death, his obscure funeral,
No trophy, sword, or hatchment o'er his bones,
No noble rite, nor formal ostentation,
Cry to be heard, as 'twere from earth to heaven,
That I must call't in question.
King.
So you shall;
And where th' offence is, let the great ax fall.
I pray you go with me.
[Exeunt.
Enter Horatio and Gentleman.
Hor.
What are they that would speak with me?
Gent.
Sea-faring men, sir; they say they have letters
for you.
-- 66 --
Hor.
Let them come in.
I do not know from what part of the world,
I should be greeted, if not from Lord Hamlet.
Enter two Sailors.
1 Sail.
Save you, sir.
2 Sail.
Here are letters for you, sir; if your name be
Horatio, as we are informed it is.
Horatio reads the letter.
‘Horatio, when thou shalt have overlooked this, give
these fellows some means to the King; they have letters
for him. Ere we were two days old at sea, a
pirate, of very warlike appointment, gave us chace.
Finding ourselves too slow of sail, we put on a compelled
valour, and in the grapple I boarded them: on
the instant they got clear of our ship, and so I alone
became their prisoner. They have dealt with me like
thieves of mercy, but they knew what they did. I
am to do a turn for them. Let the King have the letters
I have sent, and repair thou to me, with as much
speed as thou wouldst fly death. I have words to
speak in thine ear, will make thee dumb, yet are they
much too light for the matter. These good fellows
will bring thee where I am. Rosencraus and Guildenstern
hold their course for England. Of them I have
much to tell thee. Farewel.
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.
[Exeunt.
Enter King and Laertes.
King.
Now must your conscience my acquittance seal,
And you must put me in your heart for friend;
Since you have heard, and with a knowing ear,
That he who hath your noble father slain,
Pursu'd my life.
-- 67 --
Laer.
It well appears. But tell me,
Why you proceed not against these crimes,
So capital in nature.
King.
For two special reasons,
Which may perhaps to you seem weak,
But yet to me they're strong. The Queen, his mother,
Lives almost by his looks.
The other motive,
Why to a public court I might not go,
Is the great love the people bear him,
Who, dipping all his faults in their affection,
Would, like the spring that turneth wood to stone,
Convert his gyves to graces.
Laer.
And so I have 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.
King.
Break not your sleep 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 ourself.
Enter a Messenger.
How now! what news?
Mess.
Letters, my Lord, from Hamlet. These to your
Majesty: this to the Queen.
King.
From Hamlet? Who brought them?
Mess.
Sailors, my Lord.
King.
Laertes, you shall hear them: leave us.
[Exit Mess.
‘High and Mighty, you shall know I am set naked on
your kingdom. To-morrow shall I beg leave to see
your kingly eyes; when I shall (first asking your pardon)
thereunto recount the occasion of my sudden
and most strange return.’
What should this mean? Are all the rest come back?
Or is it some abuse, and no such thing?
-- 68 --
Laer.
Know you the hand?
King.
'Tis Hamlet's character. Naked!
And in a postscript here, he says, alone:
Can you advise me?
Laer.
I'm lost in't, my Lord; but let him come.
It warms the very sickness of my heart,
That I shall live and tell him to his teeth,
Thus didst thou.
King.
If it be so, Laertes,
Will you be rul'd by me?
Laer.
Ay, my Lord, so you will not over-rule me to a
peace.
King.
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 even his mother shall uncharge the practice,
And call it accident.
Laer.
My Lord, I will be rul'd,
The rather, if you could devise it so,
That I might be the instrument.
King.
It falls right.
You have been talk'd of since your travel much,
And that in Hamlet's hearing, for a quality,
Wherein they say you shine.
Laer.
What part is that, my Lord?
King.
A very feather in the cap of youth,
Yet needful too. Two months since,
Here was a gentleman of Normandy:
He made confession of you,
And gave you such a masterly report,
For art and exercise in your defence,
And for your rapier most especially,
That he cry'd out, 'Twould be a sight, indeed,
To see Laertes match'd. The fencers of their nation
He swore, had neither motion, guard, nor eye,
If you oppos'd them. Sir, this report of his,
Did Hamlet so envenom with his envy,
-- 69 --
That he could nothing do, but wish and beg
Your sudden coming over to play with him.
Now out of this—
Laer.
What out of this, my Lord?
King.
Laertes, was your father dear to you?
Or are you like the painting of a sorrow,
A face without a heart?
Laer.
Why ask you this?
King.
Not that I think you did not love your father.
But to the business:
Hamlet comes back: what would you undertake
To shew yourself indeed your father's son,
More than in words?
Laer.
To cut his throat i' th' church.
King.
No place indeed should shield a murderer,
Revenge should have no bounds: but, good Laertes,
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 Frenchman 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
A sword unbated, and, in a pass of practice,
Requite him for your father's death* note.
Laer.
I'll 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
-- 70 --
With this contagion, that if I gall him slightly,
It may be death.
King.
Let's further think of this;
I hav't—when in your motion you are hot,
And make your bouts more violent to that end,
And that he calls for drink, I'll have prepar'd him
A chalice for the purpose; whereon but tasting,
If he by chance escape your venom'd sword,
It shall be death.
Enter Queen.
Queen.
One woe doth tread upon another's heel,
So fast they follow: your sister's drown'd, Laertes.
Laer.
Drown'd! O where?
Queen.
There is a willow growing o'er a brook,
That shews his hoary leaves i' th' glassy stream,
Near which fantastic garlands she did make
Of crow-flow'rs, nettles, daisies, and long purples:
There on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds
Clamb'ring to hang, an envious sliver broke;
When down her weedy trophies, and herself,
Fell in the weeping brook* note.
Laer.
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. Adieu, my Lord!
I have a fire that fain would blaze,
But that this folly drowns it.
[Exit.
King.
Let's follow, Gertrude.
[Exeunt.† note
-- 71 --
John Bell [1774], Bell's Edition of Shakespeare's Plays, As they are now performed at the Theatres Royal in London; Regulated from the Prompt Books of each House By Permission; with Notes Critical and Illustrative; By the Authors of the Dramatic Censor (Printed for John Bell... and C. Etherington [etc.], York) [word count] [S10401].
