King.
Tho' by our dismal phizzes plain 'tis seen
The mem'ry of our brother's death is green;
Yet, as he's laid in peace upon the shelf,
'Tis time we think upon our royal self:
We, therefore, to dispel our royal spleen,
Have ta'en his widow Gertrude for our Queen.—
How now, Laertes, what's the news with you?
You told us of some suit.—

Laertes.
My Lord, that's true:
I have a mighty wish to learn to dance,
And crave your royal leave to go to France.

King.
Your suit is granted.

Laertes.
Sire, I'm much your debtor.

King.
Then brush! the sooner you are off the better. [Exit Laertes. (To Hamlet)
Cheer up, my son and cousin, never mind—

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

King.
Why hang the clouds still on you? Come, have done.

Hamlet.
You're out, my Lord: I'm too much in the sun.—

Queen.
Come, Hamlet, leave off crying; 'tis in vain,
Since crying will not bring him back again.
Besides, 'tis common; all that live must die—
So blow your nose, my dear, and do not cry.

Hamlet.
Aye, Madam, it is common.

Queen.
If it be,
Why seems there such a mighty fuss with thee?

Hamlet.
Talk not to me of seems—when husbands die,
'Twere well if some folks seem'd the same as I.
But I have that within, you can't take from me—
As for black clothes,—that's all my eye and Tommy (a)8Q0001.

King.
Cheer up, my heart: tho' you've lost your dad,
Consider that your case is not so bad:
Your father lost a father; and 'tis certain,
Death o'er your great grandfather drew the curtain.
You've mourn'd enough: 'tis time your grief to smother;
Don't cry; you shall be king some time or other.

Queen.
Go not to Wittenburg, my love, I pray you.

Hamlet.
Mama, I shall in all my best obey you.

King.
Well said, my lad! Cheer up! no more foul weather:—
We'll meet anon, and all get drunk together. [Flourish of trumpets and drums—Exeunt all but Hamlet.

SONG.—Hamlet. (Tune—Derry down.)
A ducat I'd give if a sure way I knew,
How to thaw and resolve my stout flesh into dew!
How happy were I if no sin were self-slaughter!
For I'd then throw myself and my cares in the water.
Derry down, down, down, derry down.
How weary, how profitless,—stale, and how flat,
Seem to me all life's uses, its joys, and all that:
This world is a garden unweeded; and clearly
Not worth living for—things rank and gross hold it merely.
Derry down, &c.

Two months have scarce pass'd since dad's death, and my mother,
Like a brute as she is, has just married his brother.—
To wed such a bore!—but 'tis all too late now:
We can't make a silk purse of the ear of a sow.
Derry down, &c.
So fondly he lov'd her, I've oft heard him tell her,
“If it rains, my dear Gertrude, pray take my umbrella.”
When too roughly the winds have beset her, he' hath said,
“My dear, take my Belcher (b)8Q0002 to tie round your head.”
Derry down, &c.
Why, zounds! she'd hang on him, as much as to say
“The longer I love you, the longer I may.”—
Yet before one could whistle, as I'm a true man,
He's forgotten!—Oh frailty, thy name sure is woman!
Derry down, &c.
To marry my uncle! My father's own brother!
I'm as much like a lion as one's like the other.
It will not, by jingo, it can't come to good—
But break my poor heart:—I'd say more if I could.
Derry down, &c. Enter Horatio, Marcellus, and Bernardo.

Hamlet.
My lads I'm glad to see you. I implore
You'll tell me what brought you to Elsinore. [To Horatio.

Horatio.
To see dad's funeral I popp'd my head in.

Hamlet.
No quizzing (c)8Q0003—'twas to see my mother's wedding.

Horatio.
Indeed, my lord, one follow'd hard on t'other.—
I never should have thought it of your mother.

Hamlet.
Thrift, thrift, Horatio! Denmark's cooks were able,
With funeral meats to cheer (d)8Q0004 the marriage table.—
Methinks I have my father in my sight.

Horatio.
My lord, I'll swear I saw him yesternight.

Hamlet.
Saw! Who?

Horatio.
The king, your father.

Hamlet.
Much I doubt it.

Marcellus.
'Tis true, my lord.

Horatio.
I'll tell you all about it.

SONG.—Horatio. (Tune—“Heigho! says Rowley.”)
Two nights to watch, these gentlemen went,
    “Heigho!” says Horatio,

When just at the time when the night was spent,
A spectre to frighten them thither was sent,
  With his tomb-stone, jaw-bone, skull, shroud and skeleton,
    “Too strange to be true,” says Horatio.
The ghost like your father look'd, arm'd cap-à-pé.
  “Heigho!” says Horatio,
They came in a twitter to tell this to me,
Saying, “if you don't credit us pray come and see.”
With his tomb-stone, &c.
  “A cock and a bull,” says Horatio.
I promis'd with them to keep watch the next night:
  “Heigho!” says Horatio,
When lo! as they'd told me, the ghost came in sight—
Says I, “'Tis too plain that there's something not right.
With his tomb-stone, &c.
  “But we'll soon find it out,” says Horatio.
I intended to say a few words to the Ghost;
  “Heigho!” says Horatio,
(I should'nt have kept him five minutes at most)
But I found the poor fellow as dumb as a post.
With his tomb-stone, &c.
  “He's no blabber, I find,” says Horatio.
He turn'd on his heel and went off in a pet,
  “Heigho!” says Horatio,
But he frown'd on us all ere away we could get,
Just as much as to say, “I've not done with you yet.”
With his tomb-stone, &c.
  “We had better make off,” says Horatio.

He soon came in again, so I told him my mind:
  “Heigho!” says Horatio,
Says I, “I'm quite sure you've left something behind,
Some treasure perhaps your exec'tors can't find.
With his tomb-stone, &c.
  “You'd best shew where 'tis hid,” says Horatio.
He seem'd not to like it, and look'd rather black,
  “Heigho!” says Horatio,
As much as to say, “You had best hold your clack,”
But he heard the cock crow and was off in a crack.
With his tomb-stone, &c.
  “You're a rum kind of ghost,” says Horatio.

Hamlet.
Perchance 'twill walk again;—I'll watch to night,
And beg a conversation with the sprite.
If in my father's form it come to scare me,
I'll speak to it, should e'en Old Harry dare me. (To Hor. and Mar.)
Don't let the cat out of the bag, I prythee.

Horatio.
Never fear me.

Marcellus.
Nor me.

Hamlet.
Then I'll be with ye
Soon after supper.

Horatio.
Honour?

Hamlet.
Poz.—Adieu! [Exeunt Hor. Mar. and Ber.
No doubt some dirty work, if this be true.
Would it were supper time, this tale so wheedles,
Till then I'm sitting upon pins and needles. [Exit.

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