Introductory matter

Dramatis Personæ. CLAUDIUS, King of Denmark. Fortinbras, Prince of Norway. Hamlet, Son to the former, and Nephew to the present King. Polonius, Lord Chamberlain. Horatio, Friend to Hamlet. Laertes, Son to Polonius. Voltimand [Voltemand], Courtier. Cornelius, Courtier. Rosencrantz, Courtier. Guildenstern, Courtier. Osrick [Osric], a Fop. Marcellus, an Officer. Bernardo, a Soldier. Francisco, a Soldier. Reynoldo [Reynaldo], Servant to Polonius. Ghost of Hamlet's Father. Gertrude, Queen of Denmark, and Mother to Hamlet. Ophelia, Daughter to Polonius, belov'd by Hamlet. Ladies attending on the Queen. Players, Grave-makers, Sailors, Messengers, and other Attendants. [Player 1], [Player], [Prologue], [Player King], [Player Queen], [Gentlemen], [Captain], [Gentleman], [Messenger], [Servant], [Sailor], [Clown 1], [Clown 2], [Priest], [Lord] SCENE, ELSINOOR.

^note

HAMLET, Prince of Denmark.(1) [Footnote 1: ACT I. Scene 1 SCENE, A Platform before the Palace. Enter Bernardo and Francisco, two Centinels.

Bernardo.
Who's there?

Fran.
Nay, answer me: stand, and unfold your self.

Ber.
Long live the King!

Fran.
Bernardo?

Ber.
He.

Fran.
You come most carefully upon your hour.

Ber.
'Tis now struck twelve; get thee to bed, Francisco.

Fran.
For this relief, much thanks: 'tis better cold,
And I am sick at heart.

Ber.
Have you had quiet Guard?

Fran.
Not a mouse stirring.

Ber.
Well, good night.
If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus,
The rivals of my Watch, bid them make haste. Enter Horatio and Marcellus.

Fran.
I think, I hear them. Stand, ho! who is there?

Hor.
Friends to this ground.

Mar.
And liege-men to the Dane.

Fran.
Give you good night.

Mar.
Oh, farewel, honest soldier; who hath reliev'd you?

Fran.
Bernardo has my place: give you good night. [Exit Francisco.

Mar.
Holla! Bernardo,—

Ber.
Say, what, is Horatio there?

Hor.
A piece of him.

Ber.
Welcome, Horatio; welcome, good Marcellus.

Mar.
What, has this thing appear'd again to night?

Ber.
I have seen nothing.

Mar.
Horatio says, 'tis but our phantasie;
And will not let belief take hold of him,
Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us;
Therefore I have intreated him along
With us, to watch the minutes of this night;
That if again this apparition come,
He may approve our eyes, and speak to it.

Hor.
Tush! tush! 'twill not appear.

Ber.
Sit down a while,
And let us once again assail your ears,
That are so fortified against our story,
What we have two nights seen.

Hor.
Well, sit we down,
And let us hear Bernardo speak of this.

Ber.
Last night of all,
When yon same Star, that's westward from the Pole,
Had made his course t'illume that part of heav'n
Where now it burns, Marcellus and my self,
The bell then beating one,—

Mar.
Peace, break thee off; Enter the Ghost.
Look, where it comes again.

Ber.
In the same figure, like the King that's dead.

Mar.
Thou art a scholar, speak to it, Horatio.

Ber.
Looks it not like the King? mark it, Horatio.

Hor.
Most like: it harrows me with fear and wonder.

Ber.
It would be spoke to.

Mar.
Speak to it, Horatio.

Hor.
What art thou, that usurp'st this time of night,
Together with that fair and warlike form,
In which the Majesty of buried Denmark
Did sometime march? by Heav'n, I charge thee, speak.

Mar.
It is offended.

Ber.
See! it stalks away.

Hor.
Stay; speak; I charge thee, speak. [Ex. Ghost.

Mar.
'Tis gone, and will not answer.

Ber.
How now, Horatio? you tremble and look pale.
Is not this something more than phantasie?
What think you of it?

Hor.
Before my God, I might not this believe,
Without the sensible and true avouch
Of mine own eyes.

Mar.
Is it not like the King?

Hor.
As thou art to thy self.
Such was the very armour he had on,
When he th' ambitious Norway combated:
So frown'd he once, when, in an angry parle,
He smote the sleaded Polack on the ice.
'Tis strange—

Mar.
Thus twice before, and just at this dead hour,
With martial stalk, he hath gone by our Watch.

Hor.
In what particular thought to work, I know not:
But, in the gross and scope of my opinion,
This bodes some strange eruption to our State.

Mar.
Good now sit down, and tell me, he that knows,
Why this same strict and most observant Watch
So nightly toils the Subjects of the Land?
And why such daily cast of brazen Cannon,
And foreign mart for implements of war?
Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore task
Does not divide the Sunday from the week?
What might be toward, that this sweaty haste
Doth make the night joint labourer with the day:
Who is't, that can inform me?

Hor.
That can I;
At least, the whisper goes so. Our last King,
Whose image even but now appear'd to us,
Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway,
(Thereto prickt on by a most emulate pride)
Dar'd to the fight: In which, our valiant Hamlet,
(For so this side of our known world esteem'd him)
Did slay this Fortinbras: who by seal'd compact,
Well ratified by law and heraldry,

Did forfeit (with his life) all those his Lands,
Which he stood seiz'd of, to the Conqueror:
Against the which, a moiety competent
Was gaged by our King; which had Return
To the inheritance of Fortinbras,
Had he been vanquisher; as by that cov'nant,
And carriage of the articles design'd,
His fell to Hamlet. Now young Fortinbras,
Of unimproved mettle hot and full,
Hath in the skirts of Norway, here and there,
Shark'd up a list of landless resolutes,
For food and dyet, to some enterprize
That hath a stomach in't: which is no other,
As it doth well appear unto our State,
But to recover of us by strong hand,
And terms compulsative, those foresaid Lands
So by his father lost: and this, I take it,
Is the main motive of our preparations,
The source of this our watch, and the chief head
Of this post-haste and romage in the Land.

Ber.
I think, it be no other, but even so:
Well may it sort, that this portentous figure
Comes armed through our watch so like the King,
That was, and is, the question of these wars.

Hor.
A mote it is to trouble the mind's eye.
In the most high and palmy State of Rome,
A little ere the mightiest Julius fell,
The Graves stood tenantless; the sheeted Dead
Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets;
Stars shon with trains of fire, Dews of blood fell;
Disasters veil'd the Sun; and the moist Star,
Upon whose influence Neptune's Empire stands,
Was sick almost to doom's-day with eclipse.
And even the like precurse of fierce events,
As harbingers preceding still the fates,
And prologue to the omen'd Coming on,(2) ^note

Have heav'n and earth together demonstrated
Unto our climatures and country-men. Enter Ghost again.
But soft, behold! lo, where it comes again!
I'll cross it, though it blast me. Stay, illusion! [Spreading his Arms.
If thou hast any sound, or use of voice,
Speak to me.
If there be any good thing to be done,
That may to thee do ease, and grace to me;
Speak to me.
If thou art privy to thy Country's fate,
Which, happily, Foreknowing may avoid,
Oh speak!—
Or, if thou hast uphoorded in thy life
Extorted treasure in the womb of earth, [Cock crows.
For which, they say, you Spirits oft walk in death,
Speak of it. Stay, and speak—Stop it, Marcellus.—

Mar.
Shall I strike at it with my partizan?

Hor.
Do, if it will not stand.

Ber.
'Tis here—

Hor.
'Tis here—

Mar.
'Tis gone. [Exit Ghost.
We do it wrong, being so majestical,
To offer it the shew of violence;
For it is as the air, invulnerable;
And our vain blows, malicious mockery.

Ber.
It was about to speak, when the cock crew.

Hor.
And then it started like a guilty thing
Upon a fearful Summons. I have heard,
The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn,
Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat
Awake the God of day; and at his warning,
Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air,
Th' extravagant and erring Spirit hyes

To his Confine: And of the truth herein
This present object made probation.

Mar.
It faded on the crowing of the cock.
Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comes
Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,
The bird of Dawning singeth all night long:
And then, they say, no Spirit walks abroad;
The nights are wholsome, then no planets strike,
No Fairy takes, no Witch hath power to charm;
So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.

Hor.
So have I heard, and do in part believe it.
But look, the morn, in russet mantle clad,
Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill;
Break we our watch up; and, by my advice,
Let us impart what we have seen to night
Unto young Hamlet. For, upon my life,
This Spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him:
Do you consent, we shall acquaint him with it,
As needful in our loves, fitting our duty?

Mar.
Let's do't, I pray; and I this morning know
Where we shall find him most conveniently. [Exeunt. Scene 2 Scene changes to the Palace. Enter Claudius King of Denmark, Gertrude the Queen, Hamlet, Polonius, Laertes, Voltimand, Cornelius, Lords and Attendants.

King.
Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death
The memory be green, and that it fitted
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 our selves.
Therefore our sometime sister, now our Queen,
Th' imperial Jointress of this warlike State,
Have we, as 'twere, with a defeated joy,
With one auspicious, and one dropping eye,

With mirth in funeral, and with dirge in marriage,
In equal scale weighing delight and dole,
Taken to wife.—Nor have we herein barr'd
Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone
With this affair along: (for all, our thanks.)
Now follows, that you know, young Fortinbras,
Holding a weak supposal of our worth;
Or thinking by our late dear brother's death
Our State to be disjoint and out of frame;
Colleagued with this dream of his advantage;
He hath not fail'd to pester us with message,
Importing the surrender of those Lands
Lost by his father, by all bands of law,
To our most valiant brother.—So much for him.—
Now for our self, and for this time of meeting:
Thus much the business is. We have here writ
To Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras,
(Who, impotent and bed-rid, scarcely hears
Of this his nephew's purpose,) to suppress
His further gate herein; in that the Levies,
The Lists, and full Proportions are all made
Out of his Subjects: and we here dispatch
You, good Cornelius, and you Voltimand,
For bearers of this Greeting to old Norway;
Giving to you no further personal power
To business with the King, more than the scope
Which these dilated articles allow.
Farewel, and let your haste commend your duty.

Vol.
In that, and all things, will we shew our duty.

King.
We doubt it nothing; heartily farewel. [Exeunt Voltimand and Cornelius.
And now, Laertes, what's the news with you?
You told us of some suit. What is't, Laertes?
You cannot speak of Reason to the Dane,
And lose your voice. What would'st thou beg, Laertes,
That shall not be my offer, not thy asking?
The head is not more native to the heart,
The hand more instrumental to the mouth,
Than is the Throne of Denmark to thy father.
What wouldst thou have, Laertes?

Laer.
My dread lord,
Your leave and favour to return to France;
From whence, though 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'rd France:
And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon.

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;(3) ^note

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 nighted 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 my inky cloak, good mother,
Nor customary suits of solemn Black,
Nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath,
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,

Nor the dejected 'haviour of the visage,
Together with all forms, moods, shews 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.

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;(4) ^note

And with't no less nobility of love,(5) ^note


Than that which dearest father bears his son,
Do I impart tow'rd you. For your intent(6) ^note

In going back to school to Wittenberg,
It is most retrograde to our desire:
And we beseech you, bend you to remain
Here in the cheer and comfort of our eye,
Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son.

Queen.
Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet:
I pr'ythee, 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 our self in Denmark. Madam, come;
This gentle and unforc'd accord of Hamlet
Sits smiling to my heart, in grace whereof
No jocund health, that Denmark drinks to day,
But the great Cannon to the clouds shall tell;
And the King's rowse the heav'n shall bruit again,
Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come, away. [Exeunt. Manet Hamlet.

Ham.
Oh, that this too-too-solid flesh would melt,
Thaw, and resolve it self into a dew!

Or that the Everlasting had not fixt(7) ^note

Visit her face too roughly. Heav'n and earth!
Must I remember?—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!(9) ^note

But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue. Enter Horatio, Bernardo, and Marcellus.

Hor.
Hail to your lordship!

Ham.
I am glad to see you well;
Horatio,—or I do forget my self?

Hor.
The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever.

Ham.
Sir, my good friend; I'll change that name with you:
And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio?
Marcellus!—

Mar.
My good lord—

Ham.
I am very glad to see you; good even, Sir.
But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg?

Hor.
A truant disposition, good my lord.

Ham.
I would not hear your enemy say so;
Nor shall you do mine ear that violence,
To make it Truster of your own report
Against your self. 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 dearest foe in heav'n,
Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio!
My father—methinks, I see my father.

Hor.
Oh 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 from all in all,
I shall not look upon his like again.

Hor.
My lord, I think, I saw him yesternight.

Ham.
Saw! who?—

Hor.
My lord, the King your father.

Ham.
The King my father!

Hor.
Season your admiration but a while,

With an attentive ear; 'till I deliver
Upon the witness of these gentlemen,
This marvel to you.

Ham.
For heaven's love, 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 encountred: 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,
By their opprest and fear-surprized eyes,
Within his truncheon's length; whilst they (distill'd
Almost to jelly with the act of 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. I knew your father:
These hands are not more like.

Ham.
But where was this?

Mar.
My lord, upon the Platform where we watcht.

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
It self 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 vanisht from our sight.

Ham.
'Tis very strange.

Hor.
As I do live, my honour'd lord, 'tis true;
And we did think it writ down in our duty
To let you know of 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.
My lord, from head to foot.

Ham.
Then saw you not his face?

Hor.
Oh, 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 fixt 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 moderate haste might tell a hundred.

Both.
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.

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 it self 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 shall befall to night,
Give it an understanding, but no tongue;
I will requite your loves: so, fare ye well.
Upon the platform 'twixt eleven and twelve
I'll visit you.

All.
Our duty to your Honour. [Exeunt.

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 mens eyes. [Exit.

Scene 3 SCENE changes to an Apartment in Polonius's House. Enter Laertes and Ophelia.

Laer.
My necessaries are imbark'd, farewel;
And, sister, as the winds give benefit,
And Convoy is assistant, do not sleep,
But let me hear from you.

Oph.
Do you doubt That?

Laer.
For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favour,
Hold it a fashion and a toy in blood;
A violet in the youth of primy nature,
Forward, not permanent; tho' sweet, not lasting;
The perfume, and suppliance of a minute;
No more.—

Oph.
No more but so?

Laer.
Think it no more:
For nature, crescent, does not grow alone
In thews and bulk; but, as this Temple waxes,
The inward service of the mind and soul
Grows wide withal. Perhaps, he loves you now;
And now no soil nor cautel doth besmerch(10) ^note

The sanctity and health of the whole State.
And therefore must his choice be circumscrib'd
Unto the voice and yielding of that body,
Whereof he's head. Then if he says, he loves you,
It fits your wisdom so far to believe it,
As he in his peculiar act and place
May give his Saying deed; which is no further,
Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal.
Then weigh, what loss your Honour may sustain,
If with too credent ear you list his songs;
Or lose your heart, or your chaste treasure open
To his unmaster'd importunity.
Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister;
And keep within the rear of your affection,
Out of the shot and danger of desire.
The chariest maid is prodigal enough,
If she unmask her beauty to the moon:
Virtue it self scapes not calumnious strokes;
The canker galls the Infants of the Spring,
Too oft before their buttons be disclos'd;
And in the morn and liquid dew of youth
Contagious blastments are most imminent.
Be wary then, best safety lies in fear;
Youth to it self rebels, though none else near.

Oph.
I shall th' effects of this good lesson keep,
As watchman to my heart. But, good my brother,
Do not, as some ungracious pastors do,
Shew me the steep and thorny way to heav'n;
Whilst, like a puft and careless libertine,
Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads;
And recks not his own reed.

Laer.
Oh, fear me not. Enter Polonius.
I stay too long;—but here my father comes:
A double Blessing is a double grace;
Occasion smiles upon a second leave.

Pol.
Yet here, Laertes! aboard, aboard for shame;

The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail,(11) ^note

And you are staid for. There;—
My Blessing with you; [Laying his hand on Laertes's head.
And these few precepts in thy memory
See thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue,
Nor any unproportion'd thought his act:
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar;
The friends thou hast, and their Adoption try'd,
Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel:
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Beware
Of Entrance to a quarrel: but being in,
Bear't that the opposed may beware of thee.
Give ev'ry Man thine ear; but few thy voice.
Take each man's censure; but reserve thy judgment,
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
But not exprest in fancy; rich, not gaudy:
For the apparel oft proclaims the man,
And they in France of the best rank and station
Are most select and generous, chief in That.
Neither a borrower, nor a lender be;
For Loan oft loses both it self and friend:
And Borrowing dulls the edge of Husbandry,
This above all; to thine own self be true;
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
Farewel; my Blessing season this in thee!

Laer.
Most humbly do I take my leave, my lord.

Pol.
The time invests you, go, your servants tend.(12) ^note

Laer.
Farewel, Ophelia, and remember well
What I have said.

Oph.
'Tis in my mem'ry lockt,
And you your self shall keep the key of it.

Laer.
Farewel. [Exit Laer.

Pol.
What is't, Ophelia, he hath 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
Given private time to you; and you your self
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 your self 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! puh! 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 your self a baby;
That you have ta'en his tenders for true pay,
Which are not sterling. Tender your self more dearly;(13) ^note


Or (not to crack the wind of the poor phrase,
Wringing it thus,) 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't: go to, go to.

Oph.
And hath giv'n count'nance 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. These blazes, oh my daughter,
Giving more light than heat, extinct in both,
Ev'n in their promise as it is a making,
You must not take for fire. From this time,
Be somewhat scanter of your maiden presence,
Set your intreatments at a higher rate,
Than a command to parley. For lord Hamlet,
Believe so much in him, that he is young;
And with a larger tether may he walk,
Than may be given you. In few, Ophelia,
Do not believe his vows; for they are brokers,(14) ^note

Not of that Die which their investments shew,
But meer implorers of unholy suits,
Breathing like sanctified and pious Bawds,
The better to beguile. 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. Scene 4 SCENE changes to the Platform before the Palace. Enter Hamlet, Horatio, and Marcellus.

Ham.
The Air bites shrewdly; it is very cold.

Hor.
It is a nipping and an eager air.

Ham.
What hour now?

Hor.
I think, it lacks of twelve.

Mar.
No, it is struck.

Hor.
I heard it not: it then draws near the season,
Wherein the Spirit held his wont to walk. [Noise of warlike musick within.
What does this mean, my lord?

Ham.
The King doth wake to night, and takes his rowse,
Keeps wassel, and the swagg'ring upspring reels;

And as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down,
The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out
The triumph of his pledge.

Hor.
Is it a custom?

Ham.
Ay, marry, is't:
But to my mind, though I am native here,
And to the manner born, it is a custom
More honour'd in the breach, than the observance.
This heavy-headed revel, east and west,(15) ^note
Makes us traduc'd, and tax'd of other nations;
They clepe us drunkards, and with swinish phrase
Soil our addition; and, indeed, it takes
From our atchievements, though perform'd at height,
The pith and marrow of our attribute.
So, oft it chances in particular men,
That for some vicious mole of nature in them,
As, in their birth, (wherein they are not guilty,
Since nature cannot chuse his origin)
By the o'ergrowth of some complexion,
Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason;
Or by some habit, that too much o'er-leavens
The form of plausive manners; that these men
Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect,
(Being nature's livery, or fortune's scar)
Their virtues else, be they as pure as grace,
As infinite as man may undergo,
Shall in the general censure take corruption

From that particular fault.—The dram of Base(16) ^note

Hor.
Look, my lord, it comes!

Ham.
Angels and ministers of grace defend us!
Be thou a Spirit of health, or Goblin damn'd,

Bring with thee airs from heav'n, or blasts from hell,
Be thy intents wicked or charitable,
Thou com'st in such a questionable shape,(17) ^note

That I will speak to thee. I'll call thee Hamlet,
King, Father, Royal Dane: oh! answer me;
Let me not burst in ignorance; but tell,
Why thy canoniz'd bones, hearsed in death,
Have burst their cearments? why the sepulcher,
Wherein we saw thee quietly in-urn'd,
Hath ope'd his ponderous and marble jaws,
To cast thee up again? What may this mean?
That thou, dead coarse, again, in compleat steel,
Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon,
Making night hideous, and us fools of nature
So horribly to shake our disposition
With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?
Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we do? [Ghost beckons Hamlet.

Hor.
It beckons you to go away with it,
As if it some impartment did desire
To you alone.

Mar.
Look, with what courteous action
It waves you to a more removed ground:
But do not go with it.

Hor.
No, by no means. [holding Hamlet.

Ham.
It will not speak; then I will follow it.

Hor.
Do not, my lord.

Ham.
Why, what should be the fear?
I do not set my life at a pin's fee;
And, for my soul, what can it do to That,
Being a thing immortal as it self?
It waves me forth again.—I'll follow it—

Hor.
What if it tempt you tow'rd the flood, my lord?
Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff,

That beetles o'er his Base into the sea;
And there assume some other horrible form,
Which might deprive your sov'reignty of reason,
And draw you into madness? think of it.
The very place puts toys of desperation,
Without more motive, into ev'ry brain,
That looks so many fadoms to the sea;
And hears it roar beneath.

Ham.
It waves me still: go on, I'll follow thee—

Mar.
You shall not go, my lord.

Ham.
Hold off your hands.

Mar.
Be rul'd, you shall not go.

Ham.
My fate cries out,
And makes each petty artery in this body
As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve:
Still am I call'd: unhand me, gentlemen— [Breaking from them.
By heaven, I'll make a Ghost of him that lets me—
I say, away—go on—I'll follow thee— [Exe. Ghost and Hamlet.

Hor.
He waxes desp'rate with imagination.

Mar.
Let's follow; 'tis not fit thus to obey him.

Hor.
Have after.—To what issue will this come?

Mar.
Something is rotten in the State of Denmark.

Hor.
Heav'n will direct it.

Mar.
Nay, let's follow him. [Exeunt. Scene 5 SCENE changes to a more remote Part of the Platform. Re-enter Ghost and Hamlet.

Ham.
Where wilt thou lead me? speak; I'll go no further.

Ghost.
Mark me.

Ham.
I will.

Ghost.
My hour is almost come,
When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames
Must render up my self.

Ham.
Alas, poor Ghost!

Ghost.
Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing
To what I shall unfold.

Ham.
Speak, I am bound to hear.

Ghost.
So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear.

Ham.
What?

Ghost.
I am thy father's Spirit;
Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night,
And, for the day, confin'd to fast in fires;(18) ^note

Ham.
Oh heav'n!

Ghost.
Revenge his foul and most unnatural murther.

Ham.
Murther?

Ghost.
Murther most foul, as in the best it is;
But this most foul, strange, and unnatural.

Ham.
Haste me to know it, that I, with wings as swift
As meditation or the thoughts of love,
May sweep to my revenge.

Ghost.
I find thee apt;
And duller shouldst thou be, than the fat weed

That roots it self in ease on Lethe's wharf,
Wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear:
'Tis given out, that sleeping in my orchard,
A serpent stung me. So, the whole ear of Denmark
Is by a forged process of my death
Rankly abus'd: but know, thou noble Youth,
The serpent, that did sting thy father's life,
Now wears his Crown.

Ham.
Oh, my prophetick soul! my uncle?

Ghost.
Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast,
With witchcraft of his wit, with trait'rous gifts,
(Oh wicked wit, and gifts, that have the power
So to seduce!) won to his shameful lust
The will of my most seeming-virtuous Queen.
Oh Hamlet, what a falling off was there!
From me, whose love was of that dignity,
That it went hand in hand ev'n with the vow
I made to her in marriage; and to decline
Upon a wretch, whose natural gifts were poor
To those of mine!
But virtue, as it never will be mov'd,
Though lewdness court it in a shape of heav'n;
So lust, though to a radiant angel link'd,
Will sate it self in a celestial bed,
And prey on garbage—
But, soft! methinks, I scent the morning air—
Brief let me be; Sleeping within mine orchard,
My custom always of the afternoon,
Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole
With juice of cursed hebenon in a viol,
And in the porches of mine ears did pour
The leperous distilment; whose effect
Holds such an enmity with blood of man,
That swift as quick-silver it courses through
The nat'ral gates and allies of the body;
And, with a sudden vigour, it doth posset
And curd, like eager droppings into milk,
The thin and wholsome blood: so did it mine,
And a most instant tetter bark'd about,
Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust

All my smooth body.—
Thus was I sleeping, by a brother's hand,
Of life, of Crown, of Queen, at once dispatcht;
Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin,
Unhousel'd, unappointed, unaneal'd:(19) ^note

No reck'ning made, but sent to my account
With all my imperfections on my head.
Oh, horrible! oh, horrible! most horrible!
If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not;
Let not the royal bed of Denmark be
A couch for luxury and damned incest.
But howsoever thou pursu'st this act,
Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive
Against thy mother aught; leave her to heav'n,
And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge,
To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once!
The glow-worm shews the Matin to be near,
And 'gins to pale his uneffectual fire.
Adieu, adieu, adieu; remember me. [Exit.

Ham.
Oh, all you host of heav'n! oh earth! what else?
And shall I couple hell? oh, hold my heart—
And you, my sinews, grow not instant old;
But bear me stiffly up; remember thee—
Ay, thou poor Ghost, while memory holds a seat
In this distracted globe; remember thee—
Yea, from the table of my memory(20) ^note



I'll wipe away all trivial fond records,
All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past,
That youth and observation copied there;
And thy commandment all alone shall live
Within the book and volume of my brain,
Unmix'd with baser matter. Yes, by heav'n:
Oh most pernicious woman!
Oh villain, villain, smiling damned villain!
My tables,—meet it is, I set it down,

That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain;
At least, I'm sure, it may be so in Denmark. [Writing.
So, uncle, there you are; now to my word;
It is; Adieu, adieu, remember me:
I've sworn it— Enter Horatio and Marcellus.

Hor.
My lord, my lord,—

Mar.
Lord Hamlet,—

Hor.
Heav'n secure him!

Mar.
So be it.

Hor.
Illo, ho, ho, my lord!

Ham.
Hillo, ho, ho, boy; come, bird, come.

Mar.
How is't, my noble lord?

Hor.
What news, my lord?

Ham.
Oh, wonderful!

Hor.
Good my lord, tell it.

Ham.
No, you'll reveal it.

Hor.
Not I, my lord, by heav'n.

Mar.
Nor I, my lord.

Ham.
How say you then, would heart of man once think it?
But you'll be secret—

Both.
Ay, by heav'n, my lord.

Ham.
There's ne'er a villain, dwelling in all Denmark,
But he's an arrant knave.

Hor.
There needs no Ghost, my lord, come from the Grave
To tell us this.

Ham.
Why, right, you are i'th' right;
And so without more circumstance at all,
I hold it fit that we shake hands, and part;
You, as your business and desires shall point you;
(For every man has business and desire,
Such as it is) and for my own poor part,
I will go pray.

Hor.
These are but wild and whirling words, my lord.

Ham.
I'm sorry they offend you, heartily;
Yes, heartily.

Hor.
There's no offence, my lord.

Ham.
Yes, by St. Patrick, but there is, my lord,
And much offence too. Touching this Vision here—
It is an honest Ghost, that let me tell you:
For your desire to know what is between us,
O'er-master it as you may. And now, good friends,
As you are friends, scholars, and soldiers,
Give me one poor request.

Hor.
What is't, my lord?

Ham.
Never make known what you have seen to night.

Both.
My lord, we will not.

Ham.
Nay, but swear't.

Hor.
In faith, my lord, not I.

Mar.
Nor I, my lord, in faith.

Ham.
Upon my sword.

Mar.
We have sworn, my lord, already.

Ham.
Indeed, upon my sword, indeed.

Ghost.
Swear. [Ghost cries under the stage.

Ham.
Ah ha, boy, say'st thou so? art thou there, true-penny?
Come on, you hear this fellow in the celleridge.
Consent to swear.

Hor.
Propose the oath, my lord.

Ham.
Never to speak of this that you have seen,
Swear by my sword.

Ghost.
Swear.

Ham.
Hic & ubique? then we'll shift our ground.
Come hither, gentlemen,
And lay your hands again upon my sword.
Never to speak of this which you have heard,(21) ^note





Swear by my sword.

Ghost.
Swear by his sword.

Ham.
Well said, old mole, can'st work i'th' ground so fast?
A worthy pioneer! Once more remove, good friends.

Hor.
Oh day and night, but this is wondrous strange.

Ham.
And therefore as a stranger give it welcome.
There are more things in heav'n and earth, Horatio,(22) ^note

Ghost.
Swear.

Ham.
Rest, rest, perturbed Spirit. So, Gentlemen,
With all my love do I commend me to you;
And what so poor a man as Hamlet is
May do t' express his love and friending to you,
God willing, shall not lack; let us go in together,
And still your fingers on your lips, I pray:

The Time is out of joint; oh, cursed spight!
That ever I was born to set it right.
Nay, come, let's go together. [Exeunt. ACT II. Scene 1 SCENE, An Apartment in Polonius's House. Enter Polonius, and Reynoldo.

Polonius.
Give him this mony, and these notes, Reynoldo.

Rey.
I will, my lord.

Pol.
You shall do marvellous wisely, good Reynoldo,
Before you visit him, to make inquiry
Of his behaviour.

Rey.
My lord, I did intend it.

Pol.
Marry, well said; very well said. Look you, Sir,
Enquire me first what Danskers are in Paris;
And how, and who, what means, and where they keep,
What company, at what expence; and finding,
By this encompassment and drift of question,
That they do know my son; come you more near;
Then your particular demands will touch it;
Take you, as 'twere some distant knowledge of him,
As thus—I know his father and his friends,
And in part him—Do you mark this, Reynoldo?

Rey.
Ay, very, well, my lord.

Pol.
And in part him—but you may say—not well;
But if't be he, I mean, he's very wild;
Addicted so and so—and there put on him
What forgeries you please; marry, none so rank,
As may dishonour him; take heed of that;
But, Sir, such wanton, wild, and usual slips,

As are companions noted and most known
To youth and liberty.

Rey.
As gaming, my lord—

Pol.
Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing,
Quarrelling, drabbing—You may go so far.

Rey.
My lord, that would dishonour him.

Pol.
Faith, no, as you may season it in the Charge;
You must not put another scandal on him,(23) ^note

Rey.
But, my good lord—

Pol.
Wherefore should you do this?

Rey.
Ay, my lord, I would know that.

Pol.
Marry, Sir, here's my drift;

And, I believe, it is a fetch of wit.
You, laying these slight sullies on my son,(24) ^note




As 'twere a thing a little soil'd i'th' working,
Mark you, your party in converse, he you would sound,
Having ever seen, in the prenominate crimes,
The youth, you breath of, guilty, be assur'd,
He closes with you in this consequence;
Good sir, or so, or friend, or gentleman,
(According to the phrase or the addition
Of man and country.)

Rey.
Very good, my lord.

Pol.
And then, Sir, does he this;
He do's—what was I about to say?
I was about to say something—where did I leave?—

Rey.
At, closes in the consequence.

Pol.
At, closes in the consequence—Ay, marry,
He closes thus;—I know the Gentleman,
I saw him yesterday, or t'other day,
Or then, with such and such; and, as you say,
There was he gaming, there o'ertook in's rowse,
There falling out at tennis; or, perchance,
I saw him enter such a house of sale,
Videlicet, a Brothel, or so forth.—See you now;
Your bait of Falshood takes this carp of Truth;
And thus do we of wisdom and of reach,
With windlaces, and with assays of Byas,
By indirections find directions out:
So by my former lecture and advice
Shall you my son; you have me, have you not?

Rey.
My lord, I have.

Pol.
God b'w' you; fare you well.

Rey.
Good my lord—

Pol.
Observe his inclination in yourself.

Rey.
I shall, my lord.

Pol.
And let him ply his musick.

Rey.
Well, my lord. [Exit. Enter Ophelia.

Pol.
Farewel. How now, Ophelia, what's the matter?

Oph.
Alas, my lord, I have been so affrighted!

Pol.
With what, in the name of heav'n?

Oph.
My lord, as I was sowing in my closet,
Lord Hamlet, with his Doublet all unbrac'd,
No hat upon his head, his stockings loose,(25) ^note

Pol.
Mad for thy love?

Oph.
My lord, I do not know:

But, truly, I do fear it.

Pol.
What said he?

Oph.
He took me by the wrist, and held me hard;
Then goes he to the length of all his arm;
And with his other hand, thus o'er his brow,
He falls to such perusal of my face,
As he would draw it. Long time staid he so;
At last, a little shaking of mine arm,
And thrice his head thus waving up and down,
He rais'd a sigh, so piteous and profound,
That it did seem to shatter all his bulk,
And end his Being. Then he lets me go,
And, with his head over his shoulder turn'd,
He seem'd to find his way without his eyes;
For out o' doors he went without their help,
And, to the last, bended their light on me.

Pol.
Come, go with me, I will go seek the King.
This is the very ecstasie of love;
Whose violent property foredoes it self,
And leads the will to desp'rate undertakings,
As oft as any passion under heav'n,
That does afflict our natures. I am sorry;
What, have you giv'n him any hard words of late?

Oph.
No, my good lord; but, as you did command,
I did repel his letters, and deny'd
His access to me.

Pol.
That hath made him mad.
I'm sorry, that with better speed and judgment(26) ^note

I had not quoted him. I fear'd, he trifl'd,
And meant to wrack thee; but beshrew my jealousie;
It seems, it is as proper to our age
To cast beyond our selves in our opinions,
As it is common for the younger sort
To lack discretion. Come; go we to the King.
This must be known; which, being kept close, might move
More grief to hide, than hate to utter, love. [Exeunt. Scene 2 SCENE changes to the Palace. Enter King, Queen, Rosincrantz, Guildenstern, lords and other attendants.

King.
Welcome, dear Rosincrantz, and Guildenstern!
Moreover that we much did long to see you,
The need, we have to use you, did provoke
Our hasty sending. Something you have heard
Of Hamlet's transformation; so I call it,
Since not th' exterior, nor the inward, man
Resembles That it was. What it should be
More than his Father's death, that thus hath put him
So much from th' understanding of himself,
I cannot dream of. I entreat you Both,
That being of so young days brought up with him,
And since so neighbour'd to his youth and humour,
That you vouchsafe your Rest here in our Court
Some little time; so by your companies
To draw him on to pleasures, and to gather,
So much as from occasions you may glean,

If ought, to us unknown, afflicts him thus,
That open'd lies within our remedy.

Queen.
Good gentlemen, he hath much talk'd of you;
And sure I am, two men there are not living,
To whom he more adheres. If it will please you
To shew us so much gentry and good will,
As to extend your time with us a while,
For the supply and profit of our hope,
Your visitation shall receive such thanks,
As fits a King's remembrance.

Ros.
Both your Majesties
Might, by the sovereign power you have of us,
Put your dread pleasures more into command
Than to entreaty.

Guil.
But we both obey,
And here give up our selves, in the full bent,
To lay our service freely at your feet.

King.
Thanks, Rosincrantz, and gentle Guildenstern.

Queen.
Thanks, Guildenstern, and gentle Rosincrantz.
And, I beseech you, instantly to visit
My too much changed son. Go, some of ye,
And bring these gentlemen where Hamlet is.

Guil.
Heav'ns make our presence and our practices
Pleasant and helpful to him! [Exeunt Ros. and Guil.

Queen.
Amen. Enter Polonius.

Pol.
Th' ambassadors from Norway, my good lord,
Are joyfully return'd.

King.
Thou still hast been the father of good news.

Pol.
Have I, my lord? assure you, my good liege,
I hold my duty, as I hold my soul,
Both to my God, and to my gracious King;
And I do think, (or else this brain of mine
Hunts not the trail of policy so sure
As I have us'd to do) that I have found
The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy.

King.
Oh, speak of that, that do I long to hear.

Pol.
Give first admittance to th' ambassadors:
My news shall be the fruit to that great feast.

King.
Thy self do grace to them, and bring them in. [Ex. Pol.
He tells me, my sweet Queen, that he hath found
The head and source of all your son's distemper.

Queen.
I doubt, it is no other but the main,
His father's death, and our o'er-hasty marriage. Re-enter Polonius, with Voltimand, and Cornelius.

King.
Well, we shall sift him.—Welcome, my good friends!
Say, Voltimand, what from our brother Norway?

Volt.
Most fair return of Greetings, and Desires.
Upon our first, he sent out to suppress
His Nephew's levies, which to him appear'd
To be a preparation 'gainst the Polack:
But, better lookt into, he truly found
It was against your Highness: Whereat griev'd,
That so his sickness, age, and impotence
Was falsely borne in hand, sends out Arrests
On Fortinbras; which he, in brief, obeys;
Receives rebuke from Norway; and in fine,
Makes vow before his uncle, never more
To give th' assay of arms against your Majesty.
Whereon old Norway, over come with joy,
Gives him threescore thousand crowns in annual fee;(27) ^note

And his Commission to employ those soldiers,
So levied as before, against the Polack:
With an entreaty, herein further shewn,
That it might please you to give quiet Pass
Through your Dominions for this enterprize,
On such regards of safety and allowance,

As therein are set down.

King.
It likes us well;
And at our more consider'd time we'll read,
Answer, and think upon this business.
Mean time, we thank you for your well-took labour.
Go to your Rest; at night we'll feast together.
Most welcome home! [Ex. Ambas.

Pol.
This business is well ended.
My Liege, and Madam, to expostulate(28) ^note

Queen.
More matter, with less art.

Pol.
Madam, I swear, I use no art at all:—
That he is mad, 'tis true; 'tis true, 'tis pity;
And pity 'tis, 'tis true; a foolish figure,—

But farewel it; for I will use no art.
Mad let us grant him then; and now remains
That we find out the cause of this effect,
Or rather say, the cause of this defect;
For this effect, defective, comes by cause;
Thus it remains, and the remainder thus.—Perpend.—
I have a daughter; have, whilst she is mine;
Who in her duty and obedience, mark,
Hath giv'n me this; now gather, and surmise. [He opens a letter, and reads.]

To the celestial, and my soul's idol, the most beatified(29) ^note

Queen.
Came this from Hamlet to her?

Pol.
Good Madam, stay a while, I will be faithful. [Reading.

Doubt thou, the stars are fire,
Doubt, that the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt, I love.

Oh, dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers; I have not art to reckon my groans; but that I love thee best, oh most best, believe it.

Adieu.
Thine evermore, most dear Lady, whilst
this Machine is to him, Hamlet.

King.
But how hath she receiv'd his love?

Pol.
What do you think of me?

King.
As of a man, faithful and honourable.

Pol.
I would fain prove so. But what might you think?
When I had seen this hot love on the wing,
(As I perceiv'd it, I must tell you that,
Before my daughter told me:) what might you,
Or my dear Majesty your Queen here, think?
If I had play'd the desk or table-book,
Or giv'n my heart a working, mute and dumb,
Or look'd upon this love with idle sight;
What might you think? no, I went round to work,
And my young mistress thus I did bespeak;
Lord Hamlet is a Prince out of thy sphere,
This must not be; and then, I precepts gave her,
That she should lock her self from his resort,
Admit no messengers, receive no tokens:
Which done, she took the fruits of my advice;
And he repulsed, a short tale to make,
Fell to a sadness, then into a fast,

Thence to a watching, thence into a weakness,
Thence to a lightness, and, by this declension,
Into the madness wherein now he raves,
And all we wail for.

King.
Do you think this?

Queen.
It may be very likely.

Pol.
Hath there been such a time, I'd fain know that,
That I have positively said, 'tis so,
When it prov'd otherwise?

King.
Not that I know.

Pol.
Take this from this, if this be otherwise;
If circumstances lead me, I will find [Pointing to his Head, and Shoulder.
Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed
Within the center.

King.
How may we try it further?

Pol.
You know, sometimes he walks four hours together,
Here in the lobby.

Queen.
So he does, indeed.

Pol.
At such a time I'll loose my daughter to him;
Be you and I behind an Arras then,
Mark the encounter: If he love her not,
And be not from his reason fal'n thereon,
Let me be no assistant for a State,
But keep a farm and carters.

King.
We will try it. Enter Hamlet reading.

Queen.
But, look, where, sadly, the poor wretch comes reading.

Pol.
Away, I do beseech you, both away.
I'll board him presently. [Exe. King and Queen.
Oh, give me leave.—How does my good lord Hamlet?

Ham.

Well, God o' mercy.

Pol.

Do you know me, my lord?

Ham.

Excellent well; you are a fishmonger.

Pol.

Not I, my lord.

Ham.

Then I would you were so honest a man.

Pol.

Honest, my lord?

Ham.

Ay, Sir; to be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man pick'd out of ten thousand.

Pol.
That's very true, my lord.

Ham.
For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog,
Being a good kissing carrion—
Have you a daughter?

Pol.
I have, my lord.

Ham.

Let her not walk i'th' Sun; conception is a blessing, but not as your daughter may conceive. Friend, look to't.

Pol.
How say you by that? still harping on my daughter!—
Yet he knew me not at first; he said, I was a fishmonger.
He is far gone; and, truly, in my youth, [Aside.
I suffer'd much extremity for love;
Very near this.—I'll speak to him again.
What do you read, my lord?

Ham.
Words, words, words.

Pol.
What is the matter, my lord?

Ham.
Between whom?

Pol.
I mean the matter that you read, my lord.

Ham.

Slanders, Sir: for the satyrical slave says here, that old men have gray beards; that their faces are wrinkled; their eyes purging thick amber, and plumtree gum; and that they have a plentiful lack of wit, together with most weak hams. All which, Sir, tho I most powerfully and potently believe, yet I hold it not honesty to have it thus set down: for your self, Sir, shall be as old as I am, if like a crab you could go backward.

Pol.
Though this be madness, yet there's method in't:
Will you walk out of the air, my lord?

Ham.
Into my Grave.

Pol.
Indeed, that is out o'th' air:—
How pregnant (sometimes) his replies are?
A happiness that often madness hits on,
Which sanity and reason could not be
So prosp'rously deliver'd of. I'll leave him,
And suddenly contrive the means of meeting
Between him and my daughter.

My honourable lord, I will most humbly
Take my leave of you.

Ham.
You cannot, Sir, take from me any thing that
I will more willingly part withal, except my life.

Pol.
Fare you well, my lord.

Ham.
These tedious old fools!

Pol.
You go to seek lord Hamlet; there he is. [Exit. Enter Rosincrantz and Guildenstern.

Ros.
God save you, Sir.

Guild.
Mine honour'd lord!

Ros.
My most dear lord!

Ham.
My excellent good friends! How dost thou, Guildenstern?
Oh, Rosincrantz, good lads! how do ye both?

Ros.
As the indifferent children of the earth.

Guil.

Happy, in that we are not over-happy; on fortune's cap, we are not the very button.

Ham.

Nor the soals of her shooe?

Ros.

Neither, my lord.

Ham.

Then you live about her waste, or in the middle of her favours?

Guil.

Faith, in her privates we.

Ham.

In the secret parts of fortune? oh, most true; she is a strumpet. What news?

Ros.

None, my lord, but that the world's grown honest.

Ham.

Then is dooms-day near; but your news is not true. Let me question more in particular: what have you, my good friends, deserved at the hands of fortune, that she sends you to prison hither?

Guil.

Prison, my lord!

Ham.

Denmark's a prison.

Ros.

Then is the world one.

Ham.

A goodly one, in which there are many confines, wards, and dungeons; Denmark being one o'th' worst.

Ros.

We think not so, my lord.

Ham.

Why, then, 'tis none to you; for there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so: to me, it is a prison.

Ros.

Why, then your ambition makes it one: 'tis too narrow for your mind.

Ham.

Oh God, I could be bounded in a nut-shell, and count my self a King of infinite space; were it not, that I have bad dreams.

Guil.

Which dreams, indeed, are Ambition; for the very substance of the ambitious is meerly the shadow of a dream.

Ham.

A dream it self is but a shadow.

Ros.

Truly, and I hold ambition of so airy and light a quality, that it is but a shadow's shadow.

Ham.

Then are our beggars, bodies; and our monarchs and out-stretch'd heroes, the beggars shadows; Shall we to th' Court? for, by my fay, I cannot reason.

Both.

We'll wait upon you.

Ham.

No such matter. I will not sort you with the rest of my servants: for, to speak to you like an honest man, I am most dreadfully attended: but in the beaten way of Friendship, what make you at Elsinoor?

Ros.

To visit you, my lord; no other occasion.

Ham.

Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks; but I thank you; and sure, dear friends, my thanks are too dear of a half-penny. Were you not sent for? is it your own inclining? is it a free visitation? come, deal justly with me; come, come; nay, speak.

Guil.

What should we say, my lord?

Ham.

Any thing, but to the purpose. You were sent for; and there is a kind of confession in your looks, which your modesties have not craft enough to colour. I know, the good King and Queen have sent for you.

Ros.

To what end, my lord?

Ham.

That you must teach me; but let me conjure you by the rights of our fellowship, by the consonancy of our youth, by the obligation of our ever-preserved love, and by what more dear, a better proposer could charge you withal; be even and direct with me, whether you were sent for or no?

Ros.

What say you?

Ham.

Nay, then I have an eye of you: if you love me, hold not off.

Guil.

My lord, we were sent for.

Ham.

I will tell you why; so shall my anticipation prevent your discovery, and your secrecy to the King and Queen moult no feather. I have of late, but wherefore I know not, lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercise; and, indeed, it goes so heavily with my disposition, that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a steril promontory; this most excellent canopy the air, look you, this brave o'er hanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to me, than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculties! in form and moving how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a God! the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals! and yet to me, what is this quintessence of dust? man delights not me, nor woman neither; though by your smiling you seem to say so.

Ros.

My lord, there was no such stuff in my thoughts.

Ham.

Why did you laugh, when I said, man delights not me?

Ros.

To think, my lord, if you delight not in man, what lenten entertainment the Players shall receive from you; we accosted them on the way, and hither are they coming to offer you service.

Ham.

He that plays the King shall be welcome; his Majesty shall have tribute of me; the adventurous Knight shall use his foyle and target; the lover shall not sigh gratis; the humorous man shall end his part in peace; and the lady shall say her mind freely, or the blank verse shall halt for't. What Players are they?

Ros.

Even those you were wont to take delight in, the Tragedians of the city.

Ham.

How chances it, they travel? their residence both in reputation and profit was better, both ways.

Ros.

I think, their inhibition comes by the means of the late innovation.

Ham.

Do they hold the same estimation they did, when I was in the city? are they so follow'd?

Ros.

No, indeed, they are not.

Ham.

How comes it? do they grow rusty?

Ros.

Nay, their endeavour keeps in the wonted pace; but there is, Sir, an Aiery of Children, little Eyases,(30) ^note
that cry out on the top of question; and are most tyrannically clapt for't; these are now the fashion, and so berattle the common stages, (so they call them) that many wearing rapiers are afraid of goose-quills, and dare scarce come thither.

Ham.

What, are they children? who maintains 'em? how are they escoted? will they pursue the Quality, no longer than they can sing? will they not say afterwards, if they should grow themselves to common players, (as it is most like, if their means are no better:) their writers do them wrong to make them exclaim against their own succession?

Ros.

Faith, there has been much to do on both sides; and the nation holds it no sin, to tarre them on to controversie. There was, for a while, no money bid for argument, unless the poet and the player went to cuffs in the question.

Ham.

Is't possible?

Guil.

Oh, there has been much throwing about of brains.

Ham.

Do the Boys carry it away?

Ros.

Ay, that they do, my lord, Hercules and his load too.

Ham.

It is not strange; for mine uncle is King of Denmark; and those that would make mowes at him while my

father lived, give twenty, forty, fifty, an hundred ducates a-piece, for his picture in little. There is something in this more than natural, if philosophy could find it out.

Guil.

There are the Players.

Ham.

Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinoor; your hands: come then, the appurtenance of welcome is fashion and ceremony. Let me comply with you in this garbe, lest my extent to the players (which, I tell you, must shew fairly outward) should more appear like entertainment than yours. You are welcome; but my Uncle-father and Aunt-mother are deceiv'd.

Guil.

In what, my dear lord?

Ham.

I am but mad north, north-west: when the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw.

Pol.

Well be with you, gentlemen.

Ham.

Hark you, Guildenstern, and you too, at each ear a hearer; that great Baby, you see there, is not yet out of his swathling clouts.

Ros.

Haply, he's the second time come to them; for they say, an old man is twice a child.

Ham.

I will prophesie, he comes to tell me of the players. Mark it;—you say right, Sir; for on Monday morning 'twas so, indeed.

Pol.
My lord, I have news to tell you.

Ham.
My lord, I have news to tell you.
When Roscius was an Actor in Rome—

Pol.
The Actors are come hither, my lord.

Ham.
Buzze, buzze.—

Pol.
Upon mine honour—

Ham.
Then came each Actor on his ass—

Pol.

The best Actors in the world, either for tragedy, comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral-comical, historical-pastoral, scene undivideable, or Poem unlimited: Seneca cannot be too heavy, nor Plautus too light. For the law of wit, and the Liberty, these are the only men.

Ham.

Oh, Jephta, judge of Israel, what a treasure hadst Thou!

Pol.
What a treasure had he, my lord?

Ham.
Why, one fair daughter, and no more,
The which he loved passing well.

Pol.

Still on my daughter.

Ham.

Am I not i'th' right, old Jephta?

Pol.

If you call me Jephta, my lord, I have a daughter that I love passing well.

Ham.

Nay, that follows not.

Pol.

What follows then, my lord?

Ham.

Why, as by lot, God wot—and then you know, it came to pass, as most like it was; the first row of the rubrick will shew you more. For, look, where my abridgements come.

Y'are welcome, masters, welcome all. I am glad to see thee well; welcome, good friends. Oh! old friend! thy face is valanc'd, since I saw thee last: com'st thou to beard me in Denmark? What! my young lady and mistress? b'erlady, your ladyship is nearer heaven than when I saw you last, by the altitude of a chioppine. Pray God, your voice, like a piece of uncurrent gold, be not crack'd within the ring.—Masters, you are all welcome; we'll e'en to't like friendly faulconers, fly at any thing we see; we'll have a speech straight. Come, give us a taste of your quality; come, a passionate speech.

1 Play.

What speech, my good lord?

Ham.

I heard thee speak me a speech once, but it was never acted: or if it was, not above once; for the Play, I remember, pleas'd not the million, 'twas Caviar to the general; but it was (as I receiv'd it, and others, whose judgment in such matters cryed in the top of mine) an excellent Play; well digested in the scenes, set down with as much modesty as cunning. I remember,(31) ^note

said, there was no salt in the lines, to make the matter savoury; nor no matter in the phrase, that might indite the author of affection; but call'd it, an honest method. One speech in it I chiefly lov'd; 'twas Æneas's tale to Dido; and thereabout of it especially, where he speaks of Priam's slaughter. If it live in your memory, begin at this line, let me see, let me see—The rugged Pyrrhus, like th' Hyrcanian beast,—It is not so;—it begins with Pyrrhus.

The rugged Pyrrhus, he, whose sable arms,
Black as his purpose, did the Night resemble
When he lay couched in the ominous horse;
Hath now his dread and black complection smear'd
With heraldry more dismal; head to foot,
Now is he total geules; horridly trickt
With blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, sons,
Bak'd and impasted with the parching fires,
That lend a tyrannous and damned light
To murthers vile. Roasted in wrath and fire,
And thus o'er-sized with coagulate gore,
With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus
Old gransire Priam seeks.

Pol.

'Fore God, my lord, well spoken, with good accent, and good discretion.

1 Play.
Anon he finds him,
Striking, too short, at Greeks. His antique sword,
Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls,
Repugnant to Command; unequal match'd,
Pyrrhus at Priam drives, in rage strikes wide;
But with the whif and wind of his fell sword
Th' unnerved father falls. Then senseless Ilium,
Seeming to feel this blow, with flaming top
Stoops to his Base; and with a hideous crash
Takes prisoner Pyrrhus' ear. For lo, his sword,
Which was declining on the milky head
Of rev'rend Priam, seem'd i'th' air to stick:
So, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrhus stood;
And, like a neutral to his will and matter,
Did nothing.
But as we often see, against some storm,
A silence in the heav'ns, the rack stand still,
The bold winds speechless, and the orb below
As hush as death: anon the dreadful thunder
Doth rend the region. So after Pyrrhus' pause,
A rowsed vengeance sets him new a-work:
And never did the Cyclops' hammers fall
On Mars his armour, forg'd for proof eterne,
With less remorse than Pyrrhus' bleeding sword
Now falls on Priam.—

Out, out, thou strumpet Fortune! all you Gods,
In general synod take away her power:
Break all the spokes and fellies from her wheel,
And bowl the round nave down the hill of heav'n,
As low as to the fiends.

Pol.
This is too long.

Ham.

It shall to th' barber's with your beard. Pr'ythee, say on; he's for a jigg, or a tale of bawdry, or he sleeps. Say on, come to Hecuba.

1 Play.
But who, oh! who, had seen the mobled Queen,—

Ham.

The mobled Queen?

Pol.

That's good; mobled Queen, is good.

1 Play.
Run bare-foot up and down, threatning the flames
With bisson rheum; a clout upon that head,
Where late the Diadem stood; and for a robe
About her lank and all-o'er teemed loyns,
A blanket in th' alarm of fear caught up:
Who this had seen, with tongue in venom steep'd,
'Gainst fortune's state would treason have pronounc'd:
But if the Gods themselves did see her then,
When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious sport
In mincing with his sword her husband's limbs;
The instant burst of clamour that she made,
(Unless things mortal move them not at all)
Would have made milch the burning eyes of heav'n,
And passion in the Gods.

Pol.

Look, whe're he has not turn'd his colour, and has tears in's eyes. Pr'ythee, no more.

Ham.

'Tis well, I'll have thee speak out the rest of this soon. Good my lord, will you see the Players well bestow'd? Do ye hear, let them be well us'd; for they are the abstract, and brief chronicles of the time. After your death, you were better have a bad Epitaph, than their ill report while you liv'd.

Pol.

My lord, I will use them according to their desert.

Ham.

God's bodikins, man, much better. Use every man after his desert, and who shall scape whipping?

use them after your own honour and dignity. The less they deserve, the more merit is in your bounty. Take them in.

Pol.

Come, Sirs.

Ham.

Follow him, friends: we'll hear a Play to morrow. Dost thou hear me, old friend, can you play the murther of Gonzago?

Play.

Ay, my lord.

Ham.

We'll ha't to morrow night. You could, for a need, study a speech of some dozen or sixteen lines, which I would set down, and insert in't? could ye not?

Play.

Ay, my lord.

Ham.

Very well. Follow that lord, and, look, you mock him not. My good friends, I'll leave you 'till night, you are welcome to Elsinoor.

Ros.

Good my lord.

Ham.
Ay, so, God b' w' ye: now I am alone.
Oh, what a rogue and peasant slave am I!
Is it not monstrous that this Player here,
But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,
Could force his soul so to his own conceit,
That, from her working, all his visage warm'd:
Tears in his eyes, distraction in his aspect,
A broken voice, and his whole function suiting,
With forms, to his conceit? and all for nothing?
For Hecuba?
What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,
That he should weep for her? what would he do,
Had he the motive and the cue for passion,
That I have? he would drown the stage with tears,
And cleave the gen'ral ear with horrid speech;
Make mad the guilty, and appall the free;
Confound the ign'rant, and amaze, indeed,
The very faculty of eyes and ears.—Yet I,
A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak,
Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause,
And can say nothing—no, not for a King,
Upon whose property and most dear life
A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward?

Who calls me villain, breaks my pate a-cross,
Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face?
Tweaks me by th' nose, gives me the lye i'th' throat,
As deep as to the lungs? who does me this?
Yet I should take it—for it cannot be,
But I am pigeon-liver'd, and lack gall
To make oppression bitter; or, ere this,
I should have fatted all the region kites
With this slave's offal. Bloody, bawdy villain!
Remorseless, treacherous, letcherous, kindless villain!
Why, what an ass am I? this is most brave,
That I, the son of a dear father murthered,
Prompted to my revenge by heav'n and hell;
Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words,
And fall a cursing like a very drab—(32) ^note

Out of my weakness and my melancholy,
(As he is very potent with such spirits)
Abuses me to damn me. I'll have grounds
More relative than this: The Play's the thing,
Wherein I'll catch the Conscience of the King. [Exit. ACT III. Scene 1 SCENE, the PALACE. Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosincrantz, Guildenstern, and Lords.

King.
And can you by no drift of conference
Get from him why he puts on this confusion,
Grating so harshly all his days of quiet,
With turbulent and dang'rous lunacy?

Ros.
He does confess, he feels himself distracted;
But from what cause he will by no means speak.

Guil.
Nor do we find him forward to be sounded;
But with a crafty madness keeps aloof,
When we would bring him on to some confession
Of his true state.

Queen.
Did he receive you well?

Ros.
Most like a gentleman.

Guil.
But with much forcing of his disposition.

Ros.
Niggard of question, but of our demands
Most free in his reply.

Queen.
Did you assay him to any pastime?

Ros.
Madam, it so fell out, that certain Players
We o'er-took on the way; of these we told him;
And there did seem in him a kind of joy
To hear of it: they are about the Court;
And (as I think) they have already order
This night to play before him.

Pol.
'Tis most true:
And he beseech'd me to entreat your Majesties
To hear and see the matter.

King.
With all my heart, and it doth much content me
To hear him so inclin'd.
Good gentlemen, give him a further edge,
And drive his purpose into these delights.

Ros.
We shall, my lord. [Exeunt.

King.
Sweet Gertrude, leave us too;
For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither,
That he, as 'twere by accident, may here
Affront Ophelia. Her father, and my self,
Will so bestow our selves, that, seeing, unseen,
We may of their encounter frankly judge;
And gather by him, as he is behaved,
If't be th' affliction of his love, or no,
That thus he suffers for.

Queen.
I shall obey you:
And for my part, Ophelia, I do wish,
That your good beauties be the happy cause
Of Hamlet's wildness: So shall I hope, your virtues
May bring him to his wonted way again
To both your honours.

Oph.
Madam, I wish it may. [Exit Queen.

Pol.
Ophelia, walk you here.—Gracious, so please ye,
We will bestow our selves—Read on this book;
That shew of such an exercise may colour
Your loneliness. We're oft to blame in this,
'Tis too much prov'd, that with devotion's visage,
And pious action, we do sugar o'er
The devil himself.

King.
Oh 'tis too true.
How smart a lash that speech doth give my conscience! [aside.
The harlot's cheek, beautied with plastring art,
Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it,
Than is my deed to my most painted word.
Oh heavy burthen!

Pol.
I hear him coming; let's withdraw, my lord. [Exeunt all but Ophelia.

Enter Hamlet.

Ham.
To be, or not to be? that is the question.—
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to suffer
The slings and arrows of outragious fortune;
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,(33) ^note

Devoutly to be wish'd. To die—to sleep—(34) ^note

That makes Calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pang of despis'd love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th' unworthy takes;
When he himself might his Quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardles bear,
To groan and sweat under a weary life?
But that the dread of something-after death,
(That undiscover'd country, from whose bourne(35) ^note

And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought;
And enterprizes of great pith, and moment,
With this regard their currents turn awry,
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,
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;(36) ^note

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 deceived.

Ham.

Get thee to a nunnery. Why wouldst thou be a breeder of sinners? I am my self 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, with more offences at my beck, than I have thoughts to put them in, 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 your selves another. You jig, you amble, and you lisp, and nickname 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.

Oph.
Oh, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown!
The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's, eye, tongue, sword!
Th' expectancy and rose of the fair State,
The glass of fashion, and the mould of form,
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:
Now see that noble and most sovereign reason,
Like sweet bells jangled out of tune, and harsh;
That unmatch'd form, and feature of blown youth,
Blasted with extasie. Oh, woe is me!
T' have seen what I have seen; see what I see. Enter King and Polonius.

King.
Love! his affections do not that way tend,
Nor what he spake, tho' it lack'd form a little,
Was not like madness. Something's in his soul,
O'er which his melancholy sits on brood;
And, I do doubt, the hatch and the disclose
Will be some danger, which, how to prevent,
I have in quick determination
Thus set it down. He shall with speed to England,
For the demand of our neglected Tribute:
Haply, the Seas and Countries different,
With variable objects, shall expel
This something settled matter in his heart;
Whereon his brains still beating, puts him thus
From fashion of himself. What think you on't?

Pol.
It shall do well. But yet do I believe,
The origin and commencement of this grief
Sprung from neglected love. How now, Ophelia?—
You need not tell us what lord Hamlet said,
We heard it all.—My lord, do as you please; [Exit Ophelia.
But if you hold it fit, after the Play
Let his Queen mother all alone intreat him
To shew his griefs; let her be round with him:
And I'll be plac'd, so please you, in the ear
Of all their conf'rence. If she find him not,
To England send him; or confine him, where
Your wisdom best shall think.

King.
It shall be so:
Madness in Great ones must not unwatch'd go. [Exeunt. Enter Hamlet, and two or three of the Players.

Ham.

Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounc'd it to you, trippingly on the tongue. But if you mouth it, as many of our Players do, I had as lieve, the towncrier had spoke my lines. And do not saw the air too much with your hand thus, but use all gently; for in the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, whirl-wind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness. Oh, it offends me to the soul, to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings: who (for the most part) are capable of nothing, but inexplicable dumb shews, and noise: I could have such a fellow whipt for o'er-doing Termagant; it out-herods Herod. Pray you, avoid it.

Play.

I warrant your Honour.

Ham.

Be not too tame neither; but let your own discretion be your tutor. Sute the action to the word, the word to the action, with this special observance, that you o'er-step not the modesty of Nature; for any thing so overdone is from the purpose of playing; whose end, both at the first and now, was and is, to hold as 'twere the mirror up to nature; to shew virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time, his form and pressure. Now this over-done, or

come tardy of, tho' it make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve: the censure of which one must in your allowance o'er-weigh a whole theatre of others. Oh, there be Players that I have seen play, and heard others praise, and that highly, (not to speak it prophanely) that neither having the accent of christian, nor the gate of christian, pagan, nor man, have so strutted and bellow'd, that I have thought some of nature's journey-men had made men, and not made them well; they imitated humanity so abominably.

Play.

I hope, we have reform'd that indifferently with us.

Ham.

Oh, reform it altogether. And let those, that play your Clowns, speak no more than is set down for them: For there be of them that will themselves laugh, to set on some quantity of barren spectators to laugh too; though, in the mean time, some necessary question of the Play be then to be considered: That's villanous; and shews a most pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it. Go make you ready.