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.

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