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.
-- 284 --
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.
-- 285 --
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
And by opposing end them?—to die,—to sleep—
No more; and by a sleep, to say, we end
The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to; 'tis a consummation
-- 286 --
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die—to sleep—(34) note
To sleep? perchance, to dream; ay, there's the rub—
For in that sleep of Death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause.—There's the respect,
-- 287 --
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
No traveller returns) puzzles the will;
And makes us rather bear those ills we have,
Than fly to others that we know not of.
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all:
-- 288 --
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?
-- 289 --
Ham.
Ay, truly;(36) note
for the power of beauty will
sooner transform honesty from what it is, to a bawd;
than the force of honesty can translate beauty into its likeness.
This was sometime a paradox, but now the time
gives it proof.—I did love you once.
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
-- 290 --
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.
[Exit Hamlet.
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?
-- 291 --
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
-- 292 --
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.
[Exeunt Players.
Enter Polonius, Rosincrantz, and Guildenstern.
How now, my lord? will the King hear this piece of work?
Pol.
And the Queen too, and that presently.
Ham.
Bid the Players make haste.
[Exit Polonius.
Will you two help to hasten them?
Both.
We will, my lord.
[Exeunt.
Ham.
What, ho, Horatio!
Enter Horatio to Hamlet.
Hor.
Here, sweet lord, at your service.
Ham.
Horatio, thou art e'en as just a Man,
As e'er my conversation coap'd withal.
Hor.
Oh my dear lord,—
Ham.
Nay, do not think, I flatter:
For what advancement may I hope from thee,
That no revenue hast, but thy good spirits,
To feed and cloath thee? Should the poor be flatter'd?
-- 293 --
No, let the candied tongue lick absurd Pomp,
And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee,
Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou hear?
Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice,
And could of men distinguish, her election
Hath seal'd thee for her self. For thou hast been
As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing:
A man, that fortune's buffets and rewards
Hast ta'en with equal thanks. And blest are those,
Whose blood and judgment are so well comingled,
That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger,
To sound what stop she please. Give me that man,
That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him
In my heart's core: ay, in my heart of heart,
As I do thee.—Something too much of this.—
There is a Play to night before the King,
One Scene of it comes near the circumstance,
Which I have told thee, of my father's death.
I pr'ythee, when thou seest that Act a-foot,
Ev'n with the very comment of thy soul
Observe mine uncle: if his occult guilt
Do not it self unkennel in one speech,
It is a damned Ghost that we have seen:
And my imaginations are as foul(37) note
As Vulcan's Smithy. Give him heedful note;
For I mine eyes will rivet to his face;
And, after, we will both our judgments join,
In censure of his Seeming.
Hor.
Well, my lord.
If he steal aught, the whilst this Play is playing,
And scape detecting, I will pay the theft.
-- 294 --
Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosincrantz, Guildenstern, and other lords attendant, with a guard carrying torches. Danish March. Sound a flourish.
Ham.
They're coming to the Play; I must be idle.
Get you a place.
King.
How fares our cousin Hamlet?
Ham.
Excellent, i'faith, of the camelion's dish: I eat
the air, promise-cramm'd: you cannot feed capons so.
King.
I have nothing with this answer; Hamlet; these
words are not mine.
Ham.
No, nor mine.—Now, my lord; you plaid
once i'th' university, you say?
[To Polonius.
Pol.
That I did, my lord, and was accounted a good
actor.
Ham.
And what did you enact?
Pol.
I did enact Julius Cæsar, I was kill'd i'th' Capitol:
Brutus kill'd me.
Ham.
It was a brute part of him, to kill so capital
a calf there. Be the players ready?
Ros.
Ay, my lord, they stay upon your patience.
Queen.
Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit by me.
Ham.
No, good mother, here's mettle more attractive.
Pol.
Oh ho, do you mark that?
Ham.
Lady, shall I lye in your lap?
[Lying down at Ophelia's feet.
Oph.
No, my lord.
Ham.
I mean, my Head upon your Lap?
Oph.
Ay, my Lord.
Ham.
Do you think, I meant country matters?
Oph.
I think nothing, my lord.
Ham.
That's a fair thought, to lie between a maid's legs.
Oph.
What is, my lord?
Ham.
Nothing.
Oph.
You are merry, my lord.
Ham.
Who, I?
Oph.
Ay, my lord.
Ham.
Oh God! your only jig-maker; what should a
man do, but be merry? For, look you, how chearfully
-- 295 --
my mother looks, and my father dy'd within these two
hours.
Oph.
Nay, 'tis twice two months, my lord.
Ham.
So long? nay, then let the Devil wear black,
for I'll have a suit of sables. Oh heav'ns! dye two
months ago, and not forgotten yet! then there's hope, a
Great man's memory may out-live his life half a year:
but, by'r lady, he must build churches then; or else shall
he suffer not thinking on, with the hobby-horse; whose
epitaph is, For oh, for oh, the hobby-horse is forgot.
Hautboys play. The dumb shew enters.
(38) noteEnter a Duke and Dutchess, with regal Coronets, very
lovingly; the Dutchess embracing him, and be her. She
kneels; he takes her up, and declines his head upon her neck;
He lays him down upon a bank of flowers; she seeing him
asleep, leaves him. Anon comes in a fellow, takes off his
Crown, kisses it, and pours poison in the Duke's ears, and
Exit. The Dutchess returns, finds the Duke dead, and
makes passionate action. The poisoner, with some two or
three mutes, comes in again, seeming to lament with her.
The dead body is carried away. The poisoner wooes the
Dutchess with gifts; she seems loth and unwilling a while,
but in the end accepts his love.
[Exeunt.
Oph.
What means this, my lord?
Ham.
Marry, this is miching Malicho; it means mischief.
-- 296 --
Oph.
Belike, this shew imports the Argument of the
Play?
Enter Prologue.
Ham.
We shall know by this fellow: the Players cannot
keep counsel, they'll tell all.
Oph.
Will he tell us, what this shew meant?
Ham.
Ay, or any shew that you'll shew him. Be not
you ashamed to shew, he'll not shame to tell you what it
means.
Oph.
You are naught, you are naught, I'll mark the
Play.
Prol.
For us, and for our tragedy,
Here stooping to your clemency,
We beg your hearing patiently.
Ham.
Is this a prologue, or the posie of a ring?
Oph.
'Tis brief, my lord.
Ham.
As woman's love.
Enter Duke, and Dutchess, Players.
Duke.
Full thirty times hath Phœbus' Carr gone round
Neptune's salt wash, and Tellus' orbed ground;
And thirty dozen moons with borrowed sheen
About the world have time twelve thirties been,
Since love our hearts, and Hymen did our hands,
Unite comutual, in most sacred bands.
Dutch.
So many journeys may the Sun and Moon
Make us again count o'er, ere love be done.
But woe is me, you are so sick of late,
So far from cheer and from your former state,
That I distrust you; yet though I distrust,
Discomfort you, my lord, it nothing must:
For women fear too much, ev'n as they love.
And womens fear and love hold quantity;
'Tis either none, or in extremity.
-- 297 --
Now, what my love is, proof hath made you know;
And as my love is siz'd, my fear is so.(39) note
Where love is great, the smallest doubts are fear;
Where little fears grow great, great love grows there.
Duke.
Faith, I must leave thee, Love, and shortly too:
My operant powers their functions leave to do,
And thou shalt live in this fair world behind,
Honour'd, belov'd; and, haply, one as kind
For husband shalt thou—
Dutch.
Oh, confound the rest!
Such love must needs be treason in my breast:
In second husband let me be accurst!
None wed the second, but who kill the first.
Ham.
Wormwood, wormwood!—
Dutch.
The instances, that second marriage move,
Are base respects of thrift, but none of love.
A second time I kill my husband dead,
When second husband kisses me in bed.
Duke.
I do believe, you think what now you speak;
But what we do determine, oft we break:
Purpose is but the slave to memory,
Of violent birth, but poor validity:
Which now, like fruits unripe, sticks on the tree,
But fall unshaken, when they mellow be.
Most necessary 'tis, that we forget
To pay our selves what to our selves is debt:
What to our selves in passion we propose,
The passion ending, doth the purpose lose;
The violence of either grief or joy,
Their own enactors with themselves destroy:
-- 298 --
Where joy most revels, grief doth most lament;
Grief joys, joy grieves, on slender accident.
This world is not for aye; nor 'tis not strange,
That ev'n our loves should with our fortunes change.
For 'tis a question left us yet to prove,
Whether love leads fortune, or else fortune love.
The Great man down, you mark, his fav'rite flies;
The poor advanc'd, makes friends of enemies.
And hitherto doth love on fortune tend,
For who not needs, shall never lack a friend;
And who in want a hollow friend doth try,
Directly seasons him his enemy.
But orderly to end where I begun,
Our wills and fates do so contrary run,
That our devices still are overthrown;
Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own.
Think still, thou wilt no second husband wed;
But die thy thoughts, when thy first lord is dead.
Dutch.
Nor earth to me give food, nor heaven light!
Sport and repose lock from me, day and night!
To desperation turn my trust and hope!
An Anchor's cheer in prison be my scope!
Each opposite, that blanks the face of joy,
Meet what I would have well, and it destroy!
Both here, and hence, pursue me lasting strife!
If, once a widow, ever I be wife.
Ham.
If she should break it now—
Duke.
'Tis deeply sworn; Sweet, leave me here a while;
My spirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile
The tedious day with sleep.
[Sleeps.
Dutch.
Sleep rock thy brain,
And never come mischance between us twain!
[Exit.
Ham.
Madam, how like you this Play?
Queen.
The lady protests too much, methinks.
Ham.
Oh, but she'll keep her word.
King.
Have you heard the argument, is there no offence
in't?
Ham.
No, no, they do but jest, poison in jest, no
offence i'th' world.
King.
What do you call the Play?
-- 299 --
Ham.
The Mouse-Trap;—Marry, how? tropically.
This Play is the image of a murther done in Vienna;
Gonzago is the Duke's name, his wife's Baptista; you shall
see anon, 'tis a knavish piece of Work; but what o'
that? your Majesty, and we that have free souls, it
touches us not; let the gall'd jade winch, our withers are
unwrung.
Enter Lucianus.
This is one Lucianus, nephew to the Duke.
Oph.
You are as good as a chorus, my lord.
Ham.
I could interpret between you and your love,
if I could see the puppets dallying.
Oph.
You are keen, my lord, you are keen.
Ham.
It would cost you a groaning, to take off my edge.
Oph.
Still better and worse.(40) note
Ham.
So you mistake your husbands.
Begin, murtherer.—Leave thy damnable faces and begin.
Come, the croaking raven doth bellow for revenge.
Luc.
Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, and time agreeing:
Confederate season, and no creature seeing:
-- 300 --
Thou mixture rank, of mid-night weeds collected,
With Hecate's ban thrice blasted, thrice infected,(41) note
Thy natural magick, and dire property,
On wholsome life usurp immediately.
[Pours the poison in his ears.
Ham.
He poisons him i'th' garden for's estate; his
name's Gonzago; the story is extant, and writ in choice
Italian. You shall see anon now the murtherer gets the
love of Gonzago's wife.
Oph.
The King rises.
Ham.
What, frighted with false fire!
Queen.
How fares my lord?
Pol.
Give o'er the Play.
King.
Give me some light. Away.
All.
Lights, lights, lights!
[Exeunt.
Manent Hamlet and Horatio.
Ham.
Why, let the strucken deer go weep,
The hart ungalled play:
For some must watch, whilst some must sleep;
So runs the world away.
Would not this, Sir, and a forest of Feathers, (if the rest
-- 301 --
of my fortunes turn Turk with me) (42) note
with two provincial
roses on my rayed shooes, get me a fellowship in
a cry of Players, Sir?
Hor.
Half a share.
Ham.
A whole one, I.
For thou dost know, oh Damon dear,
This realm dismantled was
Of Jove himself, and now reigns here
A very, very, Paddock.(43) note
-- 302 --
Hor.
You might have rhim'd.
Ham.
Oh, good Horatio, I'll take the Ghost's word
for a thousand pounds. Didst perceive?
Hor.
Very well, my lord.
Ham.
Upon the talk of the poisoning?
Hor.
I did very well note him.
Enter Rosincrantz and Guildenstern.
Ham.
Oh, ha! come, some musick: Come, the recorders.
For if the King like not the comedy;
Way, then, belike, he likes it not, perdy.
Come, some musick.
Guil.
Good my lord, vouchsafe me a word with you.
-- 303 --
Ham.
Sir, a whole history.
Guil.
The King, Sir—
Ham.
Ay, Sir, what of him?
Guil.
Is, in his retirement, marvellous distemper'd—
Ham.
With drink, Sir?
Guil.
No, my lord, with choler.
Ham.
Your wisdom should shew it self more rich, to
signify this to his Doctor: for, for me to put him to his
purgation, would, perhaps, plunge him into more choler.
Guil.
Good my lord, put your discourse into some
frame, and start not so wildly from my affair.
Ham.
I am tame, Sir;—pronounce.
Guil.
The Queen your mother, in most great affliction
of spirit, hath sent me to you.
Ham.
You are welcome.
Guil.
Nay, good my lord, this Courtesy is not of the
right Breed. If it shall please you to make me a wholsom
answer, I will do your mother's commandment; if not,
your pardon, and my return shall be the end of my business.
Ham.
Sir, I cannot.
Guil.
What, my lord?
Ham.
Make you a wholsom answer: my wit's diseas'd.
But, Sir, such answer as I can make, you shall command;
or, rather, as you say, my mother—therefore no more
but to the matter—my mother, you say—
Ros.
Then thus she says; your behaviour hath struck
her into amazement, and admiration.
Ham.
Oh wonderful son, that can so astonish a mother!
But is there no sequel at the heels of this mother's admiration?
Ros.
She desires to speak with you in her closet, ere you
go to bed.
Ham.
We shall obey, were she ten times our mother.
Have you any further trade with us?
Ros.
My lord, you once did love me.
Ham.
So I do still, by these pickers and stealers.
Ros.
Good my lord, what is your cause of distemper?
you do, surely, bar the door of your own liberty, if you
deny your griefs to your friend.
-- 304 --
Ham.
Sir, I lack advancement.
Ros.
How can that be, when you have the voice of the
King himself, for your succession in Denmark?
Ham.
Ay, but while the grass grow—the Proverb is
something musty.
Enter one, with a Recorder.
Oh, the Recorders; let me see one. To withdraw with
you—why do you go about to recover the wind of me,
as if you would drive me into a toil?
Guil.
Oh my lord, if my duty be too bold, my love is
too unmannerly.
Ham.
I do not well understand that. Will you play
upon this pipe?
Guil.
My lord, I cannot.
Ham.
I pray you.
Guil.
Believe me, I cannot.
Ham.
I do beseech you.
Guil.
I know no touch of it, my lord.
Ham.
'Tis as easy as lying; govern these ventiges with
your fingers and thumb, give it breath with your mouth,
and it will discourse most eloquent musick. Look you,
these are the stops.
Guil.
But these cannot I command to any utterance of
harmony; I have not the skill.
Ham.
Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing
you make of me; you would play upon me, you would
seem to know my stops; you would pluck out the heart
of my mystery; you would sound me from my lowest
note, to the top of my compass; and there is much musick,
excellent voice, in this little organ, yet cannot you
make it speak. Why, do you think, that I am easier
to be plaid on than a pipe? call me what instrument you
will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon
me.—God bless you, Sir.
Enter Polonius.
Pol.
My lord, the Queen would speak with you, and
presently.
-- 305 --
Ham.
Do you see yonder cloud, that's almost in shape
of a Camel?
Pol.
By the mass, and it's like a Camel, indeed.
Ham.
Methinks, it is like an Ouzle.(44) note
Pol.
It is black like an Ouzle.
Ham.
Or, like a Whale?
Pol.
Very like a Whale.
Ham.
Then will I come to my mother by and by—
they fool me to the top of my bent.—I will come by
and by.
Pol.
I will say so.
Ham.
By and by is easily said. Leave me, friends.
[Exeunt.
'Tis now the very witching time of night,
When church-yards yawn, and hell it self breaths out
Contagion to this world. Now could I drink hot blood,
And do such bitter business as the day
Would quake to look on. Soft, now to my mother—
O heart, lose not thy nature; let not ever
-- 306 --
The Soul of Nero enter this firm bosom;
Let me be cruel, not unnatural;
I will speak daggers to her, but use none.
My tongue and soul in this be hypocrites;
How in my words soever she be shent,
To give them seals never my soul consent!
[Exit.
Enter King, Rosincrantz, and Guildenstern.
King.
I like him not, nor stands it safe with us
To let his madness range. Therefore, prepare you;
I your Commission will forthwith dispatch,
And he to England shall along with you.
The terms of our estate may not endure(45) note
Hazard so near us, as doth hourly grow
Out of his Lunes.
Guil.
We will provide our selves;
Most holy and religious fear it is,
To keep those many, many, Bodies safe,
That live and feed upon your Majesty.
Ros.
The single and peculiar life is bound,
With all the strength and armour of the mind,
To keep it self from noyance; but much more,
That spirit, on whose weal depends and rests
The lives of many. The cease of Majesty
Dies not alone, but, like a gulf, doth draw
-- 307 --
What's near it with it. It's a massy wheel
Fixt on the summit of the highest mount,
To whose huge spokes ten thousand lesser things
Are mortiz'd and adjoin'd, which, when it falls,
Each small annexment, petty consequence,
Attends the boistrous ruin. Ne'er alone
Did the King sigh; but with a general groan.
King.
Arm you, I pray you, to this speedy voyage;
For we will fetters put upon this fear,
Which now goes too free-footed.
Both.
We will haste us.
[Exeunt Gent.
Enter Polonius.
Pol.
My lord, he's going to his mother's closet;
Behind the arras I'll convey my self
To hear the process. I'll warrant, she'll tax him home.
And as you said, and wisely was it said,
'Tis meet, that some more audience than a mother
(Since nature makes them partial,) should o'er-hear
The speech, of vantage. Fare you well, my liege;
I'll call upon you ere you go to bed,
And tell you what I know.
[Exit.
King.
Thanks, dear my lord.
Oh! my offence is rank, it smells to heav'n,
It hath the primal, eldest, curse upon't;(46) note
That of a brother's murther. Pray I cannot,
Though inclination be as sharp as will;(47) note
-- 308 --
My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent:
And, like a man to double business bound,
I stand in pause where I shall first begin,
And both neglect. What if this cursed hand
Were thicker than itself with brother's blood?
Is there not rain enough in the sweet heav'ns
To wash it white as snow? whereto serves Mercy,
But to confront the visage of offence?
And what's in prayer, but this two-fold force,
To be fore-stalled ere we come to fall,
Or pardon'd being down? then I'll look up;
My fault is past.—But oh, what form of prayer
Can serve my turn? Forgive me my foul murther!—
That cannot be, since I am still possest
Of those effects for which I did the murther,
My Crown, mine own Ambition, and my Queen.
May one be pardon'd, and retain th' offence?
In the corrupted currents of this world,
Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice;
And oft 'tis seen, the wicked prize it self
Buys out the law; but 'tis not so above:
There, is no shuffling; there, the action lies
In his true nature, and we our selves compell'd,
-- 309 --
Ev'n to the teeth and forehead of our faults,
To give in evidence. What then? what rests?
Try, what repentance can: What can it not?
Yet what can it, when one cannot repent?
Oh wretched state! oh bosom, black as death!
Oh limed soul, that, strugling to be free,
Art more engaged! help, angels! make assay!
Bow, stubborn knees; and, heart, with strings of steel,
Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe!
All may be well.
[The King retires and kneels.
Enter Hamlet.
Ham.
Now might I do it pat, now he is praying,
And now I'll do't—and so he goes to heav'n.—
And so am I reveng'd? that would be scann'd;
A villain kills my father, and for that
I, his sole son, do this same villain send
To heav'n—O, this is hire and salary, not revenge.
He took my father grosly, full of bread,
With all his crimes broad blown, as flush as May;
And how his audit-stands, who knows, save heaven?
But in our circumstance and course of thought,
'Tis heavy with him. Am I then reveng'd,
To take him in the purging of his soul,
When he is fit and season'd for his passage?
Up, sword, and know thou a more horrid Bent;(48) note
When he is drunk, asleep, or in his rage,
-- 310 --
Or in th' incestuous pleasure of his bed;
At gaming, swearing, or about some act
That has no relish of salvation in't;
Then trip him, that his heels may kick at heav'n;
And that his soul may be as damn'd and black
As hell, whereto it goes. My mother stays;
This physick but prolongs thy sickly days.
[Exit.
The King rises, and comes forward.
King.
My words fly up, my thoughts remain below;
Words, without thoughts, never to heaven go.
[Exit.
Lewis Theobald [1733], The works of Shakespeare: in seven volumes. Collated with the Oldest Copies, and Corrected; With notes, Explanatory and Critical; By Mr. Theobald (Printed for A. Bettesworth and C. Hitch [and] J. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S11201].
