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 rouse,
Keeps wassel, and 1 notethe swagg'ring up-spring 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:
-- 159 --
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.
2 note
This heavy-headed revel, east and west,
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,
3 noteThe 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 4 notecomplexion,
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 5 note
fortune's scar,
Their virtues else, be they as pure as grace,
6 noteAs infinite as man may undergo,
Shall in the general censure take corruption
From that particular fault.—7 note
The dram of Base
-- 160 --
Doth all the noble substance of Worth out6Q0254,
To his own scandal.
Enter Ghost.
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 8 note
questionable shape,
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 9 note
tell,
Why thy canoniz'd bones, hearsed in death,
-- 161 --
Have burst their cearments? Why the sepulchre,
Wherein we saw thee quietly in-urn'd,
Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws,
To cast thee up again? What may this mean,
-- 162 --
That thou, dead corse, again, in compleat steel,
Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon,
Making night hideous, and 1 noteus fools of nature
So horribly 2 noteto 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 off to a 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,
-- 163 --
Being a thing immortal as itself?
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 3 note
deprive your sov'reignty of reason,
And draw you into madness? think of it.
4 noteThe very place 5 noteputs toys of desperation,
Without more motive, into ev'ry brain,
That looks so many fathoms 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 heav'n, I'll make a Ghost of him that lets me—
-- 164 --
I say, away.—Go on—I'll follow thee—
[Exeunt 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.
Samuel Johnson [1765], The plays of William Shakespeare, in eight volumes, with the corrections and illustrations of Various Commentators; To which are added notes by Sam. Johnson (Printed for J. and R. Tonson [and] C. Corbet [etc.], London) [word count] [S11001].
