First Clo.

Cudgel thy brains no more about it, for your dull ass will not mend his pace with beating, and when you are asked this question next, say ‘a grave-maker:’ the houses that ^note he makes last ^note till ^note doomsday. Go, get thee to Yaughan ^note; fetch me a stoup ^note of liquor.

In youth, when I did love, did love,
  Methought it was very sweet,
To contract, O, ^note the time ^note, for-a ^note my behove,
  O, methought, there-a was nothing-a ^note meet.

Ham.

Has this fellow no feeling of ^note his business, that he sings at ^note grave-making?

Hor.

Custom hath made it in him ^note a property of easiness.

Ham.

'Tis e'en so: the hand of little employment hath the daintier ^note sense.

First Clo. [Sings] ^note
But age, with his stealing steps,
  Hath claw'd ^note me in his clutch,
And hath ^note shipped me intil ^note the ^note land ^note,
  As if I had never ^note been such. [Throws up a skull. ^note

Ham.

That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once: how the knave jowls it to the ground, as if it were ^note Cain's jaw-bone, that did the first murder! It might ^note be the pate of a politician, which this ass now o'er-reaches ^note; one that would ^note circumvent God ^note, might it not?

Hor.

It might, my lord.

Ham.

Or of a courtier, which could say ‘Good morrow, sweet lord ^{note note}! How dost thou, sweet lord?’ This might be my lord such-a-one ^note, that praised my lord such-a-one's horse, when he meant ^note to beg it ^note; might it not?

Hor.

Ay, my lord.

Ham.

Why, e'en so: and now ^note my Lady Worm's; chapless ^note, and knocked about the mazzard ^note with a sexton's

spade: here's fine ^note revolution, an ^note we had the trick to see't. Did these bones cost no more the breeding, but to play at loggats ^note with 'em? ^note mine ache to think on't.

First Clo. [Sings] ^note
A pick-axe, and a spade, a spade,
  For and ^note a shrouding sheet:
O, a pit of clay for to be made
  For such a guest is meet. [Throws ^note up another skull.

Ham.

There's another: why may ^note not that be the skull of ^note a lawyer? Where be his quiddities ^note now, his quillets ^note, his cases, his tenures, and his tricks? why does he suffer this rude ^note knave now to knock him about the sconce with a dirty shovel, and will not tell him of his action ^note of battery? Hum! This fellow might be in 's time a great buyer of land, with his statutes, his recognizances, his fines, his double vouchers, his recoveries: is this the fine of his fines and the recovery of his recoveries ^note, to have his fine pate full of fine dirt ^note? will his vouchers ^note vouch him no more of his purchases, and double ones too ^note, than the length and breadth of a pair of indentures? The very conveyances of his lands ^note will hardly ^note lie in this box; and must the inheritor himself have no more, ha?

Hor.

Not a jot more, my lord.

Ham.

Is not parchment made of sheep-skins?

Hor.

Ay, my lord, and of calf-skins ^note too.

Ham.

They are sheep and calves which ^note seek out assurance

in that. I will speak to this fellow. Whose grave's this, sirrah ^note?

First Clo.

Mine, sir.

O, a pit of clay for to be made ^note
  For such a guest ^note is meet. ^note

Ham.

I think it be ^note thine indeed, for thou liest in't.

First Clo.

You lie out on't, sir, and therefore 'tis ^note not yours: for my part, I do not lie in't, and yet ^note it is ^note mine.

Ham.

Thou dost lie in't, to be in't and say it is thine: 'tis for the dead, not for the quick; therefore thou liest.

First Clo.

'Tis a quick lie, sir; 'twill away ^note again, from me to you.

Ham.

What man dost thou dig it for?

First Clo.

For no man, sir.

Ham.

What woman then?

First Clo.

For none, neither.

Ham.

Who is to be buried in't?

First Clo.

One that was a woman, sir; but, rest her soul, she's dead.

Ham.

How absolute the knave is! we must speak by the card, or equivocation will undo ^note us. By the Lord, Horatio, this ^note three years I have taken ^note note ^note of it; the age is grown so picked ^note that ^note the toe of the peasant comes so near the heel ^note of the courtier ^note, he galls his kibe ^note. How long hast thou been a ^note grave-maker?

First Clo.

Of all ^note the days i' the year, I came to't that day that our last king Hamlet o'ercame ^note Fortinbras.

Ham.

How long is that since?

First Clo.

Cannot you tell that? every fool can tell that: it was that very ^note day that young Hamlet was born; he that is ^note mad, and sent into England.

Ham.

Ay, marry, why was he sent into England?

First Clo.

Why, because a' was mad: a' shall recover his wits there; or, if a' ^note do not, 'tis ^note no great matter there.

Ham.

Why?

First Clo.

'Twill not be seen in him there; there the men are ^note as mad as he.

Ham.

How came he mad?

First Clo.

Very strangely, they say.

Ham.

How ‘strangely’?

First Clo.

Faith, e'en with losing his wits.

Ham.

Upon what ground?

First Clo.

Why, here in Denmark: I have ^note been sexton ^note here ^note, man and boy, thirty years.

Ham.

How long will a man lie i' the earth ere he rot?

First Clo.

I'faith ^note, if a' be not rotten before a' die—as we have many pocky corses now-a-days ^note, that will scarce hold the laying in—a' ^note will last you some eight year or nine year: a tanner will last you nine year ^note.

Ham.

Why he more than another?

First Clo.

Why, sir, his hide is so ^note tanned with his trade that a' ^note will keep out water a great while; and your ^note water is

a sore decayer of your whoreson dead body. Here's a skull now: this skull has lain in the ^note earth three and twenty ^note years.

Ham.

Whose was it?

First Clo.

A whoreson mad fellow's it was: whose do you think it was? ^note

Ham.

Nay, I know not.

First Clo.

A pestilence on him for a mad rogue! a' ^note poured a flagon of Rhenish on my head once. This same skull, sir ^note, was Yorick's ^note skull, the king's jester.

Ham.

This?

First Clo.

E'en that.

Ham.

Let me see ^note. [Takes the skull.] ^note Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio: a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he hath borne ^note me on his back a thousand times; and now how ^note abhorred in my imagination it is ^note! my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols ^note? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar ^note? Not one ^note now, to mock your own grinning ^note? quite chop-fallen? Now get you to my lady's chamber ^note, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour ^note she must come; make her laugh at that. Prithee, Horatio, tell me one thing.

Hor.

What's that, my lord?

Ham.

Dost thou think Alexander looked o' ^note this fashion i' the earth?

Hor.

E'en so.

Ham.

And smelt so? pah ^note!

Hor.

E'en so, my lord.

Ham.

To what base uses we may ^note return, Horatio! Why may not imagination trace the noble dust of Alexander, till he ^note find ^note it stopping a bung-hole?

Hor.

'Twere to consider too curiously, to consider so.

Ham.

No, faith, not a jot; but to follow him thither ^note with modesty enough and likelihood to lead it: as thus: ^note Alexander died, Alexander was buried, Alexander returneth ^note into ^note dust; the dust is earth; of earth we make loam; and why of that loam, whereto he was ^note converted, might they not stop a beer-barrel?

  Imperious ^note Cæsar, dead and turn'd to clay,
  Might stop a hole to keep the wind away:
  O, that the earth, which kept the world in awe,
  Should ^note patch a wall to expel ^note the winter's ^note flaw!
But soft! but soft! aside ^note: here comes the king. Enter ^note Priests, &c. in procession; the Corpse of Ophelia, Laertes and Mourners following; King, Queen, their trains, &c. ^note
The queen, the courtiers: who is this ^note they follow?

And with such maimed rites ^note? This doth betoken
The corse they follow did with desperate hand
Fordo its ^note own life: 'twas of ^note some estate.
Couch we ^{note note} awhile, and mark. [Retiring ^note with Horatio.

Laer. ^note
What ceremony else?

Ham. ^note
That is Laertes, a very ^note noble youth: mark ^note. ^note

Laer.
What ceremony else?

First Priest. ^note
Her obsequies have been as far ^note enlarged
As we have warranty ^note: her death was doubtful;
And, but that great command o'ersways the order,
She should in ground unsanctified ^note have ^note lodged
Till the last trumpet ^note; for charitable prayers ^note,
Shards ^note, flints and pebbles ^note should be thrown on her:
Yet here she is allow'd ^note her virgin crants ^note,
Her maiden strewments ^note and the bringing home
Of bell and burial.

Laer.
Must there ^note no more be done?

First Priest. ^note
No more be done:
We should profane the service of the dead
To sing a requiem ^note and such rest to her

^note
As to peace-parted ^note souls.

Laer.
Lay her i' the earth:
And from her fair and unpolluted flesh
May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest,
A ministering angel shall my sister be,
When thou liest howling.

Ham.
What, the fair Ophelia!

Queen. [Scattering flowers] ^note
Sweets to the sweet: farewell ^note!
I hoped thou shouldst ^note have been my Hamlet's wife;
I thought thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid,
And not have ^note strew'd thy grave.

Laer.
O, treble woe ^note
Fall ten times treble ^note on that cursed ^note head
Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious ^note sense
Deprived thee of! Hold off the earth awhile,
Till I have caught her once more in mine arms: [Leaps into the grave. ^note
Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead,
Till of this flat a mountain you have made
To o'ertop ^note old Pelion or the skyish head
Of blue Olympus.

Ham. [Advancing] ^note
What is he whose grief
Bears ^note such an emphasis? whose phrase of sorrow
Conjures ^note the wandering stars and makes them stand

Like wonder-wounded hearers? This is ^note I,
Hamlet the Dane. [Leaps ^note into the grave.

Laer.
The devil take thy soul! [Grappling ^note with him.

Ham.
Thou pray'st not well.
I prithee, take thy fingers from my throat ^note;
For ^note, though I am not splenitive ^note and ^note rash,
Yet have I in me something ^note dangerous,
Which let thy wisdom ^note fear. Hold off ^note thy hand. ^note

King.
Pluck them asunder.

Queen.
Hamlet, Hamlet!

All.
Gentlemen,— ^note

Hor. ^note
Good my lord, be quiet. [The Attendants ^note part them, and they come out of the grave.

Ham.
Why, I will fight with him upon this ^note theme
Until my eyelids will no longer wag.

Queen.
O my son, what theme?

Ham.
I loved Ophelia: forty thousand brothers
Could not, with all their ^note quantity of love,
Make up my sum. What wilt thou do for her?

King.
O, he is mad, Laertes.

Queen.
For love of God, forbear him.

Ham.
'Swounds ^note, show me what thou'lt ^note do:

Woo't weep? woo't fight? woo't fast ^note? woo't ^note tear thyself?
Woo't ^note drink up eisel ^note? eat ^note a crocodile? ^note
I'll do't ^note. Dost thou ^note come here ^note to whine?
To outface me with leaping in ^note her grave? ^note
Be buried quick with her, and so will I:
And, if thou prate of mountains, let them throw
Millions of acres on us, till our ground,
Singeing his pate against the burning zone ^note,
Make Ossa like a wart! Nay, an ^note thou'lt mouth,
I'll rant as well as thou.

Queen. ^note
This is mere madness:
And thus ^note awhile the fit will work on him;
Anon ^note, as patient as the ^note female dove ^note
When that ^note her golden couplets ^note are disclosed,
His silence will sit drooping.

Ham.
Hear you, sir;
What is the reason that you use me thus?
I loved ^note you ever ^note: but it is no matter;
Let Hercules himself do what he may,
The cat will mew, and dog ^note will have his day. [Exit. ^note

King.
I pray thee ^note, good Horatio, wait upon him. [Exit Horatio. ^note [To Laertes] ^note
Strengthen your ^note patience in our last night's speech;
We'll put the matter to the present push.
Good Gertrude, set some watch over your son.
This grave shall have a living monument:
An ^note hour of quiet shortly ^note shall we see;
Till ^note then, in patience our proceeding be. [Exeunt. ^note

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