Oph.
Larded with sweet Flowers:
Which bewept to the Grave did not go,
With True-love showers.
King.
How do ye, pretty Lady?
Oph.
Well, God dil'd you. They say the Owl was a
Baker's Daughter. Lord, we know what we are, but know
not what we may be. God be at your Table.
King.
Conceit upon her Father.
Oph.
Pray you let us have no words of this; but when
they ask you what it means, say you this:
To morrow is St. Valentine's Day, all in the morn betime,
And I a Maid at your Window, to be your Valentine.
Then up he rose, and don'd his Cloths, and dupt the Chamber-door;
Let in a Maid, that out a Maid never departed more.
King.
Pretty Ophelia!
Oph.
Indeed la? without an Oath, I'll make an end on't.
By Gis, and by S. Charity;
Alack, an fie for shame,
-- 2438 --
Young Men will do't, if they come to't,
By Cock they are to blame.
Quoth she, before you tumbled me,
You promis'd me to wed:
So would I ha' done, by yonder Sun,
And thou hadst not come to my Bed.
King.
How long hath she been thus?
Oph.
I hope all will be well. We must be patient, but
I cannot chuse but weep, to think they should lay him i'th'
cold Ground; my Brother shall know of it, and so I thank
you for your good Counsel. Come, my Coach; goodnight,
Ladies; goodnight, sweet Ladies; goodnight, goodnight.
[Exit.
King.
Follow her close, give her good Watch, I pray you;
Oh this is the Poison of deep Grief, it springs
All from her Father's death. Oh Gertrude, Gertrude!
When Sorrows come, they come not single Spies,
But in Battalions. First, her Father slain,
Next your Son gone, and he most violent Author
Of his own just Remove; the People muddied,
Thick and unwholesome in their Thoughts and Whispers,
For good Polonius death; and we have done but greenly,
In hugger mugger to inter him; poor Ophelia
Divided from her self, and her fair Judgment,
Without the which we are Pictures, or mere Beasts:
Last, and as much containing as all these,
Her Brother is in secret come from France,
Feeds on this wonder, keeps himself in Clouds,
And wants not Buzzers to infect his Ear
With pestilent Speeches of his Father's Death;
Where in necessity, of matter beggar'd,
Will nothing stick our Persons to arraign
In Ear and Ear. O my dear Gertrude, this,
Like to a murdering Piece in many places,
Gives me superfluous Death.
[A Noise within.
Enter a Messenger.
Queen.
Alack, what Noise is this?
King.
Where are my Switzers? Let them guard the Door.
What is the matter?
Mes.
Save your self, my Lord,
The Ocean, over peering of his List,
-- 2439 --
Eats not the Flats with more impetuous haste,
Than young Laertes, in a riotous Head,
O'er-bears your Officers; the Rabble call him Lord,
And as the World were now but to begin,
Antiquity forgot, Custome not known,
The ratifiers and props of every word,
They cry, chuse we Laertes for our King.
Caps, Hands, and Tongues, applaud it to the Clouds,
Laertes shall be King, Laertes King.
Queen.
How chearfully on the false Trail they cry,
Oh this is Counter, you false Danish Dogs.
[Noise within.
Enter Laertes.
King.
The Doors are broke.
Laer.
Where is the King? Sirs! Stand you all without.
All.
No, let's come in.
Laer.
I pray you give me leave.
All.
We will, we will.
Laer.
I thank you; Keep the Door.
O thou vile King, give me my Father.
Queen.
Calmly, good Laertes.
Laer.
That drop of Blood that calms, proclaims me Bastard:
Crys Cuckold to my Father, brands the Harlot
Even here between the chaste unsmitched Brow
Of my true Mother.
King.
What is the Cause, Laertes,
That thy Rebellion looks so Giant-like?
Let him go, Gertrude; do not fear our Person:
There's such Divinity doth hedge a King,
That Treason can but peep to what it would,
Acts little of his Will. Tell me, Laertes,
Why art thou thus incenst? Let him go, Gertrude,
Speak Man.
Laer.
Where's my Father?
King.
Dead.
Queen.
But not by him.
King.
Let him demand his fill.
Laer.
How came he dead? I'll not be juggl'd with
To Hell Allegiance; Vows to the blackest Devil;
Conscience and Grace, to the profoundest Pit;
I dare Damnation; to this point I stand,
-- 2440 --
That both the Worlds I give to negligence,
Let come what comes; only I'll be reveng'd
Most throughly for my Father.
King.
Who shall stay you?
Laer.
My Will, not all the World.
And for my means, I'll husband them so well,
They shall go far with little.
King.
Good Laertes:
If you desire to know the certainty
Of your dear Father's death, if 'tis not writ in your Revenge,
That Soop-stake you will draw both Friend and Foe,
Winner and Loser.
Laer.
None but his Enemies.
King.
Will you know them then?
Laer.
To his good Friends thus wide I'll ope my Arms,
And like the kind life-rendring Pelican,
Repast them with my Blood.
King.
Why now you speak
Like a good Child, and a true Gentleman.
That I am guiltless of your Father's death,
And am most sensible in Grief for it,
It shall as level to your Judgment pierce,
As Day does to your Eye.
[A Noise within. Let her come in.
Enter Ophelia, fantastically drest with Straws and Flowers.
Laer.
How now? what noise is that?
O heat dry up my Brains, tears seven times salt,
Burn out the sense and virtue of mine Eye.
By Heav'n thy madness shall be paid by weight,
'Till our Scale turns the Beam. O Rose of May!
Dear Maid, kind Sister, sweet Ophelia!
O Heav'ns, is't possible, a young Maid's wits,
Should be as mortal as an old Man's Life?
Nature is fine in love, and where 'tis fine,
It sends some precious instance of it self
After the thing it loves.
Oph.
They bore him bare-fac'd on the Beer.
Hey non noney, noney, hey noney:
And on his Grave rains many a Tear,
Fare you well, my Dove.
-- 2441 --
Laer.
Hadst thou thy wits, and didst perswade Revenge,
It could not move thus.
Oph.
You must sing down a-down, and you call him a
down-a. O how the Wheels become it? It is the false
Steward that stole his Master's Daughter.
Laer.
This nothing's more than matter.
Oph.
There's Rosemary, that's for remembrance;
Pray Love remember; and there's Pancies, that's for
Thoughts.
Laer.
A document in madness, thoughts and remembrance
fitted.
Oph.
There's Fennel for you, and Columbines; there's
Rue for you, and here's some for me. We may call it
Herb-Grace a Sundays: O you must wear your Rue with a
difference. There's a Dasie, I would give you some Violets,
but they withered all when my Father dyed: They
say, he made a good end;
For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy.
Laer.
Thought, and Affliction, Passion, Hell it self,
She turns to favour, and to prettiness.
Oph.
And will he not come again?
And will he not come again?
No, no, he is dead, go to thy Death-bed,
He never will come again.
His Beard as white as Snow,
All Flaxen was his Pole:
He is gone, he is gone, and we cast away mone,
Gramercy on his Soul.
And of all Christian Souls, I pray God.
God b'w'ye.
[Exit Ophelia.
Laer.
Do you see this, you Gods?
King.
Laertes, I must commune with your Grief,
Or you deny me right: Go but a-part,
Make choice of whom your wisest Friends you will,
And they shall hear and judge 'twixt you and me;
If by direct or by Collateral Hand
They find us touch'd, we will our Kingdom give,
Our Crown, our Life, and all that we call Ours,
To you in satisfaction. But if not,
Be you content to lend your Patience to us,
-- 2442 --
And we shall jointly labour with your Soul,
To give it due content.
Laer.
Let this be so:
His Means of Death, his obscure Burial;
No Trophy, Sword, nor Hatchment o'er his Bones,
No noble Rite, nor formal Ostentation,
Cry to be heard, as 'twere from Heav'n to Earth,
That I must call in question.
King.
So you shall:
And where th' offence is, let the great Ax fall.
I pray you go with me.
[Exeunt.
Enter Horatio, with an Attendant.
Hor.
What are they that would speak with me?
Ser.
Sailors, Sir, they say they have Letters for you.
Hor.
Let them come in,
I do not know from what part of the World
I should be greeted, if not from Lord Hamlet.
Enter Sailor.
Sail.
God bless you, Sir.
Hor.
Let him bless thee too.
Sail.
He shall, Sir, an't please him. There's a Letter for
you, Sir: It comes from th' Ambassador that was bound
for England, if your Name be Horatio; as I am let to
know it is.
Reads the Letter.
Horatio, when thou shalt have overlook'd this, give these
Fellows some means to the King: They have Letters for
him. E'er we were two Days old at Sea, a Pirate of very
Warlike appointment gave us Chace. Finding our selves too
slow of Sail, we put on a compelled Valour. In the Grapple,
I boarded them: On the instant they got clear of our
Ship, so I alone became their Prisoner. They have dealt with
me, like Thieves of Mercy, but they knew what they did.
I am to do a good turn for them. Let the King have the Letters
I have sent, and repair thou to me with as much haste
as thou wouldst fly Death. I have words to speak in your
Ear, will make thee dumb, yet are they much too light for
the bore of the Matter. These good Fellows will bring thee
where I am. Roseneraus and Guildenstern hold their
-- 2443 --
course for England. Of them I have as much to tell thee,
Farewel.
He that thou knowest thine, Hamlet.
Come, I will give you way for these your Letters,
And do't the speedier, that thou may direct me
To him, from whom you brought them.
[Exeunt.
Enter King and Laertes.
King.
Now you must your Conscience my Acquitance seal,
And you must put me in your Heart, for Friend,
Sith you have heard, and with a knowing Ear,
That he which hath your noble Father slain,
Pursued my Life.
Laer.
It well appears. But tell me,
Why you proceeded not against these feats,
So crimeful and so capital in Nature,
As by your Safety, Wisdom, all things else,
You mainly were stirr'd up?
King.
O for two special Reasons,
Which may to you, perhaps, seem much unsinew'd,
And yet to me they are strong. The Queen, his Mother,
Lives almost by his Looks; and for my self,
My Virtue or my Plague, be it either which,
She's so conjunctive to my Life and Soul;
That as the Star moves not but in his Sphere,
I could not but by her. The other Motive,
Why to a publick count I might not go,
Is the great Love the general Gender bear him,
Who dipping all his Faults in their Affection,
Would like the Spring that turneth Wood to Stone,
Convert his Gyves to Graces. So that my Arrows
Too slightly Timbred for so loud a Wind,
Would have reverted to my Bow again,
And not where I had aim'd them.
Laer.
And so have I a noble Father lost,
A Sister driven into desperate Terms,
Whose worth, if praises may go back again,
Stood Challenger on mount of all the Age
For her Perfections. But my revenge will come.
King.
Break not your sleeps for that, you must not think
That we are made of stuff so flat and dull,
-- 2444 --
That we can let our Beard be shook with danger,
And think it pastime. You shortly shall hear more,
I lov'd your Father, and we love your self,
And that I hope will teach you to imagine—
Enter Messenger.
How now? What News?
Mes.
Letters, my Lord, from Hamlet. This to your
Majesty: This to the Queen.
King.
From Hamlet? Who brought them?
Mes.
Sailors, my Lord, they say, I saw them not:
They were given me by Claudio, he receiv'd them.
King.
Laertes, you shall hear them:
Leave us.
[Exit Messenger.
High and Mighty, you shall know I am set naked on your
Kingdom. To Morrow shall I beg leave to see your Kingly
Eyes. When I shall, first asking you Pardon thereunto,
recount th' Occasions of my sudden, and more strange return.
Hamlet.
What should this mean? Are all the rest come back?
Or is it some abuse? Or no such thing?
Laer.
Know you the Hand?
King.
'Tis Hamlet's Character, naked, and in a Postscript
here he says alone: Can you advise me?
Laer.
I'm lost in it, my Lord, but let him come,
It warms the very sickness in my Heart,
That I shall live and tell him to his Teeth;
Thus diddest thou.
King.
If it be so, Laertes, as how should it be so?—
How otherwise?—will you be rul'd by me?
Laer.
If so, you'll not o'er-rule me to a peace.
King.
To thine own Peace: If he be now return'd,
As checking at his Voyage, and that he means
No more to undertake it; I will work him
To an exploit now ripe in my Device,
Under the which he shall not chuse but fall:
And for his death no wind of blame shall breathe,
But even his Mother shall uncharge the practice,
And call it accident.
Laer.
My Lord, I will be rul'd,
The rather if you could devise it so
That I might be the Instrument.
-- 2445 --
King.
It falls right:
You have been talkt of since your travel much,
And that in Hamlet's hearing, for a quality
Wherein they say you shine; your sum of parts
Did not together pluck such envy from him,
As did that one, and that in my regard
Of the unworthiest Siege.
Laer.
What part is that, my Lord?
King.
A very Feather in the Cap of Youth,
Yet needful too, for Youth no less becomes
The light and careless Livery that it wears,
Than setled Age his Sables, and his Weeds,
Importing Health and Graveness: Two Months since
Here was a Gentleman of Normandy;
I've seen my self and serv'd against the French,
And they ran well on Horse-back; but this Gallant
Had witchcraft in't, he grew into his Seat;
And to such wondrous doing brought his Horse,
And he had been encorps'd and demy-natur'd
With the brave Beast; so far he past my Thought,
That I in forgery of Shapes and Tricks,
Come short of what he did.
Laer.
A Norman was't?
King.
A Norman.
Laer.
Upon my Life, Lamound.
King.
The very same.
Laer.
I know him well, he is the brooch indeed,
And Gem of all the Nation.
King.
He made confession of you,
And gave you such a masterly report,
For art and exercise in your defence;
And for your Rapier most especially,
That he cry'd out, 'twould be a sight indeed,
If one could match you, Sir. This Report of his
Did Hamlet so envenom with his Envy,
That he could nothing do but wish and beg,
Your sudden coming over to play with him;
Now out of this—
Laer.
Why out of this, my Lord?
King.
Laertes, was your Father dear to you?
Or are you like the painting of a Sorrow,
A Face without a Heart?
-- 2446 --
Laer.
Why ask you this?
King.
Not that I think you did not love your Father,
But that I know Love is begun by Time;
And that I see in Passages of proof,
Time qualifies the spark and fire of it:
There lives within the very flame of Love
A kind of wiek or snuff that will abate it,
And nothing is at a like Goodness still;
For Goodness growing to a Pleurisie,
Dies in his own too much, that we would do,
We should do when we would; for this would changes,
And hath abatements and delays as many
As there are Tongues, are Hands, are Accidents,
And then this Should is like a Spend-thrift-sigh,
That hurts by easing; but to the quick of th' Ulcer,
Hamlet comes back, what would you undertake,
To shew your self your Father's Son in deed,
More than in words?
Laer.
To cut his Throat i'th' Church.
King.
No place indeed should murther sanctuarise;
Revenge should have no bounds; but, good Laertes,
Will you do this, keep close within your Chamber?
Hamlet return'd, shall know you are come home:
We'll put on those shall praise your Excellence,
And set a double Varnish on the fame
The Frenchman gave you, bring you in fine together,
And wager on your Heads. He being remiss,
Most generous, and free from all contriving,
Will not peruse the Foils; so that with ease,
Or with a little shuffling, you may chuse
A Sword unbaited, and in a pass of Practice,
Requite him for your Father.
Laer.
I will do't;
And for that purpose I'll anoint my Sword:
I bought an Unction of a Mountebank,
So mortal, that but dip a Knife in it,
Where it draws Blood, no Cataplasm so rare,
Collected from all Simples that have Virtue
Under the Moon, can save the thing from death,
That is but scratch'd withal; I'll touch my point,
-- 2447 --
With this contagion, that if I gall him slightly,
It may be death.
King.
Let's further think of this,
Weigh what convenience both of time and means
May fit us to our shape. If this should fail,
And that our drift look'd through our bad performance,
'Twere better not assay'd; therefore this Project
Should have a Back, or second, that might hold,
If this should blast in proof. Soft—let me see—
We'll make a solemn Wager on your Cunnings,
That—when in your Motion you are hot and dry,
As make your bouts more violent to the end,
And that he calls for drink; I'll have prepar'd him
A Chalice for the nonce; whereon but sipping,
If he by chance escape your venom'd Tuck,
Our purpose may hold there; how now, sweet Queen?
Enter Queen.
Queen.
One Woe doth tread upon another's Heel,
So fast they'll follow: Your Sister's drown'd, Laertes.
Laer.
Drown'd! O where?
Queen.
There is a Willow grows aslant a Brook,
That shews his hoar leaves in the glassie Stream:
There with fantastick Garlands did she come,
Of Crow-flowers, Nettles, Daisies, and long Purples,
That liberal Shepherds give a grosser name to,
But our cold Maids do dead Men's Fingers call them:
There on the pendant boughs, her Coronet Weeds
Clambring to hang, an envious sliver broke;
When down the weedy Trophies, and her self,
Fell in the weeping Brook, her Cloaths spread wide,
And Meremaid-like, a while they bear her up,
Which time she chaunted snatches of old Tunes,
As one incapable of her own distress,
Or like a Creature Native, and deduced
Unto that element: But long it could not be,
'Till that her Garments heavy with their drink,
Pull'd the poor Wretch from her melodious lay,
To muddy death.
Laer.
Alas then, is she drown'd?
Queen.
Drown'd, drown'd.
-- 2448 --
Laer.
Too much of Water hast thou, poor Ophelia,
And therefore I forbid my Tears: But yet
It is our trick, Nature her custom holds,
Let shame say what it will; when these are gone,
The Woman will be out: Adieu, my Lord,
I have a speech of fire that fain would blaze,
But that this folly drowns it.
[Exit.
King.
Let's follow, Gertrude:
How much I had to do to calm his Rage?
Now fear I this will give it start again,
Therefore let's follow.
[Exeunt.
Charles Gildon [1709–1710], The works of Mr. William Shakespear; in six [seven] volumes. Adorn'd with Cuts. Revis'd and Corrected, with an Account of the Life and Writings of the Author. By N. Rowe ([Vol. 7] Printed for E. Curll... and E. Sanger [etc.], London) [word count] [S11401].
