King.
Though yet of Hamlet our dear Brother's Death,
The Memory be green; and that it us befitted
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 sometimes 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, with all Bonds 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 bedrid, scarcely hears
Of this his Nephew's purpose, to suppress
His further Gate herein. In that the Levies,
The Lifts, and full Proportions are all made
Out of his Subjects; and we here dispatch
You, good Cornelius, and you Voltimand,
For bearing of this greeting to old Norway,
Giving to you no further personal Power
Of Treaty with the King, more than the scope
Of 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 in 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 wouldst 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.
Dread my 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 towards 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 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,
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 nightly 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 show:
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,
That Father lost, lost his, and the Surviver bound
In filial Obligation, for some term
To do obsequious Sorrow. But to persevere
In obstinate Condolement, is a course
Of impious Stubbornness. 'Tis unmanly Grief,
It shews a Will most incorrect to Heav'n,
A Heart unfortified, a Mind impatient,
An Understanding simple, and unschool'd:
For what we know must be, and is as common,
As any the most vulgar thing to sense,
Why should we, in our peevish Opposition,
Take it to Heart? Fie! 'Tis a fault to Heav'n,
A fault against the Dead, a fault to Nature,
To Reason most absurd, whose common Theam
Is death of Fathers, and who still hath cry'd,
From the first Coarse, 'till he that died to Day,
This must be so. We pray you throw to Earth

This unprevailing woe, and think of us,
As of a Father: For let the World take note,
You are the most immediate to our Throne,
And with no less Nobility of Love,
Than that which dearest Father bears his Son,
Do I impart towards you. For your intent
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 prithee 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 Kings Rowse, the Heav'n shall bruit again,
Re-speaking earthly Thunder. Come away. [Exeunt. Manet Hamlet.

Ham.
O that this too too solid Flesh would melt,
Thaw, and resolve it self into a Dew;
Or that the Everlasting had not fixt
His Cannon 'gainst self slaughter. O God! O God!
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable
Seems to me all the uses of this World.
Fie on't! O fie! 'tis an unweeded Garden
That grows to Seed; things rank, and gross in Nature
Possess it meerly. That it should come to this;
But two Months dead; nay, not so much; not two,—
So excellent a King, that was, to this,
Hyperion to a Satyr: So loving to my Mother,
That he permitted not the Winds of Heav'n
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; and yet within a Month?—
Let me not think on't—Frailty, thy Name is Woman:

A little Month!—or e'er those Shooes were old,
With which she follow'd my poor Father's Body,
Like Niobe, all tears—Why she, even she,—
O Heav'n! A Beast that wants discourse of Reason
Would have mourn'd longer—married with mine Uncle,
My Father's Brother; but no more like my Father,
Than I to Hercules. Within a Month!—
E'er yet the salt of most unrighteous Tears
Had left the flushing of her gauled Eyes,
She married. O most wicked speed, to post
With such dexterity to incestuous Sheets:
It is not, nor it cannot come to good.
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 have 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 e'er you depart.

Hor.
My Lord, I came to see your Father's Funeral.

Ham.
I prithee 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,
E'er I had ever seen that Day, Horatio.

My Father,—methinks I see my Father.

Hor.
O 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 for all in all,
I should 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 for a while
With an attent Ear; 'till I may deliver
Upon the witness of these Gentlemen,
This marvel to you.

Ham.
For Heav'n'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 encountered. A figure like your Father,
Arm'd at all points exactly, Cap a 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, be-still'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 honourable 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.
O yes, my Lord, he wore his Beaver up.

Ham.
What, look'd he frowningly?

Hor.
A Countenance 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, very like; staid it long?

Hor.
While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred.

All.
Longer, longer.

Hor.
Not when I saw't.

Ham.
His Beard was grisly?

Hor.
It was, 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 else shall hap 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 love, 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. Enter Laertes and Ophelia.

Laer.
My Necessaries are imbark'd, farewel;
And Sister, as the Winds give benefit,
And Convoy is assistant; do not sleep,
But let me hear from you.

Oph.
Do you doubt that?

Laer.
For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favours,
Hold it a fashion and a toy in Blood,
A Violet in the youth of primy Nature,
Forward, not permanent, tho' sweet, not lasting
The suppliance of a minute; no more.

Oph.
No more but so?

Laer.
Think it no more:
For Nature crescent does not grow alone,
In Thews and Bulk; but as his Temple waxes,
The inward service of the Mind and Soul
Grows wide withal. Perhaps he loves you now,
And now no foil nor cautel doth besmerch
The virtue of his Fear: But you must fear
His greatness weigh'd, his will is not his own:
For he himself is subject to his Birth;
He may not, as unvalued Persons do,
Carve for himself; for, on his choice depends
The sanctity and health of the whole State.
And therefore must his choice be circumscrib'd
Unto the voice and yielding of that Body,
Whereof he is the Head. Then if he says he loves you,
It fits your Wisdom so far to believe it,
As he in his peculiar Sect and force
May give his saying deed; which is no further,
Than the main Voice of Denmark goes withal.
Then weigh that loss your Honour may sustain,
If with too credent Ear you list his Songs,
Or lose your Heart; or your chaste Treasure open
To his unmastered importunity.
Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear Sister,

And keep within the rear of your Affection;
Out of the shot and danger of Desire.
The chariest Maid is prodigal enough,
If she unmask her Beauty to the Moon:
Virtue it self scapes not calumnious strokes,
The Canker galls the infant of the Spring,
Too oft before the Buttons be disclos'd,
And in the morn and liquid dew of Youth,
Contagious blastments are most imminent.
Be wary then, best safety lies in fear;
Youth to it self rebels, though none else near.

Oph.
I shall th' effect of this good Lesson keep,
As Watchmen to my Heart: But good my Brother,
Do not as some ungracious Pastors do,
Shew me the steep and thorny way to Heav'n;
Whilst like a puft and reckless Libertine,
Himself, the Primrose path of dalliance treads,
And reaks not his own read.

Laer.
Oh, fear me not. Enter Polonius.
I stay too long; but here my Father comes:
A double Blessing is a double Grace;
Occasion smiles upon a second leave.

Pol.
Yet here, Laertes! aboard, aboard for shame,
The Wind sits in the shoulder of your Sail,
And you are staid for there. My Blessing with you;
And these few Precepts in thy Memory,
See thou Character. Give thy Thoughts no Tongue,
Nor any unproportion'd Thought his Act:
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar;
The Friends thou hast, and their adoption try'd,
Grapple them to thy Soul, with hoops of Steel:
But do not dull thy Palm, with Entertainment
Of each unhatch'd, unfledg'd Comrade. Beware
Of entrance to a Quarrel: But being in
Bear't that th' opposed may beware of thee.
Give every Man thine Ear; but few thy Voice.
Take each Man's censure; but reserve thy Judgment
Costly thy Habit as thy Purse can buy;
But not exprest in fancy; rich, not gaudy:
For the Apparel oft proclaims the Man,

And they in France of the best Rank and Station,
Are most select and generous, chief in that.
Neither a borrower, nor a lender be;
For Loan oft loses both it self and Friend:
A borrowing dulls the edge of Husbandry.
This above all; to thine own self be true:
And it must follow, as the Night the Day,
Thou canst not then be false to any Man.
Farewel; my blessing season this in thee.

Laer.
Most humbly do I take my leave, my Lord.

Pol.
The time invites you, go, your Servants tend.

Laer.
Farewel, Ophelia, and remember well
What I have said to you.

Oph.
'Tis in my Memory lockt,
And you your self shall keep the Key of it.

Laer.
Farewel. [Exit Laer.

Pol.
What is't, Ophelia, he said to you?

Oph.
So please you, something touching the Lord Hamlet.

Pol.
Marry, well bethought;
'Tis told me he hath very oft of late
Given private time to you; and you your self
Have of your Audience been most free and bounteous.
If it be so, as so it is put on me,
And that in way of caution, I must tell you,
You do not understand your self so clearly,
As it behooves my Daughter, and your Honour.
What is between you, give me up the Truth?

Oph.
He hath, my Lord, of late, made many tenders
Of his Affection to me.

Pol.
Affection! puh! you speak like a green Girl,
Unsifted in such perilous Circumstance.
Do you believe his Tenders, as you call them?

Oph.
I do not know, my Lord, what I should think.

Pol.
Marry I'll teach you; think your self a Baby,
That you have ta'en his Tenders for true pay.
Which are not sterling. Tender your self more dearly;
Or not to crack the wind of the poor Phrase,
Roaming it thus, you'll tender me a Fool.

Oph.
My Lord, he hath importun'd me with love,
In honourable fashion.

Pol.
Ay, fashion you may call it; go to, go to.

Oph.
And hath given Countenance to his Speech, my Lord,
With almost all the Vows of Heaven.

Pol.
Ay, Springes to catch Woodcocks. I do know
When the Blood burns, how prodigal the Soul
Gives the Tongue vows; these blazes, Daughter,
Giving more light than heat, extinct in both,
Even in their Promise, as it is a making,
You must not take for Fire. For this time, Daughter,
Be somewhat scanter of your Maiden presence,
Set your Entreatments at a higher rate,
Than a command to Parley. For Lord Hamlet,
Believe so much in him, that he is young,
And with a larger tether may he walk,
Than may be given you. In few, Ophelia,
Do not believe his Vows; for they are Brokers,
Not of the Eye, which their Investments shew,
But meer Implorators of unholy Suits,
Breathing like sanctified and pious Bonds,
The better to beguile. This is for all:
I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth,
Have you so slander any moment leisure,
As to give words or talk with the Lord Hamlet:
Look to't, I charge you; come your way.

Oph.
I shall obey my Lord. [Exeunt.

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