The reader is supposed to be on the Stage, facing the audience.

PREFACE.

The play of Hamlet is above all others the most stupendous monument of Shakespeare's genius, standing as a beacon to command the wonder and admiration of the world, and as a memorial to future generations, that the mind of its author was moved by little less than inspiration. Lear, with its sublime picture of human misery;—Othello, with its harrowing overthrow of a nature great and amiable;— Macbeth, with its fearful murder of a monarch, whose “virtues plead like angels trumpet-tongued against the deep damnation of his taking off,”— severally exhibit, in the most pre-eminent degree, all those mighty elements which constitute the perfection of tragic art—the grand, the pitiful, and the terrible. Hamlet is a history of mind—a tragedy of thought. It contains the deepest philosophy, and most profound wisdom; yet speaks the language of the heart, touching the secret spring of every sense and feeling. Here we have no ideal exaltation of character, but life with its blended faults and virtues,—a gentle nature unstrung by passing events, and thus rendered “out of tune and harsh.”

The original story of Hamlet is to be found in the Latin pages of the Danish historian, Saxo Grammaticus, who died in the year 1208. Towards the end of the sixteenth century, the French author,

Francis de Belleforest, introduced the fable into a collection of novels, which were translated into English, and printed in a small quarto black letter volume, under the title of the “Historie of Hamblett,” from which source Shakespeare constructed the present tragedy.

Saxo has placed his history about 200 years before Christianity, when barbarians, clothed in skins, peopled the shores of the Baltic. The poet, however, has so far modernised the subject as to make Hamlet a Christian, and England tributary to the “sovereign majesty of Denmark.” A date can therefore be easily fixed, and the costume of the tenth and eleventh centuries may be selected for the purpose. There are but few authentic records in existence, but these few afford reason to believe that very slight difference existed between the dress of the Dane and that of the Anglo-Saxon of the same period.

Since its first representation, upwards of two centuries and a half ago, no play has been acted so frequently, or commanded such universal admiration. It draws within the sphere of its attraction both the scholastic and the unlearned. It finds a response in every breast, however high or however humble. By its colossal aid it exalts the drama of England above that of every nation, past or present. It is, indeed, the most marvellous creation of human intellect.

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. ACT I. Scene I. —ELSINORE. A Platform before the Castle. Night. Francisco on his post. Enter to him Bernardo (L. H.)

Ber.
Who's there?

Fran. (R.)
Nay, answer me:^{1 note} stand, and unfold^{2 note} yourself.

Ber.
Long live the king!^{3 note}

Fran.
Bernardo?

Ber.
He.

Fran.
You come most carefully upon your hour.

Ber.
'Tis now struck twelve; get thee to bed, Francisco.

Fran.
For this relief much thanks: [Crosses to L.] 'tis bitter cold,
And I am sick at heart.

Ber.
Have you had quiet guard?

Fran.
Not a mouse stirring.

Ber.
Well, good night.
If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus,
The rivals of my watch,^{4 note} bid them make haste.

Fran.
I think I hear them.—Stand, ho! Who's there?

Hor.
Friends to this ground.

Mar.
And liegemen to the Dane.^{5 note} Enter Horatio and Marcellus (L. H.)

Fran.
Give you good night.

Mar.
O, farewell, honest soldier:
Who hath reliev'd you?

Fran.
Bernardo hath my place.
Give you good night. [Exit Francisco, L. H.]

Mar.
Holloa! Bernardo!

Ber.
Say,
What, is Horatio there?

Hor. (Crosses to C.)
A piece of him.^{6 note}

Ber. (R.)
Welcome, Horatio: welcome, good Marcellus.

Hor.
What, has this thing appear'd again to-night?

Ber.
I have seen nothing.

Mar. (L.)
Horatio says, 'tis but our fantasy,
And will not let belief take hold of him,
Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us:
Therefore I have entreated him, along
With us, to watch the minutes of this night;^{7 note}
That, if again this apparition come,
He may approve our eyes,^{8 note} and speak to it.

Hor.
Tush! tush! 'twill not appear.

Ber.
Come, let us once again assail your ears,
That are so fortified against our story,
What we two nights have seen.^{9 note}

Hor.
Well, let us hear Bernardo speak of this.

Ber.
Last night of all,
When yon same star that's westward from the pole
Had made his course to illume that part of heaven
Where now it burns, Marcellus, and myself,
The bell then beating one—

Mar.
Peace, break thee off; look, where it comes again! Enter Ghost (L. H.)

Ber.
In the same figure, like the king that's dead.

Hor.
Most like:—it harrows me with fear and wonder.^{10 note}

Ber.
It would be spoke to.

Mar.
Speak to it, Horatio.

Hor.
What art thou, that usurp'st this time of night,^{11 note}
Together with that fair and warlike form
In which the majesty of buried Denmark
Did sometimes march? By heaven I charge thee, speak!

Mar.
It is offended. [Ghost crosses to R.]

Ber.
See! it stalks away!

Hor.
Stay!—speak!—speak, I charge thee, speak! [Exit Ghost, R. H.]

Mar.
'Tis gone, and will not answer.

Ber.
How now, Horatio! You tremble, and look pale:
Is not this something more than fantasy?
What think you of it?

Hor.
Before heaven, I might not this believe,
Without the sensible and true avouch^{12 note}
Of mine own eyes.

Mar.
Is it not like the king?

Hor.
As thou art to thyself:
Such was the very armour he had on,
When he the ambitious Norway combated.

Mar.
Thus, twice before, and jump at this dead hour,^{13 note}
With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch.

Hor.
In what particular thought to work,^{14 note} I know not;

But in the gross and scope^{15 note} of mine opinion,
This bodes some strange eruption to our state.^{16 note}
In the most high and palmy^{17 note} state of Rome,
A little ere the mightiest Julius fell,
The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead
Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets. Re-enter Ghost (R. H.)
But, (L. C.) soft, behold! lo, where it comes again!
I'll cross it, though it blast me. [Horatio crosses in front of the Ghost to R. Ghost crosses to L.]
Stay, illusion!
If thou hast any sound, or use of voice,^{18 note}
Speak to me:
If there be any good thing to be done,
That may to thee do ease, and grace to me,
Speak to me:
If thou art privy to thy country's fate,
Which, happily, foreknowing may avoid,
O, speak!
O, if thou hast uphoarded in thy life
Extorted treasure in the womb of earth,^{19 note}

For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death,
Speak of it:—stay, and speak! [Exit Ghost, L. H.]

Mar.
'Tis gone!
We do it wrong, being so majestical,
To offer it the show of violence.

Ber.
It was about to speak, when the cock crew.

Hor.
And then it started like a guilty thing

Upon a fearful summons.^{20 note}
I have heard,
The cock, that is the trumpet of the morn,
Doth with his lofty^{21 note} and shrill-sounding throat
Awake the god of day; and, at his warning,
Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air,
The extravagant and erring spirit^{22 note} hies
To his confine.
But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad,
Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill:
Break we our watch up; and, by my advice,
Let us impart what we have seen to-night
Unto young Hamlet; for, upon my life,
This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him. [Exeunt, L. H.] Scene II. —A ROOM OF STATE IN THE PALACE. Trumpet March. Enter the King and Queen, preceded by Polonius, Hamlet, Laertes,^{23 note} Lords, Ladies, and Attendants.

King. (R. C.)
Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death
The memory be green;^{24 note} 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^{25 note} think on him,
Together with remembrance of ourselves.
Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen,
The imperial jointress of this warlike state,

Have we, as 'twere with a defeated joy,^{26 note}
Taken to wife: nor have we herein barr'd^{27 note}
Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone
With this affair along:—For all, our thanks.
And now, Laertes, what's the news with you?
You told us of some suit; What is't, Laertes?

Laer. (R.)
My dread lord,
Your leave and favour^{28 note} to return to France;
From whence though willingly I came to Denmark,
To show my duty in your coronation,
Yet now, I must confess, that duty done,
My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France,
And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon.

King.
Have you your father's leave? What says Polonius?

Pol. (R.)
He hath, my lord, (wrung from me my slow leave
By laboursome petition; and, at last,
Upon his will I sealed my hard consent):^{29 note}
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!^{30 note}

But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son,—

Ham. (L.)
A little more than kin, and less than kind.^{31 note} [Aside.]

King.
How is it that the clouds still hang on you?

Ham.
Not so, my lord; I am too much i'the sun.^{32 note}

Queen. (L. C.)
Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour^{33 note} off,
And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark.
Do not for ever with thy vailed lids^{34 note}
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 the dejected haviour of the visage,
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,
Together with all forms, modes, shows 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;^{35 note}
These but the trappings^{36 note} 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;^{37 note} and the survivor bound,
In filial obligation, for some term

To do obsequious sorrow:^{38 note} But to perséver^{39 note}
In obstinate condolement,^{40 note} is a course
Of impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief:
It shows a will most incorrect to Heaven.^{41 note}
We pray you, throw to earth
This unprevailing^{42 note} woe; and think of us
As of a father: for let the world take note,
You are the most immediate to our throne;
Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son.

Queen.
Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet:
I pray thee, 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 ourself in Denmark.—Madam, come;
This gentle and unforc'd accord of Hamlet
Sits smiling to my heart:^{43 note} in grace whereof,^{44 note}
No jocund health that Denmark drinks to-day,^{45 note}
But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell;
Re-speaking earthly thunder. [Trumpet March repeated. Exeunt King and Queen, preceded by Polonius, Lords, Ladies, Laertes, and Attendants, R. H.]

Ham.
O, that this too, too solid flesh would melt,
Thaw, and resolve itself^{46 note} into a dew!
Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd
His canon^{47 note} 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God!
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable

Seem to me all the uses of this world!^{48 note}
Fye on't! O fye! 'tis an unweeded garden,
That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature
Possess it merely.^{49 note} 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:^{50 note} so loving to my mother,
That he might not beteem^{51 note} the winds of heaven
Visit her face too roughly. Heaven 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 ere those shoes were old
With which she follow'd my poor father's body,
Like Niobe, all tears;—she married with my uncle,
My father's brother; but no more like my father
Than I to Hercules.
It is not, nor it cannot come to, good:
But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue! Enter Horatio, Bernardo, and Marcellus (R. H.)

Hor.
Hail to your lordship!

Ham.
I am glad to see you well:
Horatio,—or I do forget myself.

Hor.
The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever.

Ham.
Sir, my good friend; I'll change that name with you:^{52 note}
And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio?—
Marcellus? [Crosses to C.]

Mar. (R.)
My good lord,—

Ham. (C.)
I am very glad to see you; good even, sir. [To Bernardo, R.]
But what, in faith,^{53 note} make you^{54 note} from Wittenberg?^{55 note}

Hor. (L.)
A truant disposition, good my lord.

Ham.
I would not hear your enemy say so;
Nor shall you do mine ear that violence,
To make it truster of your own report
Against yourself: I know you are no truant.
But what is your affair in Elsinore?
We'll teach you to drink deep, ere you depart.

Hor.
My lord, I came to see your father's funeral.

Ham.
I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow-student;
I think it was to see my mother's wedding.

Hor.
Indeed, my lord, it followed 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^{56 note} in Heaven
Ere ever I had seen that day, Horatio!
My father,—Methinks, I see my father.

Hor.
Where,
My lord?

Ham.
In my mind's eye, Horatio.

Hor.
I saw him once; he was a goodly king.^{57 note}

Ham.
He was a man, take him for all in all,
I shall not look upon his like again. [Crosses to L.]

Hor. (C.)
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^{58 note}

With an attent ear; till I may deliver,
Upon the witness of these gentlemen,
This marvel to you.

Ham.
For Heaven'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,^{59 note}
Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your father,
Arm'd at all points exactly, cap-à-pé,
Appears before them, and, with solemn march
Goes slow and stately by them: thrice he walk'd
By their oppress'd and fear-surprisèd eyes,
Within this truncheon's length; whilst they, distill'd
Almost to jelly with the act of fear,^{60 note}
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.

Ham.
But where was this? [Crosses to Marcellus.]

Mar. (R.)
My lord, upon the platform where we watch'd.

Ham. (C.)
Did you not speak to it?

Hor. (L.)
My lord, I did;
But answer made it none: yet once methought
It lifted up its head, and did address^{61 note}
Itself 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 vanish'd from our sight.

Ham.
'Tis very strange.

Hor.
As I do live, my honour'd lord, 'tis true;
And we did think it writ down^{62 note} in our duty
To let you know of it.

Ham.
Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles me.
Hold you the watch to-night?

Mar.
We do, my lord.

Ham.
Arm'd, say you?

Mar.
Arm'd, my lord.

Ham.
From top to toe?

Mar.
My lord, from head to foot.

Ham.
Then saw you not
His face?

Hor.
O, yes, my lord; he wore his beaver up.^{63 note}

Ham.
What, looked he frowningly?

Hor.
A countenance more
In sorrow than in anger.

Ham.
Pale or red?

Hor.
Nay, very pale.

Ham.
And fix'd 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. Stay'd it long?

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

Mar. Ber.
Longer, Longer.

Hor.
Not when I saw it.

Ham.
His beard was grizzl'd, No?

Hor.
It was, as I have seen it in his life,
A sable silver'd.

Ham.
I will watch to-night;
Perchance, 'twill walk again.

Hor. (C.)
I warrant it will.

Ham.
If it assume my noble father's person,
I'll speak to it, though hell itself should gape,
And bid me hold my peace. [Crosses to L.] I pray you all,
If you have hitherto conceal'd this sight,
Let it be tenable^{64 note} 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 you well:
Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve,
I'll visit you.

Hor. (R.)
Our duty to your honour.

Ham.
Your loves, as mine to you: Farewell. [Exeunt Horatio, Marcellus, and Bernardo, R. H.]
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,
Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes. [Exit, L. H.] Scene III. —A ROOM IN POLONIUS'S HOUSE. Enter Laertes and Ophelia (R. H.)

Laer. (L. C.)
My necessaries are embarked: farewell:
And, sister, as the winds give benefit,^{65 note}
Let me hear from you.

Oph. (R. C.)
Do you doubt that?

Laer.
For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favour,^{66 note}
Hold it a fashion, and a toy in blood;
A violet in the youth of primy nature,
Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting,
The pérfume and suppliance of a minute.^{67 note}

Oph.
No more but so?

Laer.
He may not, as unvalued persons do,
Carve for himself; for on his choice depends
The safety and the health of the whole state.
Then weigh what loss your honour may sustain,
If with too credent ear you list his songs.
Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister;

And keep within the rear of your affection,^{68 note}
Out of the shot and danger of desire.
The chariest maid^{69 note} is prodigal enough,
If she unmask her beauty to the moon:
Virtue itself scapes not calumnious strokes:
Be wary, then; best safety lies in fear:
Youth to itself rebels, though none else near.

Oph.
I shall the effect of this good lesson keep,
As watchman to my heart. But, good my brother,
Do not, as some ungracious pastors do,
Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven
Whilst, like a puff'd and reckless libertine,^{70 note}
Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads,
And recks not his own read.^{71 note}

Laer.
O, fear me not.
I stay too long;—but here my father comes. Enter Polonius (L. H.)

Pol.
Yet here, Laertes! aboard, aboard, for shame!
The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail,^{72 note}
And you are staid for. There,—my blessing with you! [Laying his hand on Laertes' head.]
And these few precepts in thy memory—
Look thou charácter.^{73 note} Give thy thoughts no tongue,
Nor any unproportion'd thought^{74 note} his act.
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.
The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel;
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Beware
Of entrance to a quarrel; but being in,

Bear it, that the opposer may beware of thee.
Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice:
Take each man's censure,^{75 note} but reserve thy judgment.
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
But not express'd 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.^{76 note}
Neither a borrower nor a lender be:
For loan oft loses both itself and friend;
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.^{77 note}
This above all,—To thine ownself be true;
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
Farewell; my blessing season this in thee!^{78 note}

Laer.
Most humbly do I take my leave, my lord. [Crosses to L.]
Farewell, Ophelia; and remember well
What I have said to you.

Oph. (Crosses to Laertes.)
'Tis in my memory lock'd,
And you yourself shall keep the key of it.^{79 note}

Laer.
Farewell. [Exit Laertes, L. H.]

Pol.
What is it, Ophelia, he hath 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;^{80 note} and you yourself
Have of your audience been most free and bounteous:
If it be so (as so 'tis put on me,^{81 note}
And that in way of caution), I must tell you,
You do not understand yourself so clearly
As it behoves my daughter, and your honour.

What is between^{82 note} you? give me up the truth.

Oph.
He hath, my lord, of late, made many tenders
Of his affection to me.

Pol.
Affection! pooh! you speak like a green girl,
Unsifted^{83 note}
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 yourself a baby;
That you have ta'en these tenders for true pay,
Which are not sterling. Tender yourself more dearly;
Or, you'll tender me a fool.

Oph.
My lord, he hath impórtun'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 holy vows of heaven.

Pol.
Ay, springes to catch woodcocks.^{84 note} I do know,
When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul
Lends the tongue vows: This is for all,—
I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth,
Have you so slander any leisure moment,^{85 note}
As to give words or talk with the lord Hamlet.
Look to't, I charge you: come your ways.

Oph.
I shall obey, my lord. [Exeunt, R. H.] Scene IV. —THE PLATFORM. Night. Enter Hamlet, Horatio, and Marcellus (L. H. U. E.)

Ham.
The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold.

Hor.
It is a nipping and an eager air.^{86 note}

Ham.
What hour now?

Hor.
I think it lacks of twelve.

Mar.
No, it is struck.

Hor. (R. C.)
Indeed? I heard it not: then it draws near the season,
Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk. [A Flourish of Trumpets, and Ordnance shot off without.]
What does this mean, my lord?

Ham. (L. C.)
The king doth wake to-night,^{87 note} and takes his rouse,^{88 note}
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: [Crosses to Horatio.]
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. Enter Ghost (L. H.)

Hor. (R. H.)
Look, my lord, it comes!

Ham. (C.)
Angels and ministers of grace defend us!—
Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn'd,
Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell,
Be thy intents wicked or charitable,
Thou com'st in such a questionable shape,^{89 note}
That I will speak to thee: I'll call thee—Hamlet,
King, father: Royal Dane: O, answer me!
Let me not burst in ignorance; but tell
Why thy canoniz'd bones, hearsed in death,^{90 note}
Have burst their cerements;^{91 note} 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,
That thou, dead corse, again, in cómplete steel,
Revisits thus the glimpses of the moon,
Making night hideous; and we fools of nature^{92 note}
So horridly to shake our disposition^{93 note}
With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?
Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we do? [Ghost beckons.]

Hor.
It beckons you to go away with it,
As if it some impartment did desire
To you alone. [Ghost beckons again.]

Mar.
Look, with what courteous action
It waves you to a more removèd ground:^{94 note}
But do not go with it.

Hor.
No, by no means.

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;^{95 note}
And for my soul, what can it do to that,
Being a thing immortal as itself? [Ghost beckons.]
It waves me forth again;—I'll follow it.

Hor.
What if it tempt you toward the flood, my lord,^{96 note}
Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff
That beetles o'er his base into the sea,^{97 note}
And there assume some other horrible form,
And draw you into madness? [Ghost beckons.]

Ham.
It waves me still.—
Go on; I'll follow thee.

Mar.
You shall not go, my lord.

Ham.
Hold off your hands.

Hor.
Be rul'd; you shall not go.

Ham.
My fate cries out,

And makes each petty artery in this body
As hardy as the Némean lion's nerve.^{98 note} [Ghost beckons]
Still am I call'd:—unhand me, gentlemen; [Breaking from them.]
By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me:—^{99 note}
I say, away!—Go on; I'll follow thee. [Exeunt Ghost and Hamlet, L. H., followed at a distance by Horatio and Marcellus.] Scene V. —A MORE REMOTE PART OF THE PLATFORM. Night. Re-enter Ghost and Hamlet (L. H. U. E.)

Ham. (R.)
Whither wilt thou lead me? Speak; I'll go no further.

Ghost. (L.)
Mark me.

Ham.
I will.

Ghost.
My hour is almost come,
When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames
Must render up myself.

Ham.
Alas, poor ghost!

Ghost.
Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing
To what I shall unfold.

Ham.
Speak; I am bound to hear.

Ghost.
So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear.

Ham.
What?

Ghost.
I am thy father's spirit;
Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night,
And for the day confin'd to fast in fires,^{100 note}
Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature

Are burnt and purg'd away. But that I am forbid
To tell the secrets of my prison-house,
I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word
Would harrow up thy soul;^{101 note} freeze thy young blood;
Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres;
Thy knotted and combinèd locks to part,
And each particular hair to stand on end,^{102 note}

Like quills upon the fretful porcupine:^{103 note}
But this eternal blazon^{104 note} must not be
To ears of flesh and blood.—List, list, O, list!—
If thou didst ever thy dear father love,—

Ham.
O Heaven!

Ghost.
Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder.

Ham.
Murder!

Ghost.
Murder most foul, as in the best it is;
But this most foul, strange, and unnatural.

Ham.
Haste me to know it, that I, with wings as swift
As meditation or the thoughts of love,
May sweep to my revenge.

Ghost.
I find thee apt;
And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed
That rots itself in ease on Lethe wharf,^{105 note}
Wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear:
'Tis given out that, sleeping in mine orchard,^{106 note}
A serpent stung me; so the whole ear of Denmark
Is by a forged process^{107 note} of my death
Rankly abus'd: but know, thou noble youth,
The serpent that did sting thy father's life
Now wears his crown.

Ham.
O, my prophetic soul! my uncle!

Ghost.
Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast,

With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts,
Won to his shameful lust
The will of my most seeming virtuous queen:
O, Hamlet, what a falling-off was there!
From me, whose love was of that dignity,
That it went hand in hand even with the vow
I made to her in marriage; and to decline
Upon a wretch,^{108 note} whose natural gifts were poor
To those of mine!
But, soft! methinks I scent the morning air;
Brief let me be.—Sleeping within mine orchard,
My custom always in the afternoon,
Upon my secure^{109 note} hour thy uncle stole,
With juice of cursed hebenon^{110 note} in a vial,
And in the porches of mine ears did pour
The leperous distilment; whose effect
Holds such an enmity with blood of man,
That, swift as quicksilver, it courses through
The natural gates and alleys of the body;
So did it mine;
Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand
Of life, of crown, of queen, at once despatch'd:^{111 note}
Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin,
Unhousel'd, disappointed, unanel'd;^{112 note}
No reckoning made, but sent to my account
With all my imperfections on my head.

Ham.
O, horrible! O, horrible! most horrible!

Ghost.
If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not;
Let not the royal bed of Denmark be
A couch for luxury^{113 note} and damnèd incest.
But, howsoever thou pursu'st this act,
Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive

Against thy mother aught: leave her to Heaven,
And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge,
To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once!
The glow-worm shows the matin to be near,
And 'gins to pale his uneffectual fire:^{114 note}
Adieu, adieu, adieu! remember me. [Exit, L. H.]

Ham.
Hold, hold, my heart;
And you, my sinews, grow not instant old,
But bear me stiffly up.—Remember thee!
Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat
In this distracted globe.^{115 note} Remember thee!
Yea, from the table of my memory
I'll wipe away all forms, all pressures past,^{116 note}
And thy commandment all alone shall live
Within the book and volume of my brain,
Uumix'd with baser matter: yes, by heaven,
I have sworn't.

Hor. (Without.)
My lord, my lord,—

Mar. (Without.)
Lord Hamlet,—

Hor. (Without.)
Heaven secure him!

Ham.
So be it!

Mar. (Without.)
Illo, ho, ho, my lord!

Ham.
Hillo, ho, ho, boy! come, bird, come.^{117 note} Enter Horatio and Marcellus (L. H. U. E.)

Mar. (R.)
How is't, my noble lord?

Hor. (L.)
What news, my lord?

Ham. (C.)
O, wonderful!

Hor.
Good my lord, tell it.

Ham.
No;
You will reveal it.

Hor.
Not I, my lord, by heaven.

Mar.
Nor I, my lord.

Ham.
How say you, then; would heart of man once think it?
But you'll be secret?—

Hor. Mar.
Ay, by heaven, my lord.

Ham.
There's ne'er a villain, dwelling in all Denmark—
But he's an arrant knave.^{118 note}

Hor.
There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave
To tell us this.

Ham.
Why, right; you are in the right;
And so, without more circumstance at all,
I hold it fit that we shake hands, and part:
You as your business and desire shall point you,
For every man hath business and desire,
Such as it is;—and, for my own poor part,
Look you, I will go pray.

Hor.
These are but wild and whirling words,^{119 note} my lord.

Ham.
I am sorry they offend you, heartily.

Hor.
There's no offence, my lord.

Ham.
Yes, by Saint Patrick,^{120 note} but there is, Horatio,
And much offence, too. Touching this vision here,
It is an honest ghost, that let me tell you:
For your desire to know what is between us,
O'er-master it^{121 note} as you may. And now, good friends,
As you are friends, scholars, and soldiers,
Give me one poor request.

Hor.
What is't, my lord?
We will.

Ham.
Never make known what you have seen to-night.

Hor. Mar.
My lord, we will not.

Ham.
Nay, but swear't.

Hor.
Propose the oath, my lord.

Ham.
Never to speak of this that you have seen.
Swear by my sword. [Horatio and Marcellus place each their right hand on Hamlet's sword.]

Ghost. (Beneath.)
Swear.

Hor.
O day and night, but this is wondrous strange!

Ham.
And therefore as a stranger give it welcome.^{122 note}
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
But come;—
Here, as before, never, so help you mercy,
How strange or odd soe'er I bear myself,
As I, perchance, hereafter shall think meet
To put an antick disposition^{123 note} on,—
That you, at such times seeing me, never shall,
With arms encumber'd thus,^{124 note} or this head-shake,
Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase,
As Well, we know; or, We could, an if we would; or, If
we list to speak;—or, There be, an if they might;—
Or such ambiguous giving out, to note
That you know aught of me:—This do you swear,
So grace and mercy at your most need help you! [Horatio and Marcellus again place their hands on Hamlet's sword.]

Ghost. (Beneath.)
Swear.

Ham.
Rest, rest, perturbed spirit! So gentlemen,
With all my love I do commend me to you:
And what so poor a man as Hamlet is
May do, to express his love and friending to you,

Heaven willing, shall not lack.^{125 note} Let us go in together; [Crosses to L.]
And still your fingers on your lips, I pray.
The time is out of joint;—O cursèd spite,
That ever I was born to set it right!
Nay, come, let's go together. [Exeunt L. H.] END OF ACT FIRST.

ACT II. Scene I. —A ROOM IN POLONIUS'S HOUSE. Enter Polonius^{1 note} (L. H.), meeting Ophelia (R. H.)

Pol.
How now, Ophelia! What's the matter?

Oph.
O, my lord, my lord, I have been so affrighted!

Pol.
With what, in the name of Heaven?

Oph.
My lord, as I was sewing in my closet,
Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbrac'd;
Pale as his shirt; his knees knocking each other,
And with a look so piteous in purport,
He comes before me.

Pol.
Mad for thy love?

Oph.
My lord, I do not know;
But, truly, I do fear it.

Pol.
What said he?

Oph.
He took me by the wrist, and held me hard;
Then goes he to the length of all his arm;
And, with his other hand thus o'er his brow,
He falls to such perusal of my face
As he would draw it. Long staid he so;
At last,—a little shaking of mine arm,
And thrice his head thus waving up and down,
He rais'd a sigh so piteous and profound,
As it did seem to shatter all his bulk,^{2 note}
And end his being: That done, he lets me go:
And, with his head over his shoulder turn'd,

He seem'd to find his way without his eyes;
For out o'doors he went without their helps,
And, to the last, bended their light on me.

Pol.
Come, go with me; I will go seek the king.
This is the very ecstacy of love;^{3 note}
What, have you given him any hard words of late?

Oph.
No, my good lord; but, as you did command,
I did repel his letters, and denied
His access to me.

Pol.
That hath made him mad.
Come, go we to the king:
This must be known; which, being kept close, might move
More grief to hide than hate to utter love.^{4 note}