Marcellus.
FRANCISCO.
I think I hear them. Stand ho, who's there?
HORATIO.
Friends to this ground.
MARCELLUS.
And liegemen to the Dane.
FRANCISCO.
Good night.
MARCELLUS.
Farewell, honest soldier: who hath relieved you?
FRANCISCO.
Bernardo has my place. Good night.
Exit Francisco.
-- 246 --
MARCELLUS.
Holla, Bernardo!
BERNARDO.
Say, what, is Horatio there?
HORATIO.
A piece of him.
BERNARDO.
Welcome, Horatio. Welcome, good Marcellus.
MARCELLUS.
What, has this thing appeared again tonight?
BERNARDO.
I have seen nothing.
MARCELLUS.
Horatio says 'tis but a fantasy,
And will not let belief take hold of him
Touching the dreadful sight, twice seen of us.
Therefore I have entreated him along
With us to watch the minutes of this night,
That, if again this apparition come,
He may approve our eyes and speak to it.
HORATIO.
'Twill not appear.
BERNARDO.
’Sit down awhile,
And ’let us once again assail your ears,
That are so fortified against our story,
What we have two nights seen.
HORATIO.
Well, ’sit we down,
And ’let us hear Bernardo speak of this.
BERNARDO.
Last night of all,
When yon same star that's westward from the pole
Had made his course t'enlighten that part of heaven
Where it now burns, Marcellus and myself,
The bell then beating one—
Enter Ghost.
MARCELLUS.
Peace! break thee off! Look where it comes again!
BERNARDO.
In the same figure, like the King that's dead.
MARCELLUS.
’Thou art a scholar;’ speak to it Horatio.
BERNARDO.
’Looks it not like the King? Mark it, Horatio.
HORATIO.
Most like. ’It startles me with fear and wonder.
BERNARDO.
It would be spoke to.
MARCELLUS.
Speak to it, Horatio.
HORATIO.
What art thou that usurp'st this time of night
Together with that fair and warlike form
In which the majesty of buried Denmark
Did sometimes march? I charge thee speak!
MARCELLUS.
It is offended.
BERNARDO.
See, it stalks away.
HORATIO.
Stay! Speak, speak! I charge thee speak.
Exit Ghost.
-- 247 --
MARCELLUS.
'Tis gone and will not answer.
BERNARDO.
How now, Horatio? You tremble and look pale:
Is not this something more than fantasy?
What think you of it?
HORATIO.
I could not this believe
Without the sensible and true avouch
Of mine own eyes.
MARCELLUS.
Is it not like the King?
HORATIO.
As thou art to thyself.
Such was the very armor he had on
When th' ambitious Norway he combated;
’So frowned he once when, in an angry parle,
’He smote the sledded Pole-ax on the ice.
’'Tis strange—’
MARCELLUS.
Thus twice before, and just at the same hour,
With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch.
HORATIO.
In what particular thought to work I know not;
But, in the scope of mine opinion,
This bodes some strange eruption to our state.
MARCELLUS.
Pray tell me, he that knows,
Why this same strict and most observant watch
So nightly toils the subject of the land,
’And why such daily cost of brazen cannon
’And foreign mart for implements of war;
’Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore task
’Does not divide the Sunday from the week;
’What might be toward, that this sweaty haste’
Doth make the night joint-laborer with the day?
’Who is't that can inform me?’
HORATIO.
That can I;
’At least the whisper goes so.’ Our last king,
Whose image ev'n but now appeared to us,
Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway,
’Thereto pricked on by a most emulent pride,’
Dared to the combat; in which our valiant Hamlet
’(For so this side of our known world esteemed him)’
Did slay this Fortinbras; who, by a sealed compact,
Well ratified by law and heraldry,
Did forfeit, with his life, all these his lands
’Which he stood seized on, to the conqueror;
’Against the which a moiety competent
’Was gaged by our king; which had returned
-- 248 --
’To the inheritance of Fortinbras,
’Had he been vanquisher, as, by the same compact
’And carriage of the article's design
’His fell to Hamlet.’ Now, sir, young Fortinbras,
’Of unimproved mettle hot and full,’
Hath in the skirts of Norway, here and there,
Sharked up a list of lawless resolutes,
’For food and diet to some enterprise
’That hath a stomach in't; which is no other,
’As it doth well appear unto our state,
’But’ to recover’ of us by strong hand
’And terms compulsive,’ those aforesaid lands
So by his father lost; and this, I take it,
Is the main motive of our preparations,
’The source of this our watch, and the chief head
’Of this post-haste and romage in the land.’
BERNARDO.
I think it is no other but even so.
Well may it sort that this portentous figure
Comes armed through our watch so like the King
That was and is the question of the wars.
HORATIO.
’A mote it is to trouble the mind's eye.
’In the most high and flourishing state of Rome,
’A little ere the mightiest Julius fell,
’The grave stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead
’Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets;
’Stars shone with trains of fire, dews of blood fell,
’Disasters veiled the sun; and the moist star
’Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands
’Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse.
’And ev'n the like precurse of fierce events,
’As harbingers preceding still the fates
’And prologue to the omen coming on,
’Have heaven and earth together demonstrated
’Unto our climatures and countrymen.’
Enter Ghost.
But soft! behold! Lo, where it comes again!
I'll cross it, though it blast me.—Stay, illusion!
(Spreading his arms.)
If thou hast any sound, or use of voice,
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.
-- 249 --
If thou art privy to thy country's fate,
Which happily foreknowing may avoid
O, speak!—
Or if thou hast uphoarded in thy life
Extorted treasure in the womb of earth
(For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death),
Cock crows.
Speak of it! Stay, and speak!—Stop it, Marcellus!
MARCELLUS.
Shall I strike it with my partisan?
HORATIO.
Do, if it will not stand.
BERNARDO.
'Tis here!
HORATIO.
'Tis here!
MARCELLUS.
'Tis gone.—
We do it wrong, being so majestical,
To offer it the show of violence;
It is ever, as the air, invulnerable,
And our vain blows malicious mockery.
BERNARDO.
It was about to speak, when the cock crew.
HORATIO.
And then it started, like a guilty thing
Upon a fearful summons. I have heard
The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn,
Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat
Awake the god of day; and at his warning,
Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air,
Th' extravagant and erring spirit hies
To his confine.’ And of the truth herein
’This present object made probation.
MARCELLUS.
’It faded at the crowing of the cock.
’Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes
’Wherein our Savior's birth is celebrated,
’This bird of dawning singeth all night long;
’And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad,
’The nights are wholesome, then no planets strike,
’No fairy takes, no witch hath power to charm,
’So hallowed and so gracious is the time.
HORATIO.
’So have I heard and do in part believe it.’
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 tonight
Unto young Hamlet. Perhaps
This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him.
-- 250 --
’Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it,
’As needful in our loves, fitting our duty?’
MARCELLUS.
Let's do't, I pray; and I this morning know
Where we shall find him most conveniently.
Exeunt.
SCENE II.
The palace.
Enter King, Queen, Hamlet, Polonius, Laertes,’ Voltimand, Cornelius,’ Gentlemen and Guards.
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 ourselves.
Therefore our sometimes sister, now our queen,
Th' imperial jointress to 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 barred
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 failed 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 ourself 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
-- 251 --
’His further gait herein, in that the levies,
’The lists, and full proportions, are all made
’Out of his subjects;’ and we now dispatch
’You, good Cornelius, and you Voltimand,’
Ambassadors to Norway,
’Giving to you no further personal power
’Of treaty with the King, more than the scope
’Of these dilated articles allow.
’Farewell, and let your haste commend your duty.
’CORNELIUS, VOLTIMAND.
In that, and all things, will we show our duty.
’KING.
We doubt it nothing. Heartily farewell.
’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?’
LAERTES.
My dear lord,
Your leave and favor 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 favor.’
KING.
Have you your father's leave? What says Polonius?
POLONIUS.
He hath, my lord, by laborsome petition,
Wrong from me my slow leave; and at the last,
Upon his will I sealed 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—
HAMLET.
A little more than kin, and less than kind.
KING.
How is it that the clouds still hang on you?
HAMLET.
Not so, my lord. I am too much i' th' sun.
QUEEN.
Good Hamlet, cast thy nightly color off,
And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark.
Do not for ever with thy veiled lids
-- 252 --
Seek for thy noble father in the dust.
Thou know'st 'tis common, all that live must die,
Passing through nature to eternity.
HAMLET.
Ay, madam, it is common.
QUEEN.
If it be,
Why seems it so particular with thee?
HAMLET.
Seems, madam! Nay, it is. I know not “seems.”
'Tis not alone this mourning suit, good mother,
Together with all forms, modes, shapes 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 survivor bound
In filial obligation for some term
To do obsequious sorrow. But to persevere
In obstinate condolment does express
An impious stubbornness to Heaven.
We pray you, throw to earth
This unprevailing woe, and think of us
As of a father; and let the world take note,
-- 253 --
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.
HAMLET.
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 unforced accord of Hamlet
Sits smiling to my heart: in grace whereof,
No jocund health that Denmark drinks today
But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell.
Exeunt.
Manet Hamlet.
HAMLET.
O that this too, too solid flesh would melt,
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew!
Or that the Everlasting had not fixed
His cannon 'gainst self-murder!
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable
Seem 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 merely. That it should come to this!
But two months dead! nay, not so much, not two!
So excellent a king. So loving to my mother
That he permitted not the winds of heaven
Visit her face too roughly! 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!—married with mine uncle,
-- 254 --
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.
HORATIO.
Hail to your lordship!
HAMLET.
I am glad to see you well:
Horatio? or I forget myself.
HORATIO.
The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever.
HAMLET.
Sir, my good friend—I'll change that name with you.
And what makes you from Wittenberg, Horatio?
Marcellus!
MARCELLUS.
My good lord!
HAMLET.
I'm very glad to see you. Good ev'n, sir.
But what, faith, makes you from Wittenberg?
HORATIO.
A truant disposition, good my lord.
HAMLET.
I would not have your enemy say so,
Nor shall you do mine ear that violence
To be a witness of your own report
Against yourself. I know you are no truant.
But what is your affair in Elsinoor?
We'll teach you to drink deep ere you depart.
HORATIO.
My lord, I came to see your father's funeral.
HAMLET.
I prithee do not mock me, fellow student,
I think it was to see my mother's wedding.
HORATIO.
Indeed, my lord, it followed hard upon.
HAMLET.
Thrift, thrift, Horatio! The funeral baked meats
Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.
Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven
Ere I had seen that day, Horatio.
My father—methinks I see my father.
HORATIO.
Where, my lord?
HAMLET.
In my mind's eye, Horatio.
HORATIO.
I saw him once. He was a goodly king.
-- 255 --
-- 256 --
HAMLET.
He was a man, take him for all in all.
I shall not look upon his like again.
HORATIO.
My lord, I think I saw him yesternight.
HAMLET.
Saw? who?
HORATIO.
My lord, the king your father.
HAMLET.
The king, my father?
HORATIO.
Defer your admiration for a while
With an attentive ear, till I deliver,
Upon the witness of these gentlemen,
This wonder to you.
HAMLET.
Pray, let me hear.
HORATIO.
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,
And armed exactly cap-à-pie,
Appears before them, and with solemn march
Goes slowly and stately by them. Thrice he walked
’By their oppressed and fear-surprised eyes’
Within my rapier's length; whilst they, bestilled
Almost to jelly with their 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 delivered, both in time,
Form of the thing, each word made true and good,
The apparition comes.
HAMLET.
But where was this?
MARCELLUS.
My lord, upon the platform where we watched.
HAMLET.
Did you not speak to it?
HORATIO.
My lord, I did;
But answer made it none. Yet once methought
It lifted up its head and did address
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 vanished from our sight.
HAMLET.
'Tis very strange.
HORATIO.
As I do live, my honored lord, 'tis true;
And we did think it then our duty
To let you know it.
HAMLET.
Indeed, sirs, but this troubles me.
Hold you the watch tonight?
-- 257 --
BOTH.
We do, my lord.
HAMLET.
Armed, say you?
BOTH.
Armed, my lord.
HAMLET.
From top to toe?
BOTH.
From head to foot.
HAMLET.
Then saw you not his face?
HORATIO.
O, yes my lord! He wore his beaver up.
HAMLET.
What, look'd he frowningly?
HORATIO.
A countenance more in sorrow than in anger.
HAMLET.
Pale or red?
HORATIO.
Nay, very pale.
HAMLET.
And fixed his eyes upon you?
HORATIO.
Most constantly.
HAMLET.
I would I had been there.
HORATIO.
It would have much amazed you.
HAMLET.
Very like. Stayed it long?
HORATIO.
While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred.
ALL.
Longer, longer.
HORATIO.
Not when I saw't.
HAMLET.
His beard was grizzled?
HORATIO.
It was, as I have seen it in his life,
A sable silvered.
HAMLET.
I'll watch tonight. Perchance 'twill walk again.
HORATIO.
I warrant, my lord, it will.
HAMLET.
If it assumes my noble father's person,
I'll speak to it, though hell itself should gape
And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all,
If you have hitherto concealed this sight,
Let it require your silence still;
And whatsoever else shall hap tonight,
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 honor.
Exeunt.
HAMLET.
Your loves, as mine to you. Farewell.
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 from men's eyes.
Ex[it].
-- 258 --
ACT II.
SCENE I.
Polonius' house.
Enter Laertes and Ophelia.
LAERTES.
My necessaries are embarked, farewell.
And, sister, as the winds permit
And convoy is assistant, do not sleep,
But let me hear from you
OPHELIA.
Do not doubt that.
LAERTES.
For Hamlet and the trifling of his favor,
Hold it a fashion and a toy in blood,
A violet in the youth and prime of nature,
Forward, not permanent, tho' sweet, not lasting,
The perfume of a minute.
OPHELIA.
No more but so?
LAERTES.
Think it no more.
’For nature crescent does not grow alone
’In thews and bulk, but as this temple waxes,
’The inward service of the mind and soul
’Grows wide withal. Perhaps he loves thee now,
’And now no soil nor cautel doth besmirch
’The virtue of his will; but you must fear,
’His greatness weighed, his will is not his own;
’For he himself is subject to his birth.’
He may not, as inferior persons do,
Carve for himself; for on his choice depends
The sanctity and health of this whole state.
’And therefore must his choice be circumscribed
’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 act and place
’May give this saying deed, which is no further
’Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal.’
Then weigh what loss your honor may sustain,
If with your credulous ear you hear his passion,
’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.’
-- 259 --
The chariest maid is prodigal enough
If she unmask her beauty to the moon:
’Virtue itself scapes not calumnious strokes:
’The canker galls the infant of the spring
’Too oft before the buttons be disclosed,
’And in the morn and liquid dew of youth
’Contagious blastments are most imminent.
’Be wary then; best safety lies in fear;
’Youth to itself rebels, though none else near.’
OPHELIA.
I shall the effect of this good lesson keep
About my heart. But, good brother,
Do not, as some ungracious pastors do,
Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven;
Whilst, like a libertine,
Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads
’And reaks not his own reed.’
LAERTES.
O, fear me not!
I stay too long: but here my father comes.
Enter Polonius.
’A double blessing is a double grace;
’Occasion smiles upon a second leave.’
POLONIUS.
Yet here, Laertes? Aboard, aboard, for shame!
Though late, very late, the moon is up
And in full beauty lights you to your vessel.
’The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail,
’And you are stayed for there. My blessing with you,
’And these few precepts in thy memory
’See thou character: Give thy thoughts no tongue,
’Nor any unproportioned thought his act.
’Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar:
’The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
’Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel;
’But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
’Of each new-hatched, unfledged comrade. Beware
’Of entrance to a quarrel, but being in,
’Bear't that th' opposer may beware of thee.
’Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice;
’Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.
-- 260 --
’Farewell, my blessing season this in thee!’
LAERTES.
Most humbly do I take my leave, my lord.
POLONIUS.
The time invites you; go; your servants tend.
LAERTES.
Farewell, Ophelia, and remember well
What I have said to you.
OPHELIA.
'Tis in my memory lock'd,
And you yourself shall keep the key of it.
LAERTES.
Farewell.
Exit Laertes.
POLONIUS.
What is't, Ophelia, he has said to you?
OPHELIA.
So please you, something touching the Lord Hamlet.
POLONIUS.
Marry, well bethought!
'Tis told me he hath very oft of late
Given private time to you, and you yourself
Have of your audience been most free and bounteous.
If it be so, as so it seems to be,
And that in way of caution—I must tell you
You do not understand yourself so clearly
As it behooves my daughter and your honor.
What is between you? Give me up the truth.
OPHELIA.
He hath, my lord, of late made many tenders
Of his affection to me.
POLONIUS.
Affection! Pooh! You speak like a green girl,
Unsifted in such perilous circumstance.
Do you believe his tenders, as he calls them?
OPHELIA.
I do not know, my lord, what I should think.
POLONIUS.
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 (not to crack the wind of this poor phrase,
’Wringing it thus)’ you'll tender me a fool.
OPHELIA.
My lord, he hath importuned me with love
In honorable fashion.
-- 261 --
POLONIUS.
Ay, fashion you may call it: go to, go to.
OPHELIA.
And hath given countenance to his speech, my lord,
With almost all the holy vows of heaven.
POLONIUS.
Ay, springes to catch woodcocks. I do know,
When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul
Lends 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. From 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 that dye which their investment show,
’But mere implorers of unholy suits,
’Breathing like sanctified and pious bawds,
’The better to beguile.’ This is for all:
I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth
Have you so slander any moment's leisure
As to give words or talk with the Lord Hamlet.
Look to't, I charge you. Come your way.
OPHELIA.
I shall obey, my lord.
Exeunt.
SCENE II.
The platform before the palace.
Enter Hamlet, Horatio, and Marcellus.
HAMLET.
The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold.
HORATIO.
It is a nipping and an eager air.
HAMLET.
What hour now?
HORATIO.
I think it lacks of twelve.
MARCELLUS.
No, it has struck.
HORATIO.
I heard it not. Then it draws near the season
Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk.
-- 262 --
Noise of warlike music within.
What does this mean my lord?
HAMLET.
The King doth wake tonight and takes his rouse,
And, as he takes his draughts of Rhenish down,
The kettledrum and trumpet thus proclaim
The triumph of his pledge.
HORATIO.
Is it a custom?
HAMLET.
Ah, marry is't:
But to my mind, though I am native here
And to the manner born, it is a custom
More honored in the breach than the observance.
Enter Ghost.
HORATIO.
Look, my lord, where it comes!
HAMLET.
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
That I will speak to thee. I'll call thee Hamlet,
King, Father, royal Dane. Oh, answer me!
-- 263 --
Let me not burst in ignorance, but tell
Why thy canonized bones, hearsed in death,
Have burst their cerements; why the sepulchre,
Wherein we saw thee quietly interred,
Hath oped his ponderous and marble jaws
To cast thee up again. What may this mean
That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel,
Revisits thus the glimpses of the moon,
Making night hideous? And we fools of nature
So horridly to shake our disposition
With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?
Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we do?
Ghost beckons Hamlet.
HORATIO.
It beckons you to go away with it,
As if it some impartment did desire
To you alone.
MARCELLUS.
Look with what courteous action
It waves you to a more removed ground.
But do not go with it!
HORATIO.
No, by no means!
(Holding Hamlet.)
HAMLET.
It will not speak; then I will follow it.
HORATIO.
Do not, my lord.
HAMLET.
Why, what should be the fear?
I value not my life;
And for my soul, what can it do to that,
Being a thing immortal as itself?
It waves me forth again: I'll follow it.
HORATIO.
What if it tempts you towards the flood, my lord,
Or to the dreadful border of the cliff,
And there assume some other horrible form
’Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason’
And draw you into madness.
HAMLET.
It waves me still.
Go on; I'll follow thee.
MARCELLUS.
You shall not go, my lord.
HAMLET.
Hold off your hands!
HORATIO.
Be ruled; you shall not go.
-- 264 --
HAMLET.
My fate cries out
And makes each petty artery in this body
As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve.
Still I am call'd. Unhand me, gentleman!
By heav'n, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me!
I say, away! Go on; I'll follow thee.
Exeunt Ghost and Hamlet.
HORATIO.
He grows desperate with imagination.
MARCELLUS.
Let's follow; 'tis not fit thus to obey him.
HORATIO.
To what issue will this come?
MARCELLUS.
Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.
HORATIO.
Heaven will discover it.
MARCELLUS.
Nay, let's follow him.
Exeunt.
Enter Ghost and Hamlet.
HAMLET.
Whither wilt thou lead me? Speak; I'll go no further.
GHOST.
Mark me.
HAMLET.
I will.
GHOST.
My hour is almost come,
When I to sulph'rous and tormenting flames
Must render up myself.
HAMLET.
Alas, poor ghost!
GHOST.
Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing
To what I shall unfold.
HAMLET.
Speak; I am bound to hear.
GHOST.
So art thou to revenge what thou shalt hear.
HAMLET.
What?
GHOST.
I am thy father's spirit,
Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night,
And for the day confined to fast in fires,
Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature
Are burnt and purged 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, freeze thy young blood,
Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres,
Thy knotted and combined locks to part,
And each particular hair to stand an end
Like quills upon the fretful porcupine.
But this eternal blazon must not be
-- 265 --
To ears of flesh and blood. List, list, O list!
If thou didst ever thy dear father love—
HAMLET.
O Heaven!
GHOST.
Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder.
HAMLET.
Murder?
GHOST.
Murder most foul, as in the best it is;
But this most foul, strange, and unnatural.
HAMLET.
Haste me to know't, that I, with wings as swift
As meditation or the thoughts of love,
May fly to my revenge.
GHOST.
I find thee apt;
’And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed
’That roots itself in ease on Lethe's wharf,
’Wouldst thou not stir in this.’ Now, Hamlet, hear:
Tis given out that, sleeping in my garden,
A serpent stung me; so the whole ear of Denmark
Is by a forged process of my death
Rankly abused; but know, thou noble youth,
The serpent that did sting thy father's heart
Now wears his crown.
HAMLET.
O my prophetic soul!
My uncle?
GHOST.
Ay, that incestuous, that adult'rate beast,
’With witchcraft of his wits, with trait'rous gifts—
’O wicked wits and gifts, that have the power
’So to seduce!’ 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 whose natural gifts were poor
’To those of mine!
’But virtue, as it never will be moved,
’Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven,
’So vice, though to a radiant angel linked,
’Will sort itself in a celestial bed
’And prey on garbage.’
But soft! methinks I scent the morning air;
Brief let me be. Sleeping within my garden,
My custom always of the afternoon,
Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole,
With juice of cursed hebona in a vial,
-- 266 --
And in the porches of my ears did pour
The leprous distilment, whose effects
Hold such an enmity with blood of man
That swift as quicksilver it courses through
The natural gates and alleys of the body,
And with sudden vigor does possess
’And curd, like eager droppings into milk,’
The thin and wholesome blood; so did it mine,
And a most instant tetter barked about,
Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust
All my smooth body.
Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand
Of life, of crown, of queen at once bereft;
Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin,
’Unhouseled, unappointed, unaneal'd,’
No reckoning made, but sent to my account
With all my imperfections on my head.
HAMLET.
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 and damned incest.
But, howsoever thou pursuest this act,
Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul design
Against thy mother aught. Leave her to heaven,
And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge
To gord and sting her. Fare thee well at once!
The glow-worm shows the morning to be near
And gins to pale his uneffectual fire.
Farewell; remember me!
Exit.
HAMLET.
’O all you host of heaven!’ Hold, hold, my heart!
And you, my sinews, grow not instant old,
But bear me strongly up. Remember thee?
Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat
In this distracted globe. Remember thee?
Yes, from the table of my memory
I'll wipe away all trivial fond records,
All registers of books, all forms and pressures past
That youth and observation copied there,
-- 267 --
And thy commandment all alone shall live
Within the book and volume of my brain.
O most pernicious woman!
O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain!
My tables! meet it is I should set down
That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain;
At least I'm sure he may be so in Denmark.
(Writing.)
So, Uncle, there you are. Now to my word:
It is “Farewell, remember me.”
I have sworn't.
HORATIO (within).
My lord, my lord!
MARCELLUS (within).
Lord Hamlet!
HORATIO (within).
Heaven secure him!
HAMLET.
So be it!
HORATIO (within).
HIllo, ho, ho, my lord!
HAMLET.
Hillo, ho, ho, boy! Come, boy, come.
Enter Horatio and Marcellus.
MARCELLUS.
How is't, my noble lord?
HAMLET.
O, wonderful!
HORATIO.
Good my lord, tell it.
HAMLET.
No, you'll reveal it.
HORATIO.
Not I, my lord.
MARCELLUS.
Not I, my lord.
HAMLET.
How say you then? Would heart of man once think it?
But you'll be secret.
BOTH.
As death, my lord.
HAMLET.
There's ne'er a villain dwelling in all Denmark
But he's an arrant knave.
HORATIO.
There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave
To tell us this.
HAMLET.
Why, right! You're 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 poor part,
I will go pray.
HORATIO.
These are but wild and windy words, my lord.
HAMLET.
I'm sorry they offend you, heartily;
’Yes, faith, heartily.’
HORATIO.
There's no offence, my lord.
-- 268 --
HAMLET.
Yes, by Saint Patrick, 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'ermaster't as you may. And now, good friends,
As you are friends, scholars, and soldiers,
Grant me one poor request.
HORATIO.
What is't, my lord? We will.
HAMLET.
Never make known what you have seen tonight.
BOTH.
My lord, we will not.
HAMLET.
Nay, but swear't.
HORATIO.
In faith,
My lord, not I.
MARCELLUS.
Nor I, my lord, in faith.
HAMLET.
Upon my sword.
GHOST.
Swear.
(Ghost cries under the stage.)
HORATIO.
O day and night, but this is wondrous strange!
HAMLET.
And therefore as a stranger give it welcome.
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy. But come!
Here, as before, never, so help your mercy,
How strange or odd so'er I bear myself
(As I perchance hereafter shall think meet
To put an antic disposition on),
That you at such times seeing me, ne'er shall,
With arms encumber'd thus, or head thus shak'd,
Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase,
-- 269 --
As “Well, well, we know,” or “We could, and if we would,”
Or such ambiguous giving out, to note
That you know aught of me—this you must swear.
GHOST.
Swear.
HAMLET.
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 t'express his love and friendship to you
Shall never fail. Let us go in together;
And still your fingers on your lips, I pray.
The time is out of joint. O cursed spite
That ever I was born to set it right!
Exeunt.
ACT III.
SCENE I.
An apartment in Polonius's house.
Enter Polonius,’ with his Man.
’POLONIUS.
Give him this money and these two notes, Reynaldo.
’REYNALDO.
I will, my lord.
’POLONIUS.
You shall do marvelous wisely, good Reynaldo,
’Before you visit him, to make inquiry
’Of his behavior.
’REYNALDO.
My lord, I did intend it.
’POLONIUS.
Marry, well said, very well said. Look you, sir,
’Enquire me first what Danskers are in Paris;
’And how, and who, what means, and where they keep,
’What company, at what expense; and finding
’By this encompassment and drift of question
’That they do know my son, come you more near;
’Then your particular demands will touch it.
’Take you, as 'twere, some distant knowledge of him;
’As thus, “I know his father and his friends,
’And in part him.” Do you mark this, Reynaldo?
’REYNALDO.
Ay, very well, my lord.
-- 270 --
’POLONIUS.
“And in part him, but,” you may say, “not well
’But if it be he I mean, he's very wild,
’Addicted so and so;” and there put on him
’What forgeries you please; marry, none so rank
’As may dishonor him—take heed of that;
’But, sir, such wanton, wild and usual slips
’As are companions noted and most known
’To youth and liberty.
’REYNALDO.
As gaming, my lord.
’POLONIUS.
Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing,
’Quarreling, drabbing. You may go so far.
’REYNALDO.
My lord, that will dishonor him.
’POLONIUS.
Faith, no, as you may season it i' th' charge.
’You must not put another scandal on him,
’That he is open in incontinency.
’That's not my meaning. But breathe his faults so quaintly
’That they may seem the taints of liberty,
’The flash and outbreak of a fiery mind,
’A savageness in unreclaimed blood,
’Of general assault.
’REYNALDO.
But, my good lord—
’POLONIUS.
Wherefore should you do this?
’REYNALDO.
Ay, my lord,
’I would know that.
’POLONIUS.
Marry, sir, here's my drift;
’And I believe it is a fetch of wit:
’You laying these slight sullies on my son,
’As 'twere a thing a little soiled with working,
’Mark you,
’Your party in converse, he you would sound,
’Having ever seen in the prenominate crimes
’The youth you breathe of guilty, be assured
’He closes with you in this consequence:
’“Good sir,” or so, a “friend,” or “gentleman”—
’According to the phrase or the addition
’Of man and country—
’REYNALDO.
Very good, my lord.
’POLONIUS.
And then, sir, does he this?—he does—What was I about
to say? By the mass, I was about to say something! Where did I
leave?
’REYNALDO.
At “closes in the consequence.”
POLONIUS.
At “closes in the consequence”—Ay, marry!
’He closes thus: “I know the gentleman.
-- 271 --
’I saw him yesterday, or th' other day,
’Or then, or then, with such and such, and, as you say,
’There was he gaming; there o'ertook in's rouse;
’There falling out at tennis, or perchance,
’I saw him enter such and such a house of sale,”
’Videlicet, a brothel, or so forth. See you now,
’Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth;
’And thus do we of wisdom and of reach,
’With windlasses and with assays of bias,
’By indirection find directions out.
’So, by my former lecture and advice,
’Shall you my son. You have me, have you not?
’REYNALDO.
My lord, I have.
’POLONIUS.
Good be t'ye, fare ye well.
’REYNALDO.
Good, my lord.
’POLONIUS.
Observe his inclination in yourself.
’REYNALDO.
I shall, my lord.
’POLONIUS.
And let him ply his music.
’REYNALDO.
Well, my lord.
’Exit Reynaldo.’
Enter Ophelia.
POLONIUS.
’Farewell.’ How now, Ophelia, what's the matter?
OPHELIA.
O, my lord, my lord, I have been so affrighted!
POLONIUS.
With what?
OPHELIA.
My lord, as I was reading in my closet,
Prince Hamlet, ’with his doublet,’ all unbraced,
’No hat upon his head, his stockings loose,
’Ungart'red, and down-gyved to his ankle;’
Pale as his shirt, his knees knocking each other,
And with a look so piteous,
As if he had been sent from hell
To speak of horrors—he comes before me.
POLONIUS.
Mad for thy love?
OPHELIA.
My lord, I do not know,
But truly I do fear it.
POLONIUS.
What said he?
OPHELIA.
He took me by the wrist and held me hard;
Then he goes 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 stayed he so.
-- 272 --
At last, a little shaking of my arm,
And thrice his head thus waving up and down,
He raised a sigh so piteous and profound
As it did seem to shatter all his bulk
And end his being. That done, he lets me go,
And with his head over his shoulders turned
He seemed to find his way without his eyes,
For out of doors he went without their helps,
And to the last bended their light on me.
POLONIUS.
Come, go with me. I will go seek the King.
This is the very ecstasy of love,
’Whose violent property forgoes itself
’And leads the will to desperate undertakings
’As oft as any passion under heaven
’That does afflict our natures. I am sorry.
’What,’ have you given him any hard words of late?
OPHELIA.
No, my good lord; but, as you did command,
I did repel his letters and denied
His access to me.
POLONIUS.
That hath made him mad.
’I'm sorry that with better heed and judgment
’I had not quoted him. I feared he did but trifle
’And meant to wreck thee; but beshrew my jealousy!
’It seems it is as proper to our age
’To cast beyond ourselves in our opinions
’As it is common for the younger sort
’To lack discretion.’ Come, go with me to the King.
This must be known, which, being kept close, might move
More grief to hide than hate to utter love.
Come.
Exeunt.
SCENE II.
The palace.
Enter King, Queen, Rosencrans, and Guildenstern.
KING.
Welcome, good Rosencrans and Guildenstern.
Besides that we did long to see you,
The need we have to use you did provoke
Our hasty sending. Something you have heard
Of Hamlet's transformations.’ So I call it,
’Sith nor th' exterior nor the inward man
’Resembles that it was.’ What it should be
-- 273 --
More than his father's death,’ that thus hath put him
’So much from th' understanding of himself,’
I cannot dream of. I entreat you both
’That, being of so young days brought up with him,
’And sith so neighbor'd to his youth and havior,’
That you vouchsafe your rest here in our court
Some little time; so by your companies
To draw him on to pleasures, and to' gather
’So much as from occasion you may’ glean,
Whether aught to us unknown afflicts him thus
That lies within our remedy.
QUEEN.
Good gentlemen, he hath much talked of you,
And sure I am two men are not living
To whom he more adheres. If it will please you
To show us so much gentleness and good will
As to employ your time with us a while,
For the supply and profit of our hope,
Your visitation shall receive such thanks
As fits a king's remembrance.
ROSENCRANS.
Both your Majesties
Might, by the sovereign power you have over us,
Put your dread pleasure more into command
Than to entreaty.
GUILDENSTERN.
But we both obey,
And here give up ourselves in the full bent,
To lay our service freely at your feet.
KING.
Thanks, Rosencrans, and gentle Guildenstern.
QUEEN.
’Thanks, Guildenstern, and gentle Rosencrans.’
And I beseech you instantly to visit
My too much changed son.—Go, some of you,
And bring these gentlemen where Hamlet is.
GUILDENSTERN.
Heaven make our presence and our practices
Pleasant and helpful to him!
QUEEN.
Amen!
Exeunt Rosencrans and Guildenstern.
Enter Polonius.
’POLONIUS.
Th' ambassadors from Norway, my good lord,
’Are joyfully return'd.
’KING.
Thou still hast been the father of good news.
’POLONIUS.
Have I, my lord? I assure my good liege
’I hold my duty as I hold my soul,
-- 274 --
’Both to my God and to my gracious king;
’And’ I do think—or else this brain of mine
Hunts not the trail of policy or sure
As it has used to do—that I have found
The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy.
KING.
O, speak of that! That I do long to hear.
’POLONIUS.
Give first admittance to the ambassadors,
’My news shall be the fruit to that great feast.
’KING.
Thyself do grace to them, and bring them in.
’Exit Polonius.
’He tells me, my dear Gertrude, he hath found
’The head and source of all your son's distemper.
’QUEEN.
I doubt it is no other but the main,
’His father's death and our o'erhasty marriage.
’Enter Polonius and Ambassadors.
’KING.
Well, we shall sift him.—Welcome, my good friends.
’Say, Voltimand, what from our brother Norway?
’VOLTIMAND.
Most fair return of greetings and desires.
’Upon our first, he sent out to suppress
’His nephew's levies, which to him appeared
’To be a preparation 'gainst the Pollack,
’But better looked into, he truly found
’It was against your Highness; whereat grieved,
’That so his sickness, age, and impotence
’Was falsely borne in hand, sends out arrests
’On Fortinbras; which he, in brief, obeys,
’Receives rebuke from Norway, and, in fine,
’Makes vow before his uncle never more
’To give the assay of arms against your Majesty.
’Whereon old Norway, overcome with joy,
’Gives him three thousand crowns in annual fee
’And his commission to employ those soldiers,
’So levied as before, against the Pollack;
’With an entreaty, herein further shown,
’That it might please you to give quiet pass
’Through your dominions for this enterprise,
’On such regards of safety and allowance
’As herein are set down.
’KING.
It likes us well;
’And at our more considered time we'll read,
’Answer, and think upon this business.
-- 275 --
’Meantime we thank you for your well-took labor.
’Go to your rest; at night we'll feast together.
’Most welcome home!
’Exeunt Ambassadors.
POLONIUS.
’This business is well ended.’
My liege, and madam, to expostulate
What majesty should be, what duty is,
Why day is day, night night, and time is time,
Were nothing but to waste night, day, and time.
Therefore, brevity is the soul of wit,
And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes.
I will be brief. Your noble son is mad.
Mad call I it; for, to define true madness,
What is't but to be nothing else but mad?
But let that go.
QUEEN.
More matter, with less art.
POLONIUS.
Madam, I swear I use no art at all.
That he is mad, 'tis true: 'Tis true 'tis pity;
And pity 'tis 'tis true. A foolish figure!
But farewell it, for I will use no art.
Mad let us grant him then. And now remains
That we find out the cause of this effect—
Or rather say, the cause of this defect,
For this effect defective comes by cause.
Thus it remains, and the remainder thus. Consider:
I have a daughter (have while she is mine),
Who in her duty and obedience, mark,
Hath given me this. Now gather, and surmise.
(Reads.)
To the celestial, and my soul's idol, the most beautified Ophelia:—
That's an ill phrase, a vile phrase; beautified is a vile phrase. But you
shall hear—Thus in her excellent white bosom, these, &c.
QUEEN.
Came this from Hamlet to her?
POLONIUS.
Good madam, stay awhile. I will be faithful.
Doubt that the stars are fire;
Doubt that the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar;
But never doubt I love.
O dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers; I have not art to reckon
my groans; but that I love thee best, O most best, believe it. Adieu.
Thine evermore, most dear lady, while this machine is to him,
Hamlet.
-- 276 --
This, is obedience, hath my daughter shown me;
And more concerning his solicitings,
As they fell out by time, by means, and place,
’All given to mine ear.’
KING.
But how hath she
Received his love?
POLONIUS.
What do you think of me?
KING.
As of a man faithful and honorable.
POLONIUS.
I would fain prove so. But what might you think,
’When I had seen this hot love on the wing
’(As I perceived it, I must tell you that,
’Before my daughter told me), what might you’
Or my dear Majesty your queen here, think,
If I had’ played the desk or table book,
’Or given my heart a winking mute and dumb,’
Or looked upon this love with idle sight?
’What might you think?’ No, I went round to work,
And my young mistress thus I charged:
“Lord Hamlet is a prince above thy sphere.
This must not be.” And then I precepts gave her,
That she should lock herself from his resort,
Admit no messengers, receive no tokens.
Which done, she took the fruits of my advice,
And he, repelled, a short tale to make,
Fell into a sadness, then into a fast,
’Thence to a watch, thence into a weakness.’
Thence to a lightness, and, by this declension,
Into the madness wherein he now raves,
And all we wail for.
KING.
Do you think 'tis this?
QUEEN.
It may be, very likely.
POLONIUS.
Hath there been such a time—I would fain know that—
That I have positively said “'Tis so.”
When it proved otherwise?
KING.
Not that I know.
POLONIUS.
Take this from this, if this be otherwise.
If circumstances lead me, I will find
Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed
Within the centre.
KING.
How may we try it farther?
POLONIUS.
Sometimes he walks four hours together
Here in the lobby.
-- 277 --
QUEEN.
So he does indeed.
POLONIUS.
At such time I'll loose my daughter to him.
So please your Majesty to hide yourself
Behind the arras then.
Mark the encounter. If he love her not,
And be not from his reason fall'n thereon,
Let me be no assistant for a state,
But keep farm and carters.
KING.
We will try it.
Enter Hamlet reading.
QUEEN.
But look where sadly the poor wretch comes reading.
POLONIUS.
Away, I do beseech you, both away!
Exeunt King and Queen.
I'll board him presently. ’O give me leave,’
How does my good lord Hamlet?
’HAMLET.
Excellent well.
’POLONIUS.
Do you know me, my lord?’
HAMLET.
Excellent well. You are a fishmonger.
POLONIUS.
Not I, my lord.
HAMLET.
Then I would you were so honest a man.
POLONIUS.
Honest, my lord?
HAMLET.
Ay, sir. To be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man
picked out of ten thousand.
POLONIUS.
That is very true, my lord.
HAMLET.
For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a good kissing
carrion—Have you a daughter?
POLONIUS.
I have, my lord.
HAMLET.
Let her not walk i' th' sun. Conception is a blessing, but as
your daughter may conceive, Friend, look to't.
POLONIUS (aside).
’How say you by that?’ Still harping on my daughter.
Yet he knew me not at first, but said I was a fishmonger. He is
far gone! And truly in my youth I suffered much extremity for love
—very near this. I'll speak to him again.—What do you read, my lord?
HAMLET.
Words, words, words.
POLONIUS.
What is the matter, my lord?
HAMLET.
Between who?
POLONIUS.
I mean the matter that you read, my lord.
HAMLET.
Slanders, sir; for the satirical rogue says here that old men
have grey beards; that their faces are wrinkled; their eyes purging
-- 278 --
thick amber and plum-tree gum; and that they have a plentiful lack
of wit, together with most weak hams. All which, sir, though I most
potently believe, yet I hold it not honesty to have it thus set down;
for you yourself, sir, shall grow old as I am if, like a crab, you could
go backward.
POLONIUS.
Though this be madness, yet there's method in't.—Will you
walk out of the air, my lord?
HAMLET.
Into my grave?
POLONIUS.
Marry, that's out of the air indeed. How pregnant his replies
are! a happiness that often madness hits on, ’which reason and sanity
could not so happily be delivered of. I will leave him and my daughter.’
My lord, I will take my leave of you.
HAMLET.
You cannot take from me anything that I will not more willingly
part withal, except my life.
POLONIUS.
Fare you well, my lord.
HAMLET.
These tedious old fools!
Enter Guildenstern and Rosencrans.
POLONIUS.
You go to seek Lord Hamlet; there he is.
Exit.
ROSENCRANS.
Save you, sir.
GUILDENSTERN.
My honored lord!
ROSENCRANS.
My most dear lord!
HAMLET.
My excellent good friends! How dost thou, Guildenstern? Ah,
Rosencrans! Good lads, how do you both? Well, what news?
ROSENCRANS.
None, my lord, but that the world's grown honest.
HAMLET.
Then is doomsday near! Sure your news is not true. But in
the beaten way of friendship, what makes you at Elsinoor?
-- 279 --
ROSENCRANS.
To visit you, my lord; no other occasion.
HAMLET.
Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks; but I thank you.
Were you not sent for? Is it your own inclining? Is it a free visitation?
Come, come, deal justly with me! Nay, speak.
GUILDENSTERN.
What should we say, my lord?
HAMLET.
Anything, but to the purpose you were sent for. There is a
kind of confession in your looks, which your modesties have not
craft enough to color. I know the good King and Queen have sent
for you.
ROSENCRANS.
To what end, my lord?
HAMLET.
Nay, that you must teach me. But let me conjure you by the
rights of our fellowships, by the consonancy of our youth, by the
obligation of our love, and by what more dear a better proposer
could charge you withal, be even and direct with me, whether you
were sent for or no.
ROSENCRANS.
What say you?
HAMLET.
Nay then, I have an eye of you. If you love me, hold not off.
GUILDENSTERN.
My lord, we were sent for.
HAMLET.
I will tell you why; so shall my anticipation prevent your discovery,
and your secrecy to the King and Queen moult no feather.
I have of late—but wherefore I know not—lost all my mirth, forgone
all custom of exercises, ’and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition,’
that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile
promontory; this most excellent canopy, the air, this majestical roof
fretted with golden fire—why, it appears nothing to me but a foul
and pestilent congregation of vapors. What a piece of work is man!
how noble in reason! how infinite in faculties! in form and moving
how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension
-- 280 --
the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals! And yet to
me what is quintessence of dust? Man delights not me, nor woman
neither, though by your smiling you seem to say so.
ROSENCRANS.
My lord, there was so such stuff in my thoughts.
HAMLET.
Why did ye laugh then, when I said “Man delights not me”?
ROSENCRANS.
To think, my lord, if you delight not in man, what Lenten
entertainment the players shall receive from you. We met them on
the way, and hither are they coming to offer you service.
HAMLET.
He that plays the king shall be welcome—his Majesty shall
have tribute of me; the adventurous knight shall use his foil and target;
the lover shall not sigh gratis; the humorous man shall end his
part in peace; and the lady shall speak her mind freely, or the blank
verse shall halt for't. What players are they?
ROSENCRANS.
Even those you were wont to take such delight in, the
tragedians of the city.
HAMLET.
Do they hold the same estimation they did when I was in the
city? Are they so followed?
ROSENCRANS.
No indeed they are not.
HAMLET.
It is not very strange; for my uncle is King of Denmark, and
those that would make mouths at him while my father lived, now
give twenty, forty, fifty, nay, a hundred ducats apiece for his picture
in little. There is something in this more than natural, if philosophy
could find it out.
(A flourish.)
-- 281 --
GUILDENSTERN.
Shall we call the players?
HAMLET.
Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinoor. Your hands, come!
The appurtenance of welcome is fashion and ceremony. But my
uncle-father and aunt-mother are deceived.
GUILDENSTERN.
In what, my dear lord?
HAMLET.
I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly
I know a hawk from a handsaw.
Enter Polonius.
POLONIUS.
Well be with you, gentlemen!
HAMLET.
Hark you, Guildenstern and Rosencrans—that great baby that
you see there is not yet out of his swaddling clouts.
ROSENCRANS.
Haply he is the second time come to them; for they say
an old man is twice a child.
HAMLET.
I prophesy that he comes to tell me of the players. Mark it.—
You say right, sir; a Monday morning; 'twas then indeed.
POLONIUS.
My lord, I have news to tell you.
HAMLET.
My lord, I have news to tell you; when Roscius was an actor
in Rome—
POLONIUS.
The actors are come hither, my lord.
HAMLET.
Buzz, buzz!
POLONIUS.
Upon mine honor.
HAMLET.
Then came each actor on his ass—
POLONIUS.
The best actors in the world, either for tragedy, comedy,
history, pastoral, pastoral-comical, historical-pastoral; ’scene undividable,
or poem unlimited.’ Seneca cannot be too heavy, nor
Plautus too light, for the law of wit and liberty. These are the only
men.
HAMLET.
O Jephtha, judge of Israel, what a treasure hadst thou!
POLONIUS.
What a treasure had he, my lord?
HAMLET.
Why one fair daughter and no more, the which he loved passing
well.
POLONIUS. (aside).
Still on my daughter.
’HAMLET.
Am I not i' th' right, old Jephtha?
’POLONIUS.
If you call me Jephtha, my lord, I have a
’Daughter that I love passing well.’
HAMLET.
Nay, that follows not.
POLONIUS.
Nay, what follows then, my lord?
-- 282 --
HAMLET.
’Why, as by lot, God wot, and then you know it came to pass
as most like it was.’ The first row of the rubric will show you more,
for look where my abridgement comes.
Enter Players.
HAMLET.
’You are welcome, masters, welcome all, my old friend!
Why thy face is valanced since I saw thee last. Com'st thou to beard
me in Denmark? What, my young lady and mistress! marry, your
ladyship is grown nearer to heaven than when I saw you last by the
altitude of a chopine. I wish your voice, like a piece of uncurrent
gold, be not cracked within the ring.—Masters, you are all welcome.
We'll e'en to't like friendly falconers, fly at anything we see. We'll
have a speech straight. Come, give us a taste of your quality. Come,
a passionate speech.
PLAYERS.
What speech, my good lord?
HAMLET.
I heard thee speak me a speech once, but it was never acted; or
if it was, not above once; for the play, I remember, pleased not the
million, 'twas caviar to the multitude. One speech in't I chiefly
loved. 'Twas Aeneas's talk to Dido, and thereabout of it especially
where he speaks of Priam's slaughter. If it live in your memory, begin
at this line—let me see, let me see—“The rugged Pyrrhus, like th'
Hyrcanian beast”—“Beast!” no, that's not it, yet it begins with
Pyrrhus.
The rugged Pyrrhus, he whose sable arms,
Black as his purpose, did the night resemble,
-- 283 --
’Old gransire Priam seeks.’
So proceed you.
POLONIUS.
My lord, well-spoken, with good accent and good discretion.
HAMLET.
So proceed you.
PLAYER.
Anon he finds him,
Striking too short at Greeks, his antic sword
Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls,
Repugnant to command. Unequal matched,
Pyrrhus at Priam drives, in rage strikes wide;
But with the whiff and wind of his fell sword
Th' unnerved father falls. Then senseless Ilium,
’Seeming to feel his blow, with flaming top
’Stoops to his base, and with a hideous crash
’Takes prisoner Pyrrhus' ear. For lo! his sword,
’Which was declining on the milky head
’Of reverend Priam, seemed i' th' air to stick.
’So, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrhus stood,
’And like a neutral to his will and matter,
’Did nothing.’
But as we often see against some storm,
A silence in the heaven, the rack stand still,
The bold wind speechless, and the orb below
As hush as death—anon the dreadful thunder
Doth rend the region; so, after Pyrrhus' pause,
Aroused vengeance sets him new awork;
And never did the Cyclops' hammers fall
On Mars his armor, forged for proof eterne,
With less remorse than Pyrrhus' bleeding sword
Now falls on Priam.
Out, out, thou strumpet fortune!’ All you gods,
’In general synod take away her power;
’Break all the spokes and felloes from her wheel,
’And bowl the round nave down the hill of heaven,
’As low as to the fiends!’
POLONIUS.
This is too long.
HAMLET.
It shall to the barber's, with your beard.—Prithee, say on. He's
for a jig or a tale of bawdry, or he sleeps. Say on, and come to
Hecuba.
PLAYER.
But who, alas, had seen the mobled queen—
HAMLET.
The mobled queen!
POLONIUS.
That's good.
PLAYER.
Run barefoot up and down, threat'ning the flames;
A clout upon that head
-- 284 --
Where late the diadem stood, and for a robe,
’About her lank and all o'erteemed loins,’
A blanket, in th' alarm of fear caught up—
Who this had seen, with tongue in venom steeped,
’Gainst fortune's state would treason have pronounced.
’But if the gods themselves did see her then,
’When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious sport
’In mincing with his sword her husband's limbs,
’The instant burst of clamor that she made
’Unless things mortal move them not at all,
’Would have made milch the burning eyes of heaven
’And passion in the gods.’
POLONIUS.
Look whether he has not turned his color, and has tears in's
eyes. Prithee, no more!
HAMLET.
'Tis well. I'll have thee speak out the rest of this soon. Good
my lord, will you see the players well bestowed? Do you hear? Let
them be well used; for they are the abstract and brief chronicles of
the time. After your death you were better have a bad epitaph than
their ill report while you live.
POLONIUS.
My lord, I will use them according to their desert.
HAMLET.
Much better! Use every man, sir, according to his desert, and
who should 'scape whipping? Use 'em after your own honor and
dignity. The less they deserve, the more merit is in your bounty.
Take them in.
POLONIUS.
Come, sirs.
HAMLET.
Follow him, friends. Dost thou hear me, old friend? Can you
play “The Murder of Gonzago”?
PLAYER.
Ay, my lord.
HAMLET.
We'll have it tomorrow night. You could for need study a
speech of some dozen lines which I would set down and insert,
could you not?
PLAYER.
Ay, my lord.
HAMLET.
Very well. Follow that lord—and look you mock him not. My
good friends, I'll leave you till night. You are welcome to Elsinoor.
Exeunt all but Hamlet.
HAMLET.
O what a wretch and pleasant slave am I!
Is it not monstrous that this player here,
But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,
Could force his soul so to his own conceit
-- 285 --
That, from her working, all the visage warmed,
Tears in his eyes, distraction in his aspect,
A broken voice, and his whole function suiting
With forms to his conceit? and all for nothing,
For Hecuba?
What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,
That he should weep for her? What would he do,
Had he the motive and that ground for passion
That I have? He would drown the stage with tears,
Make mad the guilty and appal the free,
Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed
The very faculties of eyes and ears.
For it cannot be. Am I a coward?
But I am pigeon-livered and lack gall
To make oppression bitter, or ere this
I should have fatted all the region kites
With this slave's offal. I have heard
That guilty creatures, sitting at a play,
Have by the very cunning of the scene
Been struck so to the soul that presently
They have proclaimed their malefactions;
For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak
’With most miraculous organ.’ I'll have these players
Play something like the murder of my father
Before my uncle. I'll observe his looks.
I'll tent him to the quick; if he look pale,
I know my course. The spirit that I have seen
May be a devil, and the devil may have power
-- 286 --
T'assume a pleasing shape; I'll have grounds
More relative than this. The play's the thing
Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the King.
Exit.
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
The palace.
Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosencrans, Guildenstern, gentlemen and guards.
KING.
And can you by no drift of conference
Get from him why he puts on this confusion,
’Grating so harshly all his days of quiet
’With turbulent and dangerous lunacy?
ROSENCRANS.
He does confess he feels himself distracted,
But from what cause he will by no means speak.
’GUILDENSTERN.
Nor do we find him forward to be sounded,
’But with a crafty madness keeps aloof
’When we would bring him on to some confession
’Of his true state.’
QUEEN.
Did he receive you well?
ROSENCRANS.
Most civilly.
GUILDENSTERN.
But with much forcing of his disposition.
ROSENCRANS.
Unapt to question, but of our demands
Most free in his reply.
QUEEN.
Did you invite him to any pastime?
ROSENCRANS.
Madam, it so fell out that certain players
We o'ertook on the way; of these we told him,
And there did seem in him a kind of joy
-- 287 --
To hear of it. They're here about the court,
And, as I think, they have already order
This night to play before him.
POLONIUS.
'Tis most true;
And he beseeched me to entreat your Majesties
To hear and see the matter.
KING.
With all my heart. And it doth much content me
To hear him so inclined.
Good gentlemen, give him a further edge
And urge him to these delights.
ROSENCRANS.
We shall, my lord.
Exeunt Rosencrans and Guildenstern.
KING.
Sweet Gertrude, leave us too;
For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither,
That he, as 'twere by accident, may meet
Ophelia here. Her father and myself
Will so bestow ourselves that, seeing and unseen,
We may of their encounter judge,
’And gather by him as he is behaved,’
If it be the affliction of love or no,
’That thus he suffers for.’
QUEEN.
I shall obey you;
And for my part, Ophelia, I do wish
That your good beauties be the happy cause
Of Hamlet's wildness. So shall I hope your virtues
Will bring him to his wonted way again,
’To both your honors.’
Exit Queen.
OPHELIA.
Madam, I wish it may.
POLONIUS.
Ophelia, walk you here, whilst we
(If so your Majesty shall please) retire concealed.
’Read on this book,
’That show of such an exercise may color
’Your loneliness. We're oft to blame in this,
’'Tis too much proved, that with devotion's visage
’And pious action, we do sugar o'er
’The devil himself.
’KING (aside).
O, 'tis too true!
’How smart a lash that speech doth give my conscience!
’The harlot's cheek, beautied with plast'ring art,
’Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it
-- 288 --
’Than is my deed to my most painted word.
’O heavy burden!’
POLONIUS.
I hear him coming. Retire, my lord.
Exeunt King and Polonius.
Enter Hamlet.
HAMLET.
To be, or not to be, that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them. To die—to sleep
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished, to die, to sleep;—
To sleep—perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub!
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life:
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th' unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,
To groan and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death—
The undiscovered country, from whose bourn
No traveler returns—puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have,
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the healthful face of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn away
And lose the name of action.—’Soft you now!’
The fair Ophelia!—Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remembered.
OPHELIA.
Good my lord, how do ye?
HAMLET.
I humbly thank you; well.
-- 289 --
OPHELIA.
My lord, I have remembrances of yours
That I have longed to re-deliver.
Pray you now receive them.
HAMLET.
No, not I. I never gave you aught.
OPHELIA.
My honored lord, you know right well you did,
And with them words of so sweet breath composed
As made these things more rich. Their perfume lost,
Take these again; for to the noble mind
Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.
There, my lord.
HAMLET.
Ha, ha! Are you honest?
OPHELIA.
My lord!
HAMLET.
Are you fair?
OPHELIA.
What means your lordship?
HAMLET.
That if you be honest and fair, you should admit no discourse
to your beauty.
OPHELIA.
Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than with
honesty?
HAMLET.
Ay, truly; for the power of beauty will sooner transform
honesty from what it is to a bawd than the force of honesty can
translate beauty to his likeness. This was sometime a paradox, but
now the time gives it proof. I did love you once.
OPHELIA.
Indeed, my lord, you make me believe so.
HAMLET.
You should not have believed me; for virtue cannot so evacuate
our old stock but we shall relish of it. I loved you not.
OPHELIA.
I was the more deceived.
HAMLET.
Get thee to a nunnery! Why wouldst thou be a breeder of
sinners? I am myself indifferent honest, but yet I could accuse me of
such things that it were better my mother had not bore me. I am
very proud, revengeful ambitious; with more offenses at my back
than I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them shape,
or time to act them in. What should such fellows as I do, crawling
between earth and heaven? We are arrant knaves; believe none of us.
Go thy ways to a nunnery. Where's your father?
OPHELIA.
At home, my lord.
HAMLET.
Let the doors be shut upon him, that he may play the fool
nowhere but in's own house. Farewell.
OPHELIA.
O help him, you sweet heavens!
HAMLET.
If thou dost marry, I'll give thee this plague for thy dowry:
be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not 'scape
calumny. Get thee to a nunnery. Or if thou wilt needs marry, marry
a fool; for wise men know well enough what monsters you make of
them. To a nunnery go; ’and quickly too. Farewell.’
-- 290 --
OPHELIA.
Heavenly pow'rs, restore him!
HAMLET.
I have heard of your paintings well enough. Nature hath given
you one face, and you make yourselves another. You jig and amble,
and you lisp; you nickname heaven's creatures and make your wantonness
your ignorance. Go to, I'll no more on't! it hath made me
mad. I say, we will have no more marriages. Those that are married
already—all but one—shall live; the rest shall keep as they are. To a
nunnery, go.
Exit.
OPHELIA.
O what a noble mind is here o'erthrown!
’The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's, eye, tongue, sword,’
The expectation and rose of the fair state,
’The glass of fashion and the mould of form,’
Th' observed of all observers, quite, quite down!
And I, of ladies most deject and wretched,
’That sucked the honey of his music vows,’
Now see that noble and most sovereign reason,
Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh;
’That unmatched form and stature of blown youth
’Blasted with ecstasy.’ O, woe is me
T' have seen what I have seen, seeing what I see!
Exit.
Enter King and Polonius.
KING.
Love! his affections do not that way tend;
For what he spake, though it lack form a little,
Was not like madness. ’There's something in his soul,
’O'er which his melancholy sits on brood,
’And I do doubt the hatch and the disclose
’ be some danger, which to prevent
’I have a quick determination.
’Thus set down.’ He shall with speed to England,
For the demand of our neglected tribute.
Haply the seas, and countries different,
With variable objects, shall expel
This something-settled matter in his heart,
Whereon his brains still beating puts him thus
From fashion of himself. What think you on't?
Enter Ophelia.
POLONIUS.
It shall do well. ’But yet I do believe
’Th' origin and commencement of it
-- 291 --
’Sprung from neglected love.’ How now, Ophelia?
You need not tell us what Lord Hamlet said;
We heard it all.—My lord, do as you please;
But if you hold it fit, after the play
Let his queen mother all alone entreat him
To show his grief. Let her be round with him;
And I'll be placed, so please you, in the ear
Of all their conference. If she find him not,
To England send him; or confine him where
Your wisdom best shall think.
KING.
It shall be so.
Madness in great ones must not unwatched go.
Exeunt.
Enter Hamlet and three Players.
HAMLET.
Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you,
smoothly from the tongue. But if you mouth it, as many of our
players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. And do not
saw the air too much with your hand, thus, but use all gently; for in
the very torrent, tempest, and (as I may say) whirlwind of passion,
you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness.
O, it offends me to the soul to hear a robustious periwigpated
fellow tear a passion to very rags to split the ears of the groundlings,
who (for the most part) are capable of nothing but inexplicable
dumb shows and noise. I would have such a fellow whipped for
o'erdoing Termagant; it out-Herod's Herod. Pray you avoid it.
PLAYER.
I warrant your honor.
HAMLET.
Be not too tame neither; but let your own discretion be your
tutor. Suit the action to the word, the word to the action; with this
special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature: for
anything so o'erdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end,
both at first and now, was and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up
to nature; to show virtue her feature, scorn her own image, and the
very age and body of the time his form and pressure. O, there be
players that I have seen play, and heard others praise, and that
highly (not to speak it profanely), that, neither having the accent of
Christians, nor the gait of Christian, pagan, nor man, have so strutted
and bellowed that I have thought some of nature's journeymen had
made men, and not made them well, they imitated humanity so
abominably.
PLAYER.
I hope we have reformed that indifferently with us.
HAMLET.
O, reform it altogether! And let those that play your clowns
-- 292 --
speak no more than is set down for them. For there be of them that
will themselves laugh, to set on some quantity of barren spectators
to laugh too, though in the meantime some necessary question of
the play be then to be considered. That's villainous and shows a most
pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it. Go make you ready. ’How
now, my lord, will the King hear this piece of work?’
Enter Polonius, Guildenstern and Rosencrans.
’POLONIUS.
And the Queen too, and that presently.’
HAMLET.
Bid the players make haste. Will you two help to hasten them?
ROSENCRANS.
Ay, my lord.
Exeunt those three.
Enter Horatio.
HAMLET.
What ho, Horatio!
HORATIO.
Here, my lord, at your service.
HAMLET.
Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man
As e'er my conversation met withal.
HORATIO.
O, my dear lord!
HAMLET.
Nay, do not think I flatter;
For what advancement may I hope from thee,
That hast no revenue but thy good spirits
To feed and clothe thee? Why should the poor be flatter'd?
Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice
And could of men distinguish her election,
Sh' hath sealed thee for herself. For thou hast been
As one in suffering all, hast suffered nothing.
Give me the man
That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him
In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of hearts,
As I do thee. Something too much of this!
There is a play tonight before the King.
One scene of it comes near the circumstance,
Which I have told thee, of my father's death.
I prithee, when thou seest that act on foot,
-- 293 --
Even with the very comment of thy soul
Observe my uncle. Give him heedful note;
For I mine eyes will rivet to his face,
And after we will both our judgments join
In censure of his seeming.
HORATIO.
I will, my lord.
Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, gentlemen.
HAMLET.
They're coming to the play. I must be idle.
Get you a place.
KING.
How fares our cousin Hamlet?
HAMLET.
Excellent, i' faith, of the chameleon's dish: I eat the air,
promise-crammed. You cannot feed capons so.
KING.
I have nothing with this answer, Hamlet. These words are not
mine.
HAMLET.
No, nor mine now, my lord. (To Polonius.) You played once
in the university, you say?
POLONIUS.
That I did, my lord, and was accounted a very good actor.
HAMLET.
What did you enact?
POLONIUS.
I did enact Julius Caesar. I was killed i' th' Capitol; Brutus
killed me.
HAMLET.
It was a brute part of him to kill so capital a calf there. Be the
players ready?
ROSENCRANS.
Ay, my lord. They wait upon your patience.
QUEEN.
Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit by me.
HAMLET.
No, good mother, here's metal more attractive.
POLONIUS.
O, ho! do you mark that?
HAMLET.
Lady, shall I lie in your lap?
OPHELIA.
No, my lord.
HAMLET.
Do you think I mean country matters?
OPHELIA.
You are merry, my lord.
HAMLET.
’Who, I?’ Your only jig-maker! What should a man do but
be merry? For look how cheerfully my mother looks, and my father
died within's two hours.
-- 294 --
OPHELIA.
Nay, 'tis twice two month, my lord.
HAMLET.
So long? Nay then, let the devil wear black, for I'll have a
suit of sables. ’O! heavens!’ die two months ago, and not forgotten
yet? Then there's hope a great man's memory may outlive his life
half a year. But he must build churches then.
OPHELIA.
What means the play, my lord?
HAMLET.
It is munching Mallico. It means mischief.
OPHELIA.
But what's the argument?
Enter Prologue.
HAMLET.
We shall know by this fellow. The players cannot keep secret;
they'll show all.
OPHELIA.
Are they so good at show, my lord?
HAMLET.
Ay, at any show that you will show them. Be not you ashamed
to show, and they'll not blush to tell you what it means.
OPHELIA.
You are naught, you are naught! I'll mark the play.
PROLOGUE.
For us, and for our tragedy,
Here stooping to your clemency,
We beg your hearing patiently.
HAMLET.
Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring?
OPHELIA.
'Tis brief, my lord.
HAMLET.
As woman's love.
Enter Player-King and Queen.
PLAYER-KING.
Full thirty times hath Phoebus' car gone round
’Neptune's salt wash and Tellus orbed the ground,
’And thirty dozen moons with borrowed sheen
’About the world have twelve times thirty been,’
Since love our hearts, and Hymen did our hands,
Unite, enfolding them in sacred bands.
PLAYER-QUEEN.
So many journeys may the sun and moon
Make us again count o'er, ere love be done!
But woe is me! you are so sick of late,
And so far different from your former state,
That I distrust you. Yet, tho' I distrust,
Discomfort you, my lord, it nothing must;
For women fear too much, ev'n as they love,
’Now women's fear and love hold quantity
-- 295 --
’In neither ought, or in extremity.’
Now what my love has been, proof makes you know;
And as my love is great, my fear is so.
Where love is great, the smallest doubts are fear;
Where little fear grows great, great love grows there.
PLAYER-KING.
I must leave thee, love, and shortly too;
My working powers their functions leave to do.
But thou shalt live in this fair world behind,
Honored, beloved, and haply one as kind
For husband shalt thou—
PLAYER-QUEEN.
O, confound the rest!
Such love must needs be treason in my breast.
In second husband let me be accurst!
None wed the second but who killed the first.
HAMLET.
That's wormwood.
’PLAYER-QUEEN.
The instances that second marriage move
’Are base respects of thrift, but none of love.
’A second time I kill my husband dead
’When second husband kisses me in bed.’
PLAYER-KING.
I do believe you think what now you speak;
But what we do determine oft we break.
’Purpose is but the slave of memory,
’Of violent birth, but poor validity;
’Which now, like fruits unripe, sticks on the tree,
’But fall unshaken when they mellow be.
’Most necessary 'tis that we forget
’To pay ourselves what to ourselves is debt.
’What to ourselves in passion we propose,
’The passion ending, doth the purpose lose.
’The violence of either grief or joy
’Their own enactures with themselves destroy.
’Where joy must revels, grief doth most lament;
’Grief joys, joy grieves, on slender accident.
’This world is not for aye, nor 'tis not strange
’That even our loves should with our fortunes change;
’For 'tis a question left us yet to prove,
’Whether love lead fortune, or else fortune love.
’The great man down, you mark his favorite flies,
’The poor advanced makes friends of enemies.
’And hitherto doth love our fortune tend,
’For who not needs shall never lack a friend,
’And who in want a hollow friend doth try,
’Directly seasons him his enemy.
-- 296 --
’But, orderly to end where I begun,
’Our wills and fates do so contrary run
’That our devices still are overthrown;
’Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own.’
Think still thou wilt no second husband wed;
But thy thoughts die when thy first lord is dead.
PLAYER-QUEEN.
Nor earth to give me food, nor heaven light,
Sport and respose lock from me day and night,
’To desperation turn my trust and hope,
’An anchor's cheer in prison be my scope,
’Each opposite that blanks the face of joy,
’Meet what I would have well, and it destroy,’
Both here and hence pursue me lasting strife,
If once I widow be, and then a wife.
HAMLET.
If she should break it now!
PLAYER-KING.
'Tis deeply sworn. Sweet, leave me here awhile.
My spirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile
The tedious day with sleep.
PLAYER-QUEEN.
Sleep rock thy brain,
And never come mischance between us twain!
Exeunt.
HAMLET.
Madam, how like you the play?
QUEEN.
The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
HAMLET.
O, but she'll keep her word.
KING.
Have you heard the argument? Is there no offense in't?
HAMLET.
No, no! They do but jest, poison in jest; no offense.
KING.
What do they call the play?
HAMLET.
“The Mousetrap.” Marry, how? Tropically. This play is the
image of a murder done in Vienna. Gonzago is the duke's name: his
wife, Baptista. You shall see anon. 'Tis a knavish piece of work; but
what of that? Your Majesty and we shall have free souls; it touches
us not. Let the galled jade winch; our withers are unwrung. This is
one Lucianus, nephew to the King.
Enter Lucianus.
OPHELIA.
You are as good as a chorus, my lord.
HAMLET.
I could interpret between you and your love,
If I could see the puppets dallying.
-- 297 --
Begin, murderer. Leave thy damnable faces and begin!
Come, this croaking raven doth bellow forth revenge.
LUCIANUS.
Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, and time agreeing;
Confederate season, and no creature seeing;
Thou mixture rank, of midnight weeds collected,
With Hecate's bane thrice blasted, thrice infected,
Thy natural magic and dire property
On wholesome life usurps immediately.
HAMLET.
He poisons him i' th' garden for his estate; his name's Gonzago.
The story is extant, and written in very choice Italian. You
shall see anon how the murderer gets the love of Gonzago's wife.
OPHELIA.
The King rises.
’HAMLET.
What, frighted with false fire?’
QUEEN.
How fares my lord?
POLONIUS.
Give o'er the play.
KING.
Give me some lights! Away!
POLONIUS.
Lights, lights, lights!
Exeunt all but Hamlet and Horatio.
HAMLET.
Why, let the strucken deer go weep,
The hart ungalled go play;
For some must watch, whilst some must sleep:
Thus runs the world away.
O good Horatio, I'll take the ghost's word for a thousand pounds.
Didst perceive?
HORATIO.
Very well, my lord.
HAMLET.
Upon the talk of poisoning?
HORATIO.
I did very well note him.
HAMLET.
Ah, ah, come, some music! Come, the recorders!
[Exit Horatio.]
Enter Rosencrans and Guildenstern.
GUILDENSTERN.
Good my lord, vouchsafe me a word with you.
HAMLET.
Sir, a whole history.
GUILDENSTERN.
The King, sir.—
HAMLET.
Ay, sir, what of him?
GUILDENSTERN.
Is in his retirement marvellous distempered.
HAMLET.
With drink, sir?
GUILDENSTERN.
No, my lord, with choler.
HAMLET.
Your wisdom would show itself richer to signify this to the
doctor; for me to put him to his purgation would perhaps plunge
him into more choler.
GUILDENSTERN.
Good my lord, put your discourse into some frame, and
start not so wildly from my business.
HAMLET.
I am tame, sir; pronounce.
GUILDENSTERN.
The Queen, your mother, in most great affliction of
spirit hath sent me to you.
HAMLET.
You are welcome.
GUILDENSTERN.
Nay, my good lord, this courtesy is not of the right
breed. If it shall please you to make me a wholesome answer, I will
do your mother's commandment; if not, your pardon and my return
shall be the end of the business.
HAMLET.
Sir, I cannot.
ROSENCRANS.
What, my lord?
HAMLET.
Make you a wholesome answer; my wit's diseased. But, sir,
such answer as I can make, you shall command, or rather, as you say,
my mother.
ROSENCRANS.
Then thus she says: your behavior of late hath struck her
into amazement and admiration.
HAMLET.
O wonderful son, that can thus astonish a mother! But is there
no sequel at the heels of this mother's admiration? Impart.
ROSENCRANS.
She desires to speak with you in her closet ere you go to
bed.
HAMLET.
We shall obey, were she ten times our mother. Have you any
further trade with us?
ROSENCRANS.
My lord, you once did love me.
HAMLET.
And do still, by these pickers and stealers.
ROSENCRANS.
Good my lord, what is the cause of your distemper? You
do surely bar the door upon your own liberty, if you deny your
griefs to your friend.
HAMLET.
Sir, I lack advancement.
-- 299 --
ROSENCRANS.
How can that be, when you have the voice of the King
himself for your succession in Denmark?
Enter Horatio with recorders.
HAMLET.
Ay, sir, but “while the grass grows”—the proverb is something
musty. Oh, the recorders! Let me see one. To withdraw with
you—why do you go about to recover the wind of me, as if you
would drive me into a toil?
GUILDENSTERN.
Oh, my lord, if my duty be too bold, my love is too
unmannerly.
HAMLET.
I do not well understand that. Will you play upon this pipe?
GUILDENSTERN.
My lord, I cannot.
HAMLET.
I pray you.
GUILDENSTERN.
Believe me, I cannot.
HAMLET.
I beseech you.
GUILDENSTERN.
I know no touch of it, my lord.
HAMLET.
'Tis as easy as lying. Govern these vantages with your fingers
and the thumb, give it breath with your mouth, and it will discourse
most excellent music. Look you, these are the stops.
GUILDENSTERN.
But these cannot I command to any utterance of harmony.
I have not the skill.
HAMLET.
Why, look ye now, how unworthy a thing you make of me!
You would play upon me; you would seem to know my stops; you
would pluck out the heart of my mystery; you would sound me from
my lowest note to the top of my compass; and there is much music,
excellent voice, in this little organ, yet cannot you make it speak.
'Sdeath, do you think I'm easier to be played on than a pipe? Call me
what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play
upon me.
Enter Polonius.
POLONIUS.
My lord, the Queen would speak with you, and presently.
HAMLET.
Do you see yonder cloud that's almost in shape of a camel?
POLONIUS.
'Tis like a camel, indeed.
HAMLET.
Methinks 'tis like a weasel.
POLONIUS.
It is black like a weasel.
HAMLET.
Or like a whale.
POLONIUS.
Very like a whale.
HAMLET.
Then I will come to my mother by-and-by.
They fool me to the top of my bent. ’I will come by-and-by.’
Exeunt [Polonius, Rosencrans, Guildenstern].
-- 300 --
'Tis now the very witching time of night,
When churchyards yawn, and hell itself breathes out
Contagion to the world. Now could I drink hot blood
And do such deeds as day itself
Would quake to look on. Soft! now to my mother!
O heart, lose not thy nature; let not ever
The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom!
Let me be cruel, not unnatural;
I will speak daggers to her, but use none.
Exit.
Enter King, Rosencrans, and Guildenstern.
KING.
I like him not, nor stands it safe with us
To let his madness range. Therefore prepare you.
’I your commission will forthwith dispatch,
’And he to England shall along with you.
’The terms of our estate may not endure
’Hazards so near us as do hourly grow
’Out of his lunacies.
’GUILDENSTERN.
We will ourselves provide.
’Most holy and religious fear it is
’To keep those many bodies safe
’That live and feed upon your Majesty.
’ROSENCRANS.
The single and peculiar life is bound
’With all the strength and armor of the mind
’To keep itself from noyance; but much more
’That spirit upon whose weal depend and rest
’The lives of many. The cease of majesty
’Dies not alone, but like a gulf doth draw
’What's near it with it; or it's a massy wheel,
’Fixed on the summit of the highest mount,
’To whose huge spokes ten thousand lesser things
’Are mortised and adjoined; which when it falls,
’Each small annexment, petty consequence,
’Attends the boist'rous ruin. Ne'er alone
’Did the king sigh, but with a general groan.’
KING.
Arm then, I pray you, to this speedy voyage;
For we will fetters put about this fear,
Which now goes to free-footed.
ROSENCRANS.
We will make haste.
-- 301 --
Exeunt Rosencrans and Guildenstern.
Enter Polonius.
POLONIUS.
Sir, he is going to his mother's closet.
Behind the arras I'll convey myself
To hear the process. I'll warrant she'll tax him home;
And as you said, and wisely was it said,
'Tis meet that some more audience than a mother,
Since nature makes them partial, should o'erhear
Their speech. Fare you well, my liege.
I'll call upon you ere you go to bed
And tell you what I hear.
Exit.
KING.
Thanks, dear my lord.
O, my offense is rank, it smells to heaven!
It hath the eldest curse upon't,
A brother's murder! Pray I cannot,
Though inclination be as sharp as will.
My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent,
And, like a man to double business bound,
I stand in pause where I shall first begin,
And both neglect. What if this cursed hand
Were thicker than itself with brother's blood,
Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens
To wash it white as snow? Whereto serves mercy
But to confront the visage of offense?
’And what's in prayer but this twofold force,
’To be forestalled ere we come to fall,
’Or pardoned being down?’ Then I'll look up.
’My fault is past; but oh! what form of prayer
’Can serve my turn? “Forgive me my foul murder”?’
That cannot be; since I am still possessed
Of those effects for which I did the murder—
My crown, mine own ambition, and my queen.
May one be pardoned and retain the offense?
In the corrupted currents of this world
Offense's gilded hand may shove by justice,
And oft 'tis seen the wicked prize itself
Buys out the law; but 'tis not so above.
There is no shuffling; there the action lies
In its true nature, and we ourselves compelled,
Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults,
-- 302 --
To give in evidence. What then? What rests?
Try what repentance can: what can it not?
Yet what can it, when one cannot repent?
O wretched state! O bosom black as death!
O limed soul, that, struggling to be free,
Art more engaged! ’Help, angles! Make assay!’
Bow, stubborn knees; and heart with strings of steel
Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe!
All may be well. (The King kneels.)
Enter Hamlet.
HAMLET.
Where is this murderer? He kneels and prays;
And now I'll do't. And so he goes to heaven,
And so I am revenged. That would be scanned.
He killed my father; and for that,
I, his sole son, send him to heaven.
Why this is reward—not revenge!
He took my father grossly, ’full of bread,’
With all his crimes broad blown, as flush as May;
And how his audit stands, who knows save heaven?
But in our circumstance and course of thought,
'Tis heavy with him; and am I then revenged,
To take him in the purging of his soul,
When he is fit and seasoned for his passage? No.
Up, sword, and know thou a more horrid time.
When he is drunk, asleep, or in a rage,
Or in th' incestuous pleasures of his bed;
’At gaming, swearing,’ or about some act
That has no relish of salvation in't—
Then trip him, that his heels may kick at heaven,
’And that his soul may be as damned and black
’As hell whereto it goes.’ My mother stays.
This physic but prolongs thy sickly days.
Exit.
KING.
My words fly up, my thoughts remain below;
Words without thoughts never to heaven go.
Exit.
Enter Queen and Polonius.
POLONIUS.
He will come straight. Look you lay home to him.
Tell him his pranks have been too broad to bear with,
-- 303 --
And that your Grace hath stood between
Much heat and him. I'll here conceal myself.
Pray you be round with him.
HAMLET (within).
Mother, mother, mother!
QUEEN.
I warrant you,
Fear me not. Withdraw; I hear him coming.
Enter Hamlet.
HAMLET.
Now, mother, what's the matter?
QUEEN.
Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended.
HAMLET.
Mother, you have my father much offended.
QUEEN.
Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue.
HAMLET.
Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue.
QUEEN.
Why, how now, Hamlet?
HAMLET.
What's the matter now?
QUEEN.
Have you forgot me?
HAMLET.
No, ’by the rood, not so.’
You are the Queen, your husband's brother's wife,
And—would it were not so—you are my mother.
QUEEN.
Nay, then I'll set those to you that can speak.
HAMLET.
Come, come, and sit you down; you shall not budge!
You go not till I set you up a glass
Where you may see the utmost part of you.
QUEEN.
What wilt thou do? Thou wilt not murder me?
Help, ho!
POLONIUS (behind the arras).
What ho, help!
HAMLET.
How now, a rat? dead for a ducket, dead.
(Kills Polonius.)
POLONIUS.
O, I am slain!
QUEEN.
O me, what hast thou done?
HAMLET.
Nay, I know not. Is it the King?
QUEEN.
O, what a rash and bloody deed is this!
HAMLET.
A bloody deed—almost as bad, good mother,
As kill a king and marry with his brother.
QUEEN.
As kill a king?
HAMLET.
Ay, lady, 'twas my word.
Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell!
I took thee for thy better. Take thy fortune.
Thou find'st to be too busy is some danger.—
Leave wringing of your hands. Peace! sit you down
And let me wring your heart; for so I shall
If it be made of penetrable stuff;
’If damned custom have not brazed it so
’That it be proof and bulwark against sense.’
-- 304 --
QUEEN.
What have I done that thou dar'st wag thy tongue
In noise so rude against me?
HAMLET.
Such an act
That blurs the grace and blush of modesty;
Calls virtue hypocrite; takes off the rose
From the fair forehead of an innocent love,
And sets a blister there; make marriage vows
As false as dicer's oath. Oh, such a deed
As from the body of contraction plucks
The very soul, and sweet religion makes
A rhapsody of words! Ah me! that act!
QUEEN.
Ah me, what act?
HAMLET.
Look here upon this picture, and on this,
The counterfeit presentment of two brothers.
See what grace was seated on this brow;
Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself;
An eye like Mars, to threaten and command;
’A station like the herald Mercury
’New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill;’
A combination and a form indeed
Where every god did seem to set his seal
To give the world assurance of a man.
This was your husband. Look you now what follows.
Here is your husband, like a mildewed ear
Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes?
Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed
And batten on the moor? Ha! have you eyes?
You cannot call it love; for at your age
The heyday of the blood is tame, it's humble,
And waits upon the judgment; and what judgment
Would step from this to this? Sense sure you have,
Else could you not have motion; but sure that sense
Is apoplexed; for madness would not err,
Nor sense to ecstasy was never yet so thralled
But it reserved some quantity of choice
To serve in such a difference. ’What devil was't
’That thus has cozened you at hoodman-blind?
-- 305 --
’Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight,
’Ears without hands or eyes, smelling sans all,
’Or but a sickly part of one true sense
’Could not so mope.’ Oh shame! where is thy blush?
Rebellious hell,
If thou canst mutiny in a matron's bones,
To flaming youth let virtue be as wax
And melt in her own fire. ’Proclaim no shame’
When the compulsive ardor gives the charge,
Since frost itself as actively doth burn
As reason panders will.
QUEEN.
O Hamlet, speak no more!
Thou turn'st my very eyes into my soul.
HAMLET.
Nay, but to live
In the rank sweat of an incestuous bed,
Stewed in corruption, ’honeying and making love
’Over the nasty sty!’
QUEEN.
O speak no more, sweet Hamlet!
HAMLET.
A murderer and a villain!
A slave that's not the twentieth part the tithe
Of your precedent lord; a vice of kings;
A cutpurse of the empire and the rule,
That from a shelf the precious diadem stole
And put it in his pocket!
A king of shreds and patches.
Enter Ghost.
Save me and hover o'er me with your wings,
You heavenly guards! What would your gracious figure?
QUEEN.
Alas, he's mad!
HAMLET.
Do you not come your tardy son to chide,
That, lapsed in time and passion, lets go by
Th' important acting of your dread command: O say!
GHOST.
Do not forget. This visitation
Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose.
But look, amazement on thy mother sits.
O step between her and her fighting soul!
Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works.
Speak to her, Hamlet.
HAMLET.
How is it with you, madam?
QUEEN.
Alas, how is't with you,
That you do bend your eye on vacancy,
-- 306 --
And with the incorporeal air do hold discourse?
Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep;
And, as the sleeping soldiers in the alarm,
Your hair starts up and stands on end. O gentle son,
Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper
Sprinkle cool patience! Whereon do you look?
HAMLET.
On him, on him! Look you how pale he glares!
His form and cause conjoined, preaching to stones,
Would make them capable.—Don't look upon me,
Lest with this piteous action you convert
My stern effects. Then what I have to do
Will want true color—tears perchance for blood.
QUEEN.
To whom do you speak this?
HAMLET.
Do you see nothing there?
QUEEN.
Nothing at all; yet all that's here I see.
HAMLET.
Nor did you nothing hear?
QUEEN.
No, nothing but ourselves.
HAMLET.
Why, look you there! Look how it stalks away!
My father, in his habit as he lived!
Look where he goes ev'n now out at the portal!
Exit Ghost.
QUEEN.
This is the very coinage of your brain.
This bodiless creation ecstasy is very cunning in.
HAMLET.
My pulse as yours doth temperately keep time
And makes as healthful music. 'Tis not madness
That I have uttered. Bring me to the test,
And I the matter will reword; which madness
Cannot do. Mother, for the love of grace,
Lay not that flattering unction to your soul,
That not your trespass but your madness speaks.
It will but skin and film the ulcerous place,
While rank corruption, mining all within,
Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven;
Repent what's past; avoid what is to come.
QUEEN.
O Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart.
HAMLET.
Then throw away the worser part of it,
And live the purer with the other half.
Goodnight—but go not to my uncle's bed.
-- 307 --
Assume a virtue, if you have it not.
Once more, goodnight,
’And when you are desirous to be blest,
’I'll blessing beg of you.’ For this same lord, (Pointing to Polonius.)
I do repent; but heaven hath pleased it so,
To punish me with this, and this with me,
That I must be their scourge and minister.
I will bestow him, and will answer well
The death I gave him. So again, goodnight.
I must be cruel, only to be kind;
Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind.
One word more.
QUEEN.
What shall I do?
HAMLET.
Let not the King tempt you to bed again,
Make you to ravel all this matter out,
That I essentially am not in madness,
But mad in craft.
QUEEN.
Be thou assured, if words be made of breath,
And breath of life, I have no life to breathe
What thou hast said to me.
-- 308 --
HAMLET.
I must to England; you know that?
QUEEN.
Alack,
I had forgot. 'Tis so concluded on.
HAMLET.
’My two schoolfellows delve one yard below their mines,
’And blow them at the moon. O, 'tis most sweet
’When in one line two crafts directly meet.’
This man will set me packing.
I'll lug the guts into the neighb'ring room.—
Mother, goodnight.—This counsellor
Is now most still, most secret, and most grave,
Who was in's life a foolish prating knave.
Come, sir, to draw toward an end with you.
Goodnight, mother.
Exit Hamlet, dragging in Polonius.
ACT V.
SCENE I.
A royal apartment.
Enter King and Queen, with Rosencrans and Guildenstern.
KING.
There's matter in these sighs; ’these profound heaves;’
You must translate; 'tis fit we understand them.
Where is your son?
QUEEN.
Bestow this place on us a little while.
Exeunt Rosencrans and Guildenstern.
Ah, my lord, what have I seen tonight!
KING.
What, Gertrude? How does Hamlet?
-- 309 --
QUEEN.
Mad as the seas and wind when both contend
Which is mightier. In his lawless fit,
Behind the arras hearing something stir,
He whips his rapier out and cries a Rat!
And in his brainish apprehension kills
The unseen good old man.
KING.
O heavy deed!
It had been so with us, had we been there.
’His liberty is full of threats to all,
’To you yourself, to us, to every one.
’Alas, how shall this bloody deed be answered?
’It will be laid to us, whose providence
’Should have kept short, restrained and out of haunt
’This mad young man. But so much was our love,
’We would not understand what was most fit;
’But like the owner of a dire disease
’To keep it from divulging, let it feed
’Even on the pith of life.’ Where is he gone?
QUEEN.
To draw apart the body he hath killed,
’O'er whom his very madness like some ore
Among a mineral of metals base,
’Shows itself poor; he weeps for what is done.’
KING.
O Gertrude, come away!
The sun no sooner shall the mountains touch
But we will ship him hence; and this vile deed
We must with all our majesty and skill
Both count'nance and excuse.—Ho, Guildenstern!
Enter Rosencrans and Guildenstern.
Friends both, go join you with some further aid.
Hamlet in madness hath Polonius slain,
And from his mother's closet he has dragged him.
Go seek him out; speak fair, and bring the body
-- 310 --
Into the chapel; pray you haste in this.
Come, Gertrude, we'll call up our wisest friends
And let them know both what we mean to do
And what's untimely done. For sland'rous malice
’(Whose whisper o'er the world's diameter,
’As level as the cannon to his blank,
’Transports his poisoned shot)—may miss our name
’And hit the woundless air.—O, come away!
’My soul is full of discord and dismay.’
Exeunt.
Enter Hamlet.
HAMLET.
Safely stowed.
Within: Hamlet! Lord Hamlet!
What noise? who calls on Hamlet?
O here they come.
[Enter Rosencrans and Guildenstern.]
ROSENCRANS.
What have you done, my lord, with the dead body?
HAMLET.
Compounded it with dust, whereto 'tis kin.
ROSENCRANS.
Tell us where 'tis, that we may take it thence
And bear it to the chapel.
HAMLET.
Do not believe it.
ROSENCRANS.
Believe what?
HAMLET.
That I can keep your counsel, and not my own. Besides, to be
demanded of a sponge, what replication should be made by the son
of a king?
ROSENCRANS.
Take you me for a sponge, my lord?
HAMLET.
Ay, sir, that soaks up the King's countenance, his rewards,
his authorities. But such officers do the King best service in the end.
He keeps them, like an apple, in the corner of his jaw; first mouthed
to be the last swallowed. When he needs what you have gleaned,
it is but squeezing you and, sponge, you shall be dry again.
ROSENCRANS.
I understand you not, my lord.
HAMLET.
I am glad of it: a knavish speech sleeps in a foolish ear.
ROSENCRANS.
My lord, you must tell me where the body is and go with
us to the King.
-- 311 --
’HAMLET.
The King is a thing.
’GUILDENSTERN.
A thing, my lord!
HAMLET.
’Of nothing.’ Bring me to him.
Exeunt.
Enter King and Gentlemen.
KING.
I've sent to seek him and to find the body.
How dang'rous is it that this man goes loose!
Yet must we not put the strong law upon him.
He's loved of the distracted multitude,
Who like not in their judgment, but their eyes;
And where 'tis so, th' offender's scourge is weighed,
But never the offense. To bear all smooth and even,
This sudden sending him away must seem
Deliberate pause. Diseases desperate grown
By desperate appliance are reliev'd,
Or not at all.
Enter Rosencrans and Guildenstern.
How now? What hath befallen?
ROSENCRANS.
Where the dead body is bestowed, my lord,
We cannot get from him.
KING.
But where is he?
ROSENCRANS.
Without, my lord; guarded, to know your pleasure.
KING.
Bring him before us.
ROSENCRANS.
Ho, Guildenstern! Bring in my lord.
Enter Hamlet and Guards.
KING.
Now, Hamlet, where's Polonius?
HAMLET.
At supper.
KING.
At supper? Where?
HAMLET.
Not where he eats, but where he is eaten. A certain convocation
of politic worms are e'en at him.
-- 312 --
KING.
Where is Polonius?
HAMLET.
In heaven. Send thither to see. If your messenger find him
not there, seek him i' th' other place yourself. But indeed, if you
find him not within this month, you shall nose him as you go upstairs
into the lobby.
KING.
Go seek him there.
HAMLET.
He will stay till you come.
KING.
Hamlet, this deed, for thine especial safety,—
(Which we do tender as we dearly grieve
’For that which thou hast done,)’—must send thee hence
With fiery quickness. Therefore prepare thyself.
The bark is ready and the wind at help.
’Th' associates tend, and everything is bent’
For England.
HAMLET.
For England?
KING.
Ay, Hamlet.
HAMLET.
Good.
KING.
So is it, if thou knew'st our purposes.
HAMLET.
I see a cherub that sees them. But come; for England!
Farewell, dear mother.
KING.
Thy loving father, Hamlet.
HAMLET.
My mother! Father and mother is man and wife; man and
wife is one flesh; and so, my mother. Farewell, mother. Come, for
England!
Exit.
KING.
Follow him at foot; tempt him with speed aboard;
’Delay it not,’ I'll have him hence tonight.
Away! Everything is sealed and done
’That else leans on the affair. Pray make you haste.’
Exeunt Guildenstern, Rosencrans.
And England, if my present love thou hold'st at aught,
-- 313 --
Let it be testified in Hamlet's death.
O do it, England—for like a hectic in my blood he rages
And thou must cure me.
Exit.
SCENE II.
A wood.
Trumpets and drums at a distance.
Enter Hamlet and Rosencrans meeting Guildenstern.
’HAMLET.
Well, the news! Have you learnt whence are those powers?
’GUILDENSTERN.
They are of Norway, sir—
’And claim conveyance of a promised march
’Over this kingdom.
’HAMLET.
How purposed, sir, I pray you?
’GUILDENSTERN.
Against some part of Poland.
’HAMLET.
Who commands them, pray?
’GUILDENSTERN.
The nephew of old Norway, Fortinbras.
’HAMLET.
Goes it against the main of Poland, sir,
’Or against some frontier?
’GUILDENSTERN.
Truly to speak, and with no addition,
’They go to gain a little patch of ground
’That hath in it no profit but the name.
’To pay five ducats, five, I would not farm it;
’Nor will it yield to Norway or the Pole
-- 314 --
’A ranker rate, should it be sold in fee.
’HAMLET.
Why, then the Pollack never will defend it.
’GUILDENSTERN.
Nay, it is already garrisoned.
’HAMLET.
Two thousand souls and twenty thousand ducats
’Will not debate the question of this straw.
’This is th' imposthume of much wealth and peace,
’That inward breaks, and shows no cause without
’Why the man dies.
’ROSENCRANS.
Wilt please you go, my lord?
’HAMLET.
I'll be with you straight. Go a little before.
’[Exeunt Rosencrans and Guildenstern.]
’How all occasions do inform against me
’And spur my dull revenge! What is a man,
’If his chief good and market of his time
’Be but to sleep and feed? A beast, no more.
’Sure he that made us with such large discourse,
’Looking before and after, gave us not
’That capability and godlike reason
’To rust in us unused. Now, whether it be
’Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple
’Of thinking too precisely on th' event,—
’A thought which, quartered, hath but one part wisdom
’And ever three parts coward,—I do not know
’Why yet I live to say “This thing's to do,”
’Sith I have cause, and will, and strength, and means
’To do't. Examples gross as earth exhort me.
’Witness this army of such mass and charge,
’Led by a delicate and tender prince,
’Whose spirit with divine ambition puffed,
’Makes mouths at the invincible event,
’Exposing what is mortal and unsure
’To all that fortune, death, and danger dare,
’Ev'n for an eggshell. Rightly to be great
’Is not to stir without great argument,
’But greatly to find quarrel in a straw
’When honor's at the stake. How stand I then,
’That have a father killed, a mother stained,
’Excitements of my reason and my blood,
’And let all sleep, while to my shame I see
-- 315 --
’The imminent death of twenty thousand men
’That for a fantasy and trick of fame
’Go to their graves like beds, fight for a plot
’Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause,
’Which is not tomb enough and continent
’To hide the slain? O, from this time forth,
’My thoughts be bloody’ all! the hour is come—
’I'll fly my keepers—sweep to my revenge.
Exit.
Enter Queen, Horatio, and a Gentleman.
QUEEN.
I will not speak with her.
GENTLEMAN.
She is importunate, indeed distract;
Her mood needs be pitied.
QUEEN.
What would she have?
GENTLEMAN.
She speaks much of her father, says she hears
There's tricks i' th' world, and hems, and beats her heart;
Spurns enviously at straws; speaks things in doubt,
That carry but half sense. Her speech is nothing,
Yet the unshaped use of it doth move
The hearers to collection; ’they aim at it,’
’And botch the words up fit to their own thoughts;’
Which, as her winks and nods and gestures yield them,
’Indeed would make one think there might be thoughts,’
Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily.
HORATIO.
'Twere good she were spoken with; for she may strew
Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds.
QUEEN.
Let her come in.
Enter Ophelia.
OPHELIA.
Where is the beauteous Majesty of Denmark?
QUEEN.
How now, Ophelia?
OPHELIA (sings).
How should I your true-love know
From another one?
By his cockle hat and staff
And his sandal shoon.
-- 316 --
QUEEN.
Alas, sweet lady, what imports this song?
OPHELIA.
Say you? Nay, pray you mark.
(Sings.)
He is dead and gone, lady,
He is dead and gone;
At his head a grass-green turf,
At his heels a stone.
O, ho!
QUEEN.
Nay, but Ophelia—
OPHELIA.
Pray you mark.
(Sings.)
White his shroud as the mountain snow,
Larded all with sweet flowers;
Which beweept to the ground did not go
With true love-showers.
Enter King.
’QUEEN.
Alas! look here, my lord.’
KING.
How do you, pretty lady?
OPHELIA.
Well, good dil'd you! They say the owl was a baker's daughter.
We know what we are, but know not what we may be.
KING.
Conceit upon her father.
OPHELIA.
Pray let's have no words of this; but when they ask you what
it means, say this:
(Sings.)
Tomorrow is St. Valentine's Day,
All in the morning betime;
And I a maid at your window,
To be your valentine.
KING.
Pretty Ophelia!
OPHELIA.
Indeed, without an oath, I'll make an end on't!
Then up he rose and donned his clothes
And ope'd his chamber door;
Let in the maid, that out a maid
Never departed more.
By Gis and by St. Charity,
’Alack, and fie for shame!
’Young men will do't if they come to't.
’By cock, they are to blame.
’Quoth she, “Before you tumbled me,
’You promised me to wed.”
’(He answers) So should I have done, by yonder sun,
’And thou hadst not come to my bed.’
-- 317 --
KING.
How long hath she been thus?
OPHELIA.
I hope all will be well. We must be patient; but I cannot
choose but weep to think they would 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.
O, this is the poison of deep grief; it springs
All from her father's death. ’O Gertrude, Gertrude,
’When sorrows come, they come not single spies,
’But in battalions! First, her father slain;
’Next, your son gone, and he most frantic 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,
’Obscurely to inter him; poor Ophelia
’Divided from herself and her fair judgment,
’Without which we're but pictures or mere beasts.
’Last, and as much containing as all these,
’Her brother, tempest-beaten back to Denmark.
’Feeds on this wonder, keeps himself in clouds,
’And wants not whispers to infect his ear
’With pestilent speeches of his father's death.
A noise within.
Enter Gentleman.
QUEEN.
Alack, what noise is this?
KING.
’Where are my Swissers? Let 'em guard the door.’
What is the matter?
GENTLEMAN.
’Save yourself, my lord.
’The ocean, over-piercing of his list,
’Eats not the flats with more impetuous haste
’Than' young Laertes in a riotous head,
O'erbears your officers. The rabble call him lord;
’And, as the world were now but to begin,
-- 318 --
’Antiquity forgot, custom not known,
’They cry “Choose we Laertes for our king!”’
Caps, hands, and tongues applaud it to the clouds,
“Laertes shall be king! Laertes king!”
A noise within.
’KING.
The doors are broke!’
LAERTES (within).
Where is the King? Sirs, stand you all without.
ALL.
No, let's come in.
LAERTES.
I pray you give me leave.
ALL.
We will, we will!
LAERTES.
I thank you. Keep the door.
Enter Laertes.
O thou vile King, give me my father.
QUEEN.
Calmly, good Laertes.
LAERTES.
That drop of blood that's calm proclaims me bastard;
Cries cuckold to my father, brands the harlot
Ev'n here between the chaste unsmitched brows
Of my true mother.
KING.
What is the cause, Laertes,
That thy rebellion looks so giantlike?
Let him go, Gertrude. Do not fear our person.
There's such divinity doth hedge a king
That treason dares not reach at what it would.
’Tell me,’ Laertes,
’Why thou art thus incensed? Let him go, Gertrude.’
LAERTES.
Where is my father?
KING.
Dead.
QUEEN.
But not by him.
KING.
Let him demand his fill.
LAERTES.
How came he dead? I'll not be juggled with:
To hell, allegiance! vows, to the blackest devil!
To this point I stand,
That both the worlds I give to negligence,
Let come what comes; only I'll be revenged
Most thoroughly for my father.
-- 319 --
KING.
Who shall stay you?
LAERTES.
My will, not all the world!
And for my means, I'll husband them so well
They shall go far with little.
KING.
Will you in revenge of your
Dear father's death destroy both friend and foe?
LAERTES.
None but his enemies.
KING.
Will you know them then?
LAERTES.
To his good friends thus wide I'll ope my arms
And, like the kind life-rend'ring 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. Go but apart,
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 touched, we will our kingdom give
To you in satisfaction; but if not,
Be you content to lend your patience to us,
And we shall jointly labor with your soul
To give it due content.
LAERTES.
Let this be so.
His means of death, his obscure funeral—
No trophy sword, or hatchment o'er his bones,
No noble rite nor formal ostentation,—
Cry to be heard, as 'twere from earth to heaven,
That I must call't in question.
KING.
So you shall;
And where th' offense is let the great ax fall.
I pray you go with me.
-- 320 --
Noise within. As they are going they see Ophelia.
LAERTES (within).
O my poor Ophelia!—Let her come in.
Enter Ophelia.
By heaven, thy madness shall be paid with weight
Till our scale turn the beam. O rose of May!
Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia!
O heavens! is't possible a young maid's wits
Should be as mortal as a sick man's life?
OPHELIA (sings).
They bore him barefaced on the bier,
And in his grave rained many a tear;
Fare you well, my love.
LAERTES.
Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade revenge,
It could not move thus.
OPHELIA.
You must sing “Down a-down,” and you, “Call him a-down-a.”
O how the wheel becomes it! It is the false steward that stole his
master's daughter.
LAERTES.
This nothing is much more than matter.
OPHELIA.
There's rosemary, that's for remembrance. Pray you, love,
remember. And there's pansies, that's for thoughts.
LAERTES.
A document in madness! Thoughts and remembrance fitted.
OPHELIA.
There's fennel for you, and columbines. There's rue for you,
and here's some for me. We may call it herb of grace o' Sundays.
O, you may wear your rue with a difference. There's a daisy. I
would give you some violets, but they all withered when my father
died. They say he made a good end.
(Sings.)
For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy.
LAERTES.
Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself,
She turns to favor and to prettiness.
OPHELIA.
And will he not come again?
And will he not come again?
-- 321 --
No, no, he is dead;
Go to thy deathbed;
He never will come again.
His beard as white as snow,
All flaxen was his poll.
He is gone, he is gone,
And we cast away moan;
And peace be with his soul,
And with all lovers' souls.
Exit.
LAERTES.
O treble woe
Fall ten times double on that cursed head
Whose wicked deed deprived thee of
Thy most ingenious sense! Let me but see him heaven!
'Twould warm the very sickness of my heart,
That I should live and tell him to his teeth
“Thus didst thou!”
[Enter Hamlet.]
HAMLET.
What is he whose griefs
Bear such an emphasis? whose phrase of sorrow
Conjures the wand'ring stars, and makes them stand
Like wonder-wounded hearers? This is I,
Hamlet the Dane!
LAERTES.
Then my revenge is come.
(Draws his sword.)
HAMLET.
I prithee take thy fingers from thy sword,
-- 322 --
For, though I am not splenetive and rash,
Yet have I in me something dangerous,
Which let thy wisdom fear.
KING.
Keep them asunder.
HAMLET.
Why, I'll fight with him upon this theme
Until my eyelids will no longer wag.
QUEEN.
O my son, what theme?
HAMLET.
I loved Ophelia. Forty thousand brothers
Could not (with all their quantity of love)
Make up my sum. What wilt thou do for her?
KING.
O, he is mad, Laertes.
HAMLET.
Show me what thou wilt do.
Wilt weep? wilt fight? wilt fast? wilt tear thyself?
Wilt drink up eisell? eat a crocodile?
I'll do't! and more—nay, and you'll mouth it, sir,
I'll rant as well as thou—
QUEEN.
O Hamlet—Hamlet—
For love of heav'n forbear him!—
(To Laertes.)
KING.
We will not bear this insult to our presence.
Hamlet, I did command you hence to England.
Affection hitherto has curbed my power,
But you have trampled on allegiance,
And now shall feel my wrath.—Guards!
HAMLET.
First feel mine!—
(Stabs him.)
-- 323 --
Here, thou incestuous, murd'rous, damned Dane.
There's for thy treachery, lust, and usurpation!
KING.
O yet defend me, friends; I am but hurt—
(Falls and dies.)
QUEEN.
O mercy, heaven!—Save me from my son—
(Runs out).
LAERTES.
What treason, ho! Thus then do I revenge
My father, sister, and my King—
Hamlet runs upon Laertes's sword and falls.
HORATIO.
And I, my prince and friend—
(Draws.)
HAMLET.
Hold, good Horatio! 'Tis the hand of heav'n
Administers by him this precious balm
For all my wounds. Where is the wretched Queen?
Enter Messenger.
MESSENGER.
Struck with the horror of the scene, she fled.
But 'ere she reached her chamber door she fell
Entranced and motionless—unable to sustain the load
Of agony and sorrow—
HAMLET.
O, my Horatio—watch the wretched Queen,
When from this trance she wakes—O, may she breathe
An hour of penitence 'ere madness ends her.
Exchange forgiveness with me, brave Laertes,
Thy sister's, father's death, come not on me,
Nor mine on thee!
LAERTES.
Heaven make us free of 'em.
HAMLET.
O, I die, Horatio!—But one thing more.
O take this hand from me—unite your virtues—
(Joins Horatio's hand to Laertes'.)
To calm this troubled land. I am no more;
Nor have I more to ask but mercy, heav'n!
(Dies.)
HORATIO.
Now cracks a noble heart. Goodnight, sweet prince,
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.
Take up the body; such a sight as this
Becomes the field, but here shows much amiss.
