Ber.
Who's there? ^note

Fra.
Nay, answer me; stand, and unfold
Yourself.

Ber.
Long live the king!

Fra.
Bernardo?

Ber.
He.

Fra.
You come most carefully upon your hour.

Ber.
'Tis now strook ^note twelve; get thee to bed, Francisco.

Fra.
For this relief, much thanks: 'tis bitter cold,
And I am sick at heart.

Ber.
Have you had quiet guard?

Fra.
Not a mouse stirring.

Ber.
Well, good night.
If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus,
The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste. Enter Horatio, and Marcellus.

Fra.
I think, I hear them:—Stand, ho! ^note who is there?

Hor.
Friends to this ground:

Mar.
And liegemen to the Dane.

Fra.
Give you good night.

Mar.
O, farewel, honest soldier: ^note
Who hath reliev'd you?

Fra.
Bernardo hath my ^note place:
Give you good night. [Exit Francisco.

Mar.
Hola! Bernardo!

Ber.
Say,
What, is Horatio there?

Hor.
A piece of him.

Ber.
Welcome, Horatio;—welcome, good Marcellus.

Hor.
What, ^note has14Q1413 this thing appear'd again to-night?

Ber.
I have seen nothing.

Mar.
Horatio says, 'tis but our fantasy; ^note
And will not let belief take hold of him,
Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us:
Therefore I have intreated 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.

Hor.
Tush, tush, 'twill not appear.

Ber.
Sit down a while;
And let us once again assail your ears,
That are so fortify'd against our story,
What we have two nights ^note seen.

Hor.
Well, sit we down,
And let us hear Bernardo speak of this.

Ber.
Last night of all,
When yon' same star, that's westward from the pole,
Had made his course t'illume ^{note note} that part of heaven

Where now it burns, Marcellus, and myself,
The bell then beating one,— Enter Ghost.

Mar.
Peace, break thee off; look, where it comes again!

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

Mar.
Thou art a scholar, speak to it, Horatio.

Ber.
Looks it not ^note like the king? mark it, Horatio.

Hor.
Most like: it harrows ^note me with fear, and wonder.

Ber.
It would be spoke to.

Mar.
Speak to it ^note, Horatio.

Hor.
What art thou, that usurp'st this time of night,
Together with that fair and warlike form
In which the majesty of bury'd Denmark
Did sometimes march? by heaven I charge thee, speak.

Mar.
It is offended.

Ber.
See, it stalks away.

Hor.
Stay; speak ^note; I charge thee, speak. [Exit Ghost.

Mar.
'Tis gone, and will not answer.

Ber.
How now, Horatio? you tremble, and look pale:
Is not this something more than fantasy?
What think you on't? ^note

Hor.
Before my God, I might not this believe
Without the sensible and true avouch
Of mine own eyes.

Mar.
Is it not like the king?

Hor.
As thou art to thyself:
Such was the very ^note armour he had on,
When he ^note the ambitious Norway combated:
So frown'd he once, when, in an angry parle,
He smote ^note the sledded ^note Polack ^note on the ice.
'Tis strange.

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

Hor.
In what particular thought to work, I know not;
But, in the gross and scope of mine opinion, ^note
This bodes some strange eruption to our state.

Mar.
Good now sit down, and 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 cast ^note of brazen cannon,
And foreign mart for implements of war;
Why such impress of ship-wrights, whose sore task
Does not divide the sunday from the week:
What might be toward, that this sweaty haste
Doth make the night joint-labourer with ^note the day;
Who is't, that can inform me?

Hor.
That can I;
At least, the whisper goes so. Our last king,
Whose image even but now appear'd to us,
Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway,
Thereto prick'd on by a most emulate pride,
Dar'd to the combat; in which, our valiant Hamlet
(For so this side of our known world esteem'd him)
Did slay this Fortinbras: who, by a seal'd compact,
Well ratify'd by law, and heraldry14Q1414,
Did forfeit, with his life, all those ^note his lands,
Which he stood seiz'd of, ^note to the conqueror:
Against the which, a moiety competent
Was gaged by our king; which had return ^note
To the inheritance of Fortinbras,
Had he been vanquisher; ^note as, by the same comart ^note,
And carriage of the article ^note design'd ^note,
His fell to Hamlet: Now, sir, young Fortinbras,

Of unimproved mettle hot and full,
Hath in the skirts of Norway, here and there,
Shark'd up a list of lawless ^note resolutes,
For food and diet, to some enterprize
That hath a stomack in't; which is ^note no other,
(As it ^note doth well appear unto our state)
But to recover of us, by strong hand,
And terms compulsatory, ^note those foresaid 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.

Ber.
I think, it be no other, but even so: ^note
Well may it sort, that this portentous figure
Comes armed through our watch; so like the king
That was, and is the question of these wars.

Hor.
A mote ^note it is, to trouble the mind's eye.
In the most high and palmy state of Rome,
A little ere the mightiest Julius fell,
The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead
Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets;
Stars shone14Q1415 with trains of fire; dews of blood fell;
Disasters dim'd the ^note sun; and the moist star,
Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands,
Was sick almost to dooms-day with eclipse.
And even the like precurse of fierce ^note events,—
As harbingers preceding still the fates,
And prologue to the omen ^note coming on,—
Have heaven and earth together demonstrated
Unto our climatures and countrymen. Re-enter Ghost.
But, soft; behold; lo, where it comes again!

I'll cross it, though it blast me.—Stay, illusion;
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:
If thou art privy to thy country's fate,
Which, hapily, 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 ^note oft walk in death,
Speak of it; [Cock crows.] stay, and speak.—Stop it, Marcellus.

Mar.
Shall I strike at ^note it with my partizan?

Hor.
Do, if it will not stand.

Ber.
'Tis here.

Hor.
'Tis here.

Mar.
'Tis gone. [Exit Ghost.
We do it wrong, being so majestical,
To offer it the show ^note of violence;
For it is, as the air, invulnerable,
And our vain blows malicious mockery.

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

Hor.
And then it started, like a guilty thing
Upon a fearful summons. I have heard,
The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn, ^note
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,
The extravagant and erring spirit hies
To his confine: and of the truth herein
This present object made probation.

Mar.
It faded on the crowing of the cock.
Some say, ^note that ever 'gainst that season comes
Wherein our saviour's birth is celebrated,
This bird ^note of dawning singeth all night long:
And then ^note, they say, no spirit dares ^note stir abroad ^note;
The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike,
No fairy takes ^note, no witch hath power to charm,
So hallow'd and so gracious is the time. ^note

Hor.
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 eastward ^note hill:
Break we our watch up; and, by my advice,
Let us impart what we have seen to-night
Unto young Hamlet; for, upon my life,
This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him:
Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it,
As needful in our loves, fitting our duty?

Mar.
Let's do't, I pray; and I this morning know
Where we shall find him most convenient. ^note [Exeunt. SCENE II. The same. A Room of State in the same. Enter King, Queen, and Hamlet; with Polonius, Laertes, Lords, &c. Voltimand, and Cornelius.

Kin.
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 sometime ^note sister, now our queen,

The imperial jointress of this ^note warlike state,
Have we, as 'twere, with a defeated joy,—
With one auspicious, and one dropping ^note eye;
With mirth in funeral, and with dirge in marriage;
In equal scale weighing delight and dole,—
Taken to wife: nor have we herein bar'd
Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone
With this affair along: For all, our thanks.
Now follows, that you know, young Fortinbras,—
Holding a weak supposal of our worth;
Or thinking, by our late dear brother's death,
Our state to be disjoint and out of frame,—
Co-leagued with this ^note dream of his advantage,
He hath not fail'd to pester us with message,
Importing the surrender of those lands
Lost by his father, with all bands ^note 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 bed-rid ^note, scarcely hears
Of this his nephew's purpose,—to suppress
His further gait herein; in that the levies,
The lists, and full proportions, are all made
Out of his subject: ^note—and we here dispatch
You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltimand, ^note
For bearers of ^note this greeting to old Norway;
Giving to you no further personal power
To business with the king, more than the scope
Of these &dagger2; dilated ^note articles allow.
Farewel; and let your haste commend your duty.

Cor. Vol.
In that, and all things, will we show ^note our duty.

Kin.
We doubt it nothing; heartily farewel.— [Exeunt Voltimand, and Cornelius.
And now, Laertes, what's the news with you?
You told us of some suit; What is't, Laertes?
You cannot speak of reason to the Dane,
And lose ^note your voice: What would'st thou beg, Laertes,
That shall not be my offer, not thy asking?
The head is not14Q1416 more native to the heart,
The hand more instrumental to the mouth,
Than to the throne of Denmark is ^note thy father.
What would'st thou have, Laertes?

Lae.
My dread ^note lord,
Your leave and favour 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 ^note France,
And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon.

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

Pol.
He hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow leave ^note
By laboursome petition; and, at last,
Upon his will I seal'd my hard consent:
I do beseech you, give him leave to go.

Kin.
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,—

&clquo;Ham.
&clquo;A little more than kin, and less than kind.&crquo;

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

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

Que.
Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted ^note colour off,
And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark.
Do not, for ever, with thy vailed ^note lids

Seek for thy noble father in the dust:
Thou know'st, 'tis common; all, that live ^note, must die,
Passing through nature to eternity.

Ham.
Ay, madam, it is common.

Que.
If it be,
Why seems it so particular with thee?

Ham.
Seems, madam! nay, it is; I know not seems.
'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother ^note,
Nor customary suits of solemn black,
Nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath,
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,
Nor the dejected 'haviour of the visage,
Together with all forms, modes, shapes of ^note grief,
That can denote ^note me truly: These, indeed, seem,
For they are actions that a man might play:
But I have that within, which passes ^note show;
These, but the trappings and the suits of woe.

Kin.
'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet,
To give these mourning duties to your father:
But, you must know, your father lost a father;
That father, lost, lost his; and the surviver bound,
In filial obligation, for some term
To do obsequious sorrow ^note: But to persever
In obstinate condolement, is a course
Of impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief:
It shows a will most incorrect to heaven;
A heart unfortify'd, or mind ^note impatient;
An understanding simple and unschool'd:
For what, we know, must be, and is as common
As any the most vulgar thing to sense,
Why should we, in our peevish opposition,
Take it to heart? Fie! 'tis a fault to heaven,

A fault against the dead, a fault to nature,
To reason most absurd; whose common theme
Is death of fathers; and who still hath cry'd,
From the first corse ^note 'till he that dy'd to-day,
This must be so. We pray you, throw to earth
This unprevailing woe; and think of us
As of a father: for, let the world take note,
You are the most immediate to our throne;
And, with no less14Q1417 nobility of love
Than that which dearest father bears his son,
Do I impart toward ^note you. For your intent
In going back to school in Wittenberg ^note,
It is most retrograde to our desire:
And, we beseech you, bend you to remain
Here, in the chear and comfort of our eye,
Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son.

Que.
Let not thy mother lose ^note her prayers, Hamlet;
I pray thee ^note, stay with us, go not to Wittenberg.

Ham.
I shall in all my best obey you, madam.

Kin.
Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply;
Be as ourself ^note in Denmark.—Madam, come;
This gentle and unforc'd accord of Hamlet
Sits smiling to my heart: in grace whereof,
No jocond health, that Denmark drinks to-day,
But the great cannon ^note to the clouds shall tell;
And the king's rouze the heavens ^note shall bruit again,
Respeaking earthly thunder. Come, away. [Exeunt King, Queen, Lords, &c. Pol. and Lae.

Ham.
O, that this too-too-solid ^note flesh would melt,
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew!
Or that the everlasting had not fix'd
His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God, o God! ^note

How weary, ^note stale, flat, and unprofitable
Seem ^note to me all the uses of this world!
Fie on't! ah, fie! 'tis ^note an unweeded garden,
That grows to seed; things rank, and gross in nature,
Possess it meerly. That it should come to this ^note!
But two months dead;—nay, not so much, not two:
So excellent a king; that was, to this,
Hyperion to a satyr: so loving to my mother,
That he might not let e'en the ^{note note} winds of heaven
Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth!
Must I remember? why, she would ^note hang on him,
As if encrease of appetite had grown
By what it fed on: And yet, within a month,—
Let me not think on't; Frailty, thy name is woman:—
A little month; or ere those shoes were old,
With which she follow'd my poor father's body,
Like Niobe, all tears; why she, even she, ^note—
O heaven! a ^note beast, that wants discourse of reason,
Would have mourn'd longer,—marry'd with my uncle ^note,
My father's brother; but no more like my father,
Than I to Hercules: Within a month;
Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears
Had left the flushing in her ^note gauled eyes,
She marry'd:—O most wicked speed, to post
With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!
It is not, nor it cannot come to, good:
But break, my heart; for I must hold my tongue. Enter Horatio, Marcellus, and Bernardo.

Hor.
Hail to your lordship.

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

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

Ham.
Sir, my good friend; I'll change that name with you.
And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio?—
Marcellus?

Mar.
My good lord,—

Ham.
I am very glad to see you; good even, sir.—
But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg?

Hor.
A truant disposition, good my lord.

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

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

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

Hor.
Indeed, my lord, it follow'd ^note hard upon.

Ham.
Thrift, thrift, Horatio; the funeral bak'd meats
Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.
'Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven,
Or ever I had seen ^note that day, Horatio!—
My father,—Methinks, I see my father.

Hor.
Where ^note, my lord?

Ham.
In my mind's eye, Horatio.

Hor.
I saw him once, he was a ^note goodly king.

Ham.
He was a ^note man, take him for all in all,
I shall not ^note look upon his like again.

Hor.
My lord, I think I saw him yesternight.

Ham.
Saw! who?

Hor.
My lord, the king your father.

Ham.
The king my father!

Hor.
Season your admiration for a while

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

Ham.
For God's love ^note, let me hear.

Hor.
Two nights together had these gentlemen,
Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch,
In the dead waste ^note and middle of the night,
Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your father,
Armed at point ^note, exactly, cap-a-pe,
Appears before them, and, with solemn march,
Goes slow and stately by them: thrice he walk'd,
By their opprest and fear-surprized eyes,
Within his ^note truncheon's length; whilst they, distill'd ^note14Q1418
Almost to jelly with the act of fear,
Stand dumb and speak not to him. This to me
In dreadful secresy impart they did;
And I with them, the third night, kept the watch:
Where, as they had deliver'd, both in time,
Form of the thing, each word made true and good,
The apparition comes: I knew your father,
These hands are not more like.

Ham.
But where was this?

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

Ham.
Did you not speak to it?

Hor.
My lord, I did;
But answer made it none: yet once, methought,
It lifted up it's 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 vanish'd from our sight.

Ham.
'Tis very strange.

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

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

Mar. Ber.
We do, my lord ^note.

Ham.
Arm'd, say you?

Mar. Ber.
Arm'd, my lord ^note.

Ham.
From top to toe?

Mar. Ber.
My lord, from head to foot ^note.

Ham.
Then saw you not his face.

Hor.
O, yes, my lord; he wore his beaver up.

Ham.
What, look'd he frowningly?

Hor.
A countenance more
In sorrow than in anger.

Ham.
Pale, or red?

Hor.
Nay, very pale.

Ham.
And fix'd his eyes upon you?

Hor.
Most constantly.

Ham.
I would, I had been there.

Hor.
It would have much amaz'd you.

Ham.
Very like, ^note
Very like: Stay'd it long?

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

Mar. Ber.
Longer, ^note longer.

Hor.
Not when I saw't.

Ham.
His beard was grizl'd? no? ^note

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

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

Hor.
I war'nt, it ^note will.

Ham.
If it assume my noble father's person,
I'll speak to it, though hell itself should gape,
And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all,
If you have hitherto conceal'd this sight,
Let it be tenable in ^note your silence still;
And whatsoever ^note else shall hap to-night,
Give it an understanding, but no tongue;
I will requite your loves: So, fare you well: ^note
Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve,
I'll visit you.

Hor. Mar. Ber.
Our duty ^note to your honour.

Ham.
Your loves ^note, as mine to you: Farewel. [Exeunt Hor. Mar. and Ber.
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 ^note will rise,
Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes. [Ex. SCENE III. The same. A Room in Polonius' Apartment. Enter Laertes, and Ophelia.

Lae.
My necessaries are embark'd ^note; farewel:
And, sister, as the winds give benefit,
And convoy is assistant ^note, do not sleep,
But let me hear from you.

Oph.
Do you doubt that?

Lae.
For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favour, ^note
Hold it a fashion, and a toy in blood;
A violet in the youth of primy nature ^note,
Forward ^note, not permanent, sweet, but not lasting,
The perfume and ^note suppliance of a minute,
No more.

Oph.
No more but so?

Lae.
Think it no more:
For nature, crescent14Q1419, does not grow alone
In thews, and bulk; ^note but, as this temple waxes,
The inward service of the mind and ^note soul
Grows wide withal. Perhaps, he loves you now;
And now no soil ^note, nor cautel, doth besmirch
The virtue of his will: but, you must fear, ^note
His greatness weigh'd, his will is not his own:
For he himself is subject to his birth: ^note
He may not, as unvalu'd persons do,
Carve for ^note himself; for on his choice depends
The sanity ^note and health of the ^note whole state;
And therefore must his choice be circumscrib'd
Unto the voice and yielding of that body,
Whereof he is the head: Then if he says, he loves you,
It fits your wisdom so far to believe it,
As he in his particular act and place ^note
May give his saying deed; which is no further,
Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal.
Then weigh what loss your honour may sustain,
If with too ^note credent ear you list his songs;
Or lose ^note your heart; or your chast treasure open
To his unmaster'd importunity:
Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister;
And keep you in the ^note rear of your affection,
Out of the shot and danger of desire.
The chariest maid is prodigal enough,
If she unmask her beauty to the moon:
Virtue itself scapes not calumnious strokes:
The canker galls the infants ^note of the spring,
Too oft before their buttons ^note be disclos'd;

And in the morn and liquid dew of youth
Contagious blastments are most imminent.
Be wary then: best safety lies in fear;
Youth to itself rebels, though none else near.

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

Lae.
O, fear me not.
I stay too long;—But here my father comes:— Enter Polonius.
A double blessing is a double grace; [kneeling to Polonius.
Occasion smiles upon a second leave.

Pol.
Yet here, Laertes! aboard, aboard, for shame;
The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail,
And you are stay'd for: There, † my ^note blessing with you;
And these few precepts14Q1420 in thy memory
Look thou ^note character. Give thy thoughts no tongue,
Nor any unproportion'd thought his act.
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.
The friends ^note thou hast, and their adoption try'd,
Grapple them to thy ^note soul with hooks ^note of steal; ^note
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
Of each new-hatch'd ^note unfledg'd comrade. ^note Beware
Of entrance to a quarrel; but, being in,
Bear't that the opposed ^note may beware of thee.
Give every man thine ear, ^note but few thy voice:
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,

But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy:
For the apparel oft proclaims the man;
And they in France, of the best rank and station,
Are most ^{note note} select and generous, chief in that.
Neither a borrower, nor a lender be: ^note
For loan oft loses ^note both itself and friend;
And borrowing ^note dulls ^note the edge of husbandry.
This above all,—To thine own self be true;
And it must follow, as the night the day, ^note
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
Farewel; my blessing season this in thee!

Lae.
Most humbly do I take my leave, my lord.

Pol.
The time invests you; ^note go, your servants tend.

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

Oph.
'Tis in my memory lock'd,
And you yourself shall keep the key of it.

Lae.
Farewel. [Exit Laertes.

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

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

Pol.
Marry, well bethought:
'Tis told me, he hath very oft of late
Given private time to you; and you yourself
Have of your audience been most free and bounteous:
If it be so, (as so 'tis put on me,
And that in way of caution) I must tell you,
You do not understand yourself so clearly,
As it behoves my daughter, and your honour:
What is between you? give me up the truth.

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

Pol.
Affection? puh! you speak like a green girl,

Unsifted in such perilous circumstance.
Do you believe his tenders, as you call them?

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

Pol.
Marry, I will teach ^note you: think yourself a baby;
That you have ta'en these tenders ^note for true pay,
Which are not sterling. ^note Tender yourself more dearly,
Or (not to crack the wind of the poor phrase,
Wringing it ^{note note} thus) you'll tender me a fool.

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

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

Oph.
And hath given countenance to his speech, my lord,
With almost all the holy vows ^note of heaven.

Pol.
Ay, ^note to catch woodcocks. I do know,
When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul
Lends the ^note tongue vows: These blazes,14Q1421 gentle daughter,
Giving more light than heat,—extinct in both,
Even in their promise, as it is a making,—
You must not take for ^note fire. From this time, ^note
Be something ^note scanter of your maiden presence;
Set your entreatments at a higher rate,
Than a command to parley. ^note For lord Hamlet,
Believe so much in him, That he is young;
And with a larger tether ^note may he walk,
Than may be given you: In few, Ophelia,
Do not believe his vows: for they are brokers;
Not of that die ^note which their investments show,
But meer implorers ^note of unholy suits;
Breathing like sanctify'd and pious bawds ^note,
The better to beguile. ^note This is for all,—
I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth,
Have you so slander any moment's leisure ^note,

As to give words or talk with the lord Hamlet.
Look to't, I charge you; come your ways. ^note

Oph.
I shall
Obey, my lord. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. The same. The Platform. Enter Hamlet, Horatio, and Marcellus.

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

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

Ham.
What hour now?

Hor.
I think, it lacks of twelve.

Mar.
No, it is strook.

Hor.
Indeed? I heard it not: it then ^note draws near the season,
Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk. [Flourish of Trumpets, &c. and Ordinance going off, heard within.
What does this mean, my lord?

Ham.
The king14Q1422 doth wake to ^note-night, and takes his 'rouse,
Keeps wassel ^note, and the swaggering up-spring reels;
And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down,
The kettle-drum, and trumpet, thus bray out
The triumph of his pledge.

Hor.
Is it ^note a custom?

Ham.
Ay, marry, is't:
But, to my mind,—though I am native here,
And to ^note the manner born,—it is a custom
More honour'd in the breach, than the observance.
This heavy-headed revel east and west ^note
Makes us traduc'd ^note, and tax'd of other nations:
They clepe ^note us, drunkards, and with swinish phrase
Soil our addition; and, indeed, it takes
From our atchievements, though perform'd at height,

The pith and marrow of our attribute.
So oft it chances in particular men;
That, for some vicious mole of nature in them,—
As in their birth, (wherein they are not guilty,
Since nature cannot choose his origin)
By the o'er- ^notegrowth of some complexion,
Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason;
Or by some habit, that too much o'er-leavens
The form of plausive manners;—that these men,—
Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect;
Being nature's livery, or fortune's star,—
Their virtues ^note else (be they as pure as grace,
As infinite as man may undergo)
Shall in the general censure take corruption
From that particular fault: The dram of base ^{note note}
Doth all the noble substance of worth out ^note,
To his own scandal. ^note Enter Ghost.

Hor.
Look, my lord, it comes!

Ham.
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 ^note 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: O, answer me!
Let me not burst in ignorance! but tell,
Why thy canoniz'd bones, hearsed in death14Q1423,
Have burst their cearments; why the sepulcher,
Wherein we saw thee quietly interr'd, ^note
Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws,
To cast thee up again: What may this mean,—

That thou, dead corse, again, in compleat steel,
Revisit'st ^note 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 ^note of our souls?
Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we do?

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

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

Hor.
No, by no means.

Ham.
It will not speak; then I will ^note follow it.

Hor.
Do not, my lord.

Ham.
Why, what should be the fear?
I do not set my life at a pin's fee:
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.

Hor.
What, if14Q1424 it tempt you toward ^note the flood, my lord;
Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff ^note,
That beetles o'er his base into the sea?
And there assume ^note some other horrible form,
Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason,
And draw you into madness? think of it:
The very place puts toys of desperation, ^note
Without more motive, into every brain,
That looks so many fathoms to the sea,
And hears it roar beneath.

Ham.
It waves me ^note still:—
Go on, I'll follow thee,

Mar.
You shall not go, my lord.

Ham.
Hold off your hands. ^note

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

Ham.
My fate cries out,
And makes each petty artery ^note in this body
Hardy as ^note the Nemean ^note lion's nerve.—
Still am I call'd?—unhand me, gentlemen;
By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me:
I say, away:—Go on, ^note I'll follow thee. [Exeunt Ghost, and Hamlet.

Hor.
He waxes desperate with imagination ^note.

Mar.
Let's follow; 'tis not fit thus to obey him.

Hor.
Have after: To what issue will this come?

Mar.
Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.

Hor.
Heaven will direct it.

Mar.
Nay, let's follow him. [Exeunt. SCENE V. The same. Another Part of the same. Enter Ghost, and Hamlet.

Ham.
Whither wilt ^note thou lead me? speak, I'll go no further.

Gho.
Mark me.

Ham.
I will.

Gho.
My hour ^note is almost come,
When I to sulph'rous and tormenting flames
Must render up myself.

Ham.
Alas, poor ghost!

Gho.
Pity me not, but lend thy ^note serious hearing
To what I shall unfold.

Ham.
Speak, I am bound to hear. ^note

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

Ham.
What?

Gho.
I am thy father's spirit;

Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night;
And, for the day, confin'd to fast in fires,14Q1425
'Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature,
Are burnt and purg'd away. But that I am forbid
To tell the secrets of my prison-house,
I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word
Would harrow up thy soul; freeze thy young blood;
Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres;
Thy knotty ^note and combined locks to part,
And each particular hair to stand an end,
Like quills upon the fretful ^note porcupine:
But this eternal blazon must not be
To ears of flesh and blood: List, list, o list! ^note
If thou didst ever thy dear father love,—

Ham.
O heaven! ^note

Gho.
Revenge his foul and most unnatural murther.

Ham.
Murther?

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

Ham.
Haste ^note me to know't; ^note that I ^note, with wings as swift
As meditation ^note, or the thoughts of love,
May sweep to my revenge.

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

Ham.
O my prophetick soul! my uncle? ^note

Gho.
Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast,
With witchcraft of his wit, ^note with traiterous ^note gifts,
(O wicked wit, and ^note gifts, that have the power
So to seduce!) won to his ^note shameful lust
The will of my most seeming-virtuous queen:
O, Hamlet, what a ^note 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 mov'd,
Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven;
So lust, though to a radiant angel ^note link'd,
Will sate itself ^note in a celestial bed,
And prey ^note on garbage.
But, soft! methinks, I scent ^note the morning ^note air;
Brief let me be: Sleeping within my orchard ^note,
My custom always of the ^note afternoon,
Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole,
With juice of cursed hebenon ^note in a viol,
And in the porches of mine ears ^note did pour
The leperous distilment; whose effect
Holds such an enmity with blood of man,
That, swift as quick-silver, it courses through
The natural gates and allies of the body;
And, with a sudden vigour, it doth posset ^note
And curd, like eager ^note droppings into milk,
The thin and wholesome blood: so did it mine;
And a most instant tetter bark'd about, ^note
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 ^note, at once dispatch'd:
Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin,
Unhousel'd ^note,14Q1426 unanointed, ^note unanneal'd; ^note
No reck'ning made, but sent to my account
With all my imperfections on my head:
O horrible! o horrible! most horrible!
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 pursu'st ^note this act,
Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive
Against thy mother ought; leave her to heaven,
And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge,
To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once;
The glow-worm shews the matin to be near,
And 'gins to pale his uneffectual fire:
Adieu, adieu, adieu; remember ^note me. [Exit Ghost.

Ham.
O all you host of heaven! o earth! What else?
And shall I couple hell?—Hold ^note, hold ^note, my heart;14Q1427
And you, my sinews, grow not instant old,
But bear me stiffly up! ^note—Remember thee?
Ay, thou poor ghost, while ^note memory holds a seat
In this distracted globe. Remember thee?
Yea, from the table of my memory
I'll wipe away all trivial fond records,
All saws of ^note books, all forms, all pressures past,
That youth and observation copy'd there;
And thy commandment all alone shall live
Within the book and volume of my brain,
Unmix'd with baser matter: yes, ^note by heaven.

O most pernicious woman!
O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain!
My tables, ^note—meet it is, I set it down,
That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain;
At least, I'm sure, it may be so in Denmark:
So, uncle, there † you are: Now to my word;
It is,
Adieu, adieu; remember me. I have sworn't.

Hor. [within.]
My ^note lord, my lord,—

Mar. [within.]
Lord Hamlet,—

Hor. [within.]
Heaven ^note secure him!

Ham.
So ^note be it!

Mar. [within.]
Illo, ^note ho, ho, my lord!

Ham.
Hillo, ho, ho, boy! come, bird, come. ^note Enter Horatio, and Marcellus.

Mar.
How is't, my noble lord?

Hor.
What news, my lord? ^note

Ham.
O, wonderful!

Hor.
Good my lord, tell it.

Ham.
No; you will ^note reveal it.

Hor.
Not I, my lord, by heaven.

Mar.
Nor I, my lord.

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

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

Ham.
There's ne'er a villain, dwelling in all Denmark,
But he's an arrant knave.

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

Ham.
Why, right; you are i' 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 ^note, shall point you;—
For every man hath ^note business, and desire,
Such as it is,—and, for my own ^note poor part,
Look you, I will ^note go pray.

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

Ham.
I'm sorry, they offend you, heartily;
'Faith ^note, heartily.

Hor.
There's no offence, my lord.

Ham.
Yes, by saint Patrick, but there is, Horatio, ^note
And much offence too14Q1428. Touching this vision here,—
It is an honest ghost, that let me tell you:
For your desire to know what is between us,
O'er-master't ^note as you may. And now, good friends,
As you are friends, scholars, and soldiers,
Give me one poor request.

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

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

Hor. Mar.
My lord, we will not.

Ham.
Nay, but swear't.

Hor.
In faith,
My lord, not I.

Mar.
Nor I, my lord, in faith.

Ham.
Upon my † sword.

Mar.
We have sworn, my lord, already.

Ham.
Indeed, upon my sword, indeed.

Gho. [beneath.]
Swear.

Ham.
Ha, ha ^note, boy! say'st thou so? art thou there, true-penny?—
Come on,—you hear ^note this fellow in the cellaridge,—
Consent to swear.

Hor.
Propose the oath, my lord.

Ham.
Never to speak of this that you have seen,
Swear by my sword.

Gho. [beneath.]
Swear.

Ham.
Hic et ubique? then we'll shift our ground ^note:—
Come hither, gentlemen, ^note and lay your hands
Again upon my sword; Swear by my sword,
Never to speak of this that you have heard.

Gho. [beneath.]
Swear by his sword. ^note

Ham.
Well said, old mole! canst work i' the earth so ^note fast?
A worthy pioneer!—Once more remove, good friends. ^note

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

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

Gho. [beneath.]
Swear.

Ham.
Rest, rest, perturbed spirit.—So, gentlemen,
With all my love I do ^note commend me to you:
And what so poor a man as Hamlet is
May do, to express his love and friending to you,
God willing, shall not lack. Let us go in together;

And still your fingers on your lips, I pray.
The time is out of joint;—O cursed spight!
That ever I was born to set it right!—
Nay, come, let's go together. [Exeunt.

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