Marcellus.
Fran.
I think I hear them. Stand; who's there?
-- 346 --
Hor.
Friends to this ground.
Mar.
And liege-men to the Dane.
Fran.
Give you good-night.
Mar.
Oh farewel, honest soldier; who hath reliev'd you?
Fran.
Bernardo has my place: give you good-night.
[Exit Francisco.
Mar.
Holla, Bernardo.
Ber.
Say, what is Horatio there?
Hor.
A piece of him.
Ber.
Welcome Horatio, welcome good Marcellus.
Mar.
What, has this thing appear'd again to-night?
Ber.
I have seen nothing.
Mar.
Horatio says, 'tis but our phantasie,
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 fortified against our story,
What we have two nights 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 that part of heav'n
Where now it burns, Marcellus and my self,
The bell then beating one—
Mar.
Peace, break thee off;
-- 347 --
Enter the Ghost.
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 like the King? mark it, Horatio.
Hor.
Most like: it harrows me with fear and wonder.
Ber.
It would be spoke to.
Mar.
Speak to it, Horatio.
Hor.
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 sometime march? by Heav'n I charge thee speak.
Mar.
It is offended.
Ber.
See! it stalks away.
Hor.
Stay; speak; I charge thee, speak.
[Ex. Ghost.
Mar.
'Tis gone, and will not answer.
Ber.
How now, Horatio? you tremble and look pale.
Is not this something more than phantasie?
What think you of it?
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 thy self.
Such was the very armour he had on,
When he th' ambitious Norway combated:
So frown'd he once, when in an angry parle,
He smote the sleaded a notePolack on the ice.
'Tis strange—
Mer.
Thus twice before, and just at this b notedead hour,
With martial stalk, hath he gone by our watch.
-- 348 --
Hor.
In what particular thought to work, I know not:
But in the gross and scope of my opinion,
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 subjects of the land?
And why such daily cast 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 labourer with 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 prickt on by a most emulate pride)
Dar'd to the fight. In which, our valiant Hamlet,
(For so this side of our known world esteem'd him)
Did slay this Fortinbras: who by seal'd compact,
Well ratified by law and heraldry,
Did forfeit (with his life) all those his lands
Which he stood seiz'd of to the Conqueror:
Against the which, a moiety competent
Was gaged by our King; which had return
To the inheritance of Fortinbras,
Had he been vanquisher, as by that cov'nant
And carriage of the articles design'd,
His fell to Hamlet. Now young Fortinbras,
Of unimproved mettle hot and full,
Hath in the skirts of Norway, here and there,
Shark'd up a list of landless resolutes,
-- 349 --
For food and dyet, to some enterprize
That hath a stomach in't: which is no other,
And it doth well appear unto our state,
But to recover of us by strong hand
And terms compulsative, 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:
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 it is to trouble the mind's eye.
In the most high and † notepalmy state of Rome,
A little ere the mightiest Julius fell,
The graves stood tenantless, the sheeted dead
Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets,
Stars shon with trains of fire, dews of blood fell,
Disasters veil'd the sun, and the moist star
Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands,
Was sick almost to doom's-day with eclipse.
And even the like precurse of fierce events,
As harbingers preceding still the fates,
And prologue to the omen coming on,
Have heav'n and earth together demonstrated
Unto our climatures and country-men.
Enter Ghost again.
But soft, behold! lo, where it comes again!
I'll cross it, though it blast me. Stay, illusion!
[Spreading his arms.
-- 350 --
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 happily foreknowing may avoid,
Oh speak!—
Or, if thou hast uphoorded in thy life
Extorted treasure in the womb of earth,
[Cock crows.
For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death,
Speak of it. Stay, and speak—Stop it, Marcellus—
Mar.
Shall I strike it with my partizan?
Hor.
Do, if it will not stand.
Ber.
'Tis here—
Hor.
'Tis here—
Mer.
'Tis gone.
[Exit Ghost.
We do it wrong, being so majestical,
To offer it the shew 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,
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 hyes
To his confine. And of the truth herein,
This present object made probation.
Mar.
It faded on the crowing of the cock.
Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comes
Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,
-- 351 --
The bird of dawning singeth all night long:
And then, they say, no spirit walks abroad,
The nights are wholsome, then no planets strike,
No Fairy takes, no witch hath power to charm;
So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.
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 eastern hill;
Break we our watch up, and by my advice
Let us impart what we have seen to-night
Unto young Hamlet. For upon my life,
This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him:
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 conveniently.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
The Palace.
Enter Claudius King of Denmark, Gertrude the Queen, Hamlet,
Polonius, Laertes, Voltimand, Cornelius, lords and attendants.
King.
Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death
The memory be green; and that it fitted
To bear our hearts in grief, and our whole kingdom
To be contracted in one brow of woe;
Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature,
That we with wisest sorrow think on him,
Together with remembrance of our selves.
Therefore our sometime sister, now our Queen,
Th' imperial jointress of this warlike state,
Have we, as 'twere, with a defeated joy,
-- 352 --
With one auspicious, and one dropping eye,
With mirth in funeral, and with dirge in marriage,
In equal scale weighing delight and dole,
Taken to wife. Nor have we herein barr'd
Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone
With this affair along, (for all, our thanks.)
Now follows, that you know young Fortinbras,
Holding a weak supposal of our worth;
Or thinking by our late dear brother's death
Our state to be disjoint and out of frame,
Colleagued with this dream of his advantage;
He hath not fail'd to pester us with message,
Importing the surrender of those lands
Lost by his father, by all bands of law
To our most valiant brother. So much for him.
Now for our self, and for this time of meeting:
Thus much the business is. We have here writ
To Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras,
Who impotent and bed-rid, scarcely hears
Of this his nephew's purpose, to suppress
His further gate herein. In that the levies,
The lists, and full proportions are all made
Out of his subjects; and we here dispatch
You, good Cornelius, and you Voltimand,
For bearers of this greeting to old Norway;
Giving to you no further personal power
Of treaty with the King, more than the scope
Which these dilated articles allow.
Farewel, and let your haste commend your duty.
Vol.
In that, and all things, will we shew our duty.
King.
We doubt in nothing, heartily farewel.
[Exeunt Voltimand and Cornelius.
And now Laertes, what's the news with you?
-- 353 --
You told us of some suit. What is't, Laertes?
You cannot speak of reason to the Dane,
And lose your voice. What would'st thou beg, Laertes,
That shall not be my offer, not thy asking?
The head is not more native to the heart,
The hand more instrumental to the mouth,
Than is the Throne of Denmark to thy father.
What wouldst thou have, Laertes?
Laer.
My dread lord,
Your leave and favour to return to France;
From whence, though willingly I came to Denmark
To shew my duty in your coronation;
Yet now I must confess, that duty done,
My thoughts and wishes bend again tow'rd France:
And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon.
King.
Have you your father's leave? what says Polonius?
Pol.
He hath, my lord, by laboursome petition,
Wrung from me my slow leave; and at the last
Upon his will I seal'd my hard consent.
I do beseech you give him leave to go.
King.
Take thy fair hour, Laertes, time be thine,
And thy best graces; spend it at thy will.
But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son—
Ham.
A little more than kin, and less than kind.
King.
How is it that the clouds still hang on you?
Ham.
Not so my lord, I am too much i'th' sun.
Queen.
Good Hamlet cast thy b notenighted colour off,
And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark.
Do not, for ever, with thy veiled lids,
Seek for thy noble father in the dust;
Thou know'st 'tis common, all that live must die,
Passing through nature to eternity.
Ham.
Ay, madam, it is common.
-- 354 --
Queen.
If it be;
Why seems it so particular with thee?
Ham.
Seems, madam? nay, it is; I know not seems:
'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,
Nor customary suits of solemn black,
Nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath,
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,
Nor the dejected 'haviour of the visage,
Together with all forms, moods, shews of grief,
That can denote me truly. These may 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,
To give these mourning duties to your father:
But you must know, your father lost a father,
That father his, and the surviver bound
In filial obligation, for some term
To do obsequious sorrow. But to persevere
In obstinate condolement, is a course
Of impious stubborness, unmanly grief.
It shews a will most incorrect to heav'n,
A heart unfortify'd, a mind impatient,
An understanding simple, and unschool'd:
For what we know must be, and is as common
As any the must vulgar thing to sense,
Why should we, in our peevish opposition,
Take it to heart? fie! 'tis a fault to heav'n,
A fault against the dead, a fault to nature,
To reason most absurd, whose common theam
Is death of fathers, and who still hath cry'd,
From the first coarse, 'till he that died to-day,
“This must be so.” We pray you throw to earth
-- 355 --
This unprevailing woe, and think of us
As of a father: for let the world take note,
You are the most immediate to our throne,
And with no less nobility of love,
Than that which dearest father bears his son,
Do I impart tow'rd you. For your intent
In going back to school to Wittenberg,
It is most retrograde to our desire:
And we beseech you, bend you to remain
Here in the cheer and comfort of our eye,
Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son.
Queen.
Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet:
I pr'ythee stay with us, go not to Wittenberg.
Ham.
I shall in all my best obey you, madam.
King.
Why 'tis a loving, and a fair reply,
Be as our self in Denmark. Madam, come,
This gentle and unforc'd accord of Hamlet
Sits smiling to my heart, in grace whereof
No jocund health that Denmark drinks to-day,
But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell;
And the King's rowse the heav'n shall bruit again
Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come away.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
Manet Hamlet.
Ham.
Oh that this too-too solid flesh would melt,
Thaw, and resolve it self into a dew;
Or that the Everlasting had not fixt
His cannon 'gainst self-slaughter. Oh God! oh God!
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable
Seem to me all the uses of this world?
Fie on't! oh fie! 'tis an unweeded garden
-- 356 --
That grows to seed; things rank, and gross in nature
Possess it meerly that it should come thus.
But two months dead! nay, not so much; not two,—
So excellent a King, that was, to this,
Hyperion to a satyr: so loving to my mother,
That he permitted not the winds of heav'n
Visit her face too roughly. Heav'n and earth!
Must I remember?—why, she would hang on him,
As if increase of appetite had grown
By what it fed on; yet within a month?—
Let me not think—Frailty, thy name is woman!
A little month!—or e'er those shooes were old
With which she follow'd my poor father's body,
Like Niobe, all tears—Why she, ev'n she,—
Oh heav'n! a beast that wants discourse of reason
Would have mourn'd longer—married with mine uncle,
My father's brother; 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 gauled eyes,
She married. Oh 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.
SCENE IV.
Enter Horatio, Bernardo, and Marcellus.
Hor.
Hail to your lordship.
Ham.
I am glad to see you well,
Horatio? or I do forget my self?
Hor.
The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever.
Ham.
Sir, my good friend, I'll change that name with you:
-- 357 --
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 c notehear your enemy say so;
Nor shall you do mine ear that violence,
To make it truster of your own report
Against your self. I know you are no truant;
But what is your affair in Elsinoor?
We'll teach you to drink deep ere you depart.
Hor.
My lord, I came to see your father's funeral.
Ham.
I pr'ythee do not mock me, fellow-student;
I think it was to see my mother's wedding.
Hor.
Indeed, my lord, it follow'd hard upon.
Ham.
Thrift, thrift, Horatio: the funeral bak'd meats
Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.
Would I had met my dearest foe in heav'n,
Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio.
My father—methinks I see my father.
Hor.
Oh where, my lord?
Ham.
In my mind's eye, Horatio.
Hor.
I saw him once, he was a goodly King.
Ham.
He was a man, take him for all in all,
I shall not look upon his like again.
Hor.
My lord, I think I saw him yesternight.
Ham.
Saw! who?—
Hor.
My lord, the King your father.
Ham.
The King my father!
Hor.
Season your admiration for a while
With an attentive ear; 'till I deliver
Upon the witness of these gentlemen,
This marvel to you.
-- 358 --
Ham.
For heaven's love, let me hear.
Hor.
Two-nights together had these gentlemen,
Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch,
In the dead waste and middle of the night,
Been thus encountred. A figure like your father,
Arm'd at all points exactly, Cap-a-pe,
Appears before them, and with solemn march
Goes slow and stately by them; thrice he walk'd,
By their opprest and fear-surprized eyes,
Within his truncheon's length; whilst they (distill'd
Almost to jelly with the act of fear)
Stand dumb, and speak not to him. This to me
In dreadful secrecy impart they did,
And I with them the third night kept the watch,
Where as they had deliver'd both in time,
Form of the thing, each word made true and good,
The apparition comes. I knew your father:
These hands are not more like.
Ham.
But where was this?
Mar.
My lord, upon the platform where we watcht.
Ham.
Did you not speak to it?
Hor.
My lord, I did;
But answer made it none; yet once methought
It lifted up its head, and did address
It self to motion, like as it would speak:
But even then the morning cock crew loud;
And at the sound it shrunk in haste away,
And vanisht from our sight.
Ham.
'Tis very strange.
Hor.
As I do live, my honour'd lord, 'tis true;
And we did think it writ down in our duty
To let you know of it.
Ham.
Indeed, Sirs, but this troubles me.
-- 359 --
Hold you the watch to-night?
Both.
We do, my lord.
Ham.
Arm'd, say you?
Both.
Arm'd, my lord.
Ham.
From top to toe?
Both.
My lord, from head to foot.
Ham.
Then saw you not his face?
Hor.
Oh yes, my lord, he wore his beaver up.
Ham.
What, look'd he frowningly?
Hor.
A count'nance more in sorrow than in anger.
Ham.
Pale, or red?
Hor.
Nay, very pale.
Ham.
And fixt his eyes upon you?
Hor.
Most constantly.
Ham.
I would I had been there.
Hor.
It would have much amaz'd you.
Ham.
Very like; staid it long?
Hor.
While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred.
All.
Longer, longer.
Hor.
Not when I saw't.
Ham.
His beard was grisly?
Hor.
It was, as I have seen it in his life,
A sable-silver'd.
Ham.
I'll watch to-night; perchance 'twill walk again.
Hor.
I warrant you it will,
Ham.
If it assume my noble father's person,
I'll speak to it, tho' hell it self should gape
And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all,
If you have hitherto conceal'd this sight;
Let it be d notetreble in your silence still:
And whatsoever shall befall to-night,
Give it an understanding, but no tongue;
I will requite your loves: so, fare ye well.
-- 360 --
Upon the platform 'twixt eleven and twelve
I'll visit you.
All.
Our duty to your honour.
[Exeunt.
Ham.
Your love, as mine to you: farewel.
My father's spirit in arms! all is not well;
I doubt some foul play: would the night were come;
'Till then sit still, my soul: foul deeds will rise,
(Tho' all the earth o'erwhelm them) to mens eyes.
[Exit.
SCENE V.
An Apartment in Polonius's house.
Enter Laertes and Ophelia.
Laer.
My necessaries are imbark'd, farewel;
And sister, as the winds give benefit,
And convoy is assistant; do not sleep,
But let me hear from you.
Oph.
Do you doubt that?
Laer.
For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favours,
Hold it a fashion and a toy in blood,
A violet in the youth of primy nature,
Forward, not permanent, tho' sweet, not lasting,
e noteThe perfume, and suppliance of a minute;
No more.
Oph.
No more but so?
Laer.
Think it no more:
For nature crescent does not grow alone,
In † notethews and bulk; but as his temple waxes,
The inward service of the mind and soul
Grows wide withal. Perhaps he loves you now,
And now no f notesoil nor cautel doth besmerch
The virtue of his g notewill: but you must fear
-- 361 --
His greatness weigh'd, his will is not his own:
For he himself is subject to his birth;
He may not, as unvalued persons do,
Carve for himself; for on his choice depends
The sanctity and health of the whole state.
And therefore must his choice be circumscrib'd
Unto the voice and yielding of that body
Whereof he's head. Then if he says he loves you,
It fits your wisdom so far to believe it,
As he in his peculiar h noteact and place
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 credent ear you list his songs,
Or lose your heart; or your chaste treasure open
To his unmaster'd importunity.
Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister,
And keep within the rear of your affection,
Out of the shot and danger of desire.
The chariest maid is prodigal enough,
If she unmask her beauty to the moon:
Virtue it self scapes not calumnious strokes,
The canker galls the infants of the spring,
Too oft before their buttons be disclos'd;
And in the morn and liquid dew of youth
Contagious blastments are most imminent.
Be wary then, best safety lies in fear;
Youth to it self rebels, though none else near.
Oph.
I shall th' effects of this good lesson keep,
As watchman to my heart. But good my brother,
Do not, as some ungracious pastors do,
Shew me the steep and thorny way to heav'n;
Whilst like a puft and careless libertine,
-- 362 --
Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads,
† noteAnd recks not his own reed.
Laer.
Oh, fear me not.
SCENE VI.
Enter Polonius.
I stay too long;—but here my father comes:
A double blessing is a double grace;
Occasion smiles upon a second leave.
Pol.
Yet here, Laertes! get aboard for shame,
The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail,
And you are staid for there. My blessing with you;
And these few precepts in thy memory
See thou character. &plquo;Give thy thoughts no tongue,
&plquo;Nor any unproportion'd thought his act:
&plquo;Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar;
&plquo;The friends thou hast, and their adoption try'd,
&plquo;Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel:
&plquo;But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
&plquo;Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Beware
&plquo;Of Entrance to a quarrel: but being in,
&plquo;Bear't that th' opposed may beware of thee.
&plquo;Give ev'ry man thine ear; but few thy voice.
&plquo;Take each man's censure; but reserve thy judgment.
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
But not exprest in fancy; rich, not gaudy:
For the apparel oft proclaims the man,
And they in France of the best rank and station
Are most select and generous, chief in that.
Neither a borrower, nor a lender be;
For loan oft loses both it self and friend:
A borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
-- 363 --
This above all; to thine own self be true;
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
Farewel; my blessing season this in thee!
Laer.
Most humbly do I take my leave, my lord.
Pol.
The time invites you, go, your servants tend.
Laer.
Farewel Ophelia, and remember well
What I have said.
Oph.
'Tis in my mem'ry lockt,
And you your self shall keep the key of it.
Laer.
Farewel.
[Exit Laer.
Pol.
What is't, Ophelia, he said to you?
Oph.
So please you, something touching the lord Hamlet
Pol.
Marry, well bethought!
'Tis told me he hath very oft of late
Given private time to you; and you your self
Have of your audience been most free and bounteous.
If it be so, as so 'tis put on me,
And that in way of caution, I must tell you,
You do not understand your self 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'll teach you; think your self a baby,
That you have ta'en his tenders for true pay,
Which are not sterling. Tender your self more dearly;
Or (not to crack the wind of the poor phrase,)
Wronging it thus, you'll tender me a fool.
-- 364 --
Oph.
My lord, he hath importun'd me with love,
In honourable fashion.
Pol.
Ay, fashion you may call't: go to, go to.
Oph.
And hath giv'n count'nance to his speech, my lord,
With almost all the holy vows of heaven.
Pol.
Ay, springes to catch woodcocks. I do know
When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul
Lends the tongue vows. These blazes, oh my daughter,
Giving more light than heat, extinct in both,
Ev'n in their promise as it is a making,
You must not take for fire. From this time,
Be somewhat scanter of your maiden presence,
Set your intreatments at a highter rate,
Than a command to parley. For lord Hamlet,
Believe so much in him, that he is young;
And with a larger † notetether may he walk,
Than may be given you. In few, Ophelia,
Do not believe his vows; for they are brokers,
i noteNot of that die which their investments shew,
But meer implorers of unholy suits,
Breathing like sanctified and pious bonds,
The better to beguile. This is for all:
I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth,
Have you so slander any moment's leisure,
As to give words or talk with the lord Hamlet.
Look to't, I charge you; come your way.
Oph.
I shall obey, my lord.
[Exeunt.
-- 365 --
SCENE VII.
The Platform before the palace.
Enter Hamlet, Horatio, and Marcellus.
Ham.
The Air bites shrewdly; it is very cold.
Hor.
It is a nipping and an eager air.
Ham.
What hour now?
Hor.
I think it lacks of twelve.
Mar.
No, it is struck.
Hor.
I heard it not: it then draws near the season
Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk.
[Noise of warlike musick within.
What does this mean, my lord?
Ham.
The King doth wake to-night, and takes his rowse,
Keeps wassel, and the swagg'ring upstart 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 a custom?
Ham.
Ay marry is't:
But to my mind, though I am native here
And to the manner born, it is a custom
More honour'd in the breach, than the observance.* note
-- 366 --
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 heav'n, or blasts from hell,
Be thy k noteintents 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,
Let me not burst in ignorance; but tell
Why thy canoniz'd bones hearsed in death,
Have burst their cearments? why the sepulcher,
Wherein we saw thee quietly in-urn'd,
Hath ope'd his ponderous and marble jaws,
To cast thee up again? What may this mean?
That thou dead coarse again in compleat steel
Revisit'st 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.
Hor.
It beckons you to go away with it,
-- 367 --
As if it some impartment did desire
To you alone.
Mar.
Look with what courteous action
It waves you to a more removed ground:
But do not go with it.
Hor.
No, by no means.
[holding Hamlet.
Ham.
It will not speak; then I will follow it.
Hor.
Do not, my lord.
Ham.
Why, what should be the fear?
I do not set my life at a pin's fee;
And for my soul, what can it do to that?
Being a thing immortal as it self.
It waves me forth again.—I'll follow it—
Hor.
What if it tempt you tow'rd the flood, my lord?
Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff,
That beetles o'er his base into the sea;
And there assume some other horrible form,
Which might deprive your sov'reignty of reason,
And draw you into madness? think of it.
* noteThe very place puts toys of desperation,
Without more motive, into ev'ry brain,
That looks so many fadoms to the sea;
And hears it roar beneath.
Ham.
It waves me still: go on, I'll follow thee—
Mar.
You shall not go, my lord.
Ham.
Hold off your hand.
Hor.
Be rul'd, you shall not go.
Ham.
My fate cries out,
And makes each petty artery in this body
As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve:
Still am I call'd? unhand me, gentlemen—
[Breaking from them.
By heav'n I'll make a ghost of him that lets me—
-- 368 --
I say away—go on—I'll follow thee—
[Ex. Ghost and Ham.
Hor.
He waxes desp'rate with imagination.
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.
Heav'n will direct it.
Mar.
Nay, let's follow him.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VIII.
Re-Enter Ghost and Hamlet.
Ham.
Where wilt thou lead me? speak; I'll go no further.
Ghost.
Mark me.
Ham.
I will.
Ghost.
My hour is almost come,
When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames
Must render up my self.
Ham.
Alas poor Ghost!
Ghost.
Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing
To what I shall unfold.
Ham.
Speak, I am bound to hear.
Ghost.
So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear.
Ham.
What?
Ghost.
I am thy Father's spirit;
Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night,
And for the day, confin'd to fast in fires;
'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 and combined locks to part,
-- 369 --
And each particular hair to stand on end
Like quills upon the fretful porcupine:
But this eternal blazon must not be
To ears of flesh and blood; list, list, oh list!
If thou didst ever thy dear father love—
Ham.
Oh heav'n!
Ghost.
Revenge his foul and most unnatural murther.
Ham.
Murther?
Ghost.
Murther most foul, as in the best it is;
But this most foul, strange, and unnatural.
Ham.
Haste me to know, that I with wings as swift
As meditation or the thoughts of love,
May sweep to my revenge.
Ghost.
I find thee apt;
And duller shouldst thou be than fat weed
That rots it self in ease on Lethe's wharf,
Wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear:
'Tis given out, that sleeping in my orchard,
A serpent stung me. 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.
Oh my prophetick soul! my uncle?
Ghost.
Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast,
With witchcraft of his wit, with trait'rous gifts,
(Oh wicked wit, and gifts that have the power
So to seduce!) won to his shameful lust
The will of my most seeming virtuous Queen.
Oh Hamlet, what a falling off was there!
From me, whose love was of that dignity,
That it went hand in hand ev'n with the vow
I made to her in marriage; and to decline
-- 370 --
Upon a wretch, whose nat'ral gifts were poor
To those of mine!
But virtue, as it never will be mov'd,
Though lewdness court it in a shape of heav'n;
So lust, though to a radiant angel link'd,
Will sate it self in a celestial bed,
And prey on garbage—
But soft, methinks I scent the morning air—
Brief let me be; Sleeping within mine orchard,
My custom always in the afternoon,
Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole
With juice of cursed hebenon in a viol,
And in the porches of mine ears did pour
The leperous distilment; whose effect
Holds such an enmity with blood of man,
That swift as quick-silver it courses through
The nat'ral gates and allies of the body;
And with a sudden vigour it doth posset
And curd, like eager droppings into milk,
The thin and wholsome blood: so did it mine,
And a most instant tetter l notebark'd 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 dispatcht;
Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin,
† noteUnhouzzled, † noteunanointed, † noteunanel'd;
No reck'ning made, but sent to my account
With all my imperfections on my head.
Oh horrible! oh horrible! most horrible!
If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not;
-- 371 --
Let not the royal bed of Denmark be
A couch for luxury and damned incest.
But howsoever thou pursu'st this act,
Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive
Against thy mother ought; leave her to heav'n,
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 me.
[Exit.
Ham.
Oh all you host of heav'n! oh earth! what else?
And shall I couple hell? oh hold my heart—
And you my sinews, grow not instant old;
But bear me stiffly up; remember thee—
Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat
In this distracted globe; remember thee—
Yea, from the table of my memory
I'll wipe away all trivial fond records,
All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past,
That youth and observation copied there;
And thy commandment all alone shall live
Within the book and volume of my brain,
Unmixt with baser matter. Yes, by heav'n:
Oh most pernicious woman!
Oh villain, villain, smiling damned villain!
My tables,—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.
[Writing.
So uncle, there you are; now to my word;
It is; Adieu, adieu, remember me:
I've sworn it—
-- 372 --
SCENE IX.
Enter Horatio and Marcellus.
Hor.
My lord, my lord.
Mar.
Lord Hamlet.
Hor.
Heav'n secure him.
Mar.
So be it.
Hor.
Illo, ho, ho, my lord.
Ham.
Hillo, ho, ho, boy; come boy, come.
Mar.
How is't, my noble lord?
Hor.
What news, my lord?
Ham.
Oh wonderful!
Hor.
Good my lord, tell it.
Ham.
No, you'll reveal it.
Hor.
Not I, my lord, by heav'n.
Mar.
Nor I, my lord.
Ham.
How say you then, would heart of man once think it?
But you'll be secret?—
Both.
Ay, by heav'n, my lord.
Ham.
There's ne'er a villain dwelling in all Denmark,
But he is an arrant knave.
Hor.
There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave
To tell us this.
Ham.
Why right, you are i'th' right;
And so without more circumstance at all,
I hold it fit that we shake hands, and part;
You as your business and desires shall point you,
(For every man has business and desire,
Such as it is) and for my own poor part,
I will go pray.
Hor.
These are but wild and hurling words, my lord.
Ham.
I'm sorry they offend you, heartily;
Yes heartily.
-- 373 --
Hor.
There's no offence, my lord.
Ham.
Yes, by St. Patrick, but there is, my lord,
And much offence too. Touching this vision here—
It is an honest ghost, that let me tell you:
For your desire to know what is between us,
O'er-master't 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?
Ham.
Never make known what you have seen to-night.
Both.
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've sworn, my lord, already.
Ham.
Indeed, upon my sword, indeed.
Ghost.
Swear.
[Ghost cries under the stage.
Ham.
Ah ha boy, say'st thou so; art thou there truepenny?
Come on, you hear this fellow in the celleridge.
Consent to swear.
Hor.
Propose the oath, my lord.
Ham.
Never to speak of this that you have seen,
Swear by my sword.
Ghost.
Swear.
Ham.
Hic & ubique? then we'll shift our ground.
Come hither gentlemen,
And lay your hands again upon my sword.
Never to speak of this which you have heard,
Swear by my sword.
Ghost.
Swear.
Ham.
Well said, old mole, can'st work i'th' ground so fast?
A worthy pioneer! Once more remove, good friends.
-- 374 --
Hor.
Oh day and night! but this is wondrous strange.
Ham.
And therefore as a stranger give it welcome.
There are more things in heav'n and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy. But come,
Here as before, never so help you mercy,
(How strange or odd soe'er I bear my self,
As I perchance hereafter shall think meet
To put an antick disposition on)
That you at such time seeing me, never shall
With arms encumbred thus, or this head shake;
Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase;
As well—we know—or, we could, and if we would—
Or, if we list to speak—or, there be and if there might—
Or such ambiguous giving out to note,
That you know ought of me; this do ye swear.
So grace and mercy at your most need help you.
Swear.
Ghost.
Swear.
Ham.
Rest, rest, perturbed spirit. So, gentlemen,
With all my love I do commend me to you;
And what so poor a man as Hamlet is,
May do t' 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; oh cursed spight,
That ever I was born to set it right.
Nay, come, let's go together.
[Exeunt.
-- 375 --
ACT II.
SCENE I.
An Apartment in Polonius's house.
Enter Polonius, and Reynoldo.
Polonius.
Give him this mony, and these notes, Reynoldo.
Rey.
I will, my lord.
Pol.
You shall do marvellous wisely, good Reynoldo,
Before you visit him, to make inquiry
Of his behaviour.
Rey.
My lord, I did intend it.
Pol.
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 expence? 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, Reynoldo?
Rey.
Ay, very well, my lord.
Pol.
And in part him—but you may say—not well;
But if't 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 dishonour him; take heed of that;
-- 376 --
But, Sir, such wanton, wild, and usual slips,
As are companions noted and most known
To youth and liberty.
Rey.
As gaming, my lord—
Pol.
Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing,
Quarrelling, drabbing—You may go so far.
Rey.
My lord, that would dishonour him.
Pol.
Faith no, as you may season it in the charge;
You must not put another scandal on him,
That he is open to incontinency,
That's not my meaning; but breathe his faults so quaintly,
That they may seem the taints of liberty;
The flash and out-break of a fiery mind,
A savageness in unreclaimed blood
Of general assault.
Rey.
But, my good lord—
Pol.
Wherefore should you do this?
Rey.
Ay, my lord, I would know that.
Pol.
Marry, Sir, here's my drift,
And I believe it is a fetch of wit.
You laying these slight sallies on my son,
As 'twere a thing a little soil'd i'th' working,
Mark you your party in converse; him you would sound,
Having ever seen in the prenominate crimes,
The youth you speak of guilty, be assur'd
He closes with you in this consequence;
Good Sir, or so, or friend, or gentleman,
(According to the phrase or the addition,
Of man and country.)
Rey.
Very good, my lord.
Pol.
And then, Sir, does he this?
He do's—what was I about to say?
I was about to say a notesomething? where did I leave?—
-- 377 --
Rey.
At closes in the consequence.
Pol.
At closes in the consequence—Ay marry,
He closes thus. I know the gentleman,
I saw him yesterday, or t'other day,
Or then, with such and such, and as you say,
There was he gaming, there o'ertook in's rowse,
There falling out at tennis; or perchance,
I saw him enter such a house of sale,
Videlicet, a brothel, or so forth—See you now;
Your bait of falshood takes this carp of truth;
And thus do we of wisdom and of reach,
With windlaces, and with assays of byas,
By indirections find directions out:
So by my former lecture and advice
Shall you my son; you have me, have you not?
Rey.
My lord, I have.
Pol.
God b'w' you; fare you well.
Rey.
Good my lord—
Pol.
Observe his inclination in your self.
Rey.
I shall, my lord.
Pol.
And let him ply his musick.
Rey.
Well, my lord.
[Exit.
SCENE II.
Enter Ophelia.
Pol.
Farewel. How now Ophelia, what's the matter?
Oph.
Alas my lord, I have been so affrighted!
Pol.
With what, in the name of heav'n?
Oph.
My lord, as I was sowing in my closet,
Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbrac'd,
No hat upon his head, his stockings foul'd,
Ungarter'd, and down-gyved to his ancle,
-- 378 --
Pale as his shirt, his knees knocking each other,
And with a look so piteous in purport,
As if he had been loosed out of hell,
To speak of horrors; thus he comes before me.
Pol.
Mad for thy love?
Oph.
My lord, I do not know:
But truly I do fear it.
Pol.
What said he?
Oph.
He took me by the wrist, and held me hard,
Then goes he to the length of all his arm;
And with his other hand, thus o'er his brow,
He falls to such perusal of my face,
As he would draw it, Long time staid he so;
At last, a little shaking of my arm,
And thrice his head thus waving up and down,
He rais'd a sigh, so piteous and profound,
That it did seem to shatter all his bulk,
And end his being. Then he lets me go,
And with his head over his shoulder turn'd,
He seem'd to find his way without his eyes,
For out-a-doors he went without their help,
And to the last, bended their light on me.
Pol.
Come, go with me, I will go seek the King.
This is the very ecstasie of love,
Whose violent property foredoes it self,
And leads the will to desp'rate undertakings,
As oft as any passion under heav'n,
That do's afflict our natures. I am sorry;
What, have you giv'n him any hard words of late?
Oph.
No, my good lord; but as you did command,
I did repel his letters, and deny'd
His access to me.
Pol.
That hath made him mad.
-- 379 --
I'm sorry that with better b noteheed and judgment
I had not quoted him. I fear'd he trifl'd
And meant to wrack thee; but beshrew my jealousie;
It seems it is as proper to our age,
To cast beyond our selves in our opinions,
As it is common for the younger sort
To lack discretion. Come, go we to the King.
This must be known, which being kept close, might move
More grief to hide, than hate to utter love.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
The Palace.
Enter King, Queen, Rosincrosse, Guildenstern, lords
and other attendants.
King.
Welcome dear Rosincrosse and Guildenstern,
Moreover, that we much did long to see you,
The need we have to use you did provoke
Our hasty sending. Something have you heard
Of Hamlet's transformation; so I call it,
Since not th' exterior, nor the inward man
Resembles that it was. What it should be
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 since so neighbour'd to his youth and humour,
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 occasions you may glean,
If ought, to us unknown, afflicts him thus,
-- 380 --
That open'd lies within our remedy.
Queen.
Good gentlemen, he hath much talk'd of you;
And sure I am, two men there are not living,
To whom he more adheres. If it will please you
To shew us so much gentry and good will,
As to extend 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.
Ros.
Both your Majesties
Might by the sovereign power you have of us,
Put your dread pleasures more into command
Than to entreaty.
Guil.
But we both obey,
And here give up our selves in the full bent,
To lay our service freely at your feet.
King.
Thanks, Rosincrosse and gentle Guildenstern.
Queen.
Thanks, Guildenstern and gentle Rosincrosse;
And I beseech you instantly to visit
My too-much changed son. Go some of ye,
And bring these gentlemen where Hamlet is.
Guil.
Heav'ns make our presence and our practices
Pleasant and helpful to him!
[Exeunt Ros. and Guil.
Queen.
Amen.
Enter Polonius.
Pol.
Th' ambassadors from Norway, my good lord,
Are joyfully return'd.
King.
Thou still hast been the father of good news.
Pol.
Have I, my lord? assure you, my good liege,
I hold my duty, as I hold my soul,
Both to my God, and to my gracious King;
And I do think (or else this brain of mine
-- 381 --
Hunts not the trail of policy, so sure
As I have us'd to do) that I have found
The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy.
King.
Oh speak of that, that I do long to hear.
Pol.
Give first admittance to th' ambassadors.
My news shall be the fruit to that great feast.
King.
Thy self do grace to them, and bring them in.
[Ex. Pol.
He tells me, my sweet Queen, that he hath found
The head and scource of all your son's distemper.
Queen.
I doubt it is no other but the main,
His father's death, and our o'er-hasty marriage.
SCENE IV.
Enter Polonius, Voltimand, and Cornelius.
King.
Well, we shall sift him. Welcome, my good friends!
Say Voltimand, what from our brother Norway?
Volt.
Most fair return of greetings, and desires.
Upon our first, he sent out to suppress
His nephew's levies, which to him appear'd
To be a preparation 'gainst the Polack:
But better lookt into, he truly found
It was against your highness. Whereat griev'd,
That so his sickness, age, and impotence
Was falsely born 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 th' 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 Polack:
-- 382 --
With an entreaty herein further shewn,
That it might please you to give quiet pass
Through your dominions for this enterprize
On such regards of safety and allowance,
As therein are set down.
King.
It likes us well;
And at our more consider'd time we'll read,
Answer, and think upon this business.
Mean time we thank you, for your notewell-took labour.
Go to your rest, at night we'll feast together.
Most welcome home.
[Exit Ambas.
Pol.
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, since brevity's 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.
Pol.
Madam, I swear I use no art at all:
That he is mad 'tis true; 'tis true, 'tis pity;
And pity, it is true; a foolish figure,
But farewel 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—Perpend—
I have a daughter; have, whilst she is mine,
-- 383 --
Who in her duty and obedience, mark,
Hath giv'n me this; now gather, and surmise.
[He opens a letter, and 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—These to her excellent white bosom, these—
Queen.
Came this from Hamlet to her?
Pol.
Good madam stay a while, I will be faithful.
Doubt thou, the stars are fire,
[Reading.
Doubt, that the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt, I love.
Oh dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers; I have not art to
reckon my groans; but that I love thee best, oh most best, believe
it.
Adieu.
Thine evermore, most dear lady, whilst this
Machine is to him, Hamlet
This in obedience hath my daughter shewn me:
And more above, hath his sollicitings,
As they fell out by time, by means, and place,
All given to mine ear.
King.
But how hath she receiv'd his love?
Pol.
What do you think of me?
King.
As of a man, faithful and honourable.
Pol.
I would fain prove so. But what might you think?
When I had seen his hot love on the wing,
(As I perceiv'd 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 play'd the desk or table-book,
Or given my heart working, mute and dumb,
Or look'd upon this love with idle sight,
What might you think? no, I went round to work,
-- 384 --
And my young mistress thus I did bespeak;
Lord Hamlet is a prince out of thy sphere,
This must not be; and then, I precepts gave her,
That she should lock her self from his resort,
Admit no messengers, receive no tokens:
Which done, she took the fruits of my advice,
And he repulsed, a short tale to make,
Fell to a sadness, then into a fast,
Thence to a watching, thence into a weakness,
Thence to a lightness, and by this declension
Into the madness wherein now he raves,
And all we wail for.
King.
Do you think this?
Queen.
It may be very likely.
Pol.
Hath there been such a time, I'd fain know that,
That I have positively said, 'tis so,
When it prov'd otherwise?
King.
Not that I know.
Pol.
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 center.
King.
How may we try it further?
Pol.
You know sometimes he walks four hours together,
Here in the lobby.
Queen.
So he does indeed.
Pol.
At such a time I'll loose my daughter to him,
Be you and I behind an arras then,
Mark the encounter: If he love her not,
And be not from his reason faln thereon,
Let me be no assistant for a state,
And keep a farm and carters.
King.
We will try it.
-- 385 --
SCENE V.
Enter Hamlet reading.
Queen.
But look where, sadly, the poor wretch comes reading.
Pol.
Away, I do beseech you, both away.
I'll board him presently.
[Exe. King and Queen.
Oh give me leave. How does my good lord Hamlet?
Ham.
Well, God-a-mercy.
Pol.
Do you know me, my lord?
Ham.
Excellent well; y'are a fishmonger?
Pol.
Not I, my lord.
Ham.
Then I would you were so honest a man.
Pol.
Honest, my lord?
Ham.
Ay, Sir; to be honest as this world goes, is to be one
pick'd out of ten thousand.
Pol.
That's very true, my lord.
Ham.
For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog,
Being a good kissing carrion—
Have you a daughter?
Pol.
I have, my lord.
Ham.
Let her not walk i'th' sun; conception is a blessing,
but not as your daughter may conceive. Friend, look to't.
Pol.
How say you by that? still harping on my daughter—
Yet he knew me not at first; he said I was a fishmonger.
He is far gone; and truly in my youth,
[aside.
I suffered much extremity for love;
Very near this. I'll speak to him again.
What do you read, my lord?
Ham.
Words, words, words.
Pol.
What is the matter, my lord?
Ham.
Between whom?
Pol.
I mean the matter that you read, my lord.
-- 386 --
Ham.
Slanders, Sir: for the satyrical slave says here, that old
men have gray beards? that their faces are wrinkled; their eyes
purging 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 powerfully and potently believe, yet I hold
it not honesty to have it thus set down: for your self, Sir, shall
be as old as-I-am, if like a crab you could go backward.
Pol.
Though this be madness, yet there's method in't:
Will you walk out of the air, my lord?
Ham.
Into my grave?
Pol.
Indeed that is out o'th' air:
How pregnant (sometimes) his replies are?
A happiness that often madness hits on,
Which sanity and reason could not be
So prosp'rously deliver'd of. I'll leave him,
And suddenly contrive the means of meeting
Between him and my daughter.
My honourable lord, I will most humbly
Take my leave of you.
Ham.
You cannot, Sir, take from me any thing, that I will
more willingly part withal, except my life.
Pol.
Fare you well, my lord.
Ham.
These tedious old fools.
Pol.
You go to seek lord Hamlet; there he is.
[Exit.
SCENE VI.
Enter Rosincrosse and Guildenstern.
Ros.
God save you, Sir.
Guild.
Mine honour'd lord!
Ros.
My most dear lord!
Ham.
My excellent good friends! how dost thou Guildenstern?
Oh, Rosincrosse, good lads! how do ye both?
-- 387 --
Ros.
As the indifferent children of the earth.
Guil.
Happy, in that we are not over-happy; on fortune's
cap, we are not the very button.
Ham.
Nor the soals of her shooe?
Ros.
Neither, my lord.
Ham.
Then you live about her waste, or in the middle of her
favours?
Guil.
Faith, her privates we.
Ham.
In the secret parts of fortune? oh, most true; she is a
strumpet. What news?
Ros.
None, my lord, but that the world's grown honest.
Ham.
Then is dooms day near; but your news is not true.
‡ noteLet me question more in particular: what have you, my good
friends, deserved at the hands of fortune, that she sends you to
prison hither?
Guil.
Prison, my lord!
Ham.
Denmark's a prison.
Ros.
Then is the world one.
Ham.
A goodly one, in which there are many confines,
wards, and dungeons; Denmark being one o'th' worst.
Ros.
We think not so, my lord.
Ham.
Why then, 'tis none to you; for there is nothing either
good or bad, but thinking makes it so: to me it is a prison.
Ros.
Why then your ambition makes it one: 'tis too narrow
for your mind.
Ham.
Oh God, I could be bounded in a nut-shell, and count
my self a King of infinite space; were it not that I have bad
dreams.
Guil.
Which dreams indeed are ambition; for the very substance
of the ambitious, is meerly the shadow of a dream.
Ham.
A dream it self is but a shadow.
Ros.
Truly, and I hold ambition of so airy and light a quality,
that it is but a shadow's shadow.
-- 388 --
Ham.
Then are our beggars bodies, and our monarchs and
out-stretch'd heroes, the beggars shadows; Shall we to th' court?
for by my fay, I cannot reason.
Both.
We'll wait upon you.
Ham.
No such matter. I will not sort you with the rest of
my servants: for to speak to you like an honest man, I am most
dreadfully attended; but in the beaten way of friendship, what
make you at Elsinoor?
Ros.
To visit you, my lord; no other occasion.
Ham.
Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks; but I
thank you; and sure, dear friends, my thanks are too dear a
half-penny. Were you not sent for? is it your own inclining? is
it a free visitation? come, deal justly with me; come, come;
nay, speak.
Guil.
What should we say, my lord?
Ham.
Any thing but to the purpose. You were sent for; and
there is a kind of confession in your looks, which your modesties
have not craft enough to colour. I know the good King and
Queen have sent for you.
Ros.
To what end, my lord?
Ham.
That you must teach me; but let me conjure you by
the rights of our fellowship, by the consonancy of our youth, by
the obligation of our ever-preserved 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?
Ros.
What say you?
Ham.
Nay then I have an eye of you: if you love me, hold
not off.
Guil.
My lord, we were sent for.
Ham.
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 exercise; and indeed, it goes
-- 389 --
so heavily with my disposition, that this goodly frame, the earth,
seems to me a steril promontory; this most excellent canopy the
air, look you, this brave o'er-hanging firmament, this majestical
roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to
me, than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. What a
piece of work is a 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 how like a God! the beauty of
the world, the paragon of animals! and yet to me, what is this
quintessence of dust? man delights not me; nor woman neither,
tho' by your smiling you seem to say so.
Ros.
My lord there was no such stuff in my thoughts.
Ham.
Why did you laugh, when I said, man delights not me?
Ros.
To think, my lord, if you delight not in man, what lenten
entertainment the Players shall receive from you; we accosted
them on the way, and hither are they coming to offer you
service.
Ham.
He that plays the King shall be welcome; his majesty
shall have tribute of me; the adventurous knight shall use his
foyle and target; the lover shall not sigh gratis; the humorous
man shall end his part in peace; and the lady shall say her mind
freely, or the blank verse shall halt for't. What players are they?
Ros.
Even those you were wont to take delight in, the Tragedians
of the city.
Ham.
How chances it they travel? their residence both in reputation
and profit was better, both ways.
Ros.
I think their inhibition comes by the means of the late
innovation.
Ham.
Do they hold the same estimation they did when I was
in the city? are they so follow'd?
Ros.
No indeed, they are not.
Ham.
How comes it? do they grow rusty?
Ros.
Nay, their endeavour keeps in the wonted pace; but
-- 390 --
there is, Sir, an † noteAiry of Children, little yases, that cry out on
the top of question; and are most tyrannically clapt for't; these are
now the fashion, and so be-rattle the common stages (so they call
them) that many wearing rapiers are afraid of goose quills, and
dare scarce come thither.
Ham.
What, are they Children? who maintains 'em? how are
they escoted? will they pursue the Quality no longer than they
can sing? will they not say afterwards, if they should grow themselves
to common players? as it is most like, if their means are
no better: their writers do them wrong to make them exclaim
against their own succession.
Ros.
Faith, there has been much to do on both sides; and
the nation holds it no sin, to tarre them to controversie. There
was for a while no money bid for argument, unless the poet and
the player went to cuffs in the question.
Ham.
Is't possible?
Guil.
Oh there has been much throwing about of brains.
Ham.
Do the boys carry it away?
Ros.
Ay, that they do, my lord, Hercules and his load too.
Ham.
It is not strange; for mine uncle is King of Denmark,
and those that would make mowes at him while my father lived,
give twenty, forty, fifty, an hundred ducates a-piece, for his
picture in little. There is something in this more than natural,
if philosophy could find it out.
[Flourish for the players.
Guil.
There are the players.
Ham.
Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinoor; your hands:
come then, the appurtenance of welcome is fashion and ceremony.
Let me comply with you in this garbe, lest my extent to
the players (which I tell you must shew fairly outward) should
more appear like entertainment than yours. You are welcome;
but my Uncle-father and Aunt-mother are deceiv'd.
Guil.
In what, my dear lord?
-- 391 --
Ham.
I am but mad north, north-west: when the wind is
southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw.
SCENE VII.
Enter Polonius.
Pol.
Well be with you, gentlemen.
Ham.
Hark you, Guildenstern, and you too, at each ear a
hearer; that great baby you see there, is not yet out of his swathling
clouts.
Ros.
Haply he's the second time come to them; for they say,
an old man is twice a child.
Ham.
I will prophesie, he comes to tell me of the players.
Mark it, you say right, Sir; for on Monday morning 'twas so
indeed.
Pol.
My lord, I have news to tell you.
Ham.
My lord, I have news to tell you,
When Roscius was an actor in Rome—
Pol.
The actors are come hither, my lord.
Ham.
Buzze, buzze.
Pol.
Upon mine honour—
Ham.
Then came each actor on his ass—
Pol.
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 the liberty.
These are the only men.
Ham.
Oh Jephta, judge of Israel, what a treasure hadst thou!
Pol.
What a treasure had he, my lord?
Ham.
Why one fair daughter, and no more,
The which he loved passing well.
Pol.
Still on my daughter.
Ham.
Am I not i'th' right, old Jephta?
-- 392 --
Pol.
If you call me Jephta, my lord, I have a daughter that
I love passing well.
Ham.
Nay, that follows not.
Pol.
What follows then, my lord?
Ham.
Why as by lot, God wot—and then you know, it
came to pass, as most like it was; the first row of the † noterubrick
will shew you more. For look where my abridgements come.
Enter four or five players.
Y'are welcome masters, welcome all. I am glad to see thee well;
welcome good friends. Oh! old friend! thy face is b notevalanc'd
since I saw thee last: com'st thou to beard me in Denmark?
What my young lady and mistress? berlady your ladyship is nearer
heaven then whan I saw you last, by the altitude of a † notechioppine.
Pray God your voice, like a piece of uncurrent gold, be
not crack'd within the ring.—Masters, you are all welcome;
we'll e'en to't like c notefriendly faulconers, fly at any thing we see;
we'll have a speech straight. Come, give us a taste of your quality;
come, a passionate speech.
1 Play.
What speech, my good lord?
Ham.
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
pleas'd not the million, 'twas Caviar to the general; but it was,
(as I receiv'd it, and others, whose judgment in such matters, cryed
in the top of mine) an excellent play; well digested in the
scenes, set down with as much modesty as cunning. I remember
one said, there was no d notesalts in the lines, to make the matter
savoury; nor no matter in the phrase, that might indite the author
of affection; but call'd it, an honest method. One speech in
it I chiefly lov'd; 'twas Æneas' tale to Dido, and thereabout of
it especially, where he speaks of Priam's slaughter. If it live in
-- 393 --
your memory, begin at this line, let me see, let me see—The
rugged Pyrrhus, like th' Hyrcanian beast. It is not so—it begins
with Pyrrhus.
The rugged Pyrrhus, he whose sable arms
Black as his purpose, did the night resemble
When he lay couched in the ominous horse;
Hath now his dread and black complection smear'd
With heraldry more dismal; head to foot
Now is he total geules; horridly trickt
With blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, sons,
Bak'd and impasted with the parching e notefires,
That lend a tyrannous and damned light
To murthers vile. Roasted in wrath and fire,
And thus o'er-cised with coagulate gore,
With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus
Old gransire Priam seeks.
Pol.
'Fore God, my lord, well spoken, with good accent, and
good discretion.
1 Play.
Anon he finds him,
Striking, too short, at Greeks. His antique sword,
Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls
Repugnant to command; unequal match'd,
Pyrrhus at Priam drives, in rage strikes wide;
But with the whif and wind of his fell sword
Th' unnerved father falls. Then senseless Ilium,
Seeming to feel this 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 rev'rend Priam, seem'd i'th' air to stick:
So as a painted tyrant Pyrrhus stood,
And like a neutral to his will and matter,
Did nothing.
-- 394 --
But as we often see against some storm,
A silence in the heav'ns, the rack stand still,
The bold winds speechless, and the orb below
As hush as death: anon the dreadful thunder
Doth rend the region. So after Pyrrhus' pause,
A rowsed vengeance sets him new a-work,
And never did the Cyclops hammers fall
On Mars his armour, forg'd 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 fellies from her wheel,
And bowl the round nave down the hill of heav'n,
As low as to the fiends.
Pol.
This is too long.
Ham.
It shall to th' barber's with your beard. Pr'ythee say
on; he's for a jigg, or a tale of bawdry, or he sleeps. Say on,
come to Hecuba.
1 Play.
But who, oh who, had seen the f notemobled Queen?
Ham.
The mobled Queen?
Pol.
That's good; mobled Queen, is good.
1 Play.
Run bare-foot up and down, threatning the flames
With bisson rheum; a clout upon that head,
Where late the diadem stood, and for a robe
About her lank and all o'er-teemed loyns,
A blanket in th' alarm of fear caught up.
Who this had seen, with tongue in venom steep'd,
'Gainst fortune's state would treason have pronounc'd:
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 clamour that she made,
-- 395 --
(Unless things mortal move them not at all)
Would have made g notemelt the burning eyes of heav'n,
And passion in the gods.
Pol.
Look if he has not turn'd his colour, and has tears in's
eyes. Pr'ythee no more.
Ham.
'Tis well, I'll have thee speak out the rest of this soon.
Good my lord, will you see the players well bestow'd. Do ye
hear, let them be well us'd; for they are the abstract, and brief
chronicles of the time. After your death, you were better have
a bad epitaph, then their ill report while you liv'd.
Pol.
My lord, I will use them according to their desert.
Ham.
Gods bodikins man, much better. Use every man after
his desert, and who shall scape whipping? use them after
your own honour and dignity. The less they deserve, the more
merit is in your bounty. Take them in.
Pol.
Come, Sirs.
[Exit Polonius.
Ham.
Follow him, friends: we'll hear a play to-morrow.
Dost thou hear me, old friend, can you play the murther of
Gonzago?
Play.
Ay, my lord.
Ham.
We'll ha't to-morrow night. You could for a need
study a speech of some dozen or sixteen lines, which I would set
down, and insert in't? could ye not?
Play.
Ay, my lord.
Ham.
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.
Ros.
Good my lord.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VIII.
Manet Hamlet.
Ham.
Ay so, God b' w' ye: now I am alone.
-- 396 --
Oh what a rogue and peasant 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,
That from her working, all his visage warm'd:
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 the cue for passion
That I have? he would drown the stage with tears,
And cleave the gen'ral ear with horrid speech,
Make mad the guilty, and appall the free,
Confound the ign'rant, and amaze indeed
The very faculty of eyes and ears.—
h note
Yet I say nothing; no, not for a King,
Upon whose property and most dear life
A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward?
Who calls me villain, breaks my pate a-cross,
Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face?
Tweaks me by th' nose, gives me the lye i'th' throat,
As deep as to the lungs? who does me this?
i noteYet I should take it—for it cannot be,
But I am pigeon-liver'd, and lack gall
To make oppression bitter; or ere this,
I should have fatted all the region kites
With this slave's offal. Bloody, bawdy villain!
Remorseless, treacherous, letcherous, kindless villain!
-- 397 --
Why what an ass am I? this is most brave,
That I, the son of a dear father murthered,
Prompted to my revenge by heav'n and hell,
Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words,
And fall a cursing like a very drab—
A k notestallion!—fye upon't! foh! about my brain—
I've heard, that guilty creatures, at a play,
Have by the very cunning of the scene
Been struck so to the soul, that presently
They have proclaim'd their malefactions.
For murther, though it have no tongue, will speak
With most miraculous organ. I'll observe his looks,
Play something like the murther of my father,
Before mine uncle. I'll observe his looks,
I'll tent him to the quick; if he but blench,
I know my course. The spirit that I have seen
May be the devil, and the devil hath power
T'assume a pleasing shape, yea, and perhaps
Out of my weakness and my melancholy,
(As he is very potent with such spirits)
Abuses me to damn me. I'll have grounds
More relative than this: The play's the thing,
Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the King.
[Exit.
-- 398 --
ACT III.
SCENE I.
The PALACE.
Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosincrosse,
Guildenstern, and Lords.
King.
And can you by no drift of a noteconference
Get from him why he puts on this b noteconfusion,
Grating so harshly all his days of quiet,
With turbulent and dang'rous lunacy?
Ros.
He does confess he feels himself distracted;
But from what cause he will by no means speak.
Guil.
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?
Ros.
Most like a gentleman.
Guil.
But with much forcing of his disposition.
Ros.
Niggard of question, but of our demands
Most free in his reply.
Queen.
Did you assay him to any pastime?
Ros.
Madam, it so fell out, that certain players
We o'er-took on the way; of these we told him;
And there did seem in him a kind of joy
To hear of it: they are about the court,
And (as I think) they have already order
This night to play before him.
-- 399 --
Pol.
'Tis most true:
And he beseech'd 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 inclin'd.
Good gentlemen, give him a further edge,
And drive his purpose into these delights.
Ros.
We shall, my lord.
[Exeunt.
King.
Sweet Gertrude, leave us too,
For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither,
That he, as 'twere by accident, may here
Affront Ophelia. Her father, and my self,
Will so bestow our selves, that seeing unseen
We may of their encounter frankly judge,
And gather by him, as he is behaved,
If't be th' affliction of his 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 I hope your virtues
May bring him to his wonted way again,
To both your honours.
Oph.
Madam, I wish it may.
Pol.
Ophelia, walk you here. Gracious, so please ye,
We will bestow our selves: read on this book;
That shew of such an exercise may colour
Your loneliness. We're oft to blame in this,
'Tis too much prov'd, that with devotion's visage,
And pious action we do suger o'er
The devil himself.
King.
Oh 'tis too true.
How smart a lash that speech doth give my conscience!
[aside.
-- 400 --
The harlot's cheek beautied with plastring art
Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it,
Than is my deed to my most painted word.
Oh heavy burthen!
Pol.
I hear him coming, let's withdraw my lord.
[Exeunt all but Ophelia.
SCENE II.
Enter Hamlet.
Ham.
To be, or not to be? that is the question—
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to suffer
The slings and arrows of outragious fortune;
Or to take arms against a † notesea of troubles,
And by opposing end them?—To die,—to sleep—
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to; 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. 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,
Th' oppressor's wrong, the c noteproud man's contumely,
The pang of despis'd 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 fardles bear,
-- 401 --
To groan and sweat under a weary life?
But that the dread of something after death,
(That undiscover'd country, from whose bourne
No traveller 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 native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought;
And enterprizes of great pith and moment,
With this regard, their currents turn d noteawry
And lose the name of action.—Soft you now,
[Seeing Oph.
The fair Ophelia? nymph, in thy oraisons
Be all my sins remembred.
Oph.
Good my lord,
How does your honour for this many a day?
Ham.
I humbly thank you; well,—
Oph.
My lord, I have remembrances of yours,
That I have longed much to re-deliver.
I pray you now receive them.
Ham.
No, I never gave you ought.
Oph.
My honour'd lord, I know right well you did,
And with them words of so sweet breath compos'd,
As made the things more rich: that perfume lost,
Take these again; for to the noble mind
Rich gifts wax poor, when givers prove unkind.
There, my lord.
Ham.
Ha, ha! are you honest?
Oph.
My lord—
Ham.
Are you fair?
Oph.
What means your lordship?
Ham.
That if you be honest and fair, you should admit no
discourse to your beauty.
-- 402 --
Oph.
Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than
with honesty?
Ham.
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 into its likeness. This was sometimes
a paradox, but now the time gives it proof. I did love you once.
Oph.
Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so.
Ham.
You should not have believed me. For virtue cannot
so e noteinnoculate our old stock, but we shall relish of it. f noteI lov'd
you not.
Oph.
I was the more deceived.
Ham.
Get thee to a nunnery. Why wouldst thou be a breeder
of sinners? I am my self indifferent honest, but yet I could
accuse me of such things, that it were better my mother had not
born me. I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious, with more
offences at my beck, 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 heav'n and earth?
we are arrant knaves, believe none of us—Go thy ways to a
nunnery—Where's your father?
Oph.
At home, my lord.
Ham.
Let the doors be shut upon him, that he may play the
fool no where but in's own house. Farewel.
Oph.
Oh help him, you sweet heav'ns!
Ham.
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
escape calumny—Get thee to a nunnery,—farewel—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: farewel.
Oph.
Heav'nly powers! restore him.
Ham.
I have heard of your g notepainting too, well enough: God
has given you one h noteface, and you make your self another. You jig,
-- 403 --
you amble, and you lisp, and nick-name God's creatures, and
make your wantonness your ignorance. Go, 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 Hamlet.
Oph.
Oh what a noble mind is here o'erthrown!
The courtiers, soldiers, scholars, eye, tongue, sword!
Th' expectancy and rose of the fair state,
The glass of fashion, and the mould of form,
Th' observ'd of all observers, quite, quite down!
I am of ladies most deject and wretched,
That suck'd the hony of his musick vows:
Now see that noble and most sovereign reason,
Like sweet bells jangled out of tune, and harsh;
That unmatch'd form and feature of blown youth,
Blasted with ecstasie. Oh woe is me!
T'have seen what I have seen; see what I see.
SCENE III.
Enter King and Polonius.
King.
Love! his affections do not that way tend,
Nor what he spake, tho' it lack'd form a little,
Was not like madness. Something's in his soul,
O'er which his melancholy sits on brood,
And I do doubt the hatch and the disclose
Will be some danger, which how to prevent,
I have in quick determination
Thus set it 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;
-- 404 --
Whereon his brains still beating, puts him thus
From fashion of himself. What think you on't?
Pol.
It shall do well. But yet do I believe
The origin and commencement of this grief
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 intreat him
To shew his griefs; let her be round with him:
And I'll be plac'd, so please you, in the ear
Of all their conf'rence. 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 unwatch'd go.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
Enter Hamlet, and two or three of the Players.
Ham.
Speak the speech I pray you, as I pronounc'd it to
you, trippingly on the tongue. But if you mouth it,
as many of our Players do, I had as lieve the town-crier had
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, whirl-wind of your passion, you must acquire
and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness. Oh, it
offends me to the soul, to hear a robustous periwig-pated fellow
tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the
groundlings: who (for the most part) are capable of nothing,
but inexplicable dumb shews, and noise: I could have such a fellow
whipt for o'er-doing termagant; it out-herods Herod. Pray
you avoid it.
-- 405 --
Play.
I warrant your honour.
Ham.
Be not too tame neither; but let your own discretion be
your tutor. Sute the action to the word, the word to the action;
with this special observance, that you o'er-step not the modesty
of nature; for any thing so overdone is from the purpose of
playing; whose end both at the first and now, was and is, to
hold as 'twere the mirror up to nature; to shew virtue her own
feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the
time, his form and pressure. Now this over-done, or come
tardy off, tho' it make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the
judicious grieve: the censure of which one, must in your allowance
o'er-sway a whole theatre of others. Oh, there be Players
that I have seen play, and heard others praise and that highly,
(not to speak it prophanely) that neither having the accent of
christian, or the gate of christian, pagan, ior man, have so
strutted and bellow'd, that I have thought some of nature's journey-men
had made men, and not made them well; they imitated
humanity so abominably.
Play.
I hope we have reform'd that indifferently with us.
Ham.
Oh reform it altogether. And let those that play your
clowns, 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 mean time some
necessary question of the play be then to be considered: That's
villanous, and shews a most pitiful ambition in the fool that uses
it. Go make you ready.
[Exeunt Players.
Enter Polonius, Rosincrosse, and Guildenstern.
How now, my lord? will the King hear this piece of work?
Pol.
And the Queen too, and that presently.
Ham.
Bid the Players make haste.
[Exit Polonius.
Will you two help to hasten them?
Both.
We will, my lord.
[Exeunt.
-- 406 --
SCENE V.
Enter Horatio to Hamlet.
Ham.
What ho, Horatio?
Hor.
Here, sweet lord, at your service.
Ham.
Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man
As e'er my conversation coap'd withal.
Hor.
Oh my dear lord—
Ham.
Nay, do not think I flatter:
For what advancement may I hope from thee,
That no revenue hast, but thy good spirits
To feed and cloath thee? Should the poor be flatter'd?
No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp,
And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee,
Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou hear?
Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice,
And could of men distinguish, her election
Hath seal'd thee for her self. For thou hast been
As one, in suffering all that suffers nothing.
A man, that fortune's buffets and rewards
Hath ta'en with equal thanks. And blest are those,
Whose blood and judgment are so well co-mingled,
That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger
To sound what stop she please. Give me that man
That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him
In my heart's core: ay, in my heart of heart,
As I do thee.—Something too much of this.—
There is a play to-night before the King,
One scene of it comes near the circumstance
Which I have told thee, of my father's death.
I pr'ythee, when thou seest that act a-foot,
Ev'n with the very comment of thy soul
-- 407 --
Observe mine uncle: if his occult guilt
Do not it self unkennel in one speech,
It is a damned ghost that we have seen:
And my imaginations are as foul
As Vulcan's † notestithy. Give him heedful note,
For I mine eyes will rivet to his face,
And after we will both our judgments join,
To censure of his seeming.
Hor.
Well, my lord.
If he steal ought the whilst this play is playing,
And scape detecting, I will pay the theft.
SCENE VI.
Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosincrosse, Guildenstern,
and other lords attendant, with a guard carrying torches.
Danish march. Sound a flourish.
Ham.
They're coming to the play; I must be idle.
Get you a place.
King.
How fares our cousin Hamlet?
Ham.
Excellent i'faith, of the camelion's dish: I eat the air,
promise-cramm'd: you cannot feed capons so.
King.
I have nothing with this answer, Hamlet, these words
are not mine.
Ham.
No, nor mine now, my lord. You plaid once i'th'
university, you say?
[To Polonius.
Pol.
That I did, my lord, and was accounted a good actor.
Ham.
And what did you enact?
Pol.
I did enact Julius Cæsar, I was kill'd i'th' capitol: Brutus
kill'd me.
Ham.
It was a brute part of him, to kill so capital a calf
there. Be the players ready?
-- 408 --
Ros.
Ay, my lord, they stay upon your patience.
Queen.
Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit by me.
Ham.
No, good mother, here's mettle more attractive.
Pol.
Oh ho, do you mark that?
Ham.
Lady, shall I lye in your lap?
[Lying down at Ophelia's feet.
Oph.
No, my lord.
Ham.
Do you think I meant country matters?
Oph.
I think nothing, my lord.
Ham.
That's a fair thought to lye between a maid's legs.
Oph.
What is, my lord?
Ham.
Nothing.
Oph.
You are merry, my lord.
Ham.
Who, I?
Oph.
Ay, my lord.
Ham.
Oh God, your only jig-maker; what should a man do,
but be merry? For look you how chearfully my mother looks,
and my father dy'd within these two hours.
Oph.
Nay, 'tis twice two months, my lord.
Ham.
So long? nay then let the devil wear black, for I'll
have a suit of sables. Oh heav'ns! dye two months ago, and
not forgotten yet! then there's hope, a great man's memory
may out-live his life half a year: but by'r-lady he must build
churches then; or else shall he suffer not thinking on, with the
hobby-horse; whose epitaph is For oh, for oh, the hobby-horse is
forgot.
SCENE VII.
Hautboys play. The dumb shew enters.
Enter a King and Queen, very lovingly; the Queen embracing
him, and he her. He takes her up, and declines his head upon
-- 409 --
her neck. Lays him down upon a bank of flowers. She seeing
him asleep, leaves him. Anon comes in a fellow, takes off his
crown, kisses it, and pours poison in the King's ears, and Exit
.
The Queen returns, finds the King dead, and makes passionate
action. The poysoner, with some two or three mutes come in again,
seeming to lament with her. The dead body is carried away.
The poisoner wooes the Queen with gifts, she seems loth
and unwilling a while, but in the end accepts his love.
[Exeunt.
Oph.
What means this, my lord?
Ham.
Marry this is miching Malicho, that means mischief.
Oph.
Belike this shew imports the argument of the play?
Ham.
We shall know by this fellow: the Players cannot
keep counsel, they'll tell all.
Oph.
Will he tell us what this shew meant?
Ham.
Ay, or any shew that you'll shew him. Be not you
ashamed to shew, he'll not shame to tell you what it means.
Oph.
You are naught, you are naught, I'll mark the play.
Enter Prologue.
For us, and for our tragedy,
Here stooping to your clemency,
We beg your hearing patiently.
Ham.
Is this a prologue, or the posie of a ring?
Oph.
'Tis brief, my lord.
Ham.
As woman's love.
Enter King and Queen, Players.
King.
Full thirty times hath Phœbus' car gone round
Neptune's salt wash, and Tellus' orbed ground;
And thirty dozen moons with borrowed sheen
About the world have time twelve thirties been,
Since love our hearts, and Hymen did our hands
Unite commutual, in most sacred bands.
-- 410 --
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,
So far from cheer and from your former state,
That I distrust you; yet though I distrust,
Discomfort you, my lord, it nothing must:
And womens fear and love hold quantity,
'Tis either none, or in extremity;
Now what my love is, proof hath made you know,
And as my love is fix'd, my fear is so.
King.
Faith I must leave thee, love, and shortly too:
My operant powers their functions leave to do,
And thou shalt live in this fair world behind,
Honour'd, belov'd, and haply one as kind
For husband shalt thou—
Queen.
Oh 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 kill'd the first.
Ham.
Wormwood, wormwood!
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.
King.
I do believe you think what now you speak;
But what we do determine, oft we break:
Purpose is but the slave to 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 our selves what to our selves is debt:
-- 411 --
What to our selves in passion we propose,
The passion ending, doth the purpose lose;
The violence of either grief or joy,
Their own enactors with themselves destroy:
Where joy most revels, grief doth most lament;
Grief joys, joy grieves on slender accident.
This world is not for aye, and 'tis not strange
That ev'n our loves should with our fortunes change.
For 'tis a question left us yet to prove,
Whether love fortune lead, or fortune love.
The great man down, you mark his fav'rite flies;
The poor, advanc'd, makes friends of enemies:
And hitherto doth love on 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.
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.
So think thou wilt no second husband wed,
But die thy thoughts, when thy first lord is dead.
Queen.
Nor earth to give me food, nor heaven light,
Sport and repose lock from me, day and night;
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 a widow, ever I be wife.
Ham.
If she should break it now—
King.
'Tis deeply sworn; sweet, leave me here a while,
My spirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile
The tedious day with sleep.
[Sleeps.
-- 412 --
Queen.
Sleep rock thy brain,
And never come mischance beetween us twain!
[Exit.
Ham.
Madam, how like you this play?
Queen.
The lady protests too much, methinks.
Ham.
Oh but she'll keep her word.
King.
Have you heard the argument, is there no offence in't?
Ham.
No, no, they do but jest, poison in jest, no offence
i'th' world.
King.
What do you call the play?
Ham.
The Mouse-trap. Marry how? topically. This play
is the image of a murther done in Vienna; Gonzago is the duke's
name, his wife Baptista; you shall see anon, 'tis a knavish piece
of work; but what o' that? your majesty, and we that have free
souls, it touches us not; let the gall'd jade winch, our withers
are unwrung.
Enter Lucianus.
This is one Lucianus, nephew to the King.
Oph.
You are as good as a chorus, my lord.
Ham.
I could interpret between you and your love; if I could
see the puppets dallying.
Oph.
You are keen, my lord, you are keen.
Ham.
It would cost you a groaning, to take off my edge.
Oph.
Still worse and worse.
Ham.
So you must take your husbands.
Begin murtherer. Leave thy damnable faces, and begin.
Come, the croaking raven doth bellow for revenge.
Luc.
Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, and time agreeing:
Confederate season, else no creature seeing:
Thou mixture rank, of midnight-weeds collected,
With Hecate's bane, thrice blasted, thrice infected,
Thou natural magick, and dire property,
On wholsome life usurp immediately.
[Pours the poison in his ears.
-- 413 --
Ham.
He poysons him i'th' garden for's estate; his name's
Gonzago; the story is extant, and writ in choice Italian. You
shall see anon how the murtherer gets the love of Gonzago's
wife.
Oph.
The King rises.
Queen.
How fares my lord?
Pol.
Give o'er the play.
King.
Give me some light. Away.
All.
Lights, lights, lights!
[Exeunt.
SCENE VIII.
Manent Hamlet and Horatio.
Ham.
Why let the strucken deer go weep,
The hart ungalled play:
For some must watch, whilst some must sleep;
So runs the world away.
Would not this, Sir, and a forest of feathers, (if the rest of my
fortunes turn Turk with me) with two provincial roses on my
m noterayed shooes, get me a fellowship in a cry of Players, Sir?
Hor.
Half a share.
Ham.
A whole one I.
For thou dost know, oh Damon dear,
This realm dismantled was
Of Jove himself, and now reigns here
A very very n notepeacock.
Hor.
You might have rim'd.
Ham.
Oh good Horatio, I'll take the ghost's word for a
thousand pounds. Didst perceive?
Hor.
Very well, my lord.
Ham.
Upon the talk of the poisoning?
Hor.
I did very well note him.
-- 414 --
Enter Rosincrosse and Guildenstern.
Ham.
Oh, ha! come some musick. Come the recorders.
For if the King like not the comedy;
Why then belike he likes it not perdy.
Come, some musick.
Guil.
Good my lord, vouchsafe me a word with you.
Ham.
Sir, a whole history.
Guil.
The King, Sir—
Ham.
Ay Sir, what of him?
Guil.
Is in his retirement, marvellous distemper'd—
Ham.
With drink, Sir?
Guil.
No, my lord, with choler.
Ham.
Your wisdom should shew it self more rich to signifie
this to his doctor: for me to put him to his purgation, would
perhaps plunge him into more choler.
Guil.
Good my lord, put your discourse into some frame, and
start not so wildly from my affair.
Ham.
I am tame, Sir, pronounce.
Guil.
The Queen your mother, in most great affliction of spirit,
hath sent me to you.
Ham.
You are welcome.
Guil.
Nay, good my lord, this courtesie is not of the right
breed. If it shall please you to make me a wholsom answer,
I will do your mother's commandment; if not, your pardon,
and my return shall be the end of my business.
Ham.
Sir, I cannot.
Guil.
What, my lord?
Ham.
Make you a wholsom answer: my wit's diseas'd.
But, Sir, such answers as I can make, you shall command;
or rather you say, my mother—therefore no more but to
the matter—my mother, you say—
-- 415 --
Ros.
Then thus she says; your behaviour hath struck her into
amazement, and admiration.
Ham.
Oh wonderful son, that can so astonish a mother. But
is there no sequel at the heels of this mother-admiration?
Ros.
She desires to speak with you in her closet ere you go to
bed.
Ham.
We shall obey, were she ten times our mother. Have
you any further trade with us?
Ros.
My lord, you once did love me.
Ham.
So I do still, by these pickers and stealers.
Ros.
Good my lord, what is your cause of distemper? you do
surely bar the door of your own liberty, if you deny your griefs
to your friend.
Ham.
Sir, I lack advancement.
Ros.
How can that be, when you have the voice of the King
himself, for your succession in Denmark?
Ham.
Ay, but while the grass grows—the proverb is something
musty.
Enter one with a Recorder.
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?
Guil.
Oh my lord, if my duty be too bold, my love is too
unmannerly.
Ham.
I do not well understand that. Will you play upon
this pipe?
Guil.
My lord, I cannot.
Ham.
I pray you.
Guil.
Believe me, I cannot.
Ham.
I do beseech you.
Guil.
I know no touch of it, my lord.
Ham.
'Tis as easie as lying; govern these ventiges with your
-- 416 --
fingers and thumb, give it breath with your mouth, and it will
discourse most eloquent musick. Look you, these are the stops.
Guil.
But these cannot I command to any utterance of harmony,
I have not the skill.
Ham.
Why look you 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 musick, excellent voice, in this little organ, yet
cannot you make it speak. Why do you think that I am easier
to be plaid on than a pipe? call me what instrument you will,
though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me. God bless
you, Sir.
Enter Polonius.
Pol.
My lord, the Queen would speak with you, and presently.
Ham.
Do you see yonder cloud, that's almost in shape of a
Camel?
Pol.
By the mass, and it's like a Camel indeed.
Ham.
Methinks it is like an † noteOuzle.
Pol.
It is black like an Ouzle.
Ham.
Or like a Whale?
Pol.
Very like a Whale.
Ham.
Then will I come to my mother by and by; they fool
me to the top of my bent. I will come by and by. Leave me
friends. I will say so. By and by is easily said.
[Exeunt.
'Tis now the very witching time of night,
When church-yards yawn, and hell it self breaths out
Contagion to this world. Now could I drink hot blood,
And do such bitter business as the day
Would quake to look on. Soft, now to my mother—
Oh heart, lose not thy nature; let not ever
-- 417 --
The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom;
Let me be cruel, not unnatural;
I will speak daggers to her, but use none.
My tongue and soul in this be hypocrites!
[Exit.
SCENE IX.
Enter King, Rosincrosse, and Guildenstern.
King.
I like him not, nor stands it safe with us
To let his madness rage. 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
Hazard so near us, as doth hourly grow
Out of his lunacies.
Guild.
We will provide our selves;
Most holy and religious fear it is,
To keep those many bodies safe, that live
And feed upon your majesty.
Ros.
The single and peculiar life is bound
With all the strength and armour of the mind,
To keep it self from noyance; but much more,
That spirit, on whose o noteweal depends and rests
The lives of many. The decease of majesty
Dies not alone, but like a gulf doth draw
What's near it with it. It's a massy wheel
Fixt on the summit of the highest mount,
To whose huge spoaks ten thousand lesser things
Are mortiz'd and adjoin'd; which when it falls,
Each small annexment, petty consequence,
Attends the boistrous ruin. Ne'er alone
Did the King sigh, but with a general groan.
King.
Arm you, I pray you, to this speedy voyage;
-- 418 --
For we will fetters put upon this fear,
Which now goes too free-footed.
Both.
We will haste us.
[Exeunt Gent.
Enter Polonius.
Pol.
My lord, he's going to his mother's closet;
Behind the arras I'll convey my self
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'er-hear
The speech of vantage. Fare you well my liege,
I'll call upon you ere you go to bed,
And tell you what I know.
[Exit.
King.
Thanks, dear my lord.
&plquo;Oh my offence is rank, it smells to heav'n,
&plquo;It hath the primal eldest curse upon't;
&plquo;A brother's murther. Pray I cannot,
&plquo;Though inclination be as sharp as will:
&plquo;My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent,
&plquo;And like a man to double business bound,
&plquo;I stand in pause where I shall first begin,
&plquo;And both neglect. What if this cursed hand
&plquo;Were thicker than it self with brother's blood?
&plquo;Is there not rain enough in the sweet heav'ns
&plquo;To wash it white as snow? whereto serves mercy,
&plquo;But to confront the visage of offence?
&plquo;And what's in prayer, but this two-fold force,
&plquo;To be fore-stalled ere we come to fall,
&plquo;Or pardon'd being down? then I'll look up.
&plquo;My fault is past. But oh what form of prayer
&plquo;Can serve my turn; Forgive me my foul murther!
&plquo;That cannot be, since I am still possest
-- 419 --
&plquo;Of those effects for which I did the murther,
&plquo;My crown, mine own ambition, and my Queen.
&plquo;May one be pardon'd, and retain th' offence?
&plquo;In the corrupted currents of this world,
&plquo;Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice;
&plquo;And oft 'tis seen, the wicked prize it self
&plquo;Buys out the law; but 'tis not so above:
&plquo;There is no shuffling, there the action lies
&plquo;In his true nature, we our selves compell'd
&plquo;Ev'n to the teeth and forehead of our faults,
&plquo;To give in evidence.&prquo; What then? what rests?
Try what repentance can. What can it not?
Yet what can it, when one cannot repent?
Oh wretched state! oh bosom, black as death!
Oh limed soul, that struggling to be free,
Art more engag'd! help angels, 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.
SCENE X.
Enter Hamlet.
Ham.
Now might I do it pat, now he is praying,
And now I'll do't—and so he goes to heav'n,
And so am I reveng'd? that would be scann'd,—
A villain kills my father, and for that
I, his sole son, do this same villain send
To heav'n—O this is p notehire and sallery, not revenge.
He took my father grosly, full of bread,
With all his crimes broad blown, as q noteflush as May;
And how his audit stands, who knows, save heav'n?
But in our circumstance and course of thought,
-- 420 --
'Tis heavy with him. Am I then reveng'd,
To take him in the purging of his soul,
When he is fit and season'd for his passage?
Up sword, and know thou a more horrid r notetime:
When he is drunk, asleep, or in his rage,
Or in th' incestuous pleasure 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 heav'n,
And that his soul may be as damn'd and black
As hell, whereto it goes. My mother stays;
This physick but prolongs thy sickly days.
[Exit.
King.
My words fly up, my thoughts remain below;
Words, without thoughts, never to heaven go.
[Exit.
SCENE XI.
The Queen's Apartment.
Enter Queen and Polonius.
Pol.
He will come straight; look you lay home to him,
Tell him his pranks have been too broad to bear with,
And that your Grace hath screen'd, and stood between
Much heat and him. I'll silence me e'en here;
Pray you be round.
Queen.
I'll warrant you, fear me not.
Withdraw, I hear him coming.
[Polonius hides himself behind the Arras.
Enter Hamlet.
Ham.
Now, mother, what's the matter?
Queen.
Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended.
-- 421 --
Ham.
Mother, you have my father much offended.
Queen.
Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue.
Ham.
Go, go, you question with s notea wicked tongue.
Queen.
Why how now, Hamlet?
Ham.
What's the matter now?
Queen.
Have you forgot me?
Ham.
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.
Ham.
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 inmost part of you.
Queen.
What wilt thou do? thou wilt not murther me?
Help, ho.
Pol.
What ho, help.
[Behind the Arras.
Ham.
How now, a rat? dead for a ducate, dead.
Pol.
Oh I am slain.
[Ham. kills Polonius.
Queen.
Oh me, what hast thou done?
Ham.
Nay I know not: is it the King?
Queen.
Oh, what a rash and bloody deed is this!
Ham.
A bloody deed, almost as bad, good mother,
As kill a King, and marry with his brother.
Queen.
As kill a King?
Ham.
Ay lady, 'twas my word.
Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewel,
[To Polonius.
I took thee for thy better; take thy fortune;
Thou find'st, to be too busie, 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 braz'd it so,
That it is proof and bulwark against sense.
-- 422 --
Queen.
What have I done, that thou dar'st wag thy tongue
In noise so rude against me?
Ham.
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; makes marriage-vows
As false as dicers oaths. O such a deed,
As from the body of contraction plucks
The very soul, and sweet religion makes
A rhapsody of words. Heav'n's face doth glow
O'er this solidity and compound mass,
With tristful visage as against the doom.
'Tis thought-sick at the act.
Queen.
Ay me, what act,
That roars so loud, and thunders in the index?
Ham.
Look here upon this picture, and on this,
The counterfeit presentment of two brothers:
See what a grace was seated on this brow,
Hyperion's curles, the front of Jove himself,
An eye like Mars, to threaten or command,
A station like the herald Mercury
New-lighted on a heav'n-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 mildew'd ear,
Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes?
Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed,
And batten on this moore? ha! have you eyes?
You cannot call it love; for at your age,
The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble,
-- 423 --
And waits upon the judgment; and what judgment
Would step from this to this? what devil was't,
That thus hath cozen'd you at hoodman blind?
O 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 ardour gives the charge,
Since frost it self as actively doth burn,
And reason t notepardons will.
Queen.
O Hamlet, speak no more.
Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul,
And there I see such black and grained spots
As will not leave their tinct.
Ham.
Nay, but to live
In the rank sweat of an incestuous bed,
Stew'd in corruption, honying and making love
Over the nasty sty.
Queen.
Oh speak no more,
These words like daggers enter in mine ears.
No more, sweet Hamlet.
Ham.
A murderer, and a villain!
A slave, that is not twentieth part the tythe
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.
Enter Ghost.
A King of shreds and patches—
Save me! and hover o'er me with your wings
[Starting up.
You heav'nly guards! what would your gracious figure?
Queen.
Alas he's mad.
Ham.
Do you not come your tardy son to chide,
-- 424 --
That laps'd 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.
Ham.
How is it with you, lady?
Queen.
Alas, how is't with you?
That thus you bend your eye on vacancy,
And with th' incorporal air do hold discourse?
Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep,
And as the sleeping soldiers in th' alarm,
Your bedded hairs, like life in excrements,
Start up, and stand an end. O gentle son,
Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper
Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look?
Ham.
On him! on him!—look you how pale he glares!
His form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to stones,
Would make them capable. Do not look on me,
Lest with this pitious action you convert
My stern effects; then what I have to do,
Will want true colour; tears perchance for blood.
Queen.
To whom do you speak this?
Ham.
Do you see nothing there?
[Pointing to the Ghost.
Queen.
Nothing at all, yet all that is I see.
Ham.
Nor did you nothing hear?
Queen.
No, nothing but our selves.
Ham.
Why look you there? look how it steals 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,
-- 425 --
This bodiless creation Ecstasie
Is very cunning in.
Ham.
What ecstasie?
My pulse, as yours, doth temp'rately keep time,
And makes as healthful musick. 'Tis not madness
That I have utter'd; bring me to the test
And I the matter will re-word; which madness
Would gamboll from. Mother, for love of grace,
Lay not that flattering unction to your soul,
That not your trespass, but my madness speaks:
It will but skin and film the ulcerous place,
Whilst rank corruption t noterunning all within,
Infects unseen. Confess your self to heav'n,
Repent what's past, avoid what is to come,
And do not spread the compost on the weeds
To make them ranker. Forgive this my virtue,
For in the fatness of these pursie times,
Virtue it self of vice must pardon beg,
Yea, curb, and wooe, for leave to do it good.
Queen.
Oh Hamlet! thou hast cleft my heart in twain.
Ham.
O throw away the worser part of it,
And live the purer with the other half.
Good night; but go not to mine uncle's bed.
Assume a virtue, if you have it not.
That monster custom, who all sense doth eat,
Of habit's devil, is angel yet in this;
That to the use of actions fair and good,
He likewise gives a frock or livery
That aptly is put on: Refrain to-night,
And that shall lend a kind of easiness
To the next abstinence; the next more easie;
For use can almost change the stamp of nature,
And master ev'n the devil, or throw him out
-- 426 --
With wondrous potency. Once more, good night!
And when you are desirous to be blest,
I'll blessing beg of you. For this same lord,
[Pointing to Pol.
I do repent: but heav'n hath pleas'd 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, good night.
I must be cruel, only to be kind;
Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind.
Queen.
What shall I do?
Ham.
Not this by no means that I bid you do.
† noteLet the fond King tempt you again to bed,
Pinch wanton on your cheek, call you his mouse,
And let him for a pair of reechy kisses,
Or padling in your neck with his damn'd fingers,
Make you to ravel all this matter out,
That I essentially am not in madness,
But mad in craft. 'Twere good you let him know.
For who that's but a Queen, fair, sober, wise,
Would from a paddock, from a bat, a gibbe,
Such dear concernings hide? who would do so?
No, in despight of sense and secrecy,
Unpeg the basket on the house's top,
Let the birds fly, and like the famous ape
To try conclusions; in the basket creep,
And break your own neck down.
Queen.
Be thou assur'd, if words be made of breath,
And breath of life: I have no life to breathe
What thou hast said to me.
Ham.
I must to England, you know that?
Queen.
Alack, I had forgot; 'tis so concluded on.
-- 427 --
† noteHam.
There's letters seal'd, and my two school-fellows,
(Whom I will trust as I will adders fang'd,)
They bear the mandate; they must sweep my way
And marshal me to knavery: let it work—
For 'tis the sport to have the engineer
Hoist with his own petar: an't shall go hard
But I will 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 shall set me packing;
I'll lug the guts into the neighbour room;
Mother, good night. Indeed this counsellor
Is now most still, most secret, and most grave,
Who was in life a foolish prating knave.
Come, Sir, to draw toward an end with you.
Good night, mother.
[Exit Hamlet, tugging in Polonius.
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
A Royal Apartment.
Enter King and Queen.
King.
There's matter in these sighs; these profound heaves
You must translate, 'tis fit we understand them.
Where is your son?
Queen.
Ah, my good lord, what have I seen tonight?
King.
What, Gertrude? how does Hamlet?
Queen.
Mad as the seas, and wind, when both contend
Which is the mightier; in his lawless fit,
-- 428 --
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.
Oh heavy deed!
It had been so with us, had we been there:
His liberty is full of threats to all,
To you your self, to us, to every one.
Alas, how shall this bloody deed be answer'd?
It will be laid to us, whose providence
Should have kept short, restrain'd, 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 foul disease,
To keep it from divulging, lets it feed
Ev'n on the pith of life. Where is he gone?
Queen.
To draw apart the body he hath kill'd,
O'er whom his very madness, like some ore
Among a mineral of metals base,
Shews it self pure. He weeps for what is done.
King.
Oh 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 countenance, and excuse. Ho! Guildenstern!
Enter Rosincrosse and Guildenstern.
Friends both, go join you with some further aid:
Hamlet in madness hath Polonius slain,
And from his mother's closet hath he drag'd him.
Go seek him out, speak fair, and bring the body
Into the chappel. Pray you haste in this.
[Ex. Ros. and Guil.
Come, Gertrude, we'll call up our wisest friends,
-- 429 --
And let them know both what we mean to do,
And what's untimely done. Oh come away,
My soul is full of discord and dismay.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Enter Hamlet.
Ham.
Safely stowed—
Gentlemen within.
Hamlet! lord Hamlet!
Ham.
What noise? who calls on Hamlet?
Oh here they come.
Enter Rosincrosse and Guildenstern.
Ros.
What have you done, my lord, with the dead body?
Ham.
Compounded it with dust, whereto 'tis kin.
Ros.
Tell us where 'tis, that we may take it thence,
And bear it to the chappel.
Ham.
Do not believe it.
Ros.
Believe what?
Ham.
That I can keep your counsel, and not mine own.
Besides, to be demanded of a spunge, what replication should
be made by the son of a King?
Ros.
Take you me for a spunge, my lord?
Ham.
Ay, Sir, that sokes 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 a noteapple in the corner of his
jaw; first mouth'd, to be last swallow'd: when he needs what
you have glean'd, it is but squeezing you, and spunge, you
shall be dry again.
Ros.
I understand you not, my lord.
Ham.
I am glad of it; a knavish speech sleeps in a foolish
ear.
Ros.
My lord, you must tell us where the body is, and go
with us to the King.
-- 430 --
Ham.
The body is with the King, but the King is not with
the body. The King is a thing—
Guild.
A thing, my lord?
Ham.
Of nothing: bring me to him, hide fox, and all
after.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
Enter King.
King.
I've sent to seek him, and to find the body;
How dang'rous is it that this man goes loose!
Yet must not we put the strong law on him;
He's lov'd of the distracted multitude,
Who like not in their judgment, but their eyes:
And where 'tis so, th' offender's scourge is weigh'd,
But never the offence. To bear all smooth,
This sudden sending him away, must seem
Deliberate pause: diseases desp'rate grown,
By desperate appliance are relieved,
Or not at all.
Enter Rosincrosse.
How now? what hath befall'n?
Ros.
Where the dead body is bestow'd, my lord,
We cannot get from him.
King.
But where is he?
Ros.
Without, my lord, guarded to know your pleasure.
King.
Bring him before us.
Ros.
Ho, Guildenstern! bring in my lord.
Enter Hamlet and Guildenstern.
King.
Now, Hamlet, where's Polonius?
Ham.
At supper.
-- 431 --
King.
At supper? where?
Ham.
Not where he eats, but where he is eaten, a certain
convocation of politique worms are at him. Your worm is
your only emperor for diet. We fat all creatures else to fat
us, and we fat our selves for maggots. Your fat King and
your lean beggar is but variable service, two dishes to one table,
that's the end.
King.
Alas, alas!
Ham.
† noteA man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a
King, and eat of the fish that hath fed of that worm.
King.
What dost thou mean by this?
Ham.
Nothing but to shew you how a King may go a
progress through the guts of a beggar.
King.
Where is Polonius?
Ham.
In heav'n, send thither to see. If your messenger
find him not there, seek him i'th' other place your self. But
indeed, if you find him not this month, you shall nose him as you
go up the stairs into the lobbey.
King.
Go seek him there.
Ham.
He will stay 'till ye 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; then prepare thy self,
The bark is ready, and the wind at help,
Th' associates tend, and every thing is bent
For England.
Ham.
For England?
King.
Ay, Hamlet.
Ham.
Good.
King.
So is it, if thou knew'st our purposes.
Ham.
I see a Cherub that sees them; but come, for England!
farewel, dear mother.
-- 432 --
King.
Thy loving father, Hamlet.
Ham.
My mother: father and mother is man and wife;
man and wife is one flesh, and so my mother. Come, for
England.
[Exit.
King.
Follow him at foot, tempt him with speed aboard;
Delay it not, I'll have him hence to-night.
Away, for every thing is seal'd and done
That else leans on th' affair; pray you make haste.
And England! if my love thou hold'st at ought,
As my great power thereof may give thee sense,
Since yet thy cicatrice looks raw and red
After the Danish sword, and thy free awe
Pays homage to' us; thou may'st not coldly set
Our sovereign process, which imports at full
By letters b notecongruing to that effect,
The present death of Hamlet. Do it England:
For like the hectick in my blood he rages,
And thou must cure me; 'till I know 'tis done,
How-e'er my haps, my joys will ne'er begin.
[Exit.
SCENE IV.
A Camp.
Enter Fortinbras with an army.
For.
Go, captain, from me, greet the Danish King,
Tell him that by his license, Fortinbras
Claims the conveyance of a promis'd march
Over his realm. You know the rendevouz.
If that his majesty would ought with us,
We shall express our duty in his eye,
And let him know so.
-- 433 --
Capt.
I will do't, my lord.
For.
Go softly on.
[Exit Fortinbras.
Enter Hamlet, Rosincrosse, &c.
Ham.
Good Sir, whose powers are these?
Capt.
They are of Norway, Sir.
Ham.
How c notepurpos'd Sir, I pray you?
Capt.
Against some part of Poland.
Ham.
Who commands them, Sir?
Capt.
The nephew of old Norway, Fortinbras.
Ham.
Goes it against the main of Poland, Sir,
Or for some frontier?
Capt.
Truly to speak it, and with no addition,
We 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
A ranker rate, should it be d notesold in fee.
Ham.
Why then the Polacke never will defend it.
Capt.
Yes, 'tis already garrison'd.
Ham.
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 shews no cause without
Why the man dies. I humbly thank you, Sir.
Cap.
God b'w'ye, Sir.
Ros.
Will't please you go, my lord?
Ham.
I'll be with you, go a little before.
[Exeunt.
Manet Hamlet.
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
-- 434 --
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 god-like reason
To rust in us unus'd. Now whether it be
Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple
Of thinking too precisely on th' event,
(A thought which quarter'd 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 puft
Makes mouths at the invisible event,
Exposing what is mortal and unsure
To all that fortune, death, and danger dare,
Ev'n for an egg-shell. 'Tis not to be great,
Never to stir without great argument;
But greatly to find quarrel in a straw,
When honour's at the stake. How stand I then,
That have a father kill'd, a mother stain'd,
(Excitements of my reason and my blood)
And let all sleep, while to my shame I see
The imminent death of twenty thousand men,
That for a fantasie and trick of fame
Go to their graves like beds, fight for a spot
Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause,
Which is not tomb enough and continent
To hide the slain? O then from this time forth,
My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth.
-- 435 --
SCENE V.
A Palace.
Enter Queen, Horatio, and a Gentleman.
Queen.
I will not speak with her.
Gent.
She is importunate,
Indeed distract; her mood will needs be pitied.
Queen.
What would she have?
Gent.
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 thought;
Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily.
Hor.
'Twere good she were spoken with, for she may strow
Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds.
Let her come in—
Queen.
To my sick soul, as sin's true nature is,
Each toy seems prologue to some great amiss,
So full of artless jealousie is guilt,
It spills it self in fearing to be spilt.
Enter Ophelia distracted.
Oph.
Where is the beauteous majesty of Denmark?
Queen.
How now, Ophelia?
Oph.
How should I your true love know from another one?
By his cockle hat and staff, and his sandal shoon.
[Singing.
-- 436 --
Queen.
Alas, sweet lady; what imports this song?
Oph.
Say you? nay, pray you mark.
He's dead and gone, lady, he is dead and gone,
At his head a grass-green turf, at his heels a stone.
Enter King.
Queen.
Nay, but Ophelia.—
Oph.
Pray you mark.
White his shrowd as the mountain snow.
Queen.
Alas, look here, my lord.
Oph.
Larded with sweet flowers:
Which bewept to the grave did go,
With true-love showers.
King.
How do ye, pretty lady?
Oph.
Well, God dil'd you. They say the owl was a baker's
daughter. Lord, we know what we are, but know not what
we may be. God be at your table.
King.
Conceit upon her father.
Oph.
Pray let us have no words of this; but when they ask
you what it means, say you this:
To-morrow is St. Valentine's day, all in the morn betime,
And I a maid at your window, to be your Valentine.
Then up he rose, and don'd his cloaths, and dupt the chamber-door;
Let in a maid, that out a maid never departed more.
King.
Pretty Ophelia!
Oph.
Indeed? without an oath, I'll make an end on't.
By Gis, and by S. 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 promis'd me to wed:
-- 437 --
So would I ha' done, by yonder sun,
And thou hadst not come to my bed.
King.
How long hath she been thus?
Oph.
I hope all will be well. We must be patient, but I cannot
chuse but weep, to think they should lay him i'th' cold ground;
my brother shall know of it, and so I thank you for your good
counsel. Come, my coach; good-night, ladies; good-night,
sweet ladies; good-night, good-night.
[Exit.
King.
Follow her close, give her good watch, I pray you;
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 violent author
Of his own just remove; the people muddied,
Thick and unwholsome in their thoughts and whispers,
For good Polonius' death. We've done but greenly,
In private to inter him; poor Ophelia
Divided from her self, and her fair judgment,
(Without the which we're pictures, or mere beasts:)
Last, and as much containing as all these,
Her brother is in secret come from France,
Feeds on this wonder, keeps himself in clouds,
And wants not buzzers to infect his ear
With pestilent speeches of his father's death;
Wherein necessity, of matter beggar'd,
Will nothing stick our persons to arraign
In ear and ear. O my dear Gertrude, this,
Like to a murdering piece in many places,
Gives me superfluous death!
[A Noise within.
-- 438 --
SCENE VI.
Enter a Messenger.
King.
Where are my Switzers? let them guard the door.
What is the matter?
Mes.
Save your self, my lord.
The ocean over-peering of his list
Eats not the flats with more impetuous haste,
Than young Laertes, in a riotous head,
O'er-bears your officers; the rabble call him lord,
And as the world were now but to begin,
Antiquity forgot, custom not known,
The ratifiers and props of every word;
They cry, chuse we Laertes for our King.
Caps, hands, and tongues, applaud it to the Clouds.
Laertes shall be King, Laertes King.
Queen.
How chearfully on the false trail they cry,
Oh this is counter, you false Danish dogs.
[Noise within.
Enter Laertes.
King.
The doors are broke.
Laer.
Where is the King? Sirs! stand you all without.
All.
No let's come in.
Laer.
I pray you give me leave.
All.
We will, we will.
Laer.
I thank you; keep the door.
O thou vile King, give me my father.
Queen.
Calmly, good Laertes.
Laer.
That drop of blood that's calm, proclaims me bastard,
Crys cuckold to my father, brands the harlot
Even here between the chaste and unsmich'd brow
Of my true mother.
-- 439 --
King.
What is the cause, Laertes,
That thy rebellion looks so giant-like?
Let him go, Gertrude; do not fear our person:
There's such divinity doth hedge a King
That treason can but peep to what it would,
Acts little of its will. Tell me, Laertes,
Why are you thus incenst? Let him go, Gertrude.
Speak man.
Laer.
Where is my father?
King.
Dead.
Queen.
But not by him.
King.
Let him demand his fill.
Laer.
How came he dead? I'll not be juggled with.
To hell, allegiance! vows, to the black devil!
Conscience and grace, to the profoundest pit;
I dare damnation; to this point I stand,
That both the worlds I give to negligence,
Let come what comes; only I'll be reveng'd
Most throughly for my father.
King.
Who shall stay you?
Laer.
My will, not all the world's.
And for my means, I'll husband them so well,
They shall go far with little.
King.
Good Laertes:
If you desire to know the certainty
Of your dear father's death, in your revenge,
(That sweep-stake,) you will draw both friend and foe,
Winner and loser.
Laer.
None but his enemies.
King.
Will you know them then?
Laer.
To his good friends thus wide I'll ope my arms,
And like the kind life-rendring pelican,
Repast them with my blood.
-- 440 --
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 sensibly in grief for it,
It shall as level to your judgment pierce,
As day does to your eye.
[A Noise within.
SCENE VII.
Enter Ophelia fantastically drest with straws and flowers.
Laer.
Let her come in. How now? what noise is that?
O heat dry up my brains, tears seven times salt
Burn on the sense and vertue of mine eye.
By heav'n, thy madness shall be paid with weight,
'Till our scale turn the beam. O rose of May!
Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia!
O heav'ns, is't possible a young maid's wits
Should be as mortal as an old man's life?
e note
Nature is fine in love, and where 'tis fine,
It sends some precious instance of it self
After the thing it loves.
Oph.
They bore him bare-fac'd on the bier,
And on his grave rains many a tear,
Fare you well, my dove.
Laer.
Hadst thou thy wits, and didst perswade revenge, it
could not move thus.
Oph.
You must sing, down a-down, and you call him a-down-a.
O how the wheel becomes it? it is the false steward that stole
his master's daughter.
-- 441 --
Laer.
This nothing's more than matter.
Oph.
There's rosemary, that's for remembrance; pray love
remember; and there's pancies, that's for thoughts.
Laer.
A document in madness, thoughts and remembrance
fitted.
Oph.
There's fennel for you, and columbines; there's rue for
you, and here's some for me. We may call it herb of grace a
Sundays: you may wear your rue with a difference. There's a
dasie; I would give you some violets, but they withered all when
my father dy'd: they say, he made a good end;
For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy.
Laer.
Thought, and affliction, passion, hell it self,
She turns to favour, and to prettiness.
Oph.
And will he not come again?
And will he not come again?
No, no, he is dead, go to thy death-bed,
He never will come again.
His beard as white as snow,
All flaxen was his pole:
He is gone, he is gone, and we cast away mone,
Gramercy on his soul.
And of all christian souls! God b'w'ye.
[Exit Ophelia.
Laer.
Do you see this, you Gods?
King.
Laertes, I must commune with your grief,
Or you deny me right: go but a-part,
Make choice of whom your wisest friends you will,
And they shall hear and judge 'twixt you and me;
If by direct or by collateral hand
They find us touch'd, we will our kingdom give,
Our crown, our life, and all that we call ours
To you in satisfaction. But if not,
Be you content to lend your patience to us,
-- 442 --
And we shall jointly labour with your soul,
To give it due content.
Laer.
Let this be so.
His means of death, his obscure funeral;
No trophy sword, nor hatchment o'er his bones,
No noble rite, nor formal ostentation;
Cry to be heard, as 'twere from heav'n to earth,
That I must call in question.
King.
So you shall:
And where th' offence is, let the great ax fall.
I pray you go with me.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VIII.
Enter Horatio, with an attendant.
Hor.
What are they that would speak with me?
Ser.
Sailors, Sir, they say they have letters for you.
Hor.
Let them come in.
I do not know from what part of the world
I should be greeted, if not from lord Hamlet.
Enter Sailors.
Sail.
God bless you, Sir.
Hor.
Let him bless thee too.
Sail.
He shall, Sir, an't please him. There's a letter for you,
Sir: It comes from th' ambassador that was bound for England,
if your name be Horatio, as I am let to know it is.
Hor. reads the letter.
Horatio, when thou shalt have overlook'd this, give these
fellows some means to the King: they have letters for him.
Ere we were two days old at sea, a pirate of very warlike appointment
-- 443 --
gave us chace. Finding our selves too slow of sail, we put on a
compelled valour, and in the grapple I boarded them: on the instant
they got clear of our ship, so I alone became their prisoner.
They have dealt with me, like thieves of mercy, but they knew what
they did. I am to do a good turn for them. Let the King have
the letters I have sent, and repair thou to me with as much haste
as thou wouldest fly death. I have words to speak in thy ear, will
make thee dumb, yet are they much too light for the matter. These
good fellows will bring thee where I am. Rosincrosse and Guildenstern
hold their course for England. Of them I have much to
tell thee, farewel.
[He that thou knowest thine, Hamlet.
Come, I will make you way for these your letters,
And do't the speedier, that you may direct me
To him, from whom you brought them.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IX.
Enter King and Laertes.
King.
Now must your conscience my acquittance seal,
And you must put me in your heart for friend,
Sith you have heard, and with a knowing ear,
That he which hath your noble father slain,
Pursued my life.
Laer.
It well appears. But tell me,
Why you proceeded not against these feats,
So crimeful and so capital in nature,
As by your safety, wisdom, all things else,
You mainly were stirr'd up?
King.
Two special reasons,
Which may to you, perhaps, seem much unsinew'd,
And yet to me are strong. The Queen, his mother,
-- 444 --
Lives almost by his looks; and for my self,
My virtue or my plague, be't either which,
She's so conjunctive to my life and soul;
That as the star moves not but in his sphere,
I could not but by her. The other motive,
Why to a publick count I might not go,
Is the great love the general gender bear him;
Who dipping all his faults in their affection,
Would, like the spring that turneth wood to stone,
Convert his gyves to graces. So my arrows
Too slightly timbred for so loud a wind,
Would have reverted to my bow again,
And not where I had aim'd them.
Laer.
And so have I a noble father lost,
A sister driven into desperate terms,
Whose worth, if praises may go back again,
Stood challenger on mount of all the age
For her perfections—But revenge will come.
King.
Break not your sleeps for that, you must not think
That we are made of stuff so flat and dull,
That we can let our beard be shook with danger,
And think it pastime. You shall soon hear more.
I lov'd your father, and we love your self,
And that I hope will teach you to imagine—
Enter Messenger.
Mes.
These to your Majesty: this to the Queen.
King.
From Hamlet? who brought them?
Mes.
Sailors, my lord, they say, I saw them not:
They were giv'n me by Claudio, he receiv'd them.
King.
Laertes, you shall hear them: leave us, all—
[Exit Mes.
High and mighty, you shall know I am set naked on your kingdom.
To-morrow shall I beg leave to see your kingly eyes. When
I shall, first asking you pardon thereunto, recount th' occasion of
my sudden return.
Hamlet.
-- 445 --
What should this mean? are all the rest come back?
Or is it some abuse—and no such thing?
Laer.
Know you the hand?
King.
'Tis Hamlet's character;
Naked, and (in a postcript here, he says)
Alone: can you advise me?
Laer.
I'm lost in it, my lord; but let him come,
It warms the very sickness in my heart,
That I shall live and tell him to his teeth,
Thus diddest thou.
King.
If it be so, Laertes,
As how should it be so?—how otherwise?—
Will you be rul'd by me?
Laer.
I, so you'll not o'er-rule me to a peace.
King.
To thine own peace: if he be now return'd,
As liking not his voyage, and that he means
No more to undertake it; I will work him
To an exploit now ripe in my devise,
Under the which he shall not chuse but fall:
And for his death no wind of blame shall breathe,
But ev'n his mother shall uncharge the practice,
And call it accident.
Laer.
I will be rul'd,
The rather if you could devise it so
That I might be the instrument.
King.
It falls right:
You have been talkt of since your travel much,
And that in Hamlet's hearing, for a quality
Wherein they say you shine; your sum of parts
Did not together pluck such envy from him,
As did that one, and that in my regard
Of the unworthiest siege.
Laer.
What part is that, my lord?
King.
A very feather in the cap of youth,
-- 446 --
Yet needful too, for youth no less becomes
The light and careless livery that it wears,
Than settled age his sables, and his weeds,
Importing health and graveness. Two months since
Here was a gentleman of Normandy;
I've seen my self and serv'd against the French,
And they can well on horse-back; but this gallant
Had witchcraft in't, he grew unto his seat;
And to such wondrous doing brought his horse,
As he had been incorps'd and demy-natur'd
With the brave beast; so far he past my thought,
That I in forgery of shapes and tricks,
Come short of what he did.
Laer.
A Norman was't?
King.
A Norman.
Laer.
Upon my life, Lamond.
King.
The very same.
Laer.
I know him well, he is the brooch indeed,
And gem of all the nation.
King.
He made confession of you,
And gave you such a masterly report,
For art and exercise in your defence;
And for your rapier most especial,
That he cry'd out, 'twould be a fight indeed,
If one could match you. This report of his
Did Hamlet so envenom with his envy,
That he could nothing do, but wish and beg
Your sudden coming o'er to play with him.
Now out of this—
Laer.
What out of this, my lord?
King.
Laertes, was your father dear to you?
Or are you like the painting of a sorrow,
A face without a heart?
Laer.
Why ask you this?
-- 447 --
King.
Not that I think you did not love your father,
But that I know love is begun by time;
And that I see in passages of proof,
Time qualifies the spark and fire of it:
There lives within the very flame of love
A kind of wick or snuff that will abate it,
And nothing is at a like goodness still;
For goodness growing to a pleurisie,
Dies in his own too much; What we would do,
We should do when we would; for this would changes,
And hath abatements and delays as many
As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents,
And then this should is like a spend-thrift's sigh
That hurts by easing; but to th' quick o'th' ulcer—
Hamlet comes back; what would you undertake
To shew your self your father's son indeed,
More than in words?
Laer.
To cut his throat i'th' church.
King.
No place indeed should murther sanctuarise;
Revenge should have no bounds; but, good Laertes,
Will you do this, keep close within your chamber?
Hamlet return'd, shall know you are come home:
We'll put on those shall praise your excellence,
And set a double varnish on the fame
The Frenchman gave you, bring you in fine together,
And wager on your heads. He being remiss,
Most generous, and free from all contriving,
Will not peruse the foils; so that with ease,
Or with a little shuffling, you may chuse
A sword unbated, and in a pass of practice
Requite him for your father.
Laer.
I will do't;
And for the purpose I'll anoint my sword:
-- 448 --
I bought an unction of a mountebank,
So mortal, that but dip a knife in it,
Where it draws blood, no cataplasm so rare,
Collected from all simples that have virtue
Under the moon, can save the thing from death,
That is but scratch'd withal; I'll touch my point
With this contagion, if I gall him slightly
It may be death.
King.
Let's further think of this,
Weigh what convenience both of time and means
May fit us to our shape. If this should fail,
And that our drift look through our bad performance,
'Twere better not assay'd; therefore this project
Should have a back, or second, that might hold,
If this should blast in proof. Soft—let me see—
We'll make a solemn wager on your cunnings,
I ha't—when in your motion you are hot,
And make your bouts more violent to th' end,
And that he calls for drink; I'll have prepar'd him
A chalice for the nonce; whereon but sipping,
If he by chance escape your venom'd tuck,
Our purpose may hold there. How now, sweet Queen?
SCENE X.
Enter Queen.
Queen.
One woe doth tread upon another's heel,
So fast they follow: your sister's drown'd, Laertes.
Laer.
Drown'd! oh where?
Queen.
There is a willow grows aslant a brook,
That shews his hoar leaves in the glassie stream:
There with fantastick garlands did she come,
Of crow-flow'rs, nettles, daisies, and long purples
-- 449 --
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,
But our cold maids do dead mens fingers call them.
There on the pendant boughs, her coronet weeds
Clambring to hang, an envious sliver broke;
When down her weedy trophies and her self
Fell in the weeping brook; her cloaths spread wide,
And mermaid-like, a while they bore her up;
Which time she chaunted snatches of old tunes,
As one incapable of her own distress,
Or like a creature native, and indewed
Unto that element: but long it could not be,
'Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death.
Laer.
Alas then, she is drown'd!
Queen.
Drown'd, drown'd.
Laer.
Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia,
And therefore I forbid my tears: but yet
It is our trick, nature her custom holds,
Let shame say what it will; when these are gone,
The woman will be out: adieu, my lord,
I have a speech of fire that fain would blaze,
But that this folly drowns it.
[Exit.
King.
Follow, Gertrude:
How much I had to do to calm his rage?
Now fear I, this will give it start again,
Therefore let's follow.
[Exeunt.
-- 450 --
ACT V.
SCENE I.
A Church.
Enter two clowns, with spades and mattocks.
1 Clown.
Is she to be buried in christian burial, that willfully
seeks her own salvation?
2 Clown.
I tell thee, she is; therefore make her
grave straight, the crowner hath sate on her, and
finds it christian burial.
1 Clown.
How can that be, unless she drowned
her self in her own defence?
2 Clown.
Why 'tis found so.
1 Clown.
It must be se offendendo, it cannot be else. For
here lyes the point; if I drown my self wittingly, it argues an act;
and an act hath three branches. It is an act to do, and to perform;
argal, she drown'd her self wittingly.
2 Clown.
Nay, but hear you, goodman Delver.
1 Clown.
Give me leave; here lyes the water, good: here
stands the man, good: if the man go to this water, and drown
himself; it is will he, nill he, he goes; mark you that: but if
the water come to him, and drown him; he drowns not himself.
Argal, he that is not guilty of his own death, shortens not his
own life.
2 Clown.
But is this law?
1 Clown.
Ay marry is't, crowner's quest law.
2 Clown.
Will you ha' the truth on't? if this had not been a
gentlewoman, she should have been buried out of christian burial.
-- 451 --
1 Clown.
Why there thou say'st. And the more pity that
great folk should have countenance in this world to drown or hang
themselves, more than other christians. Come, my spade; there
is no ancient gentlemen but gardeners, ditchers and grave-makers;
they hold up Adam's profession.
2 Clown.
Was he a gentleman?
1 Clown.
He was the first that ever bore arms.
2 Clown.
Why, he had none.
1 Clown.
What, art a heathen? how dost thou understand the
scripture? the scripture says, Adam digg'd; could he dig without
arms? I'll put another question to thee; if thou answerest me
not to the purpose, confess thy self—
2 Clown.
Go to.
1 Clown.
What is he that builds stronger than either the mason,
the ship-wright, or the carpenter?
2 Clown.
The gallows-maker, for that frame out-lives a thousand
tenants.
1 Clown.
I like thy wit well in good faith, the gallows
does well; but how does it well? it does well to those that do
ill: now thou dost ill to say the gallows is built stronger than the
church; argal, the gallows may do well to thee. To't again,
come.
2 Clown.
Who builds stronger than a mason, a shipwright, or
a carpenter?—
1 Clown.
Ay, tell me that, and unyoke.
2 Clown.
Marry, now I can tell.
1 Clown.
To't.
2 Clown.
Mass, I cannot tell.
Enter Hamlet and Horatio at a distance.
1 Clown.
Cudgel thy brains no more about it; for your dull
ass will not mend his pace with beating; and when you are ask'd
this question next, say a grave-maker. The houses he makes,
-- 452 --
last 'till dooms-day: go, get thee to Youghan, fetch me a stoup
of liquor.
[Exit 2 Clown.
He digs and sings.
In youth when I did love, did love,
Methought it was very sweet;
To contract oh the time for a my behove,
Oh methought there was nothing meet.
Ham.
Has this fellow no feeling of his business, that he sings
at grave-making?
Hor.
Custom hath made it in him a property of easiness.
Ham.
'Tis e'en so; the hand of little imployment hath the
daintier sense.
Clown sings.
But age with his stealing steps,
Hath claw'd me in his clutch:
And hath shipped me into the land,
As if I ne'er had been such.
Ham.
That scull had a tongue in it, and could sing once;
how the knave jowles it to the ground, as if it were Cain's jawbone,
bone, that did the first murther! this might be the pate of a politician
which this ass o'er-offices; one that could circumvent
God, might it not?
Hor.
It might, my lord.
Ham.
Or of a courtier, which could say, good-morrow sweet
lord; how dost thou, good lord? this might be my lord such a
one, that prais'd my lord such a ones horse, when he meant to
beg it; might it not?
Hor.
Ay, my lord.
Ham.
Why e'en so: and now my lady Worm's, chopless, and
knockt about the mazzard with a sexton's spade. Here's fine
revolution, if we had the trick to see't. Did these bones cost no
-- 453 --
more the breeding, but to play at loggers with 'em? mine ake
to think on't.
Clown sings.
A pick-axe and a spade, a spade,
For and, a shrowding sheet!
O, a pit of clay, for to be made
For such a guest is meet.
Ham.
There's another: why may not that be the scull of a
lawyer? where be his quiddits now? his quillets? his cases? his
tenures, and his tricks? why does he suffer this rude knave now
to knock him about the sconce with a dirty shovel, and will not
tell him of his action of battery? hum! this fellow might be in's
time a great buyer of land, with his statutes, his recognizances,
his fines, his double vouchers, his recoveries. Is this the fine of
his fines, and the recovery of his recoveries, to have his fine
pate full of fine dirt? will his vouchers vouch him no more of
his purchases, and double ones too, than the length and breadth
of a pair of indentures? the very conveyances of his lands will
hardly lye in this box; and must the inheritor himself have no
more? ha?
Hor.
Not a jot more, my lord.
Ham.
Is not parchment made of sheep-skins?
Hor.
Ay my lord, and of calve-skins too.
Ham.
They are sheep and calves that seek out assurance in that.
I will speak to this fellow: Whose grave's this, sirrah?
Clown.
Mine, Sir—
O, a pit of clay for to be made,
For such a ghost is meet.
Ham.
I think it be thine indeed: for thou liest in't.
Clown.
You lie out on't, Sir, and therefore it is not yours;
for my part I do not lie in't, yet it is mine.
Ham.
Thou dost lie in't, to be in't, and say 'tis thine; 'tis for
-- 454 --
the dead, not for the quick, therefore thou ly'st.
Clown.
'Tis a quick lie, Sir, 'twill away again from me to you.
Ham.
What man dost thou dig it for?
Clown.
For no man, Sir.
Ham.
What woman then?
Clown.
For none neither.
Ham.
Who is to be buried in't?
Clown.
One that was a woman, Sir; but rest her soul, she's
dead.
Ham.
How absolute the knave is? we must speak by the card,
or equivocation will follow us. By the lord, Horatio, these
three years I have taken note of it, the age is grown so picked,
that the toe of the peasant comes so near the heel of our courtier,
he galls his kibe. How long hast thou been a grave-maker?
Clown.
Of all the days i'th' year, I came to't that day that our
last King Hamlet o'ercame Fortinbras.
Ham.
How long is that since?
Clown.
Cannot you tell that? every fool can tell that: it was
that very day that young Hamlet was born, he that was mad,
and sent into England.
Ham.
Ay marry, why was he sent into England?
Clown.
Why, because he was mad; he shall recover his wits
there; or if he do not, it's no great matter there.
Ham.
Why?
Clown.
'Twill not be seen in him, there the men are as mad as
he.
Ham.
How came he mad?
Clown.
Very strangely, they say.
Ham.
How strangely?
Clown.
Faith e'en with losing his wits.
Ham.
Upon what ground?
Clown.
Why, here in Denmark. I have been sexton here,
man and boy, thirty years.
-- 455 --
Ham.
How long will a man lie i'th' earth ere he rot?
Clown.
I'faith, if he be not rotten before he die, (as we have
many pocky coarses now-a-days, that will scarce hold the laying
in) he will last you some eight year, or nine year; a tanner will
last you nine years.
Ham.
Why he, more than another?
Clown.
Why Sir, his hide is so tann'd with his trade, that he
will keep out water a great while. And your water is a sore decayer
of your whorson dead body. Here's a scull now has lain in
the earth three and twenty years.
Ham.
Whose was it?
Clown.
A whorson mad fellow's it was; whose do you think
it was?
Ham.
Nay, I know not.
Clown.
A pestilence on him for a mad rogue, he pour'd a flagon
of rhenish on my head once. This same scull, Sir, was Yorick's
scull, the King's jester.
Ham.
This?
Clown.
E'en that.
Ham.
Alas poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio, a fellow of infinite
jest; of most excellent fancy: he hath born me on his back
a thousand times: and now how abhorred in my imagination it
is! my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kiss'd
I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols?
your songs? your flashes of merriment that were wont to set the
table in a roar? not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite
chop-fallen? now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her,
let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come; make
her laugh at that—Pr'ythee, Horatio, tell me one thing.
Hor.
What's that, my lord?
Ham.
Dost thou think Alexander look'd o' this fashion i'th'
earth?
Hor.
E'en so.
-- 456 --
Ham.
And smelt so, puh?
[Smelling to the Scull.
Hor.
E'en so, my lord.
Ham.
To what base uses we may return, Horatio! why may
not imagination trace the noble dust of Alexander, 'till he find
it stopping a bung-hole?
Hor.
'Twere to consider too curiously, to consider so.
Ham.
No faith, not a jot. But to follow him thither with
modesty enough, and likelihood to lead it; as thus: Alexander died,
Alexander was buried, Alexander returneth to dust; the dust
is earth; of earth we make lome, and why of that lome whereto
he was converted, might they not stop a beer-barrel?
Imperial Cæsar dead and turn'd to clay,
Might stop a hole to keep the wind away:
Oh, that that earth, which kept the world in awe,
Should patch a wall, t' expel the winter's flaw!
But soft! but soft a while—here comes the King,
SCENE II.
Enter King, Queen, Laertes, and a coffin, with Lords and Priests attendant.
The Queen, the courtiers. What is that they follow,
And with such maimed rights? this doth betoken,
The coarse they follow did with desperate hand
Fore-do its own life; 'twas of some estate.
Couch we a while, and mark.
Laer.
What ceremony else?
Ham.
That is Laertes, a most noble youth: mark—
Laer.
What ceremony else?
Priest.
Her obsequies have been as far enlarg'd
As we have warranty; her death was doubtful,
And but that great command o'er-sways the order,
She should in ground unsanctified have lodg'd
-- 457 --
'Till the last trump. For charitable prayers,
Shards, flints, and pebbles, should be thrown on her;
Yet here she is allow'd her virgin rites,
Her maiden strewments, and the bringing home
Of bell and burial.
Laer.
Must no more be done?
Priest.
No more be done:
We should prophane the service of the dead,
To sing a Requiem, and such rest to her
As to peace-parted souls.
Laer.
Lay her i'th' earth,
And from her fair and unpolluted flesh
May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest,
A ministring angel shall my sister be,
When thou liest howling.
Ham.
What, the fair Ophelia!
Queen.
Sweets to the sweet, farewel!
I hop'd thou would'st have been my Hamlet's wife;
I thought thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid,
And not have strew'd thy grave.
Laer.
O treble woe
Fall tentimes treble on that cursed head,
Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense
Depriv'd thee of. Hold off the earth a while,
'Till I have caught her once more in my arms,
[Laertes leaps into the grave.
Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead,
'Till of this flat a mountain you have made,
T' o'er-top old Pelion, or the skyish head
Of blue Olympus.
Ham. [discovering himself.]
What is he, whose griefs
Bear such an emphasis? whose phrase of sorrow
Conjures the wandring stars, and makes them stand
-- 458 --
Like wonder-wounded hearers? this is I,
[Hamlet leaps into the grave.
Hamlet the Dane.
Laer.
The devil take thy soul!
[Grappling with him.
Ham.
Thou pray'st not well.
I pr'ythee take thy fingers from my throat—
For though I am not splenative and rash,
Yet have I in me something dangerous,
Which let thy wisdom fear. Hold off thy hand.
King.
Pluck them asunder—
Queen.
Hamlet, Hamlet—
Hor.
Good my lord be quiet.
[The attendants part them.
Ham.
Why, I will fight with him upon this theme,
Until my eye-lids will no longer wag.
Queen.
Oh my son! what theme?
Ham.
I lov'd 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.
Queen.
For love of God forbear him.
Ham.
Come shew me what thou'lt do.
Woo't weep? woo't fight? woo't fast? woo't tear thy self?
Woo't drink up Esill, eat a crocodile?
I'll do't. Do'st thou come hither but to whine;
To out-face me with leaping in her grave?
Be buried quick with her; and so will I;
And if thou prate of mountains, let them throw
Millions of acres on us, 'till our ground
Sindging his pate against the burning zone,
Make Ossa like a wart! nay, an thou'lt mouth,
I'll rant as well as thou.
King.
This is mere madness;
And thus a while the fit will work on him:
-- 459 --
Anon as patient as the female dove,
When that her golden cuplets are disclos'd,
His silence will sit drooping.
Ham.
Hear you Sir—
What is the reason that you use me thus?
I lov'd you ever; but it is no matter—
Let Hercules himself do what he may,
The cat will mew, and dog will have his day.
[Exit.
King.
I pray you good Horatio, wait upon him.
[Exit Hor.
Strengthen your patience in our last night's speech.
[To Laertes.
We'll put the matter to the present push.
Good Gertrude set some watch over your son.
This grave shall have a living monument.
An hour of quiet shortly shall we see;
'Till then, in patience our proceeding be.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
A Hall.
Enter Hamlet and Horatio.
Ham.
So much for this, now shall you see the other.
You do remember all the circumstance.
Hor.
Remember it, my lord?
Ham.
Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting,
That would not let me sleep; methought I lay
Worse than the mutineers in bilboes; rashness
(And prais'd be rashness for it) lets us know
Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well,
When our deep plots do fail; and that should teach us,
There's a divinity that shapes our ends,
Rough-hew them how we will.
-- 460 --
Hor.
That is most certain.
Ham.
Up from my cabin,
My sea-gown scarft about me, in the dark
Grop'd I to find out them; had my desire,
Finger'd their packet, and in fine withdrew
To mine own room again, making so bold
(My fears forgetting manners) to unseal
Their grand commission, where I found, Horatio,
A royal knavery; an exact command,
Larded with many several sorts of reasons,
Importing Denmark's health, and England's too,
(With ho! such buggs and goblings in my life,)
That on the supervize, no leisure bated,
No not to stay the grinding of the ax,
My head should be struck off.
Hor.
Is't possible?
Ham.
Here's the commission, read it at more leisure;
But wilt thou hear now how I did proceed?
Hor.
I beseech you.
Ham.
Being thus benetted round with villains,
Ere I could make a prologue to my brains,
They had begun the play. I sate me down,
Devis'd a new commission, wrote it fair:
(I once did hold it as our statists do,
A baseness to write fair; and labour'd much
How to forget that learning; but, Sir, now
It did me yeoman's service;) wilt thou know
Th' effect of what I wrote?
Hor.
Ay, good my lord.
Ham.
An earnest conjuration from the King,
As England was his faithful tributary,
As love between them like the palm might flourish,
As peace should still her wheaten garland wear,
-- 461 --
And stand a comma 'tween their amities,
And many such like As's of great charge;
That on the view and knowing these contents,
Without debatement further, more or less,
He should the bearers put to sudden death,
No shriving time allow'd.
Hor.
How was this seal'd?
Ham.
Why ev'n in that was heaven ordinate;
I had my father's signet in my purse,
Which was the model of that Danish seal:
I folded the writ up in form of th' other,
Subscrib'd it, gave th' impression, plac'd it safely,
The change was never known: now, the next day
Was our sea-fight, and what to this was sequent,
Thou know'st already.
Hor.
So, Guildenstern and Rosincrosse go to't.
Ham.
They are not near my conscience; their defeat
Doth by their own insinuation grow:
'Tis dangerous when baser nature comes
Between the pass, and fell incensed points
Of mighty opposites.
Hor.
Why, what a King is this?
Ham.
Does it not, think'st thou, stand me now upon?
He that hath kill'd my King, and whor'd my mother,
Popt in between th' election and my hopes,
Thrown out his angle for my proper life,
And with such cozenage; is't not perfect conscience,
To quit him with this arm? and is't not to be damn'd,
To let this canker of our nature come
In further evil?
Hor.
It must be shortly known to him from England,
What is the issue of the business there.
Ham.
It will be short.
-- 462 --
The Interim's mine, and a man's life's no more
Than to say, one.
But I am very sorry, good Horatio,
That to Laertes I forgot my self;
For by the image of my cause I see
The pourtraiture of his; I'll court his favours:
But sure the bravery of his grief did put me
Into a towring passion.
Hor.
Peace, who comes here?
SCENE IV.
Enter Osrick.
Osr.
Your lordship is right welcome back to Denmark.
Ham.
I humbly thank you, Sir. Dost know this water-fly?
Hor.
No, my good lord.
Ham.
Thy state is the more gracious; for 'tis a vice to know
him: he hath much land, and fertile; let a beast be lord of beasts,
and his crib shall stand at the King's messe; 'tis a chough; but
as I say, spacious in the possession of dirt.
Osr.
Sweet lord, if your a notelordship were at leisure, I should impart
a thing to you from his majesty.
Ham.
I will receive it with all diligence of spirit; put your
bonnet to his right use, 'tis for the head.
Osr.
I thank your lordship, 'tis very hot.
Ham.
No, believe me, 'tis very cold, the wind is northerly.
Osr.
It is indifferent cold, my lord, indeed.
Ham.
Methinks it is very sultry, and hot for my complexion.
Osr.
Exceedingly, my lord, it is very sultry, as 'twere, I cannot
tell how:—My lord, his majesty bid me signifie to you, that
he has laid a great wager on your head: Sir, this is the matter—
Ham.
I beseech you remember—
Osr.
Nay in good faith, for mine ease in good faith: Sir, you
are not ignorant of what excellence Laertes is at his weapon.
-- 463 --
Ham.
What's his weapon?
Osr.
Rapier and dagger.
Ham.
That's two of his weapons; but well.
Osr.
The King, Sir, has wag'd with him six Barbary horses,
against the which he impon'd, as I take it, six French rapiers and
poniards, with their assigns, as girdle, hangers, or so: three of
the carriages in faith are very dear to fancy, very responsive to
the hilts, most delicate carriages, and of very liberal conceit.
Ham.
What call you the carriages?
Osr.
The carriages, Sir, are the hangers.
Ham.
The phrase would be more germane to the matter, if we
could carry cannon by our sides; I would it might be hangers
'till then. But on; six Barbary horses, against six French swords,
their assigns, and three liberal-conceited carriages, that's the French
bett against the Danish; why is this impon'd, as you call it?
Osr.
The King, Sir, hath laid, that in a dozen passes between
you and him, he shall not exceed you three hits; he hath laid
on twelve for nine, and it would come to immediate tryal, if your
lordship would vouchsafe the answer.
Ham.
How if I answer no?
Osr.
I mean, my lord, the opposition of your person in tryal.
Ham.
Sir, I will walk here in the hall; if it please his majesty,
'tis the breathing time of day with me; let the foils be brought, the
gentleman willing, and the King hold his purpose; I will win for him
if I can: if not, I'll gain nothing but my shame, and the odd hits.
Osr.
Shall I deliver you so?
Ham.
To this effect, Sir, after what flourish your nature will.
Osr.
I commend my duty to your lordship.
[Exit.
Ham.
Yours, yours; he does well to commend it himself,
there are no tongues else for's turn.
Hor.
This lapwing runs away with the shell on his head.
Ham.
He did so with his dug before he suck'd it: thus has he
(and many more of the same breed that I know the drossy age
-- 464 --
dotes on) only got the tune of the time, and outward habit of encounter,
a kind of yesty collection, which carries them through
and through the most fond and winnowed opinions; and do but
blow them to their tryals, the bubbles are out.
Enter a Lord.
Lord.
My lord, his majesty commended him to you by young
Osrick, who brings back to him, that you attend him in the hall;
he sends to know if your pleasure hold to play with Laertes, or
that you will take longer time?
Ham.
I am constant to my purposes, they follow the King's
pleasure; if his fitness speaks, mine is ready, now or whensoever,
provided I be so able as now.
Lord.
The King and Queen and all are coming down.
Ham.
In happy time.
Lord.
The Queen desires you to use some gentle entertainment
to Laertes, before you fall to play.
Ham.
She well instructs me.
Hor.
You will lose this wager, my lord.
Ham.
I do not think so; since he went into France, I have
been in continual practice; I shall win at the odds. But thou
wouldst not think how ill all's here about my heart—but it is
no matter.
Hor.
Nay, good my lord.
Ham.
It is but foolery; but it is such a kind of game-giving as
would perhaps trouble a woman.
Hor.
If your mind dislike any thing, obey it. I will forestal
their repair hither, and say you are not fit.
Ham.
Not a whit, we defy augury; there's special providence in
the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, 'tis not to come; if it be not to
come, it will be now: if it be not now, yet it will come: the readiness
is all. Since no man has ought of what he leaves, what
is't to leave betimes?
-- 465 --
SCENE V.
Enter King, Queen, Laertes and lords, with other attendants with
foils, and gantlets. A table, and flagons of wine on it.
King.
Come, Hamlet, come, and take this hand from me.
Ham.
Give me your pardon, Sir, I've done you wrong,
But pardon't, as you are a gentleman.
This presence knows, and you must needs have heard
How I am punished with sore distraction.
What I have done
That might your nature, honour, and exception
Roughly awake, I here proclaim was madness:
Was't Hamlet wrong'd Laertes? never Hamlet.
If Hamlet from himself be ta'en away,
And when he's not himself, do's wrong Laertes;
Then Hamlet do's it not; Hamlet denies it:
Who does it then? his madness. If't be so,
Hamlet is of the faction that is wrong'd,
His madness is poor Hamlet's enemy.
Let my disclaiming from a purpos'd evil,
Free me so far in your most generous thoughts,
That I have shot mine arrow o'er the house,
And hurt my b notebrother.
Laer.
I am satisfied in nature,
Whose motive, in this case, should stir me most
To my revenge: but in my terms of honour,
I stand aloof, and will no reconcilement;
'Till by some elder masters of known honour
I have a voice, and president of peace
To keep my name ungor'd. But 'till that time,
I do receive your offer'd love like love,
And will not wrong it.
-- 466 --
Ham.
I embrace it freely,
And will this brother's wager frankly play.
Give us the foils:
Laer.
Come one for me.
Ham.
I'll be your foil, Laertes; in mine ignorance
Your skill shall like a star i'th' darkest night
Stick fiery off, indeed.
Laer.
You mock me, Sir.
Ham.
No, by this hand.
King.
Give them the foils, young Osrick.
Hamlet, you know the wager.
Ham.
Well, my lord,
Your grace hath laid the odds o'th' weaker side.
King.
I do not fear it, I have seen you both:
But since he's better'd, we have therefore odds.
Laer.
This is too heavy, let me see another.
Ham.
This likes me well; these foils have all a length?
[Prepares to play.
Osr.
Ay, my good lord.
King.
Set me the stoops of wine upon that table:
If Hamlet give the first, or second hit,
Or quit in answer of the third exchange,
Let all the battlements their ordnance fire.
The King shall drink to Hamlet's better breath,
And in the cup an c noteOnyx shall he throw,
Richer than that which four successive Kings
In Denmark's crown have worn. Give me the cups,
And let the kettle to the trumpets speak,
The trumpets to the canoneer without,
The cannons to the heav'ns, the heav'ns to earth.
Now the King drinks to Hamlet. Come, begin,
And you the Judges bear a wary eye.
Ham.
Come on, Sir.
-- 467 --
Laer.
Come, my lord.
[They play.
Ham.
One—
Laer.
No—
Ham.
Judgment.
Osr.
A hit, a very palpable hit.
Laer.
Well—again—
King.
Stay, give me drink. Hamlet, this pearl is thine,
Here's to thy health. Give him the cup.
[Trumpet sound, Shot goes off.
Ham.
I'll play this bout first, set it by a while.
[They play.
Come—another hit—what say you?
Laer.
A touch, a touch, I do confess.
King.
Our son shall win.
Queen.
He's fat, and scant of breath,
Here, Hamlet, take my napkin, rub thy brows,
The Queen carouses to thy fortune, Hamlet.
Ham.
Good madam—
King.
Gertrude, do not drink.
Queen.
I will, my lord; I pray you pardon me.
King.
It is the poison'd cup, it is too late.
[aside.
Ham.
I dare not drink yet, madam, by and by.
Queen.
Come, let me wipe thy face.
Laer.
I'll hit him now.
King.
I do not think't.
Laer.
And yet it is almost against my conscience.
[aside.
Ham.
Come, for the third, Laertes, you but dally,
I pray you pass with your best violence,
I am afraid you make a wanton of me.
Laer.
Say you so? come on.
[Play.
Osr.
Nothing neither way.
Laer.
Have at you now.
[Laertes wounds Hamlet, then in scuffling they change rapiers, and Hamlet wounds Laertes.
-- 468 --
King.
Part them, they are incens'd.
Ham.
Nay, come again—
Osr.
Look to the Queen there, ho!
Hor.
They bleed on both sides. How is't, my lord?
Osr.
How is't Laertes?
Laer.
Why, as a woodcock to my own sprindge, Osrick,
I'm justly kill'd with mine own treachery.
Ham.
How does the Queen?
King.
She swoons to see them bleed.
Queen.
No, no, the drink, the drink—
Oh my dear Hamlet, the drink, the drink,—
I am poison'd—
[Queen dies.
Ham.
Oh villany! hoe! let the door be lock'd:
Treachery! seek it out—
Laer.
It is here. Hamlet, thou art slain,
No medicine in the world can do thee good.
In thee there is not half an hour of life;
The treacherous instrument is in thy hand,
Unbated and envenom'd: the foul practice
Hath turn'd it self on me. Lo, here I lye,
Never to rise again; thy mother's poison'd;
I can no more—the King, the King's to blame.
Ham.
The point envenom'd too?
Then venom to thy work.
[Stabs the King.
All.
Treason, treason.
King.
O yet defend me, friends, I am but hurt.
Ham.
Here thou incestuous, murd'rous, damned Dane,
Drink off this potion: is d notethe onyx here?
Follow my mother.
[King dies.
Laer.
He is justly serv'd.
It is a poison temper'd by himself.
Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet;
-- 469 --
Mine and my father's death come not upon thee,
Nor thine on me!
[Dies.
Ham.
Heav'n make thee free of it, I follow thee.
I'm dead, Horatio; wretched Queen, adieu!
You that look pale, and tremble at this chance,
That are but mutes or audience to this act,
Had I but time, (as this fell serjeant death
Is strict in his arrest) oh I could tell you—
But let it be—Horatio, I am dead,
Thou liv'st, report me and my cause aright
To the unsatisfied.
Hor.
Never believe it.
I'm more an antique Roman than a Dane;
Here's yet some liquor left.
Ham.
As th' art a man,
Give me the cup; let go, by heav'n I'll have't.
Oh good Horatio, what a wounded name,
Things standing thus unknown, shall live behind me?
If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart,
Absent thee from felicity a while,
And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain,
To tell my tale.
[March afar off, and shout within.
What warlike noise is this?
SCENE VI.
Enter Osrick.
Osr.
Young Fortinbrass, with conquest come from Poland,
To the ambassadors of England gives
This warlike volley,
Ham.
O, I die, Horatio:
The potent poison quite o'er-grows my spirit,
I cannot live to hear the news from England.
-- 470 --
But I do prophesie th' election lights
On Fortinbras, he has my dying voice,
So tell him, with th' occurrents more or less,
Which have solicited.—The rest is silence,
[Dies.
Hor.
Now cracks a noble heart; good-night, sweet prince;
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!
Why do's the drum come hither?
Enter Fortinbras and English Ambassador, with drum, colours,
and attendants.
Fort.
Where is this sight?
Hor.
What is it you would see?
If ought of woe or wonder, cease your search.
Fort.
This quarry cries on havock. Oh proud death!
What feast is tow'rd in thine eternal cell,
That thou so many princes at a shot
So bloodily hast struck?
Amb.
The sight is dismal,
And our affairs from England come too late:
The ears are senseless that should give us hearing;
To tell him his command'ment is fulfill'd,
That Rosincrosse and Guildenstern are dead:
Where should we have our thanks?
Hor.
Not from his mouth,
Had it th' ability of life to thank you:
He never gave command'ment for their death.
But since so full upon this bloody question,
You from the Polack wars, and you from England,
Are here arriv'd; give order that these bodies
High on a stage be placed to the view,
And let me speak to th' yet unknowing world,
How these things came about. So shall you hear
Of cruel, bloody, and unnatural acts,
-- 471 --
Of accidental judgments, casual slaughters,
Of deaths put on by cunning, and forc'd cause,
And in this upshot, purposes mistook,
Fall'n on th' inventors heads. All this can I
Truly deliver.
Fort.
Let us haste to hear it,
And call the noblest to the audience.
For me, with sorrow, I embrace my fortune,
I have some rights of memory in this kingdom,
Which now to claim, my vantage doth invite me.
Hor.
Of that I shall have also cause to speak,
And from his mouth whose voice will draw no more:
But let this same be presently perform'd,
Ev'n while men minds are wild, lest more mischance
On plots and errors happen.
Fort.
Let four captains
Bear Hamlet like a soldier off the stage,
For he was likely, had he been put on,
To have prov'd most royally. And for his passage,
The soldiers musick, and the rites of war
Speak loudly for him—
Take up the body: such a sight as this,
Becomes the field, but here shews much amiss.
Go, bid the soldiers shoot.
[Exeunt marching: after which, a peal of ordnance are shot off.
