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 --
George Sewell [1723–5], The works of Shakespear in six [seven] volumes. Collated and Corrected by the former Editions, By Mr. Pope ([Vol. 7] Printed by J. Darby, for A. Bettesworth [and] F. Fayram [etc.], London) [word count] [S11101].
