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?

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.

Y'are welcome masters, welcome all. I am glad to see thee well; welcome good friends. Oh! old friend! thy face is ^{b note}valanc'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 note}friendly 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 note}salts 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

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.

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.

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 note}mobled 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,

(Unless things mortal move them not at all)
Would have made ^{g note}melt 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.

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.