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 note}proud 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,

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 note}awry
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.

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 note}innoculate our old stock, but we shall relish of it. ^{f note}I 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 note}painting too, well enough: God has given you one ^{h note}face, and you make your self another. You jig,

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.

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.

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