Ham.

Is this a prologue, or the posie of a ring?

Oph.

'Tis brief, my lord.

Ham.

As woman's love.

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.

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:

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.

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.