SCENE II.
A Room in the Castle.
Enter King, Queen, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and Attendants.
King.
Welcome, dear Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern:
-- 235 --
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,
Sith nor 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 the understanding of himself,
I cannot dream of5 note: 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 occasion you may glean,
Whether aught, to us unknown, afflicts him thus6 note,
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 show us so much gentry, and good will,
As to expend 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 obey7 note;
-- 236 --
And here give up ourselves, in the full bent,
To lay our service freely at your feet,
To be commanded.
King.
Thanks, Rosencrantz, and gentle Guildenstern.
Queen.
Thanks, Guildenstern, and gentle Rosencrantz:
And I beseech you instantly to visit
My too much changed son.—Go, some of you,
And bring these gentlemen where Hamlet is.
Guil.
Heavens make our presence, and our practices,
Pleasant and helpful to him!
Queen.
Ay, amen8 note!
[Exeunt Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and some Attendants.
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, one to my gracious king9 note:
And I do think, (or else this brain of mine
Hunts not the trail of policy so sure
As it hath us'd to do1 note) that I have found
The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy.
King.
O! speak of that; that do I long to hear.
Pol.
Give first admittance to th' ambassadors;
My news shall be the fruit to that great feast 11Q10192 note.
-- 237 --
King.
Thyself do grace to them, and bring them in.
[Exit Polonius.
He tells me, my dear Gertrude3 note, he hath found
The head and source of all your son's distemper.
Queen.
I doubt, it is no other but the main;
His father's death, and our o'erhasty marriage4 note.
Re-enter Polonius, with 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 look'd into, he truly found
It was against your highness: whereat griev'd,—
That so his sickness, age, and impotence,
Was falsely borne 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:
With an entreaty, herein farther shown,
[Giving a Paper.
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,
-- 238 --
Answer, and think upon this business:
Mean time, we thank you for your well-took labour.
Go to your rest; at night we'll feast together:
Most welcome home.
[Exeunt Voltimand and Cornelius.
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 brevity5 note is 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 'tis 'tis true: a foolish figure;
But farewell 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, while she is mine;
Who, in her duty and obedience, mark,
Hath given me this. Now gather, and surmise.
—“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.—Thus6 note:
-- 239 --
“In her excellent white bosom, these,” &c.—
Queen.
Came this from Hamlet to her?
Pol.
Good madam, stay awhile; I will be faithful.—
“Doubt thou the stars are fire,
[Reads.
Doubt, that the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt I love.
“O dear Ophelia! I am ill at these numbers: I have
not art to reckon my groans; but that I love thee best,
O most best! believe it. Adieu.
Thine evermore, most dear lady, whilst
this machine is to him, Hamlet.”
This in obedience hath my daughter shown me;
And more above, hath his solicitings,
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 this 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 a winking7 note, mute and dumb;
Or look'd upon this love with idle sight;
What might you think? no, I went round to work,
And my young mistress thus I did bespeak:
“Lord Hamlet is a prince, out of thy star8 note;
-- 240 --
This must not be:” and then I precepts gave her,
That she should lock herself 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 into a sadness; then into a fast;
Thence to a watch; thence into a weakness;
Thence to a lightness; and by this declension,
Into the madness wherein now he raves,
And all we wail for9 note.
King.
Do you think 'tis 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.
[Pointing to his Head and Shoulder.
If circumstances lead me, I will find
Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed
Within the centre.
King.
How may we try it farther?
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 fallen thereon,
-- 241 --
Let me be no assistant for a state,
But keep a farm9 note, and carters.
King.
We will try it.
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:—O! give me leave.—
[Exeunt King, Queen, and Attendants.
How does my good lord Hamlet?
Ham.
Well, god-'a-mercy.
Pol.
Do you know me, my lord?
Ham.
Excellent well1 note; you 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 man picked out of ten thousand2 note.
Pol.
That's very true, my lord.
Ham.
For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog,
being a good kissing carrion3 note,—Have you a daughter?
-- 242 --
Pol.
I have, my lord.
Ham.
Let her not walk i' the sun: conception is a
blessing; but not as your daughter may conceive4 note:—
friend, look to't.
Pol. [Aside.]
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, far gone: and
truly in my youth 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 11Q10205 note, my lord.
Ham.
Slanders, sir: for the satirical rogue says here,
that old men have grey beards; that their faces are
wrinkled; their eyes purging thick amber, and plumtree
gum; and that they have a plentiful lack of wit,
together with most weak hams: all of which, sir,
though I most powerfully and potently believe, yet I
hold it not honesty to have it thus set down; for you
yourself, sir, should be6 note old as I am, if like a crab
you could go backward.
Pol.
Though this be madness, yet there is method
in't. [Aside.] Will you walk out of the air, my lord?
Ham.
Into my grave?
Pol.
Indeed, that is out o' the air.—How pregnant
-- 243 --
sometimes his replies are! a happiness that often madness
hits on, which reason and sanity could not so prosperously
be delivered of. I will 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 you7 note.
Ham.
You cannot, sir, take from me any thing that
I will more willingly part withal; except my life, except
my life, except my life8 note.
Pol.
Fare you well, my lord.
Ham.
These tedious old fools!
Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.
Pol.
You go to seek the lord Hamlet; there he is.
Ros.
God save you, sir!
[To Polonius.
[Exit Polonius.
Guil.
Mine honour'd lord!—
Ros.
My most dear lord!
Ham.
My excellent good friends! How dost thou,
Guildenstern? Ah, Rosencrantz! Good lads, how do
ye both?
Ros.
As the indifferent children of the earth.
Guil.
Happy, in that we are not overhappy;
On fortune's cap we are not the very button9 note.
Ham.
Nor the soles of her shoe?
Ros.
Neither, my lord.
Ham.
Then you live about her waist, or in the
middle of her favours?
-- 244 --
Guil.
'Faith, her privates we.
Ham.
In the secret parts of fortune? O! 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. Let 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 of the
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.
O God! I could be bounded in a nut-shell,
and count myself 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 merely the shadow
of a dream.
Ham.
A dream itself 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.
Ham.
Then are our beggars bodies, and our monarchs,
and outstretched heroes, the beggars' shadows. Shall
we to the court? for, by my fay, I cannot reason.
Ros., Guil.
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
-- 245 --
man, I am most dreadfully attended1 note. But, in the
beaten way of friendship, what make you at Elsinore?
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 halfpenny. Were you not sent for? Is it
your own inclining? Is it a free visitation? Come,
come; deal justly with me: come, come; nay, speak.
Guil.
What should we say, my lord?
Ham.
Why 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?
[To Guildenstern.
Ham.
Nay, then I have an eye of you2 note. [Aside.]—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 secresy3 note to the king
and queen moult no feather. I have of late, (but
wherefore I know not) lost all my mirth, foregone all
custom of exercises; and, indeed, it goes so heavily
with my disposition4 note, that this goodly frame, the earth,
-- 246 --
seems to me a sterile promontory; this most excellent
canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament,
this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why,
it appeareth nothing to me, but 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; no, nor woman neither 11Q1021, though by
your smiling you seem to say so.
Ros.
My lord, there was no such stuff in my
thoughts.
Ham.
Why did you laugh, then, when I said, man
delights not me?
Ros.
To think, my lord, if you delight not in man,
what lenten entertainment5 note the players shall receive
from you: we coted them on the way6 note, 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 foil, and target: the lover shall
not sigh gratis: the humorous man shall end his part
in peace: the clown shall make those laugh, whose
lungs are tickled o' the sere7 note; and the lady shall say
-- 247 --
her mind freely, or the blank verse shall halt for't.—
What players are they?
Ros.
Even those you were wont to take such 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 innovation8 note.
Ham.
Do they hold the same estimation they did
when I was in the city? Are they so followed?
Ros.
No, indeed, they are not.
Ham.
How comes it? Do they grow rusty?
Ros.
Nay, their endeavour keeps in the wonted
pace: but there is, sir, an eyry of children, little eyases,
that cry out on the top of question9 note, and are most
tyrannically clapped for't: these are now the fashion;
and so berattle 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 them?
-- 248 --
how are they escoted1 note? 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 not 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
controversy2 note: there was, for a while, no money bid for
argument, unless the poet and the player went to cuffs
in the question.
Ham.
Is it possible?
Guil.
O! 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 too3 note.
Ham.
It is not very strange4 note; for my uncle is king
of Denmark, and those, that would make mowes at
him5 note while my father lived, give twenty, forty, fifty, an
hundred ducats a-piece, for his picture in little. 'Sblood,
there is something in this more than natural, if philosophy
could find it out.
[Flourish of Trumpets within.
Guil.
There are the players.
Ham.
Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinore.
Your hands. Come, then; the appurtenance of welcome
is fashion and ceremony: let me comply with
-- 249 --
you in this garb, lest my extent to the players, (which,
I tell you, must show fairly outward) should more appear
like entertainment than yours. You are welcome;
but my uncle-father, and aunt-mother, are deceived.
Guil.
In what, my dear lord?
Ham.
I am but mad north-north-west: when the
wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw6 note.
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 swathing-clouts.
Ros.
Haply, he's the second time come to them; for,
they say, an old man is twice a child.
Ham.
I will prophesy, he comes to tell me of the
players; mark it.—You say right, sir: o' Monday morning;
'twas then, 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 Rome7 note,—
Pol.
The actors are come hither, my lord.
Ham.
Buz, buz!
Pol.
Upon my 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,
tragical-historical, tragical-comical-historical-pastoral8 note,
scene individable, or poem unlimited: Seneca
-- 250 --
cannot be too heavy, nor Plautus too light. For the
law of writ, and the liberty9 note, these are the only men.
Ham.
O Jephthah, 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.
[Aside.
Ham.
Am I not i' the right, old Jephthah?
Pol.
If you call me Jephthah, 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 was10 note,”—
The first row of the pious chanson will show you more;
for look, where my abridgment comes.
Enter Four or Five Players.
You are welcome, masters; welcome, all.—I am glad
to see thee well:—welcome, good friends.—O, old
friend! Why, thy face is valanced11 note since I saw thee
-- 251 --
last: com'st thou to beard me in Denmark?—What!
my young lady and mistress! By-'r-lady, your ladyship
is nearer to heaven, than when I saw you last, by the
altitude of a chopine10 note. Pray God, your voice, like a
piece of uncurrent gold, be not cracked within the
ring1 note.—Masters, you are all welcome. We'll e'en to't
like French falconers2 note, 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 lord3 note?
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, pleased not the million; 'twas caviare
to the general4 note: but it was (as I received it, and others,
whose judgments in such matters cried 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 were no sallets in the lines 11Q10225 note to
make the matter savoury, nor no matter in the phrase
that might indict the author of affectation6 note, but called
-- 252 --
it an honest method, as wholesome as sweet, and by
very much more handsome than fine7 note. One speech in it
I chiefly loved: 'twas Æneas' tale to Dido8 note; 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 the Hyrcanian beast,”
—'tis 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 this dread and black complexion smear'd
“With heraldry more dismal; head to foot
“Now is he total gules; horridly trick'd
“With blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, sons;
“Bak'd and impasted with the parching streets,
“That lend a tyrannous and a damned light
“To their lord's murder9 note: Roasted in wrath, and fire,
“And thus o'er-sized with coagulate gore,
“With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus
“Old grandsire Priam seeks;”—
So proceed you.
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'd10 note,
“Pyrrhus at Priam drives; in rage, strikes wide;
“But with the whiff and wind of his fell sword
-- 253 --
“The 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 reverend Priam, seem'd i' the air to stick:
“So, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrhus stood;
“And, like a neutral1 note to his will and matter,
“Did nothing.
“But, as we often see, against some storm,
“A silence in the heavens, 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,
“Aroused vengeance sets him new a-work,
“And never did the Cyclops' hammers fall
“On Mars's 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 heaven,
“As low as to the fiends!”
Pol.
This is too long.
Ham.
It shall to the barber's, with your beard.—
Pr'ythee, say on:—he's for a jig2 note, or a tale of bawdry,
or he sleeps.—Say on: come to Hecuba.
1 Play.
“But who, O! who had seen the mobled queen3 note”—
-- 254 --
Ham.
The mobled queen?
Pol.
That's good; mobled queen is good.
1 Play.
“Run barefoot up and down, threat'ning the flames
“With bisson rheum4 note; a clout upon that head,
“Where late the diadem stood; and, for a robe,
“About her lank and all o'erteemed loins,
“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 milch the burning eyes of heaven,
“And passion in the gods. 11Q1023”
Pol.
Look, whether he has not turned 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 soon5 note.—Good my lord, will you see the players
well bestowed? Do you hear, let them be well used;
for they are the abstracts6 note, and brief chronicles, of the
time: after your death you were better have a bad
epitaph, than their ill report while you live.
Pol.
My lord, I will use them according to their
desert.
Ham.
God's bodkin7 note, man, much better: use every
-- 255 --
man after his desert, and who should '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, with some of the Players.
Ham.
Follow him, friends: we'll hear a play to-morrow.—
Dost thou hear me, old friend? can you play
the murder of Gonzago?
1 Play.
Ay, my lord.
Ham.
We'll have it 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 you not?
1 Play.
Ay, my lord.
Ham.
Very well.—Follow that lord; and look you
mock him not. [Exit Player.] My good friends, [To
Ros. and Guil.] I'll leave you till night: you are welcome
to Elsinore.
Ros.
Good my lord!
[Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.
Ham.
Ay, so, good bye you8 note.—Now I am alone.
O, 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 wann'd9 note;
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 Hecuba10 note,
-- 256 --
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 general ear with horrid speech;
Make mad the guilty, and appal the free1 note,
Confound the ignorant; and amaze, indeed,
The very faculties of eyes and ears2 note. Yet I,
A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak,
Like John a-dreams3 note, unpregnant of my cause,
And can 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 across?
Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face?
Tweaks me by the nose? gives me the lie i'the throat,
As deep as to the lungs? Who does me this? Ha!
'Swounds! I should take it; for it cannot be,
But I am pigeon-liver'd, and lack gall
To make oppression bitter, 11Q1024 or ere this
I should have fatted all the region kites
With this slave's offal. Bloody, bawdy villain!
Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain!
O, vengeance4 note
!
-- 257 --
Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave;
That I, the son of a dear father murder'd5 note
,
Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell,
Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words,
And fall a cursing, like a very drab,
A scullion!
Fie upon't! foh! About my brain! I have heard,
That guilty creatures, sitting at a play,
Have by the very cunning of the scene
Been struck so to the soul, that presently
They have proclaim'd their malefactions6 note;
For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak
With most miraculous organ. I'll have these players
Play something like the murder of my father,
Before mine uncle: I'll observe his looks;
I'll tent him to the quick: if he but blench7 note,
I know my course. The spirit, that I have seen,
May be the devil8 note: and the devil hath power
T' assume a pleasing shape; yea, and, perhaps,
Out of my weakness, and my melancholy,
-- 258 --
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.
J. Payne Collier [1842–1844], The works of William Shakespeare. The text formed from an entirely new collation of the old editions: with the various readings, notes, a life of the poet, and a history of the Early English stage. By J. Payne Collier, Esq. F.S.A. In eight volumes (Whittaker & Co. [etc.], London) [word count] [S10101].
