Guildenstern2 note.
King.
There's matter in these sighs: these profound heaves
You must translate; 'tis fit we understand them.
Where is your son?
Queen.
Bestow this place on us a little while3 note.—
[Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.
Ah, my good lord, what have I seen to-night!
King.
What, Gertrude? How does Hamlet?
Queen.
Mad as the sea, and wind, when both contend
Which is the mightier. In his lawless fit,
Behind the arras hearing something stir,
-- 295 --
He whips his rapier out, and cries4 note, “A rat! a rat!”
And in his brainish apprehension kills
The unseen good old man.
King.
O heavy deed!
It had been so with us, had we been there.
His liberty is full of threats to all;
To you yourself, to us, to every one.
Alas! how shall this bloody deed be answer'd?
It will be laid to us, whose providence
Should have kept short, restrain'd, and out of haunt,
This mad young man; but so much was our love,
We would not understand what was most fit,
But, like the owner of a foul disease,
To keep it from divulging, let it feed
Even on the pith of life. Where is he gone?
Queen.
To draw apart the body he hath kill'd;
O'er whom his very madness, like some ore
Among a mineral of metals base,
Shows itself pure: he weeps for what is done.
King.
O, Gertrude! come away.
The sun no sooner shall the mountains touch,
But we will ship him hence; and this vile deed
We must, with all our majesty and skill,
Both countenance and excuse.—Ho! Guildenstern!
Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.
Friends both, go join you with some farther aid.
Hamlet in madness hath Polonius slain,
And from his mother's closet hath he dragg'd him:
Go, seek him out; speak fair, and bring the body
Into the chapel. I pray you, haste in this.
[Exeunt Ros. and Guil.
Come, Gertrude, we'll call up our wisest friends;
And let them know, both what we mean to do,
-- 296 --
And what's untimely done: so, haply, slander5 note,—
Whose whisper o'er the world's diameter,
As level as the cannon to his blank,
Transports his poison'd shot,—may miss our name,
And hit the woundless air.—O, come away!
My soul is full of discord, and dismay.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Another Room in the Same.
Enter Hamlet.
Ham.
—Safely stowed.—
[Ros. &c. within.
Hamlet! lord Hamlet!]
But soft6 note!—what noise? who calls
on Hamlet? O! here they come.
Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.
Ros.
What have you done, my lord, with the dead body?
Ham.
Compounded it with dust, whereto 'tis kin.
Ros.
Tell us where 'tis; that we may take it thence,
And bear it to the chapel.
Ham.
Do not believe it.
Ros.
Believe what?
Ham.
That I can keep your counsel, and not mine
own. Besides, to be demanded of a sponge, what replication
should be made by the son of a king?
-- 297 --
Ros.
Take you me for a sponge, my lord?
Ham.
Ay, sir; that soaks up the king's countenance,
his rewards, his authorities. But such officers do the
king best service in the end: he keeps them, like an
ape7 note, in the corner of his jaw, first mouthed, to be last
swallowed: when he needs what you have gleaned, it
is but squeezing you, and, sponge, you shall be dry
again.
Ros.
I understand you not, my lord.
Ham.
I am glad of it: a knavish speech sleeps in a
foolish ear.
Ros.
My lord, you must tell us where the body is,
and go with us to the king.
Ham.
The body is with the king, but the king is not
with the body. The king is a thing—
Guil.
A thing, my lord!
Ham.
Of nothing: bring me to him. Hide fox, and
all after8 note.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
Another Room in the Same.
Enter King, attended.
King.
I have sent to seek him, and to find the body.
How dangerous is it, that this man goes loose!
Yet must not we put the strong law on him:
He's lov'd of the distracted multitude,
Who like not in their judgment, but their eyes;
-- 298 --
And where 'tis so, th' offender's scourge is weigh'd,
But never the offence. To bear all smooth and even,
This sudden sending him away must seem
Deliberate pause: diseases, desperate grown,
By desperate appliance are reliev'd,
Enter Rosencrantz.
Or not at all.—How now! what hath befallen?
Ros.
Where the dead body is bestow'd, my lord,
We cannot get from him.
King.
But where is he?
Ros.
Without, my lord; guarded, to know your pleasure.
King.
Bring him before us.
Ros.
Ho, Guildenstern! bring in my lord.
Enter Hamlet and Guildenstern.
King.
Now, Hamlet, where's Polonius?
Ham.
At supper.
King.
At supper! Where?
Ham.
Not where he eats, but where he is eaten: a
certain convocation of politic worms are e'en at him.
Your worm is your only emperor for diet: 11Q1035 we fat all
creatures else to fat us, and we fat ourselves for maggots:
your fat king, and your lean beggar, is but
variable service; two dishes, but to one table: that's
the end.
King.
Alas, alas!
Ham.
A man may fish with the worm that hath eat
of a king; and eat of the fish that hath fed of that
worm1 note.
King.
What dost thou mean by this?
Ham.
Nothing, but to show you how a king may go
a progress through the guts of a beggar.
-- 299 --
King.
Where is Polonius?
Ham.
In heaven: send thither to see; if your messenger
find him not there, seek him i'the other place
yourself. But, indeed, if you find him not within this
month, you shall nose him as you go up the stairs into
the lobby.
King.
Go seek him there.
[To some Attendants.
Ham.
He will stay till you come.
[Exeunt Attendants.
King.
Hamlet, this deed2 note, for thine especial safety,—
Which we do tender, as we dearly grieve
For that which thou hast done,—must send thee hence
With fiery quickness: therefore, prepare thyself.
The bark is ready, and the wind at help,
Th' associates tend, and every thing is bent
For England.
Ham.
For England?
King.
Ay, Hamlet.
Ham.
Good.
King.
So is it, if thou knew'st our purposes.
Ham.
I see a cherub that sees them3 note.—But, come;
for England!—Farewell, dear mother.
King.
Thy loving father, Hamlet.
Ham.
My mother: father and mother is man and
wife, man and wife is one flesh; and so, my mother.
Come, for England.
[Exit.
King.
Follow him at foot; tempt him with speed aboard:
Delay it not, I'll have him hence to-night.
Away, for every thing is seal'd and done,
That else leans on th' affair: pray you, make haste.
[Exeunt Ros. and Guil.
-- 300 --
And, England, if my love thou hold'st at aught,
(As my great power thereof may give thee sense,
Since yet thy cicatrice looks raw and red
After the Danish sword, and thy free awe
Pays homage to us) thou may'st not coldly set
Our sovereign process, which imports at full,
By letters conjuring4 note to that effect,
The present death of Hamlet. Do it, England;
For like the hectic in my blood he rages,
And thou must cure me. Till I know 'tis done,
Howe'er my haps, my joys were ne'er begun5 note.
[Exit.
SCENE IV.
A Plain in Denmark.
Enter Fortinbras, and Forces, marching.
For.
Go, captain; from me greet the Danish king:
Tell him, that by his licence Fortinbras
Claims the conveyance6 note of a promis'd march
Over his kingdom. You know the rendezvous.
If that his majesty would aught with us,
We shall express our duty in his eye;
And let him know so.
Cap.
I will do't, my lord.
For.
Go softly on7 note.
[Exeunt Fortinbras and Forces.
-- 301 --
Enter Hamlet, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, &c.8 note
Ham.
Good sir, whose powers are these?
Cap.
They are of Norway, sir.
Ham.
How purpos'd, sir,
I pray you?
Cap.
Against some part of Poland.
Ham.
Who
Commands them, sir?
Cap.
The nephew to old Norway, Fortinbras.
Ham.
Goes it against the main of Poland, sir,
Or for some frontier?
Cap.
Truly to speak, and with no addition,
We go to gain a little patch of ground,
That hath in it no profit but the name.
To pay five ducats, five, I would not farm it;
Nor will it yield to Norway, or the Pole,
A ranker rate, should it be sold in fee.
Ham.
Why, then the Polack never will defend it.
Cap.
Yes, 'tis already garrison'd.
Ham.
Two thousand souls, and twenty thousand ducats,
Will not debate the question of this straw:
This is th' imposthume of much wealth and peace,
That inward breaks, and shows no cause without
Why the man dies.—I humbly thank you, sir.
Cap.
God be wi'you, sir.
[Exit Captain.
Ros.
Will't please you go, my lord?
Ham.
I'll be with you straight. Go a little before.
[Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.
How all occasions do inform against me,
And spur my dull revenge! What is a man,
If his chief good, and market of his time,
Be but to sleep, and feed? a beast, no more.
Sure, he, that made us with such large discourse,
-- 302 --
Looking before and after, gave us not
That capability and godlike reason,
To fust in us unus'd. Now, whether it be
Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple
Of thinking too precisely on th' event,—
A thought, which, quarter'd, hath but one part wisdom,
And ever three parts coward9 note,—I do not know
Why yet I live to say, “This thing's to do;”
Sith I have cause, and will, and strength, and means,
To do't. Examples, gross as earth, exhort me:
Witness this army, of such mass and charge,
Led by a delicate and tender prince,
Whose spirit, with divine ambition puff'd,
Makes mouths at the invisible event;
Exposing what is mortal, and unsure,
To all that fortune, death, and danger, dare,
Even for an egg-shell. Rightly to be great,
Is not to stir without great argument,
But greatly to find quarrel in a straw,
When honour's at the stake. How stand I, then,
That have a father kill'd, a mother stain'd,
Excitements of my reason, and my blood,
And let all sleep? while, to my shame, I see
The imminent death of twenty thousand men,
That for a fantasy, and trick of fame,
Go to their graves like beds; fight for a plot
Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause;
Which is not tomb enough, and continent,
To hide the slain?—O! from this time forth,
My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth!
[Exit.
-- 303 --
SCENE V.
Elsinore. A Room in the Castle.
Enter Queen, Horatio, and a Gentleman10 note.
Queen.
I will not speak with her.
Gent.
She is importunate; indeed, distract:
Her mood will needs be pitied.
Queen.
What would she have?
Gent.
She speaks much of her father; says, she hears,
There's tricks i' the world; and hems, and beats her heart;
Spurns enviously at straws; speaks things in doubt,
That carry but half sense: her speech is nothing,
Yet the unshaped use of it doth move
The hearers to collection; they aim at it1 note,
And botch the words up fit to their own thoughts;
Which, as her winks, and nods, and gesture yield them,
Indeed would make one think, there might be thought,
Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily.
Hor.
'Twere good she were spoken with2 note, for she may strew
Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds.
Queen.
Let her come in.
[Exit Horatio.
-- 304 --
To my sick soul, as sin's true nature is,
Each toy seems prologue to some great amiss:
So full of artless jealousy is guilt,
It spills itself in fearing to be spilt3 note.
Re-enter Horatio, with Ophelia4 note.
Oph.
Where is the beauteous majesty of Denmark?
Queen.
How now, Ophelia?
Oph.
How should I your true love know
[Singing.
From another one?
By his cockle hat and staff,
And his sandal shoon.
Queen.
Alas, sweet lady! what imports this song?
Oph.
Say you? nay, pray you, mark.
He is dead and gone, lady,
[Singing.
He is dead and gone;
At his head a grass-green turf, 11Q1036
At his heels a stone.
O, ho5 note!
Queen.
Nay, but Ophelia,—
Oph.
Pray you, mark.
White his shroud as the mountain snow,
[Singing.
Enter King.
Queen.
Alas! look here, my lord.
Oph.
Larded with sweet flowers6 note;
-- 305 --
Which bewept to the grave did not go7 note,
With true-love showers.
King.
How do you, pretty lady?
Oph.
Well, God'ild you8 note! They say, the owl was a
baker's daughter. Lord! we know what we are, but
know not what we may be. God be at your table!
King.
Conceit upon her father.
Oph.
Pray you, let's have no words of this; but
when they ask you what it means, say you this:
To-morrow is Saint Valentine's day,
All in the morning betime,
And I a maid at your window,
To be your Valentine:
Then, up he rose, and don'd his clothes,
And dupp'd the chamber door;
Let in the maid, that out a maid
Never departed more.
King.
Pretty Ophelia!
Oph.
Indeed, la! without an oath, I'll make an end on't:
By Gis, and by Saint Charity,
Alack, and fie for shame!
Young men will do't, if they come to't;
By cock, they are to blame.
Quoth she, before you tumbled me,
You promis'd me to wed:
He answers9 note.
-- 306 --
So would I ha' done, by yonder sun,
An thou hadst not come to my bed.
King.
How long hath she been thus?
Oph.
I hope, all will be well. We must be patient;
but I cannot choose but weep, to think, they would
lay him1 note i'the cold ground. My brother shall know of
it, and so I thank you for your good counsel. Come,
my coach! Good night, ladies; good night, sweet
ladies: good night, good night.
[Exit.
King.
Follow her close; give her good watch, I pray you.
[Exit Horatio.
O! this is the poison of deep grief; it springs
All from her father's death. And now, behold2 note,
O Gertrude, Gertrude!
When sorrows come, they come not single spies,
But in battalions. First, her father slain;
Next, your son gone; and he most violent author
Of his own just remove: the people muddied,
Thick and unwholesome in their thoughts and whispers,
For good Polonius' death; and we have done but greenly,
In hugger-mugger to inter him3 note: poor Ophelia,
Divided from herself, and her fair judgment,
Without the which we are pictures, or mere beasts:
Last, and as much containing as all these,
Her brother is in secret come from France,
Feeds on his wonder4 note, keeps himself in clouds,
And wants not buzzers to infect his ear
With pestilent speeches of his father's death;
Wherein necessity, of matter beggar'd,
-- 307 --
Will nothing stick our persons to arraign
In ear and ear. O, my dear Gertrude! this,
Like to a murdering piece, in many places
Gives me superfluous death.
[A noise within.
Queen.
Alack! what noise is this5 note?
Enter a Gentleman.
King.
Attend!
Where are my Switzers? Let them guard the door.
What is the matter?
Gent.
Save yourself, my lord;
The ocean, overpeering of his list6 note,
Eats not the flats with more impetuous haste7 note,
Than young Laertes, in a riotous head,
O'erbears your officers! The rabble call him, lord;
And, as the world were now but to begin,
Antiquity forgot, custom not known,
The ratifiers and props of every word,
They cry, “Choose we; Laertes shall be king!”
Caps, hands, and tongues, applaud it to the clouds,
“Laertes shall be king, Laertes king!”
Queen.
How cheerfully on the false trail they cry!
O! this is counter8 note, you false Danish dogs.
King.
The doors are broke.
[Noise within.
Enter Laertes, armed; Danes following.
Laer.
Where is this king?—Sirs, stand you all without.
Dan.
No, let's come in.
Laer.
I pray you, give me leave.
-- 308 --
Dan.
We will, we will.
[They retire without the Door.
Laer.
I thank you: keep the door.—O thou vile king,
Give me my father.
Queen.
Calmly, good Laertes.
Laer.
That drop of blood that's calm9 note proclaims me bastard;
Cries, cuckold, to my father; brands the harlot
Even here, between the chaste unsmirched brow1 note
Of my true mother.
King.
What is the cause, Laertes,
That thy rebellion looks so giant-like?—
Let him go, Gertrude; do not fear our person:
There's such divinity doth hedge a king,
That treason can but peep to what it would,
Acts little of his will.—Tell me, Laertes,
Why thou art thus incens'd.—Let him go, Gertrude.—
Speak, man.
Laer.
Where is my father?
King.
Dead.
Queen.
But not by him.
King.
Let him demand his fill.
Laer.
How came he dead? I'll not be juggled with.
To hell, allegiance! vows, to the blackest devil!
Conscience, and grace, to the profoundest pit!
I dare damnation. To this point I stand,
That both the worlds I give to negligence,
Let come what comes, only I'll be reveng'd
Most throughly for my father.
King.
Who shall stay you?
Laer.
My will, not all the world's:
And, for my means, I'll husband them so well,
They shall go far with little.
-- 309 --
King.
Good Laertes,
If you desire to know the certainty
Of your dear father's death, is't writ in your revenge,
That, sweepstake, you will draw both friend and foe,
Winner and loser?
Laer.
None but his enemies.
King.
Will you know them, then?
Laer.
To his good friends thus wide I'll ope my arms;
And, like the kind life-rendering pelican2 note,
Repast them with my blood.
King.
Why, now you speak
Like a good child, and a true gentleman.
That I am guiltless of your father's death,
And am most sensibly in grief for it,
It shall as level to your judgment 'pear3 note,
As day does to your eye.
Danes. [Within.]
Let her come in4 note.
Laer.
How now! what noise is that?
Re-enter Ophelia5 note.
O heat, dry up my brains! tears seven times salt,
Burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye!—
By heaven, thy madness shall be paid by weight,
Till our scale turns the beam. O rose of May!
Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia!—
O heavens! is't possible, a young maid's wits
-- 310 --
Should be as mortal as an old man's life?
Nature is fine in love; and, where 'tis fine,
It sends some precious instance of itself
After the thing it loves6 note.
Oph.
They bore him barefac'd on the bier;
Hey non nonny, nonny, hey nonny7 note:
And in his grave rain'd many a tear;—
Fare you well, my dove8 note!
Laer.
Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade revenge,
It could not move thus.
Oph.
You must sing, Down a-down, an you call him
a-down-a. O, how the wheel becomes it! It is the
false steward, that stole his master's daughter9 note.
Laer.
This nothing's more than matter.
Oph.
There's rosemary, that's for remembrance; pray
you, love, remember: and there is pansies1 note, that's for
thoughts.
Laer.
A document in madness; thoughts and remembrance
fitted.
Oph.
There's fennel for you, and columbines:—
there's rue for you; and here's some for me: we may
call it, herb of grace o'Sundays2 note
:—you may wear3 note your
-- 311 --
rue with a difference.—There's a daisy: I would give
you some violets; but they withered all when my
father died.—They say, he made a good end,—
For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy,—
[Sings.
Laer.
Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself,
She turns to favour, and to prettiness.
Oph.
And will he not come again?
[Sings.
And will he not come again?
No, no, he is dead;
Go to thy death-bed,
He never will come again.
His beard was as white as snow,
All flaxen was his poll;
He is gone, he is gone,
And we cast away moan:
God ha' mercy on his soul4 note!
And of all christian souls! I pray God5 note. God be wi'
you!
[Exit Ophelia.
Laer.
Do you see this, O God?
King.
Laertes, I must commune with your grief,
Or you deny me right. Go but apart,
Make choice of whom your wisest friends you will,
And they shall hear and judge 'twixt you and me.
If by direct, or by collateral hand
They find us touch'd, we will our kingdom give,
Our crown, our life, and all that we call ours,
To you in satisfaction; but if not,
Be you content to lend your patience to us,
-- 312 --
And we shall jointly labour with your soul
To give it due content.
Laer.
Let this be so:
His means of death, his obscure funeral6 note,
No trophy, sword, nor hatchment, o'er his bones,
No noble rite, nor formal ostentation,
Cry to be heard, as 'twere from heaven to earth,
That I must call't in question.
King.
So you shall;
And, where th' offence is, let the great axe fall.
I pray you, go with me.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VI.
Another Room in the Same.
Enter Horatio, and a Servant.
Hor.
What are they, that would speak with me?
Serv.
Sailors, sir7 note: they say, they have letters for you.
Hor.
Let them come in.—
[Exit Servant.
I do not know from what part of the world
I should be greeted, if not from lord Hamlet.
Enter Sailors.
1 Sail.
God bless you, sir.
Hor.
Let him bless thee too.
1 Sail.
He shall, sir, an't please him. There's a
letter for you, sir: it comes from the ambassador that
-- 313 --
was bound for England, if your name be Horatio, as I
am let to know it is.
Hor. [Reads.]
“Horatio, when thou shalt have overlooked
this, give these fellows some means to the king:
they have letters for him. Ere we were two days old
at sea, a pirate of very warlike appointment gave us
chase. Finding ourselves too slow of sail, we put on a
compelled valour; and in the grapple I boarded them:
on the instant they got clear of our ship, so I alone
became their prisoner. They have dealt with me, like
thieves of mercy; but they knew what they did;
I am to do a good turn for them8 note. Let the king have
the letters I have sent; and repair thou to me with as
much haste as thou would'st fly death. I have words
to speak in thine ear will make thee dumb; yet
are they much too light for the bore of the matter.
These good fellows will bring thee where I am. Rosencrantz
and Guildenstern hold their course for England:
of them I have much to tell thee. Farewell;
He that thou knowest thine, Hamlet.”
Come, I will give you way for these your letters;
And do't the speedier, that you may direct me
To him from whom you brought them.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VII.
Another Room in the Same.
Enter King and Laertes.
King.
Now must your conscience my acquittance seal,
-- 314 --
And you must put me in your heart for friend,
Sith you have heard, and with a knowing ear,
That he, which hath your noble father slain,
Pursu'd my life.
Laer.
It well appears: but tell me,
Why you proceeded not against these feats,
So criminal and so capital in nature,
As by your safety, greatness, wisdom, all things else9 note
,
You mainly were stirr'd up.
King.
O! for two special reasons,
Which may to you, perhaps, seem much unsinew'd,
But yet to me they are strong. The queen, his mother,
Lives almost by his looks; and for myself,
(My virtue, or my plague, be it either which)
She's so conjunctive10 note to my life and soul,
That, as the star moves not but in his sphere,
I could not but by her. The other motive,
Why to a public count I might not go,
Is the great love the general gender bear him;
Who, dipping all his faults in their affection,
Work like the spring that turneth wood to stone,
Convert his gyves to graces; so that my arrows,
Too slightly timber'd for so loud a wind1 note,
Would have reverted to my bow again,
And not where I had aim'd them.
Laer.
And so have I a noble father lost,
A sister driven into desperate terms;
Whose worth2 note, if praises may go back again,
-- 315 --
Stood challenger on mount of all the age
For her perfections. But my revenge will come.
King.
Break not your sleeps for that: you must not think,
That we are made of stuff so flat and dull,
That we can let our beard be shook with danger,
And think it pastime. You shortly shall hear more:
I loved your father, and we love ourself;
And that, I hope, will teach you to imagine,—
How now! what news3 note?
Enter a Messenger.
Mess.
Letters, my lord, from Hamlet.
This to your majesty: this to the queen.
King.
From Hamlet! who brought them?
Mess.
Sailors, my lord, they say; I saw them not:
They were given me by Claudio, he receiv'd them
Of him that brought them4 note.
King.
Laertes, you shall hear them.—
Leave us.
[Exit Messenger.
[Reads.]
“High and mighty, you shall know, I am
set naked on your kingdom. To-morrow shall I beg
leave to see your kingly eyes; when I shall, first asking
your pardon thereunto, recount the occasions of my
sudden and more strange5 note return.
Hamlet.”
What should this mean? Are all the rest come back?
Or is it some abuse, and no such thing?
Laer.
Know you the hand?
King.
'Tis Hamlet's character. “Naked,”—
And, in a postscript here, he says, “alone:”
Can you advise me?
-- 316 --
Laer.
I'm lost in it, my lord. But let him come:
It warms the very sickness in my heart,
That I shall live and tell him to his teeth,
“Thus diddest thou.”
King.
If it be so, Laertes,
(As how should it be so? how otherwise?)
Will you be ruled by me?
Laer.
Ay, my lord;
So you will not o'er-rule me to a peace6 note
.
King.
To thine own peace. If he be now return'd,—
As liking not his voyage7 note, and that he means
No more to undertake it,—I will work him
To an exploit, now ripe in my device,
Under the which he shall not choose but fall;
And for his death no wind of blame shall breathe,
But even his mother shall uncharge the practice,
And call it, accident.
Laer.
My lord, I will be rul'd;
The rather, if you could devise it so,
That I might be the organ.
King.
It falls right.
You have been talk'd of since your travel much,
And that in Hamlet's hearing, for a quality
Wherein, they say, you shine: your sum of parts
Did not together pluck such envy from him,
As did that one; and that, in my regard,
Of the unworthiest siege8 note.
Laer.
What part is that, my lord?
-- 317 --
King.
A very riband in the cap of youth,
Yet needful too; for youth no less becomes
The light and careless livery that it wears,
Than settled age his sables, and his weeds,
Importing health and graveness9 note.—Two months since,
Here was a gentleman of Normandy,—
I have seen myself, and serv'd against the French,
And they can well on horseback1 note; but this gallant
Had witchcraft in't; he grew unto his seat;
And to such wond'rous doing brought his horse,
As he had been incorps'd and demi-natur'd
With the brave beast: so far he topp'd2 note my thought,
That I, in forgery of shapes and tricks,
Come short of what he did.
Laer.
A Norman, was't?
King.
A Norman.
Laer.
Upon my life, Lamord3 note.
King.
The very same.
Laer.
I know him well: he is the brooch, indeed,
And gem of all the nation.
King.
He made confession of you;
And gave you such a masterly report,
For art and exercise in your defence,
And for your rapier most especially,
That he cried out, 'twould be a sight indeed,
If one could match you: the scrimers of their nation4 note,
He swore, had neither motion, guard, nor eye,
If you oppos'd them. Sir, this report of his
Did Hamlet so envenom with his envy,
-- 318 --
That he could nothing do, but wish and beg
Your sudden coming o'er, to play with you.
Now, out of this,—
Laer.
What out of this, my lord5 note?
King.
Laertes, was your father dear to you?
Or are you like the painting of a sorrow,
A face without a heart?
Laer.
Why ask you this?
King.
Not that I think you did not love your father,
But that I know love is begun by time;
And that I see, in passages of proof,
Time qualifies the spark and fire of it.
There lives within the very flame of love6 note
A kind of wick, or snuff, that will abate it,
And nothing is at a like goodness still;
For goodness, growing to a pleurisy,
Dies in his own too-much. That we would do,
We should do when we would; for this “would” changes,
And hath abatements and delays as many,
As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents;
And then this “should” is like a spendthrift's sigh7 note,
That hurts by easing. But, to the quick o' the ulcer.
Hamlet comes back: what would you undertake,
To show yourself your father's son in deed8 note,
More than in words?
Laer.
To cut his throat i'the church.
-- 319 --
King.
No place, indeed, should murder sanctuarize;
Revenge should have no bounds. But, good Laertes,
Will you do this, keep close within your chamber.
Hamlet, return'd, shall know you are come home:
We'll put on those shall praise your excellence,
And set a double varnish on the fame
The Frenchman gave you; bring you in fine together,
And wager on your heads: he, being remiss,
Most generous, and free from all contriving,
Will not peruse the foils; so that with ease,
Or with a little shuffling, you may choose
A sword unbated9 note
, and in a pass of practice
Requite him for your father.
Laer.
I will do't;
And, for that purpose, I'll anoint my sword.
I bought an unction of a mountebank,
So mortal, that but dip a knife in it10 note,
Where it draws blood no cataplasm so rare,
Collected from all simples that have virtue
Under the moon, can save the thing from death,
That is but scratch'd withal: I'll touch my point
With this contagion, that if I gall him slightly,
It may be death.
King.
Let's farther think of this;
Weigh, what convenience, both of time and means,
May fit us to our shape. If this should fail,
And that our drift look through our bad performance,
'Twere better not assay'd: therefore, this project
Should have a back, or second, that might hold,
If this should blast in proof. Soft!—let me see:—
We'll make a solemn wager on your cunnings1 note,—
-- 320 --
I ha't:
When in your motion you are hot and dry,
(As make your bouts more violent to that end)
And that he calls for drink, I'll have preferr'd him
A chalice for the nonce; whereon but sipping,
If he by chance escape your venom'd stuck2 note,
Our purpose may hold there. But stay! what noise?
Enter Queen.
How, sweet queen!
Queen.
One woe doth tread upon another's heel,
So fast they follow.—Your sister's drown'd, Laertes.
Laer.
Drown'd! O, where?
Queen.
There is a willow grows ascaunt the brook3 note,
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream;
Therewith fantastic garlands did she make
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples,
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,
But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them:
There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds
Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke,
When down her weedy trophies, and herself,
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide,
And, mermaid-like, a while they bore her up;
Which time, she chanted snatches of old lauds4 note;
As one incapable of her own distress,
Or like a creature native and indu'd
-- 321 --
Unto that element: but long it could not be,
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death.
Laer.
Alas! then, is she drown'd?
Queen.
Drown'd, drown'd.
Laer.
Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia,
And therefore I forbid my tears: but yet
It is our trick; nature her custom holds,
Let shame say what it will: when these are gone,
The woman will be out.—Adieu, my lord!
I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze,
But that this folly drowns it5 note.
[Exit.
King.
Let's follow, Gertrude.
How much I had to do to calm his rage!
Now fear I, this will give it start again;
Therefore, let's follow.
[Exeunt.
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].
