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LYCEUM THEATRE. 
 
Digitized by, the Internet Archive 
 in 2017 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign Alternates 
 
 https://archive.org/details/hamletprinceofde00shak_4 
 
■R^WAE,!:^ Tuck^ <f>^oN5, 
 
 Publi/Kerj to the C^een. 
 
 London - New^ork 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 Claudius, King of Denmark. 
 
 Hamlet, son to the former, and nephew to the 
 present King. 
 
 POLONIUS, Lord Chamherlain. 
 
 Horatio, /H crifZ to Hamlet. 
 
 Laertes, son to Polonius. 
 
 VoLTiMAND, a courtier. 
 
 Cornelius, a courtier. 
 
 Rosencrantz, a coierticr. 
 
 Guildenstern, ct courtier. 
 
 OSRIC, a courtier. 
 
 A Courtier. 
 
 A Priest. 
 
 Marcellus, an officer. 
 
 Bernardo, an officer 
 Francisco, a soldier. 
 
 Reynaldo, servant to Poloniirs. 
 
 A Captain. 
 
 An Ambassador. 
 
 Ghost of Hamlet’s Father. 
 
 Fortinbras, Frince of Norway. 
 
 Gertrude, Queen of Denmark and mother of 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Ophelia, dauejhtcr of Polonius. 
 
 Lords, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Flayers, Ch-ave- 
 diggers. Sailors, Messengers, a.nd other Atten- 
 dants. 
 
0, S'O.i.rss 
 
 . S7oo 
 
 
 SCENE L— Elsinore. A Platform before the 
 Castle. 
 
 Feaxcisco on his iwst. Enter to him Bernardo. 
 Ber. Who’s there ? 
 
 Fran. Nay, answer me : stand, 
 
 and unfold yourself. 
 
 Ber. Long live the king ! 
 
 Fran. Bernardo ? 
 
 Ber. He. 
 
 Fran. You come most carefully upon your 
 hour. 
 
 Ber. ’Tis now struck twelve; get thee to bed, 
 Francisco. 
 
 Fran. For this relief, much thanks : ’tis 
 bitter cold. 
 
 And I am sick at heart. 
 
 Ber. Have you had quiet guard ? 
 
 Fran. Not a mouse stirring. 
 
 Ber. Well, good night. 
 
 If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, 
 
 The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste. 
 
 Enter Horatio and Marcellus. 
 
 Fran. I think I hear them. — Stand ! who is 
 there ? 
 
 Hor. Friends to this ground. 
 
 Mar. And liegemen to the Dane. ' 
 
 Fran. Give you good night. 
 
 Mar. O, farewell, honest soldier : 
 
 Who hath reliev’d you ? 
 
 Fran. Bernardo hath my place. 
 
 Give you good night. \^Exit Francisco. 
 
 Mar. Holla ! Bernardo ! 
 
 Ber. Say. 
 
 What, is Horatio there ? 
 
 Hor. A piece of him. 
 
 Ber. Welcome, Horatio ; welcome, good 
 Marcellus. 
 
 Mar. What, has this thing appear’d again to- 
 night ? 
 
 Ber. I have seen nothing. 
 
 Mar. Horatio says, ’tis but our fantasy ; 
 
 And will not let belief take hold of him 
 Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of ug : 
 Therefore I have entreated him along 
 With us to watch the minutes of this night ; 
 That, if again this apparition come. 
 
 He may approve our eyes, and speak to it. 
 
 Hor. Tush ! tush ! ’twill not appear. 
 
 Ber. Sit down awhile ; 
 
 And let us once again assail your ears. 
 
 That are so fortified against our story. 
 
 What we two nights have seen. 
 
 Hor. Well, sit we down. 
 
 And let us hear Bernardo speak of this. 
 
 Ber. Last night of all, 
 
 When yon same star, that’s westward from the 
 pole 
 
 Had made his course to illume that ' part ‘of 
 heaven 
 
 Where now it burns, Marcellus, and myself. ' 
 The bell then beating one, — 
 
 Mar. Peace, break thee off ; look, where it ' 
 comes again ! 
 
 
8 
 
 HAMLET. 
 
 Enter Ghost. 
 
 Bcr. In the same figure, Like the king that’s 
 dead. 
 
 Mar. Thou art a scholar, speak to it, Horatio. 
 
 Bcr. Looks it not hke the king ? mark it, 
 Horatio. 
 
 Hor. Most like : — it harrows 'me with fear, 
 and wonder. 
 
 Bcr. It would be spoke to. 
 
 Mar. Question it, Horatio. 
 
 Hor. What art thou, that usurp ’st this tinre 
 of night. 
 
 Together with that fair and warlike form 
 In which the majesty of buried Denmark 
 Did sometimes march ? by heaven I charge 
 thee, speak. 
 
 Mar. It is offended. 
 
 Bcr. See ! it stalks away. 
 
 Hor. Stay : speak : speak ! I charge thee, 
 speak ! [Exit Ghost. 
 
 Mar. ’Tis gone, and will not answer. 
 
 Bcr. How now, Horatio ? you tremble, and 
 look pale : 
 
 Is not this something more than fantasy ? 
 What think you on’t ? 
 
 Hor. Before my God, I might not this 
 believe, 
 
 Without the sensible and true avouch 
 Of mine own eyes. 
 
 Mar. Is it not like the king ? 
 
 Hor. As thou art to thyself : 
 
 Such was the very armour he had on. 
 
 When he the ambitious Norway combated 
 So frown’d he once, wlien, in an angry parle, 
 He smote the sledded Polacks on the ice. 
 
 Tis strange. 
 
 Mar. Thus, twice before, and just at this 
 dead hour. 
 
 With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch. 
 
 Hor. In what particular thought to work, I 
 know not ; 
 
 But, in the gross and scope of my opinion. 
 
 This bodes some strange eruption to our state. 
 
 Mar. Good now, sit down, and tell me, he 
 that knows. 
 
 Why this same strict and most observant 
 watch 
 
 So nightly toils the subject of the land ? 
 
 And why such daily cast of brazen cannon. 
 
 And foreign mart for implements of war : 
 
 Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore 
 task 
 
 Does not divide the Sunday from the week ; 
 What might be toward that this sweaty haste 
 Doth make the night joint-labourer with the 
 day 
 
 Wlio is’t that can inform me ? 
 
 Hor. That can I ; 
 
 At least, the whisper goes so. Our last king. 
 Whose image even but now appear’d to us. 
 Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway, 
 Thereto prick’d on by a most emulate pride, 
 Dar’d to the combat ; in which our valiant 
 Hamlet 
 
 (For so this side of our known world esteem’d 
 him) 
 
 Did slay this Fortinbras ; who, by a seal’d 
 compact. 
 
 Well ratified by law, and heraldry. 
 
 Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands. 
 Which he stood seiz’d on, to the conqueror : 
 Against the which, a moiety competent 
 Was gaged by our king ; which had return’d 
 To the inheritance of Fortinbras, 
 
 Had he been vanquisher ; as, by the same 
 cov’nant 
 
 And carriage of the article design’d 
 
 His fell to Hamlet : Now, sir, young Fortinbras, 
 
 Of unimproved mettle hot and full. 
 
 Hath in the skirts of Norway, here and there. 
 Shark’d up a list of landless resolutes. 
 
 For food and diet, to some enterprise 
 That hath a stomach in ’t : which is no other 
 (And it doth well appear unto our state) 
 
 But to recover of us, by strong hand. 
 
 And terms compulsative, those ’foresaid lands 
 So by his father lost : And this, I take it. 
 
 Is the main motive of our preparations ; 
 
 The source of this our watch ; and the chief 
 head 
 
 Of this post-haste and romage in the land. 
 
 Bcr. I think it be no other, but even so : 
 Well may it sort, that this portentous figure 
 Comes armed through our watch : so like the 
 king 
 
 That was, and is, the question of these wars. 
 
 Hor. A moth it is to trouble the mind’s eye. 
 In the most high and palmy state of Borne, 
 
 A little ere the mightiest Julius fell, 
 
JI AMLET. 
 
 9 
 
 The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted 
 dead 
 
 Did squeak and gibber in the Eoman streets : 
 As stars with trains of fire and dews of blood, 
 Disasters in the sun ; and the moist star. 
 
 Upon whose influence Neptune’s empire stands. 
 Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse. 
 
 And even the like precurse of fierce events. 
 
 As harbingers preceding still the fates. 
 
 And prologue to the omen coming on. 
 
 Have heaven and earth together demonstrated 
 Unto our climatures and countrymen. — 
 
 Re-enter Ghost. 
 
 But, soft ; behold ! lo, where it comes again ! 
 
 I’ll cross it, though it blast me. — Stay, illusion ! 
 If thou hast any sound, or use of voice. 
 
 Speak to me : 
 
 If there be any good thing to be done. 
 
 That may to thee do ease, and grace to nve. 
 Speak to me : 
 
 If thou art privy to thy country’s fate, 
 
 Wliich, happily, foreknowing may avoid, 
 
 0, speak ! 
 
 Or, if thou hast uphoarded in thy life 
 Extorted treasure in the womb of earth. 
 
 For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in 
 death, [Cock crows. 
 
 Speak of it : — stay, and speak. — Stop it, 
 Marcellus. 
 
 Mar. Shall I strike at it wdth my partizan ? 
 
 " Hor. Do, if it will not stand. 
 
 Ber. ’Tis here ! 
 
 Hor. ’Tis here! 
 
 Mar. ’Tis gone ! [Exit Ghost. 
 
 We do it wrong, being so majestical. 
 
 To offer it the show of violence ; 
 
 For it is, as the air, invulnerable. 
 
 And our vain blows malicious mockery. 
 
 Ber. It was about to speak, when the cock 
 crew. 
 
 Hor. And then it started like a guilty thing 
 Upon a fearful summons. I have heard, 
 
 The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn. 
 Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat 
 Awake the god of day ; and, at his warning, 
 Wliether in sea or fire, in earth or air, 
 
 The extravagant and erring spirit hies 
 To his confine ; and of the truth herein 
 This present object made probation. 
 
 Mar. It faded on the crowing of the cock. 
 Some say, that ever ’gainst that season comes 
 
 B 
 
10 
 
 H A M L E 'J'. 
 
 \\Tierein our Saviour’s birth is celebrated, 
 
 Tlie bird of dawning singeth all night long : 
 And then, they say, no spirit can walk abroad ; 
 The nights are wholesome ; then no planets 
 strike. 
 
 No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm. 
 So hallow’d and so gracious is the time. 
 
 Hor. So have I heard, and do in part believe it. 
 But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad 
 Walks o’er the dew of yon high eastern hill ; 
 Break we our watch up ; and, by my advice. 
 Let us impart what we have seen to-night 
 Unto young Hamlet ; for, upon my life. 
 
 This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him : 
 
 Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it. 
 As needful in our loves, fitting our duty ? 
 
 Mar. Let’s do ’t, I pray : and I this morning 
 know 
 
 Where we shall find him most conveniently. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II . — The same. A Boom of State in 
 the same. 
 
 Enter the King, Queen, Hamlet, Polonius, 
 Laertes, Voltimand, Cornelius, and 
 Lords Attendant. 
 
 King. Though yet of Hamlet our dear 
 brother’s death 
 
 The memory be green ; and that it us befitted 
 To bear our hearts in grief, and our whole 
 kingdom 
 
 To he contracted in one brow of woe ; 
 
 Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature. 
 That we with wisest sorrow think on him. 
 Together with remembrance of ourselves. 
 Therefoie our sometime sister, now our queen. 
 The imperial jointress of this warlike state. 
 Have we, as ’(were, with a defeated joy. 
 
 With one auspicious and one droj)})ing eye : 
 With mirth in funeral, and with dirge in 
 marriage 
 
 In equal scale, w’eighing delight and dole. 
 
 Taken to wife : nor have we herein barr’d 
 Your better wusdoms, which have freely gone 
 With this affair along: — For all, our thanks. 
 
 Now follows, that you know, young Fortinbras, 
 Holding a weak supposal of our worth ; 
 
 Ur thinking, hy our late dear brother’s death. 
 Our state to be disjoint and out of frame, 
 Colleagued with the dream of his advantage. 
 
 He hath not fail’d to pester us with message. 
 Importing the surrender of those lands 
 Lost by his father, with all bonds of law. 
 
 To our most valiant brother. — So much for him. 
 Now for ourself, and for this time of meeting. 
 This much the business is: We have here writ 
 To Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras, 
 
 Who, impotent and bed-rid, scarcely hears 
 Of this his nephew’s purpose, to suppress 
 His further gait therein ; in that the levies. 
 
 The lists, and full proportions, are all made 
 Out of his subject : and we here despatch 
 You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltimand, 
 
 For bearing of this greeting to old Norway ; 
 Giving to you no further personal power 
 To business with the king, more than the scope 
 Of these dilated articles allowL 
 Farewell; and let your haste commend your duty. 
 Cor., Vol. In that, and all things, will we 
 show our duty. 
 
HAMLET. 
 
 11 
 
 King. We doubt it nothing ; heartily farewell. 
 
 [Exeunt VOLTIMAND and CORNELIUS. 
 And now, Laertes, what’s the news with you ? 
 You told us of some suit ? What is ’t, Laertes? 
 You cannot speak of reason to the Dane, 
 
 And lose your voice : "VYlrat wouldst thou beg, 
 Laertes, 
 
 That shall not be my offer, not thy asking? 
 
 The head is not more native to the heart. 
 
 The hand more instrumental to the mouth. 
 Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father. 
 What wouldst thou have, Laertes ? 
 
 Laer. Dread my lord. 
 
 Your leave and favour to return to France ; 
 From whence though willingly I came to 
 Denmark, 
 
 To show my duty in your coronation ; 
 
 Yet now, I must confess, that duty done. 
 
 My thoughts and wishes bend again towards 
 France, 
 
 And bow them to your gracious leave and 
 pardon. 
 
 King. Have you your father’s leave ? What 
 says Polonius ? 
 
 Pol. He hath, my lord, wrung from me my 
 slow leave. 
 
 By laboursome petition ; and, at last. 
 
 Upon his will I seal’d my hard consent : 
 
 I do beseech you, give him leave to go. 
 
 King. Take thy fair hour, Laertes ; time be 
 thine. 
 
 And thy best graces spend it at thy will ! 
 
 But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son, — 
 
 Ham. A little more than kin, and less than 
 kind. [Aside. 
 
 King. How is it that the clouds still hang 
 on you ? 
 
 Ham. Not so, my lord, I am too much i’ the 
 sun. 
 
 Queen. Good Hamlet, cast thy nightly colour 
 off, 
 
 And let thine eye look like a friend on 
 Denmark. 
 
 Do not, for ever, with thy vailed lids 
 Seek for thy noble father in the dust ; 
 
 Thou know’st, ’tis common ; all that lives must 
 die. 
 
 Passing through nature to eternity. 
 
 Ham. Ay, madam, it is common. 
 
 Queen. If it be. 
 
 Why seems it so particular with thee ? 
 
 Ham. Seems, madam ! nay, it is ; I know 
 not seems. 
 
 ’Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother. 
 
 Nor customary suits of solemn black. 
 
 Nor windy suspiration of forc’d breath. 
 
 No, nor the fruitful river in the eye. 
 
 Nor the dejected haviour of the visage. 
 
 Together with all forms, moods, shows of 
 grief. 
 
 That can denote me truly : These, indeed, seem. 
 For they are actions that a man might play : 
 But I have that within which passeth show ; 
 These, but the trappings and the suits of woe. 
 King. ’Tis sweet and commendable in your 
 natpre, Hamlet, 
 
 To give these mourning duties to your father : 
 But, you must know, your father lost a father ; 
 
 That father lost lost his; and the survivor boun 
 In filial obligation, for some term 
 To do obsequious sorrow ; But to persever 
 In obstinate condolement, is a course 
 Of impious stubbornness ; ’tis unmanly grief : 
 It shows a will most incorrect to heaven ; 
 
 A heart unfortified, a mind impatient. 
 
 An understanding simple and unschool’d : 
 
 For what, we know, must be, and is as common 
 As any the most vulgar thing to sense. 
 
 
 
12 
 
 H A M L E 
 
 Why should we, in our peevish opposition, 
 Take it to heart ? Fie ! ’tis a fault to heaven, 
 A fault against the dead, a fault to nature. 
 
 To reason most absurd ; whose common theme 
 Is death of fathers, and who still hath cried. 
 From the first corse, till he that died to-day. 
 This must he so. We pray you throw to earth 
 This unprevailing woe ; and think of us 
 As of a father : for let the world take note. 
 
 You are the most immediate to our throne. 
 And, with no less nobility of love. 
 
 Than that which dearest father bears his son. 
 Do I impart towards you. For your intent 
 In going back to school in Wittenberg, 
 
 It is most retrograde to our desire : 
 
 And, we beseech you, bend you to remain 
 Here, in the cheer and comfort of our eye. 
 
 Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son. 
 Queen. Let not thy mother lose her prayers, 
 Hamlet ; 
 
 I pray thee, stay with us ; go not to Wittenberg. 
 Ham. I shall in all my best obey you, madam. 
 King. Why, ’tis a loving and a fair reply ; 
 
 Be as ourself in Denmark. — Madam, come ; 
 
 This gentle and unforc’d accord of Hamlet 
 Sits smiling to my heart : in grace whereof. 
 
 No jocund health that Denmark drinks to-day. 
 But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell ; 
 And the king’s rouse the heaven shall bruitagain, 
 Ee-speaking earthly thunder. Come away. 
 
 {Exeunt King, Queen, Lords, &c., 
 PoLONius, and Laertes. 
 
 Ham. 0, that this too too solid flesh would 
 melt. 
 
 Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew 1 
 Or that the Everlasting had not fix’d 
 His canon ’gainst self-slaughter ! 0 God ! 0 God! 
 How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable 
 Seem to me all the uses of this world ! 
 
 Fie on’t ! 0 fie ! ’tis an unweeded garden. 
 
 That grows to seed ; things rank, and gross in 
 nature. 
 
 Possess it merely. That it should come to this ! 
 But two months dead ! — nay, not so much, not 
 two ; 
 
 So excellent a king ; that was, to this, 
 Hyperion to a satyr : so loving to my mother. 
 That he might not beteem the winds of heaven 
 Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth ! 
 Must I remember? why, she would hang on him. 
 As if increase of appetite had grown 
 By what it fed on : And yet, within a month, — 
 Let me not think on’t; — Frailty, thy name is 
 woman ! — 
 
 A little month ; or ere those shoes were old 
 With which she follow’d my poor father’s body. 
 Like Niobe, all tears ; — why she, even she, — 
 
 0 heaven I a beast, that wants discourse of 
 reason. 
 
 Would have mourn’d longer, — married with 
 mine uncle. 
 
 My father’s brother ; but no more like my 
 father 
 
 Than I to Hercules : W ithin a month ; 
 
 Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears 
 Had left the flushing of her galled eyes. 
 
 She married : — 0 most wicked speed, to post 
 With such dexterity to incestuous sheets ; 
 
 It is not, nor it cannot come to, good ; 
 
 But break, my heart ; for I must hold my 
 tongue ! 
 
 Enter Horatio, Bernardo, and Marcellus. 
 
 Hor. Hail to your lordship ! 
 
 Ham. I am glad to see you well : 
 
 Horatio, — or do I forget myself. 
 
 Hor. The same, my lord, and your poor 
 servant ever. 
 
 Ham. Sir, my good fiiend ; I’ll change that 
 name with you. 
 
 And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio ? 
 Marcellus ? 
 
 Mar. ]\Iy good lord, — 
 
HAMLET. 
 
 Ham. I am very glad to see you ; good even, 
 sir, — 
 
 But what, in faith, make you from Wittenburg ? 
 Hor. A truant disposition, good my lord. 
 Ham. I would not have your enemy say so ; 
 Nor shall you do mine ear that violence. 
 
 To make it truster of your own report 
 Against yourself ; I know, you are no truant. 
 But what is your affair in Elsinore ? 
 
 We’ll teach you to drink deep, ere you depart. 
 Hor. My lord, I came to see your father’s 
 funeral. 
 
 Ham. I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow- 
 student ; 
 
 I think it was to see my mother’s wedding. 
 Hor. Indeed, my lord, it follow’d hard upon. 
 Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio ! the funeral 
 bak’d meats 
 
 Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables. 
 Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven 
 Ere I had ever seen that day, Horatio ! — 
 
 My father, — methinks, I see my father. 
 
 Hor. 0, where. 
 
 My lord ? 
 
 Ham. In my mind’s eye, Horatio. 
 
 Hor. I saw him once, he was a goodly king. 
 Ham. He was a man, take him for all in all, 
 I shall not look upon his like again. 
 
 Hor. My lord, I think I saw him yesternight. 
 Ham. Saw ! who ? 
 
 Hor. My lord, the king your father. 
 
 Ham. The king my father ! 
 
 Hor. Season your admiration for awhile 
 AVith an attent ear; till I may deliver. 
 
 Upon the witness of these gentlemen. 
 
 This marvel to you. 
 
 Ham. Eor heaven’s love, let me hear. 
 
 Hor. Two nights together had thesegentlemen, 
 Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch. 
 
 In the dead waste and middle of the night. 
 Been thus encounter’d. A figure like your 
 father. 
 
 Arm’d at all points, exactly, cap-^-pe. 
 
 Appears before them, and, with solemn march. 
 Goes slow and stately by them : thrice he walk’d. 
 By their oppress’d and fear-surprised eyes. 
 Within his truncheon’s length ; whilst they, 
 bestill’d 
 
 Almost to jelly with the act of fear. 
 
 Stand dumb, and speak not to him. This to me 
 
 In dreadful secrecy impart they did ; 
 
 And I with them the third night kept the 
 watch : 
 
 Where, as they had deliver’d, both in time. 
 Form of the thing, each word made true and good. 
 The apparition comes ; I knew your father ; 
 These hands are not more like. 
 
 Ham. But where was this ? 
 
 Mar. My lord, upon the platform where we 
 watch’d. 
 
 Ham. Did you not speak to it ? 
 
 Hor. My lord, I did : 
 
 But answer made it none : yet once, methought. 
 It lifted up its head, and did address 
 Itself to motion, like as it would speak ; 
 
 But, even then, the morning cock crew loud ; 
 And at the sound it shrunk in haste away. 
 
 And vanish’d from our sight. 
 
 Ham. ’Tis very strange. 
 
 Hor. As I do live, my honour’d lord, ’tis true; 
 
14 
 
 HAMLET. 
 
 And we did think it writ down in our duty 
 To let you know of it. 
 
 Ilam. Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles 
 me. 
 
 Hold you the watch to-night ? 
 
 All. We do, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Arm’d, say you ? 
 
 All. Arm’d, my lord. 
 
 Ham. From top to toe ? 
 
 All. My lord, from head to foot. 
 
 Ham. Then saw you not his’face. 
 
 Hor. 0, yes, my lord, he wore his beaver up. 
 Ham. What, look’d he frowningly ? 
 
 Hor. A countenance more in sorrow than in 
 anger. 
 
 Ham. Pale or red ? 
 
 Hor. Nay, very pale. 
 
 Ham. And fix’d his eyes upon you ? 
 
 Hor. Most constantly. 
 
 Ham. I would I had been there. 
 
 Hor. It would have much amazed you. 
 
 Ham. Very like, very like: Stay’d it long ? 
 Hor. While one with moderate haste might 
 tell a hundred. 
 
 Mar., Bcr. Longer, longer. 
 
 Hor. Not when I saw it. 
 
 Ham. His beard was grizly ? 
 
 Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life, 
 
 A sable silver’d. 
 
 Ham. I will watch to-night ; 
 
 Perchance, ’twill walk again. 
 
 Hor. I warrant it will. 
 
 Ham. If it assume my noble father’s person. 
 I’ll speak to it, though hell itself should gape. 
 And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all. 
 
 If you have hitherto conceal’d this sight. 
 
 Let it be tenable in your silence still ; 
 
 And whatsoever else shall hap to-night. 
 
 Give it an understanding, but no tongue , 
 
 I will requite your loves. So, fare ye well : 
 Upon the platform, ’twixt eleven and twelve. 
 I’ll visit you. 
 
 All. Our duty to your honour. 
 
 Ham. Your love, as mine to you : Farewell. 
 [Exeunt Horatio, Marcellus, ayid Bernardo. 
 My father’s spirit in arms ! all is not well ; 
 
 I doubt some foul play : ’would the night were 
 come ! 
 
 Till then sit still, my soul. Foul deeds will 
 rise. 
 
 Though all the world o’erwhelm them, to men’s 
 eyes. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE 111. — A Room in Polonius’ House. 
 Enter Laertes and Ophelia. 
 
 Laer. My necessaries are embark’d; farewell: 
 And, sister, as the winds give benefit. 
 
 And convoy is assistant, do not sleep. 
 
 But let me hear from you. 
 
 Oph. Do you doubt that ? 
 
 Lacr. For Hamlet, and the trifling of his 
 favours. 
 
 Hold it a fashion, and a toy in blood ; 
 
 A violet in tlie youth of primy nature. 
 
 Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting. 
 
 The perfume and suppliance of a minute; 
 
 No more. 
 
 Oph. No more but so ? 
 
 Laer. Think it no more ; 
 
 For nature, crescent, does not grow alone 
 In thews, and bulk ; but, as this temple waxes. 
 The inward service of the mind and soul 
 Grows wide withal. Perhaps he loves you 
 now ; 
 
 And now no soil, nor cautel, doth besmirch 
 The virtue of his will : but, you must fear. 
 
 His greatness weigh’d, his will is not his own ; 
 For he himself is subject to his birth : 
 
HAMLET. 
 
 15 
 
 He may not, as unvalued persons do, 
 
 Carve for himself ; for on his choice depends 
 The sanctity and health of the whole state ; 
 
 And therefore must his choice be circumscrib’d 
 Unto the voice and yielding of that body. 
 Whereof he is the head : Then if he says, he 
 loves you. 
 
 It fits your wisdom so far to believe it. 
 
 As he in his peculiar sect and force 
 May give his saying deed ; which is no further. 
 Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal. 
 Then weigh what loss your honour may sustain. 
 If with too credent ear you list his songs ; 
 
 Or lose your heart; or your chaste treasure open 
 To his unmaster’d importunity. 
 
 Tear it, Opheha, fear it, my dear sister ; 
 
 And keep within the rear of your affection. 
 
 Out of the shot and danger of desire. 
 
 The chariest maid is prodigal enough. 
 
 If she unmask her beauty to the moon : 
 
 Virtue itself scapes not calumnious strokes : 
 
 The canker galls the infants of the spring. 
 
 Too oft before their buttons be disclos’d ; 
 
 And in the morn and liquid dew of youth 
 Contagious blastments are most imminent. 
 
 Be wary then : best safety lies in fear ; 
 
 Youth to itself rebels, though none else near. 
 
 Ojjh. I shall the effect of this good lesson keep. 
 As watchman to my heart : But, good my 
 brother. 
 
 Do not, as some ungracious pastors do, 
 
 Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven ; 
 Whilst, like a puff’d and reckless libertine, 
 Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads. 
 And recks not his own read. 
 
 Lacr. 0 fear me not. 
 
 I stay too long ; — But here my father comes. 
 
 Enter Polonius. 
 
 A double blessing is a double grace ; 
 
 Occasion smiles upon a second leave. 
 
 Pol. Yet here, Laertes ! aboard, aboard, for 
 shame ; 
 
 The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail, 
 
 And you are stay’d for. There, my blessing 
 with you ! 
 
 \Layin(j his hand on Laertes’ head. 
 And these few precepts in thy memory 
 See thou character. Give thy thoughts no 
 tongue. 
 
 Nor any unproportion’d thought his act. 
 
 Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. 
 
 The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried. 
 Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel ; 
 But do not dull thy palm with entertainment 
 Of each new-hatch’d,unfledg’d comrade. Beware 
 Of entrance to a quarrel ; but, being in, 
 
 Bear’t that the opposed may beware of thee. 
 Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice : 
 Take each man’s censure, but reserve thy judg- 
 ment. 
 
 Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy. 
 
 But not express’d in fancy ; rich, not gaudy : 
 For the apparel oft proclaims the man ; 
 
 And they in France of the best rank and station 
 Are of a most select and generous chief in that. 
 Neither a borrower, nor a lender be : 
 
 For loan oft loses both itself and friend ; 
 
 And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. 
 This above all, — To thine ownself be true ; 
 
 And it must follow, as the night the day. 
 
 Thou canst not then be false to any man. 
 Farewell ; my blessing season this in thee ! 
 
 Laer. Most humbly do I take my leave, my 
 lord. 
 
 Pol. The time invites you ; go, your servants 
 tend. 
 
 Laer. Farewell, Ophelia ; and remember well 
 What I have said to you. 
 
 Oph. ’Tis in my memory lock’d, 
 
 And you yourself shall keep the key of it. 
 
 Laer. Farewell. \^Exit Laertes. 
 
 Pol. What is’t, Ophelia, he hath said to you ? 
 
IG 
 
 HAMLET. 
 
 
 Oph. So please you, soiiietliing touching the 
 lord Hamlet. 
 
 Pol. Marry, well bethought ; 
 
 ’Tis told me, he hath very oft of late 
 Given private time to you : and you yourself 
 Have of your audience been most free and 
 bounteous : 
 
 If it be so, (as so ’tis put on me. 
 
 And that in way of caution,) I must tell you. 
 You do not understand yourself so clearly. 
 
 As it behoves my daughter, and your honour : 
 Wliat is between you ? give me up the truth. 
 
 Oph. He hath, my lord, of late, made many 
 tenders 
 
 Of his affection to me. 
 
 . Pol. Affection ? puh ! you speak like a green 
 
 girl, 
 
 Unsifted in such perilous circumstance. 
 
 Ho you believe his tenders, as you call them? 
 
 Oph. I do not know, my lord, what I should 
 think. 
 
 Pol. Marry, I’ll teach you : think yourself a 
 baby ; 
 
 That you have ta’en his tenders for true pay, 
 Which are not sterling. Tender yourself more 
 dearly ; 
 
 Or, (not to crack the wind of the poor phrase, 
 Koaming it thus ) you’ll tender me a fool. 
 
 Oph. My lord, he hath importun’d me with 
 love. 
 
 In honourable fashion. 
 
 Pol. Ay, fashion you may call it ; go to, go to. 
 Oph. And hath given countenance to his 
 speech, my lord, 
 
 With all the vows of heaven. 
 
 Pol. Ay, springes to catch woodcocks. I do 
 know. 
 
 When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul 
 Gives the tongue vows : these blazes, daughter. 
 Giving more light than heat, — extinct in both. 
 Even in their promise, as it is a making, — 
 
 You must not take for fire. Erom this time, 
 daughter. 
 
 Be somewhat scanter of your maiden presence j 
 Set your entreatments at a higher rate. 
 
 Than a command to parley. For lord Hamlet, 
 Believe so much in him, that he is young ; 
 
 And with a larger tether may he walk. 
 
 Than may be given you : In few, Ophelia, 
 
 Do not believe his vow’s ; for they are brokers ; — 
 Not of the eye which their investments show. 
 But mere implorators of unholy suits, 
 
 Breathing like sanctified and pious bonds, 
 
 The better to beguile. This is for all, — 
 
 I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth 
 Have you so slander any moment’s leisure. 
 
 As to give words or talk with the lord Hamlet. 
 Look to’t, I charge you ; come your ways. 
 
 Oph. I shall obey, my lord. [Exeunt 
 
HAMLET. 
 
 17 
 
 SCENE IV . — The Platform. 
 
 Enter Hamlet, Hoeatio, and Maiicellus. 
 
 Ham. The air bites shrewdly. It is very cold. 
 Hor. It is a nipping and an eager air. 
 
 Ham. What hour now ? 
 
 Hor. I think, it lacks of twelve. 
 
 Mar. No, it is struck. 
 
 Hor. Indeed ? I heard it not ; then it draws 
 near the season, 
 
 Ham. Ay, marry, is’t : 
 
 And to my mind, though I am native here, 
 
 And to the manner born, it is a custom 
 More honour’d in the breach than the observance. 
 This heavy-headed revel, east and west. 
 
 Makes us traduc’d, and tax’d of other nations : 
 They clepe us drunkards, and with swinish 
 phrase 
 
 Soil our addition ; and, indeed, it takes 
 Erom our achievements, though perform’d at 
 height. 
 
 Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk. 
 
 \A flourish of trumpets, and ordnance 
 shot off, within. 
 
 What does this mean, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. The king doth wake to-night, and 
 takes his rouse. 
 
 Keeps wassels, and the swaggering up-spring 
 reels ; 
 
 And, as he drains his draughts of Ehenish 
 down. 
 
 The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out 
 
 The triumph of his pledge. 
 
 Hor. Is it a custom ? 
 
 The pith and marrow of our attribute. 
 
 So, oft it chances in particular men. 
 
 That for some vicious mole of nature in them. 
 As, in their birth, (wherein they are not guilty. 
 Since nature cannot choose his origin,) 
 
 By their o’ergrowth of some complexion. 
 
 Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason ; 
 Or by some habit, that too much o’er-leavens 
 The form of plausive manners ; that these men. 
 Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect ; 
 
 Being nature’s livery, or fortune’s star. 
 
 Their virtues else (be they as pure as grace. 
 
 As infinite as man may undergo,) 
 
 c 
 
18 
 
 H A M ]. E T. 
 
 Shall in tlie general censure take corruption 
 From that particular fault : The dram of ill 
 Doth all the noble substance often dout, 
 
 To his own scandal. 
 
 Enter Ghost. 
 
 Hor. Look, my lord, it comes ! 
 
 Ham. Angels and nunisters of grace defend 
 us ! — 
 
 Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damn’d. 
 Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts 
 from hell. 
 
 Be thy intents wicked, or charitalde. 
 
 Thou com’st in such questionable shape. 
 
 That I will speak to thee ; I’ll call thee, Hamlet, 
 King, father, royal Dane : 0, answer me. 
 
 Let me not burst in ignorance ! but tell. 
 
 Why thy canoniz’d bones, hearsed in death. 
 
 Have burst their cerements ! why the sepulchre. 
 Wherein we saw thee quietly in-urn’d. 
 
 Hath op’d his ponderous and marble jaws. 
 
 To cast thee up again ! What may this mean. 
 That thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel, 
 Revisit’st thus the glimpses of the moon. 
 Making night hideous ; and we fools of nature. 
 So horridly to shake our disposition. 
 
 With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls? 
 Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we do? 
 
 Hor. It beckons you to go away with it. 
 
 As if it some impartment did desire 
 To you alone. 
 
 Mar. Look, with what courteous action 
 It wafts you to a more removed ground : 
 
 But do not go with it. 
 
 Hor. No, by no means. 
 
 Ham. It will not speak ; then will I follow it. 
 Hor. Do not, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Why, what should be the fear ? 
 
 1 do not set my life at a pin’s fee ; 
 
 And, for my soul, what can it do to that, 
 
 Being a thing immortal as itself ? 
 
 It waves me forth again; — I’ll follow it. 
 
 Hor. What, if it tempt you toward the flood, 
 my lord. 
 
 Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff. 
 
 That beetles o’er his base into the sea. 
 
 And there assume some other horrible form. 
 Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason. 
 And draw yo\i into madness ? think of it : 
 
 The very place puts toys of desperation. 
 Without more motive, into every brain. 
 
 That looks so many fathoms to the sea. 
 
 And hears it roar beneath. 
 
 Ham. It wafts me still : — 
 
 Go on, I’ll follow thee. 
 
 Mar. You shall not go, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Hold off your hand. 
 
 Hor. Be rul’d, you shall not go. 
 
 Ham. My fate cries out. 
 
 And makes each petty artery in this body 
 As hardy as the Nemean lion’s nerve. — 
 
 [Ghost becl'ons. 
 
 Still am I call’d ; — unhand me, gentlemen ; 
 
 [Breaking from them. 
 By heaven. I’ll make a ghost of him that lets 
 me : — 
 
 I say, away : — Go on. I’ll follow thee. 
 
 [Exeunt Ghost and Hamlet. 
 
H A M L E T, 
 
 19 
 
 Hot. He waxes desperate with imagination. 
 
 Mar. Let ’s follow ; ’tis not fit thus to obey 
 him. 
 
 Hor. Have after : — To what issue will this 
 come ? 
 
 Mar. Something is rotten in the state of 
 Denmark. 
 
 Hor. Heaven will direct it. 
 
 Mar. Nay, let’s follow him. 
 
 [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. — A more remote part of the Platform. 
 Re-enter Ghost and Hamlet. 
 
 Ham. Where wilt thou lead me ? speak, I’ll 
 go no further. 
 
 Ghost. Mark me. 
 
 Ham. I will. 
 
 Ghost. My hour is almost come. 
 
 When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames 
 Must render up myself. 
 
 Ham. Alas, poor ghost ! 
 
 Ghost. Pity me not, but lend thy serious 
 hearing 
 
 To what I shall unfold. 
 
 Ham. Speak, I am bound to hear. 
 
 Ghost. So art thou to revenge, when thou 
 shalt hear. 
 
 Ham. What ? 
 
 Ghost. I am thy father’s spirit ; 
 
 Doom’d for a certain term to walk the night ; 
 And, for the day, confin’d to fast in fires. 
 
 Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature. 
 Are burnt and purg’d away. But that I am 
 forbid 
 
 To tell the secrets of my prison-house, 
 
 I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word 
 Would harrow up thy soul ; freeze thy young 
 blood ; 
 
 Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their 
 spheres ; 
 
 Thy knotted and combined locks to part, 
 
 And each particular hair to stand on end. 
 
 Like quills upon the fretful porcupine : 
 
 But this eternal blazon must not be 
 To ears of flesh and blood : — List, Hamlet, 0 
 list ! — 
 
 If thou didst ever thy dear father love, — 
 
 Ham. 0 heaven ! 
 
 > 
 
 Ghost. Kevenge his foul, and most unnatural 
 murther. 
 
 Ham. Murther ? 
 
 Ghost. Murther most foul, as in the best 
 it is ; 
 
 But this most foul, strange, and unnatural. 
 
 Ham. Haste me to know it ; that I, with 
 wings as swift 
 
 As meditation, or the thoughts of love. 
 
 May sweep to my revenge. 
 
 Ghost. I find thee apt; 
 
 And duller shoiddst thou be than the fat weed 
 That rots itself in ease on Lethe wharf, 
 Wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, 
 ' hear : 
 
 ’Tis given out, that sleeping in mine orchard, 
 
 A serpent stung me ; so the whole ear of 
 Denmark 
 
 Is by a forged process of my death 
 Eankly abus’d : but know, thou noble youth. 
 The serpent that did sting thy father’s life. 
 
 Now wears his crown. 
 
 Ham. O my prophetic soul ! mine uncle ! 
 
 Ghost. Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate 
 beast. 
 
 With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous 
 gifts. 
 
20 
 
 HAMLET. 
 
 (0 wicked wit, and gifts, that have the power 
 So to seduce !) won to his shameful lust 
 Tlie will of my most seeming virtuous queen : 
 0, Hamlet, what a falling-off was there ! 
 
 From me, whose love was of that dignity. 
 
 That it went hand in hand even with the vow 
 I made to her in marriage ; and to decline 
 Upon a wretch, whose natural gifts were poor 
 To those of mine ! 
 
 lint virtue, as it never will be mov’d 
 Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven ; 
 So lust, though to a radiant angel link’d. 
 
 Will sate itself in a celestial bed. 
 
 And prey on garbage. 
 
 But soft ! methinks, I scent the morning’s air : 
 Brief let me be : — Sleeping within mine orchard, 
 My custom always in the afternoon. 
 
 Upon my secure hour tliy uncle stole. 
 
 With juice of cursed hebenon in a vial. 
 
 And in the porches of mine ears did pour 
 The leperous distilmeut ; whose effect 
 Holds such an enmity with Idood of man. 
 
 That, swift as quicksilver, it courses through 
 The natural gates and alleys of the body ; 
 
 And, with a sudden vigour, it doth posset 
 And curd, like aigre droppings into milk. 
 
 The thin and wholesome blood ; so did it mine ; 
 And a most instant tetter bark’d about. 
 
 Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust. 
 All my smooth body. 
 
 Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother’s hand. 
 
 Of life, of crown, and queen, at once despatch’d ; 
 Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin, 
 Unhousel’d, disappointed, unanel’d ; 
 
 No reckoning made, but sent to my account 
 With all my imperfections on my head : 
 
 O, horrible ! 0, horrible ! most horrible ! 
 
 If thou liast nature in thee, bear it not ; 
 
 Let not the royal bed of Denmark be 
 A couch for luxury and damned incest. 
 
 But, howsoever thou pursu’st this act. 
 
 Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive 
 Against thy mother aughf ; leave lier to 
 heaven. 
 
 And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge. 
 To ' prick and sting her. Fare thee well at 
 once ! 
 
 The glow-worm shows the matin to be near, 
 And ’gins to pale his uneffectual fire : 
 
 Adieu, adieu, Hamlet ! rememher me. [^Exit. 
 
 Ham. 0 all you host of heaven ! 0 earth ! 
 What else ? 
 
 And shall I couple hell ? — 0 fie ! — Hold, my 
 heart ; 
 
 And you, my sinews, grow not instant old. 
 
 But bear me stiffly up ! — Eemember thee ? 
 
 Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat 
 In this distracted globe. Remember thee ? 
 Yea, from the table of my memory 
 I’ll wipe away all trivial fond records. 
 
 All saws of books, all forms, aU pressures past. 
 That youtfi and observation copied there ; 
 
 And thy commandment all alone shall live 
 Within the book and volume of my brain. 
 Unmix’d with baser matter : yes, yes, by heaven 
 O most pernicious woman ! 
 
 0 villain, villain, smiling, damned villain ! 
 
 My tables, my tables, — meet it is I set it down. 
 That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain ; 
 At least I’m sure it may be so in Denmark ; 
 
 [ Writing. 
 
 So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word : 
 
 It is. Adieu, adieu ! rcmcmler me. 
 
 1 have sworn ’t. 
 
 Hot. [ Within.'] My lord, my lord, — 
 
 Mar. [ Within.] Lord Hamlet, — 
 
 Hor. \_Within.] Heaven secure him ! 
 
 Mar. \^Within.] So be it! 
 
 Hor. [ Within.] Illo, ho, ho, my lord ! 
 
 Ham. Hillo, ho, ho, boy ! come, bird, come. 
 
 Enter Horatio and Marcellus. 
 
 Mar. How is ’t, my noble lord ? 
 
 Hor. What news, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. 0, wonderful I 
 
 Hor. Good my lord, tell it. 
 
 Ham. No ; 
 
 You’ll reveal it. 
 
 Hor. Not I, my lord, by heaven. 
 
 Mar. Nor I, my lord. 
 
 Ham. How say you then ; would heart of 
 man once think it ? 
 
 But you’ll be secret, — 
 
 Hor., Mar. Ay, by heaven, my lord. 
 
 Ham. There’s ne’er a villain, dwelling in all 
 Denmark, 
 
 But he’s an arrant knave. 
 
 Hor. There needs no ghost, my lord, come 
 from the grave, 
 
 To tell us this. 
 
H A M L E T. 
 
 21 
 
 Ham. Why, right ; you are in the right ; 
 And so, without more circumstance at all, 
 
 I hold it fit that we shake hands, and part ; 
 You, as your business and desire shall point 
 you— 
 
 For every man has business and desire. 
 
 Such as it is, — and for mine own poor part. 
 Look you. I’ll go pray. 
 
 Hor. These are but wild and hurling words, 
 my lord. 
 
 Ham. I’m sorry they offend you, heartily ; 
 Yes, ’faith, heartily. 
 
 Hor. There’s no offence, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Yes, by Saint Patrick, but there is, my 
 lord. 
 
 And much offence too, touching this vision here. 
 It is an honest ghost, that let me tell you ; 
 
 For your desire to know what is between us, 
 O’ermaster it as you may. And now, good 
 friends. 
 
 As you are friends, scholars, and soldiers. 
 
 Give me one poor request. 
 
 Hor. ■ What is ’t, my lord ? 
 
 We wiU. 
 
 Ham. Never make known what you have 
 seen to-niglit. 
 
 Hor., Mar. My lord, we will not. 
 
 Ham. Nay, but swear ’t. 
 
 Hor. , In faith, 
 
 My lord, not I. 
 
 Mar. Nor I, my lord, in faith. 
 
 Ham. Upon my sword. 
 
 Mar. We have sworn, my lord, already. 
 
 Ha7n. Indeed, upon my sword, indeed. 
 
 Ghost. [Bcneath.'\ Swear. 
 
 Ham. Ha, ha, boy ! say’st thou so ? art thou 
 there, truepenny ? 
 
 Come on, — you hear this fellow in the 
 cellarage, — 
 
 Consent to swear. 
 
 Hor. Propose the oath, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Never to speak of this that you have 
 seen. 
 
 Swear by my sword. 
 
 Ghost. \_Bcneath.'\ Swear. 
 
 Ham. Hie et uhique ? then we’ll shift our 
 ground : — 
 
 Come hither, gentlemen. 
 
 And lay your hands again upon my sword : 
 
 Never to speak of this that you have heard. 
 
 Swear by my sword. 
 
 Ghost. \^Bc7ieath.'\ Swear. 
 
 Ham. Well said, old mole ! canst work i’ the 
 ground so fast ? 
 
 A worthy pioneer ! — Once more remove, good 
 friends. 
 
 Hor. 0 day and night, but this is wondrous 
 strange ! 
 
22 
 
 HAMLET. 
 
 Ham. And therefore as a stranger give it 
 welcome. 
 
 There are more things in heaven and earth, 
 Horatio, 
 
 Than are dreamt of in our philosophy. 
 
 But come ; — 
 
 Here, as before, never, so help yon mercy ! 
 
 How strange or odd soe’er I bear myself. 
 
 As I, perchance, hereafter shall think meet 
 
 To put an antic disposition on — 
 
 That yoii, at such times seeing me, never shall 
 
 With arms encumber’d thus, or thus head 
 shake. 
 
 Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase. 
 
 As, “Well, we know;” — or, “We could, an if 
 we would ; ” — 
 
 Or, “ If we list to speak ; ” — or, “ There be, an 
 if there might ; ” 
 
 Or such ambiguous giving out, to note 
 That you know aught of me : — This not to do. 
 So grace and mercy at your most need help 
 
 Swear. 
 
 Ghost. \^Beneat}i.'\ Swear. 
 
 Ham. Best, rest, perturbed spirit ! So, gen- 
 tlemen, 
 
 AVith all my love I do commend me to you : 
 And w’hat so poor a man as Hamlet is 
 May do, to express his love and friending to you, 
 God willing, shall not lack. Let us go in 
 together ; 
 
 And still your lingers on your Ups, I pray. 
 
 The time is out of joint ; — 0 cursed spite ! 
 
 That ever I was born to set it right ! 
 
 Nay, come, let’s go together. 
 
 [Exev/nt. 
 
SCENE I. — A Boom in Polonius’ House. 
 
 Enter POLONIUS and Keynaldo. 
 
 Pol. Give him his money, and these notes, 
 Eeynaldo. 
 
 Bey. I will, my lord. 
 
 Pol. You shall do marvellous wisely, good 
 Eeynaldo, 
 
 Before you visit him, to make inquiry 
 
 Of his behaviour. 
 
 Bey. My lord, I did intend it. 
 
 Pol. Marry, well said : very well said. lA)ok 
 you, sir. 
 
 Inquire me first what Danskers are in Paris ; 
 
 And how, and who, what means, and where 
 they keep. 
 
 What company, at what expense ; and finding. 
 
 By this encompassment and drift of question. 
 
 That they do know my son, come you more 
 nearer 
 
 Than your particular demands will touch it ; 
 
 Take you, as ’twere, some distant knowledge of 
 him ; 
 
 As thus, — “ I know his father, and his friends. 
 
 And, in part, him ; ” — Do you mark this, 
 Eeynaldo ? 
 
 Bey. Ay, very well, my lord. 
 
 Pol. “And, in part, him; — but,” you may say, 
 “ not well : 
 
 But, if ’t be he I mean, he’s very wild ; 
 
 Addicted so and so ; ” — and there put on him 
 Ydiat forgeries you please ; marry, none so rank 
 As may dishonour him ; take heed of that ; 
 But, sir, such wanton, wild, and usual slips. 
 
 As are companions noted and most known 
 To youth and liberty. 
 
 Bey. As gaming, my lord. 
 
 Pol. Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing, quar- 
 relling, 
 
 Drabbing: — You may go so far. 
 
 Bey. My lord, that would dishonour him. 
 Pol. ’Faith, no ; as you may season it in the 
 charge. 
 
 You must not put another scandal on him. 
 
 That he is open to incontinency ; 
 
 That’s not my meaning : but breathe his faults 
 so quaintly. 
 
 That they may seem the taints of liberty : 
 
 The fiash and outbreak of a fiery mind ; 
 
 A savageness in unreclaimed blood. 
 
 Of general assault. 
 
 Bey. But, my good lord, — 
 
 Pol. Wherefore should you do this ? 
 
 Bey. Ay, my lord, 
 
 I would know that. 
 
 Pol. Marry, sir, here’s my drift ; 
 
 And, I believe, it is a fetch of warrant : 
 
 You laying these slight sullies on my son. 
 
 As ’twere a thing a little soil’d i’ the working, 
 Mark you. 
 
24 
 
 HAMLET. 
 
 Your party in converse, him you would sound, 
 Having ever seen, in the prenominate crimes. 
 The youth you breathe of, guilty, be assur’d. 
 
 He closes with you in this consequence ; 
 
 “ Good sir,” or so ; or, “ friend,” or “ gentle- 
 man,” — 
 
 According to the phrase and the addition. 
 
 Of man and country. 
 
 Ary. Very good, my lord. 
 
 I^ol. And then, sir, does he this,— He does — 
 Wliat was I about to say ? 
 
 I was about to say something : — Where did I 
 leave ? 
 
 AVy. At, “ closes in the consequence.” 
 
 At “ friend, or so, and gentleman.” 
 
 jPoI. At, closes in the consequence, — Ay, 
 marry ; 
 
 He closes with you thus : — “ I know the gentle- 
 man ; 
 
 I saw him yesterday, or t’other day. 
 
 Or then, or then ; with such, and such ; and, as 
 you say, 
 
 Tliere was he gaming; there o’ertook in his 
 rouse : 
 
 There falling out at tennis; or, perchance, 
 
 I saw him enter such a house of sale 
 (Videlicet, a brothel,) or so forth.” 
 
 See you now ; 
 
 Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth : 
 And thus do we of wisdom and of reach. 
 
 With windlaces, and with assays of bias. 
 
 By indirections find directions out ; 
 
 So, by my former lecture and advice. 
 
 Shall you my son : You have me, have you not ? 
 
 Rey. 
 
 My lord, I have. 
 
 
 Pol. 
 
 God be wi’ you ; 
 
 fare you 
 
 Rey. 
 
 Good my lord, — 
 
 
 Pol. 
 
 Observe his inclination in 
 
 yourself. 
 
 Rey. 
 
 I shall, my lord. 
 
 
 Pol. 
 
 And let him ply his music. 
 
 Rey. 
 
 
 Well, my 
 
 [Acih 
 
 Enter Ophelia. 
 
 Pol. Farewell ! — How now, Ophelia ? what's 
 the matter ? 
 
 Oph. Alas, my lord, I have been so affrighted ! 
 Pol. With what, in the name of heaven ? 
 
 Oph. My lord, as I was sewing in my 
 chamber. 
 
 Lord Hamlet, — with his doublet all unbrac’d ; 
 No hat upon his head ; his stockings foul’d. 
 Ungarter’d, and down-gyved to his ankle ; 
 
 Bale as his shirt ; his knees knocking each 
 other ; 
 
 And with a look so piteous in purport. 
 
 As if he had been loosed out of hell. 
 
 To speak of horrors, — he comes before me. 
 
 Pol. Mad for thy love ? 
 
 Oph. My lord, I do not know ; 
 
 But, truly, I do fear it. 
 
 Pol. What said he ? 
 
 Oph. He took me by the wrist, and held me 
 hard ; 
 
 Then goes he to the length of all his arm ; 
 
 And, with his other hand thus, o’er his brow. 
 He falls to such perusal of my face. 
 
 As he would draw it. Long stay’d he so ; 
 
 At last, — a little shaking of mine arm. 
 
 And thrice his head thus waving up and down, — 
 He rais’d a sigh so piteous and profound. 
 
 That it did seem to shatter all his bulk. 
 
 And end his being : That done, he lets me go : 
 And, with his head over his shoulder turn’d, 
 
 He seem’d to find his way without his eyes ; 
 For out o’ doors he went without their help, 
 And, to the last, bended their light on me. 
 
 Pol. Go with me; I will go seek the king. 
 This is the very ecstasy of love ; 
 
 Whose violent property foredoes itself. 
 
 And leads the will to desperate undertakings, . 
 
HAMLET. 
 
 25 
 
 As oft as any passion under heaven, 
 
 That does afflict our natures. I am sorry, — 
 What, have you given him any hard words of 
 late ? 
 
 Oph. No, my good lord ; but, as you did com- 
 mand, 
 
 I did repel his letters, and denied 
 His access to me. 
 
 Pol. Tliat hath made him mad. 
 
 I am sorry that witli better heed and judgment, 
 I had not quoted him : I fear’d, he did but trifle. 
 And meant to wrack thee ; but, beshrew my 
 jealousy ! 
 
 It seems it is as proper to our age 
 To cast beyond ourselves in our opinions. 
 
 As it is common for the younger sort 
 To lack discretion. Come, go we to the king ; 
 This must be known ; which, being kept close, 
 might move 
 
 More grief to hide than hate to utter love. 
 
 [^Eoccimi. 
 
 SCENE II. — A Boom in tlie Castle. 
 
 Enter King, Queen, Eosenckantz, Guilden- 
 STERN, and Attendants. 
 
 King. Welcome, dear Eosencrantz, and 
 Guildenstern ! 
 
 ]\Ioreover 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. 
 
 Since not the exterior nor the inward man 
 Eesembles that it was : What it should be, 
 jMore than his father’s death, that thus hath 
 put him 
 
 So much from the understanding of himself, 
 
 I cannot deem of : 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 occasions you may glean. 
 Whether aught, to us unknown, afflicts him 
 thus. 
 
 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 wiU, 
 
 As to expend your time with us awhile. 
 
 For the supply and proflt of our hope. 
 
 Your visitation shall receive such thanks 
 As fits a king’s remembrance. 
 
 Bos. Both your majesties 
 
 IMight, by the sovereign power you have of us. 
 But your dread pleasures more into command 
 Than to entreaty. 
 
 Chiil. We both obey ; 
 
 And here give up ourselves, in the full bent. 
 
 To lay our services freely at your feet. 
 
 To be commanded. 
 
 King. Thanks, Eosencrantz, and gentle 
 Guildenstern. 
 
 Queen. Thanks, Guildenstern, and gentle 
 Eosencrantz : 
 
 And I beseech you instantly to visit 
 My too much changed son. Go, some of you. 
 And bring the gentlemen where Hamlet is. 
 Guil. Heavens make our presence, and our 
 practices. 
 
 Pleasant and helpful to him ! 
 
 Queen. Amen ! — 
 
 [Exeunt Eosencrantz, Guildenstern, and 
 some Attendants. 
 
 D 
 
26 
 
 HAMLET. 
 
 Enter Polonius. 
 
 Pol. The 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 king : 
 
 And I do think, (or else this brain of mine 
 Hunts not the trail of policy so sure 
 As I have us’d to do,) that I have found 
 The very cause of Hamlet’s lunacy. 
 
 King. O, speak of that ; that I do long to 
 hear. 
 
 Pol. Give first admittance to the ambassadors ; 
 My news shall be the fruit to that great feast. 
 
 King. Thyself do grace to them, and bring 
 them in. 
 
 [Exit Polonius. 
 
 He tells me, my sweet queen, that he hath found 
 The head and source of all your son’s dis- 
 temper. 
 
 Queen. I doubt, it is no other but the main ; 
 His father’s death, and our o’erhasty marriage. 
 
 Re-enter POLONIUS, with Voltimand and 
 Cornelius. 
 
 King. Well, we shall sift him. — Welcome, 
 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 ; 
 Eeceives rebuke from Norway ; and, in fine. 
 Makes vow before his uncle, never more 
 To give the 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 further shown, 
 
 [Gives a paper. 
 
 That it might please you to give quiet pass 
 Through your dominions for his enterprise ; 
 
 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. 
 Answer, and think upon this business. 
 Meantime, 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 very 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 brevity 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, 
 
 AVliat is’t, but to be nothing else but mad ? 
 
 But let that go. 
 
 Queen. More matter, with less art. 
 
HAMLET. 
 
 27 
 
 Pol. Madam, I swear, I use iiu 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 efiect ; 
 
 Or, rather say, the cause of this defect ; 
 
 Eor this effect, defective, comes by cause : 
 
 Thus it remains, and the remainder thus. 
 Perpend. 
 
 I have a daughter ; have, whilst 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. 
 
 “ These. In her excellent white bosom, these.” 
 
 Queen. Came this from Hamlet to her ? 
 
 Pol. Good madam, stay awhile ; I will be 
 faithful. [Beads. 
 
 “ Doubt thou, the stars are fire ; 
 
 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 1 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 showed 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 
 
 Pieceiv’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 winking, mute and dumb ; 
 Or look’d upon this love with idle sight ; 
 
 AVhat 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 star ; 
 
 This must not be : ” ahd 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 tlie madness whereon now he raves. 
 
 And all we wail for. 
 
 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 further^ 
 
28 
 
 HAMLET. 
 
 Pol. You know, sometimes he walks four 
 hours together, 
 
 Here in the lobby. 
 
 Queen. So he has, 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. 
 
 Let me be no assistant for a state, 
 
 And keep a farm, and carters. 
 
 Kmg. 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 boord him presently : — 0, give me leave. — 
 \Ex,eunt King, Queen, and Attendants. 
 How does my good lord Hamlet ? 
 
 Ham. Well, god-’a-mercy. 
 
 Pol. Do you know me, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. Excellent well ; 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 two 
 thousand. 
 
 Pol. That’s very true, my lord. 
 
 Ha m. For if the sun breed maggots in a dead 
 dog, being a good kissing carrion, — Have yon a 
 daughter ? 
 
 Pol. I have, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Let her not walk i’ the sun ; concep- 
 tion is a blessing ; but not as your daughter may 
 conceive, — friend, look to ’t. 
 
 Pol. How say you by that ? \^Aside.'\ 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 who ? 
 
 Pol. I mean the matter that you read,my lord. 
 
 Ham. Slanders, sir : for the satirical slave 
 says here, that old men have grey beards ; that 
 
 their faces are wrinkled ; their eyes purging 
 thick amber, or plum-tree gum ; and that they 
 have a plentiful lack of wit, together with 
 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 be old as I am, if, like a 
 crab, you could go backward. 
 
 Pol. Though this be madness, yet there is 
 method in it. [Aside.'] Will you walk out of 
 the air, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. Into my grave ? 
 
 Pol. Indeed, that is out o’ the air. — How 
 pregnant 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 you. 
 
 Ham. You cannot, sir, take fi’om me anything 
 that I will more willingly part with withal ; 
 except my life, my life. 
 
 Pol. Fare you well, my lord. 
 
 Ham. These tedious old fools. 
 
 Enter Kosenceantz and Guildenstern. 
 
 Pol. You go to seek my lord Hamlet ; there 
 he is. 
 
 Eos. God save you, sir ! 
 
 [To POLONIUS. Exit POLONIUS. 
 
 G uil. IVIine honour’d lord ! — 
 
 Eos. My most dear lord ! 
 
 Ham. My excellent good friends ! How dost 
 thou, Guddenstern ? Ah, Eosencrantz ! Good 
 lads, how do ye both ? 
 
 Eos. As the indifferent children of the earth. 
 
 Guil. Happy, in that we are not overhappy ; 
 On fortune’s cap we are not the very button. 
 
 Ham. Nor the soles of her shoe ? 
 
 Eos. Neither, my loid. 
 
 Ham. Then you live about her waist, or in 
 the middle of her favour. 
 
 Guil. ’Faith, her privates we. 
 
 Ham. In the secret parts of fortune ? O, 
 most true ; she is a strumpet. What’s the 
 news ? 
 
 Eos. None, my lord; but that the world’s 
 grown honest. 
 
HAMLET. 
 
 29 
 
 Ham. Then is doomsday 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. 
 
 Eos. Then is the world one. 
 
 Ham. A goodly one ; in which there are 
 many confines, wards, and dungeons ; Denmark 
 being one of the worst. 
 
 Eos. 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. 
 
 Eos. Why, then your ambition makes it one: 
 ’tis too nai'row for your mind. 
 
 Ham. (3 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 bi;t a shadow. 
 
 Eos. 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 outstretch’d heroes the beggars’ 
 shadows : Shall we to the court ? for, by my 
 fay, I cannot reason. 
 
 Eos., GuU. 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 man, I am most dreadfully 
 attended. But, in the beaten way of friendship, 
 what make you at Elsinore ? 
 
 Eos. To visit you, my lord ; no other occasion. 
 
 Ham. Beggar that 1 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 in- 
 clining ? Is it a free visitation ? Come ; deal 
 justly with me : come, come ; nay, speak. 
 
 Guil. What should we say, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. Why anything. 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. 
 
 Eos. 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 ? 
 
 Eos. What say you ? {To Guildenstern. 
 
 Ham. Nay, then I have an eye of you; {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 of your 
 secrecy 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 lieavily with 
 
30 
 
 H A ]\I L E T. 
 
 my disposition, that this goodly frame, the 
 earth, seems to me a steril promontory ; this 
 most excellent canopy, the air, look you, — this 
 brave o’erhanging firmament — this majestical 
 roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no 
 other thing to me, than a foul and pestilent 
 congregation of vapours. What a piece of 
 work is a man ! How noble in reason ! how 
 infinite in faculty ! 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 1 
 And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of 
 dust ? man delights not me ; no, nor woman 
 neither, though, by your smiling, you seem to 
 say so. 
 
 Bos. My lord, there was no such stuff in my 
 thoughts. 
 
 Ham. Why did you laugh then, when I said, 
 “ Man delights not me ? ” 
 
 Bos. To think, my lord, if you delight not in 
 man, what lenten entertainment the players 
 shall receive from you : we coted them on the 
 way : 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 sere ; and the lady shall say 
 her mind freely, or the blank verse shall halt 
 f(jr ’t. — What players are they ? 
 
 Bos. Even those you were wont to take 
 delight in, the tragedians of the city. 
 
 Ham. How chances it they travel ? their 
 residence, both in reputation and profit, was 
 better both ways. 
 
 Bos. 1 think, their inhibition comes by the 
 means of the late innovation. 
 
 Ham. Do they hold the same estimation 
 they did when I was in the city ? Are they so 
 followed ? 
 
 Bos. No, indeed, they are not. 
 
 Ham. How comes it ? Do they grow rusty ? 
 
 Bos. Nay, their endeavour keeps in the 
 wonted pace : But there is, sir, an aiery of 
 children, little eyases, that cry out on the top 
 of question, 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 main- 
 tains them ? how are they escoted ? 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 like most, if their means are no better,) 
 their writers do them wrong, to make them 
 exclaim against their own succession ? 
 
 Bos. ’Eaith, there has been much to do on 
 both sides ; and the nation holds it no sin, to 
 tarre them to controversy : there was, for 
 awhile, no money bid for argument, unless the 
 poet and the player went to cuffs in the ques- 
 tion. 
 
 Ham. Is ’t possible? 
 
 Gu/bl. U, there has been much throwing 
 about of brains. 
 
 Ham. Do the boys carry it away ? 
 
 Bos. Ay, that they do, my lord ; Hercules 
 and his load too. 
 
 Ham. It is not strange; for mine uncle is 
 king of Denmark ; and those that would make 
 mowes at him while my father lived, give 
 twenty, forty, an hundred ducats apiece, for his 
 picture in little. There is something in this 
 more than natural, if philosophy could find it 
 out. [^Flourish of trumpets within. 
 
 Gwil. There are the players. 
 
 Ham. Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsi- 
 nore. Your hands. Come : the appurtenanee 
 of w'elcome is fashion and ceremony ; let me 
 comply with you in the garb ; lest my extent 
 to the players, which I tell you, must show 
 fairly outward, should more appear like enter- 
 tainment than yours. You are welcome: but 
 my uncle-father, and aunt-mother, are deceived. 
 
 Guil. In what, my dear lord ? 
 
 Ham. 1 am but mad north-north-west : when 
 the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a 
 handsaw. 
 
 Enter POLONIUS. 
 
 Pol. W ell 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. 
 
HAMLET. 
 
 31 
 
 Ros. Happily, 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 so, indeed, 
 
 Pol. My lord, I have news to tell you. 
 
 Ham. My lord, I have news to tell you. 
 Wlien Eoscius was an actor in Eome, — 
 
 Pol. The actors are come hither, my lord. 
 Ham. Buz, buz ! 
 
 Pol. Upon my honour, — 
 
 “ One fair daughter, and no more. 
 
 The which he loved passing well.” 
 
 Pol. Still oit 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, 
 
 “ A.s by lot, God wot,” 
 
 Ham. Then came each actor on his ass, — 
 
 Pol. The best actors! in the world, either for 
 tragedy, comedy, history, pastoral, pastorical- 
 comical, historical-pastoral, tragical-historical, 
 tragical-comical-historical-pastoral, scene indi- 
 vidable, or poem unlimited : Seneca cannot be 
 too heavy, nor Plautus too light. For the law 
 of writ, and the liberty, these are the only men. 
 
 Ham. 0 Jephthah, judge of Israel, — what a 
 treasure hadst thou ! 
 
 Pol. What a treasure had he, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. Why — 
 
 and then you know, 
 
 “ It came to pass, As most like it was.” 
 
 The first row of the pious chanson will show you 
 more : for look where my abridgments come. 
 
 Enter Four or Five Players. 
 
 You are welcome, masters; welcome, all: — I 
 am glad to see thee well : — welcome, good 
 friends. — 0, my old friend ! Thy face is valiant 
 since I saw thee last ; Com’st thou to beard me 
 
32 
 
 HAMLET. 
 
 in Denmark ? — What ! my young lady and 
 mistress ! By ’r lady, your ladyship is nearer 
 heaven than when I saw you last, by the alti- 
 tude of a chopine. Pray God, your voice, like 
 a piece of uncurrent gold, be not cracked within 
 the ring. — Masters, you are all welcome. We’ll 
 e’en to ’t like French falconers, tly at anything 
 we see : We’ll have a sjDeech straight; Come, 
 give us a taste of your quality ; come, a 
 passionate speech. 
 
 1 Play. What speech, my 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, pleased 
 not the million ; ’twas caviare to the general : 
 blit 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 to make the matter savoury ; 
 nor no matter in the phrase that might indite 
 the author of affectation ; but called it an 
 honest method, as wholesome as sweet, and by 
 very much more handsome than line. One 
 chief speech in it I chiehy loved : ’twas ALneas’ 
 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 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; 
 
 Baked and impasted with the parching streets. 
 
 That lend a tyrannous and damned light 
 To their \ile murthers : roasted in wrath and fire. 
 
 And thus o’er- sized with coagulate gore. 
 
 With eyes hke carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus 
 Old grandsire Priam seeks. 
 
 Pol. ’Fore God, my lord, well spoken ; with 
 good accent, and good discretion. 
 
 1 Flap. 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 whiff and wind of his fell sword 
 The unnerved father falls. Then senseless IHum, 
 Seeming to feel his 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 neutral 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 ^nds 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 eteme. 
 
 With less remorse than Pyrrhus’ bleeding sword 
 Now falls on Priam. — 
 
 Out, out, thou stnunpet. Fortune ! All you gods. 
 
 In general synod, take away her power ; 
 
 Break aU 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. — Prithee, say on : — He’s for a jig, or a 
 tale of bawdry, or he sleeps : — say on : come to 
 Hecuba. 
 
 1 Flay. But who, O, who had seen the mobled queen — 
 
 Ham. The mobled queen ? 
 
 Pol. That’s good : mobled queen is good. 
 
 1 Flay. R un barefoot up and down, threat’ ning the flame 
 With bis-ion rheum ; a clout about that head 
 Where late the diadem stood ; and, for a robe. 
 
 About her lank and all o’er-teemed loins, 
 
 A blanket, in the alarum 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 aU.) 
 
 Would have made milch the burning eyes of heaven. 
 And passion in the gods. 
 
 Pol. Look, whether he has not turn’d his 
 colour, and has tears in ’s eyes. — Pray you, no 
 more. 
 
 Ham. ’Tis well ; I’ll have thee speak out the 
 rest soon. Good my lord, will you see the 
 players well bestow’d ? Do you hear, let them 
 be well used ; for they are the abstracts, and 
 brief chronicles, of the time : After your death 
 you were better have a bad epitaph, than their 
 ill report while you lived. 
 
 Pol. My lord, I will use them according to 
 their desert. 
 
 Ham,. Odd’s bodikin man, better : Use every 
 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 xoith some of the Players. 
 
HAMLET. 
 
 3:5 
 
 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 hav’t to-morrow night. You 
 could, for a need, study a speech of some dozen 
 or sLxteen 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.] IMy 
 good friends, [Yo Eos. and Guil.] I’ll leave 
 you till night : you are welcome to Elsinore. 
 Eos. Good my lord ! 
 
 [Exeunt Eosencrantz and Guildenstern. 
 Ham. Ay, so, God be wi’ you ; Now I am 
 alone. 
 
 ■0, 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 smd so to his whole conceit. 
 That from her working, all his visage wann’d ; 
 Tears in his eyes, distraction in ’s 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 Hecuba, 
 
 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 free. 
 Confound the ignorant ; and amaze, indeed. 
 
 The very faculty of eyes and ears. 
 
 Yet I, 
 
 A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak, 
 
 Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause. 
 And can say nothing ; no, not for a king. 
 
 Upon whose property, and most dear life, 
 
 A ilamn’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! 
 
 Why, I should take it : for it cannot be. 
 
 But I am pigeon-liver’d, and lack gall 
 To make oppression bitter ; or, ere this, 
 
 I should have fatted all the region kites 
 With this slave’s offal : Bloody, bawdy villain 1 
 Eemorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless 
 villain ! 
 
 0 vengeance ! 
 
 Wliat an ass am 1 1 ay, sure, this is most 
 brave ; 
 
 That I, the son of the dear murthered. 
 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 brains ! 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 malefactions ; 
 
 For murther, 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 blench, 
 
 1 know my course. The spirit that I have 
 
 seen 
 
 May be the devil : and the devil hath power 
 To assume a pleasing shape; yea, and, perhaps. 
 Out of my weakness, and my melancholy, 
 
 (As he is very potent with such spirits,) 
 
 Abuses me to damn me : I’ll have grounds 
 - More relative than this : Tlie play ’s the thing. 
 Wherein I’ll catcli the conscience of the king. 
 
 [Exit^ 
 
 Is 
 

 SCENE I. — A Room m the Castle. 
 
 Enter King, Queen, Tolonius, Ophelia, Kosen- 
 CRANTZ, and Guildenstern. 
 
 King. And can you, by no drift of circum- 
 stance. 
 
 Get from him, wliy he puts on this confusion ; 
 
 Grating so harshly all his days of quiet 
 
 With turbulent and dangerous lunacy ? 
 
 Ros. He does confess he feels himself dis- 
 tracted ; 
 
 But from what cause he will by no means 
 speak. 
 
 Giiil. Nor do we find him forward to be 
 sounded ; 
 
 But, with a crafty madness, keeps aloof, 
 
 When we would bring him on to some con- 
 fession 
 
 ('>f his true state. 
 
 Queen. Did he receive you well ? 
 
 Ros. Most like a gentleman. 
 
 Guil. But with much forcing of his disposi- 
 tion. 
 
 Ros. Niggard of question ; but, of our de- 
 mands, 
 
 klost free in his reply. 
 
 Queen. Did you assay him 
 
 To any pastime ? 
 
 Ros. IMadam, it so fell out, that certain 
 players 
 
 We o’er-raught on the way : of these we told 
 him ; 
 
 And there did seem in him a kind of joy 
 
 To hear of it ; They are about the court ; 
 
 And, as I think, they have already order 
 This night to play before him. 
 
 Pol. ’Tis most true ; 
 
 And he beseech’d me to entreat your majesties, 
 To hear and see the matter. 
 
 King. With all my heart ; and it doth much 
 content me 
 
 To hear him so inclin’d. 
 
 Good gentlemen, give him a further edge. 
 
 And drive his purpose on to these delights. 
 
 Ros. We shall, my lord. 
 
 [Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. 
 King. Sweet Gertrude, leave us too :: 
 
 For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither ; 
 That he, as ’twere by accident, may here 
 Affront Ophelia. 
 
HAMLET. 
 
 35 
 
 Her father, and myself (lawful espials,) 
 
 AVill so bestow ourselves, that, seeing, unseen, 
 We may of their encounter frankly judge ; 
 
 And gather by him, as he is behav’d. 
 
 If ’t be the affliction of his love or no. 
 
 That thus he suffers for. 
 
 (^uecn. I shall obey you : 
 
 And for your part, Ophelia, I do wish, 
 
 That your good beauties be the happy cause 
 Of Hamlet’s wildness ; so shall I hope your 
 virtues 
 
 Will bring him to his wonted way again. 
 
 To both your lionours. 
 
 Oph. Madam, I wish it may. 
 
 [Exit Queen. 
 
 7’o/. Ophelia, walk you here : — Gracious, so 
 please you. 
 
 We will bestow ourselves : Head on this book ; 
 
 [To Ophelia. 
 
 That show of such an exercise may colour 
 Your loneliness. We are oft to blame in this, — 
 ’Tis too much prov’d, that, with devotion’s visage. 
 And pious action, we do sugar o’er 
 The devil himself. 
 
 King. 0, ’tis too true! 
 
 How smart a lash that speech doth give my 
 conscience ! 
 
 The harlot’s cheek, beautied with plast’ring art. 
 Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it. 
 Than is my deed to my most painted word : 
 
 O heavy burden ! [Aside. 
 
 Pol. I hear him coming ; let’s withdraw, my 
 lord. 
 
 [Exeunt King and Polonius. 
 Enter Hamlet. 
 
 Ham. To be, or not to be, that is the question : 
 Whether ’tis nobler in the mind, to suffer 
 The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. 
 
 Or to take arms against a sea of troubles. 
 
 And, by opposing end them ? — to die, — to sleep, — 
 Xo 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. 
 The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s con- 
 tumely, 
 
 The pangs of dispriz’d love, the law’s delay. 
 
 The insolence of offlce, and the spurns 
 That patient merit of the unworthy takes. 
 When he himself might his quietus make 
 With a bare bodkin ? who would these fardels 
 bear. 
 
 To grunt and sweat under a weary life ; 
 
 But that the dread of something after death. 
 The undiscovered country, from whose bourn 
 No traveller returns, puzzles the will ; 
 
 And makes us rather bear those ills we liave. 
 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 enterprises of great pith and moment. 
 With this regard, their currents turn away. 
 And lose the name of action. — Soft you, now ! 
 The fair Ophelia : — Nymph, in thy orisons 
 Be all my sins remember’d. 
 
 Oph. ( lood my lord. 
 
 How does your honour for this many a day ? 
 
36 
 
 H A M L E 1’. 
 
 Ham. I huinl)ly thank you ; well, well, well. 
 Oph. My lord, I have remerabraiices of yours 
 That I have longed long to re-deliver ; 
 
 I pray you, now receive them. 
 
 Ham. No, no. I never gave you aught. 
 
 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 : their 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 yonr lordship ? 
 
 Ham. That if you be honest, and fair, your 
 honesty should admit no discourse to your 
 beauty. 
 
 Oph. Could beauty, my lord, have better com- 
 merce than with honesty ? 
 
 Ham. Ay, truly ; for the power of beauty 
 will sooner transform honesty from what it is to 
 a bawd, tlian the force of honesty can translate 
 beauty into his likeness : this was some time a 
 
 paradox, but now the time gives it proof. I did 
 love you once. 
 
 Oph. Indeed, my lord, you made me be- 
 lieve so. 
 
 Ham. You shoidd not have believed me: for 
 virtue cannot so inoculate our old stock, but 
 we shall relish of it : I lov’d you not. 
 
 Oph. I was the more deceived. 
 
 Ham. Get thee to a nunnery ; Why wouldst 
 thou 1)6 a breeder of sinners ? I am myself in- 
 different honest ; butyetl couldaccuse meof such 
 things, that it were better my mother had not 
 borne me : I am very proud, revengeful, am- 
 bitious ; 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 
 heaven and earth ? We are arrant knaves, all ; 
 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 way but in ’s own house. 
 Farewell. 
 
 Oph. 0, help him, you sweet heavens ! 
 
 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, go ; farewell : 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. Fare- 
 well. 
 
 Oph. 0 heavenly powers, restore him! 
 
 Ham. I have heard of your paintings too, 
 well enough. God hath given you one face, and 
 you make yourselves another; you jig,you amble, 
 and you lisp, and nickname God’s creatures, 
 and make your wantonness your ignorance : Go 
 to. 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 
 
 {Exit Hamlet. 
 
 Oph. 0, what a noble mind is here o’erthrown ! 
 The courtier’s, soldier’s, scholar’s eye, tongue, 
 sword : 
 
 The expectancy and rose of the fair state. 
 
 The glass of fashion, and the mould of form. 
 The observ’d of all observers! quite, quite, down! 
 And I, of ladies most deject and wretched, 
 
 That suck’d the honey of his music 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 ecstasy : 0, woe is me ! 
 
 To have seen what I have seen, see what I see ! 
 
H A U L K T. 
 
 :n 
 
 Ec-enter King and Tolonius. 
 
 King. Love ! his affections do not that way 
 tend ; 
 
 Nor what he spake, though it lack’d form a 
 little, 
 
 Was not like madness. There’s something in 
 his soul. 
 
 O’er which his melancholy sits on brood ; 
 
 And, I do doubt, the hatch, and the disclose. 
 Will be some danger: Which to prevent, 
 
 I have, in quick determination. 
 
 Thus set it down : He shall with speed to 
 England, 
 
 For the demand of our neglected tribute: 
 Haply, the seas, and countries different. 
 
 With variable objects, shall expel 
 This something-settled matter in his heart ; 
 Whereon his brains still beating, puts him thus 
 From fashion of himself. What think you on 't ? 
 
 Eol. It shall do well ; but yet do I believe, 
 The origin and commencement of this grief 
 Sprung from neglected love. — How now, 
 Ophelia, 
 
 You need not tell us what lord Hamlet said ; 
 We heard it all. — My lord, do as you please ; 
 But, if you hold it fit, after the play, 
 
 Let his queen mother all alone entreat him 
 To show his griefs ; let her he round with him ; 
 And I’ll be plac’d, so please you, in the ear 
 Of all their conference : If she find him not. 
 
 To England send him : or confine him, where 
 Your wisdom best shall think. 
 
 King. It shall be so 
 
 Madness in great ones must not unwatch’d go. 
 
 \_Excuni. 
 
 SCENE 11. — A Hall in the .same. 
 
 Enter Hamlet, and certain Players. 
 
 Ham. Speak the speech, I pray you, as I 
 pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue ; 
 liut if you mouth it, as many of your players 
 do, I had as lief the town-crier had spoke my 
 lines. Nor do not saw the air too much — your 
 hand thus : but use all gently : for in the very 
 torrent, tempest, and (as I may say) the whirl- 
 wind of passion, you must acquire and beget a 
 temperance, that may give it smoothness. 0 
 it offends me to the soul, to see a robustious 
 periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, 
 to very rags, to split tlie ears of the ground- 
 lings ; who, for the most part, are capable of 
 nothing but inexplicable dumb shows and 
 noise : I could have such a fellow whipped for 
 o’erdoing Termagant ; it out-herods Herod : 
 pray you, avoid it. 
 
 1 Play. I warrant your honour. 
 
 Ham. Be not too tame neither, hut let your 
 own discretion be your tutor : suit the action 
 to the word, the word to the action ; with this 
 special observance, that you o’erstep not the 
 modesty of nature ; for anything so overdone is 
 from the purpose of playing, whose end, both 
 at the first, and now, was, and is, to hold, as 
 ’twere, the mirror up to nature ; to show virtue 
 her own feature, scorn her own image, and the 
 very age and body of the time, his form and 
 pressure. Now this, overdone, or come tardy 
 off, though it make the unskilful laugh, cannot 
 but make the judicious grieve ; the censure of 
 the which one, must, in your allowance, o’er- 
 weigh a whole theatre of others. 0, there be 
 players, that I have seen play, and heard others 
 praise, and that highly, not to speak it pro- 
 fanely, that neither having the accent of 
 Christians, nor the gait of Christian, pagan, 
 nor man, have so strutted, and bellowed, that I 
 have thought some of Nature’s journeymen 
 had made men, and not made them well, they 
 imitated humanity so abominably. 
 
38 
 
 H A M L E T. 
 
 1 Kay. I hope we have reformed that in- 
 differently with us, sir. 
 
 Ham. 0, reform it altogether. And let those 
 that play your clowns, speak no more than is set 
 ■down for them : for there be of them, that will 
 themselves laugh, to set on some ([uantity of 
 barren spectators to laugh too ; though, in the 
 meantime, some necessary question of the play 
 he then to be considered; that’s villainous; and 
 shows a most pitiful ambition in the fool that 
 uses it. Go, make you ready. \Ejcmnt Players. 
 
 Enter PoLONius, Posekcrantz, and 
 Guildenstekn. 
 
 How now, my lord ? will the king hear this 
 piece of work ? 
 
 I'ol. And the queen too, and that presently. 
 Ham. Bid the players make haste. 
 
 [Exit POLONIUS. 
 
 Will you too help to hasten them ? 
 
 Both. We will, my lord. 
 
 [Exeunt Posencrantz and Guildenstern. 
 Ham. What, ho ; Horatio ! 
 
 Enter Horatio. 
 
 Hot. Here, sweet lord, at your service. 
 
 Ham. Horatio, thou art e’en as just a man 
 As e’er my conversation cop’d withal. 
 
 Hor. 0, my dear lord, — 
 
 Ham. Nay, do not think I flatter : 
 
 For w'hat advancement may I hope from thee, 
 'I'liat no revenue hast but thy good spirits, 
 
 I'o feed and clothe thee ? Wliy should the p<Jor 
 be flatter’d ? 
 
 No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp ; 
 And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee. 
 Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou 
 hear ? 
 
 Since my dear soul was mistress of my choice. 
 And could of men distinguish, her election 
 Hath seal’d thee for herself : for thou hast been 
 As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing ; 
 
 A man, that fortune’s buffets and rewards 
 Has ta’en with equal thanks: and bless’d are those, 
 ANdiose blood and judgment are so well co- 
 mingled, 
 
 O > » 
 
 That they are not a pipe for fortune’s finger 
 To sound what stop she please : Give me that man 
 That is not passion’s slave, and I will wear him 
 In my heart’s core, ay, in my heart of heart. 
 
 As I do thee. — Something too much of this. — 
 There is a play to-night before the king ; 
 
 One scene of it comes near tlie circumstance 
 AVIiich I have told thee of my father’s death. 
 
 I prithee, when thou seest that act a-foot, 
 
 IWen with the very comment of my soul 
 Observe mine uncle : if his occulted guilt 
 1 )o not itself unkennel in one speech. 
 
 It is a damned ghost that we have seen ; 
 
 And my imaginations are as foul 
 As Vulcan’s stithe. Give him heedful note ; 
 For I mine eyes will rivet to his face ; 
 
 And, after, we will both our judgments join 
 To censure of his seeming. 
 
 Hor. Well, my lord : 
 
 If he steal aught, the whilst this play is playing, 
 .bud scape detecting, I will pay the theft. 
 
 Ham. They are coming to the play ; I must 
 be idle : 
 
 Get you a place. 
 
 Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Eosen- 
 CRANTZ, Guildenstern, and other Lords 
 attendant, with his Guard, carrying torches. 
 Danish march. Sound a flourish. 
 
H A M L E '1'. 
 
 39 - 
 
 King. How fares our cousin Hamlet? 
 
 Ham. Excellent, i’ faitli ; of the chameleon’s 
 dish : I eat the air, promise-crammed : You can- 
 not feed capons so. 
 
 King. I have nothing with this answer, 
 Hamlet ; these words are not mine. 
 
 Ham. No, nor mine now. My lord, — -you 
 played once in the university, you say ? 
 
 {To POLONIUS. 
 
 Pol. That I did, my lord ; and was accounted 
 a good actor. 
 
 Ham. And what did you enact ? 
 
 Pol. I did enact Julius Caesar: I was killed 
 i’ the Capitol : Brutus killed me. 
 
 Ham. It was a bi'ute part of him, to kill so 
 capital a calf there. — Be the players ready ? 
 
 Ros. Ay, my lord ; they stay upon your 
 patience. 
 
 Queen. Come hither, mygood Hamlet,sit by me. 
 Havi. No, good mother, here’s metal more 
 attractive. 
 
 Pol. 0 ho! do you mark that? {To the King. 
 Ham. Lady, shall I lie in your lap ? 
 
 {Lying dovm at Ophelia’s feet. 
 Oph. No, my lord. 
 
 Ham. I mean, my head upon your lap ? 
 
 Oph. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Do you think I mean country matters? 
 Oph. 1 think nothing, my lord. 
 
 Ham. That’s a fair thought to lie between 
 maids’ legs. 
 
 Oph. What is, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. Nothing. 
 
 Oph. You are merry, my lord. 
 
 Hum. Who, I ? 
 
 Oph: Ay, my lord. 
 
 Ham. O God ! your only jig-maker. What 
 should a man do, but be merry ? for, look you, 
 how cheerfully my mother looks, and my father 
 died within these two hours. 
 
 Oph. Nay, ’tis twice two months, my lord. 
 Ham. So long ? Nay then let the devil wear 
 black, for I’ll have a suit of sables. 0 heavens ! 
 die two months ago, and not forgotten yet ? 
 Then there’s hope a great man’s memory may 
 outlive his life half a year : But, by ’r lady, he 
 must build churches then : or else shall he 
 suffer not thinking on, with the hobby-horse ; 
 whose epitaph is, For, 0 for, 0, the hohhy-horse 
 is forgot. 
 
 Hautboys play. The dumb show enters. 
 
 Enter a King and a Queen very lovingly ; the Queen em- 
 bracing him. She kneels, and makes a show of protestation 
 unto him. He takes her up, and declines his head upon her 
 neck : lays him down upon a bank of flowers ; she, seeing him 
 asleep, leaves him. Anon comes in a fellow, takes off his 
 crown, kisses it, and. pours poison in the Kingts ears, arid exit. 
 The Queen returns ; flnds the King dead, and makes 
 passionate action. The poisoner, with some two or three mutes, 
 comes in again, seeming to lament with her. The dead body is 
 carried away. The poisoner wooes the with gilts; she 
 
 seems loath and unwilling awhile, but, in the end, accepts his 
 love. \_Exeunt. 
 
 Oph. What means this, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. Marry, this is miching mallecho ; it 
 means mischief. 
 
 Oph. Belike, this show imports the argument 
 of tlie play. 
 
 Enter Prologue. 
 
 Ham. We shall know by this fellow : the 
 players cannot keep counsel ; they’ll tell all. 
 Oph. AVill he tell us what this show meant ? 
 Ham. Ay, or any show that you’ll show him : 
 Be not you ashamed to show, he’ll not shame to 
 tell you whiit it means. 
 
 Oph. You are naught, you are naught ; I’ll 
 mark the play. 
 
 Tro. For us, and for our tragedy, 
 
 Here stooping to your clemency, 
 
 We beg your hearing patiently. 
 
 Ham. Is this the prologue, or the poesy of a 
 ring ? 
 
 Oph. ’Tis brief, ni}’ lord. 
 
 Ham. As woman’s love. 
 
 Enter King and his Queen. 
 
 P. King. Full thirty times hath Phoebu.s’ cart gone 
 round 
 
 Neptune’s salt wash, and Tellus’ orbed ground ; 
 
 And thirty dozen moons with borrow'd sheen, 
 
 About the world have times twelve thirties been ; 
 
 Since love our hearts, and Hymen did our hands. 
 
 Unite commutual in most sacred bands. 
 
 P. 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 mu.st ; 
 
 For women’s fear and love hold quantity ; 
 
 In neither aught, or in extremity. 
 
 Now, what my love is, proof hath made you know ; 
 
 And as my love is s’z’d, my fear is so. 
 
 [Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear ; 
 
 Where little fears grow great, great love grows there.] 
 
 P. King. ’Faith, 1 must leave thee, love, and shortly 
 too ; 
 
 My operant powers my functions leave to do : 
 
 And thou shalt live in this fair world behind. 
 
 Honour’d, belov’d : and haply, one as kind 
 For hu.shand shalt thou 
 
 P. Queen. O, confound the rest ! 
 
 Such love must needs be treason in my breast ; 
 
 I n second husband let me be accurst ! 
 
 None wed the second but who kill’d the first. 
 
40 
 
 H A M L E T. 
 
 Ham. Woiiiiwood, wonnwood. 
 
 P. Queen. The instances that second marriage moTe, 
 Are base respects of thrift, but none of love ; 
 
 A second time I kill my husband dead , 
 
 When second husband kisses me in bed. 
 
 P. 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 ; 
 
 WTiich now, like fruit unripe, sticks on the tree ; 
 
 But fall, unshaken, when they mellow be. 
 
 Most necessary ’tis, that we forget 
 To pay ourselves what to ourselves is debt : 
 
 What to ourselves in passion we propose. 
 
 The passion ending, doth the purpose lose. 
 
 The violence of either grief or joy 
 
 Their own enactures with themselves destroy : 
 
 WTiere joy most revels, grief doth most lament. 
 
 Grief joys, joy grieves, on slender accident. 
 
 This world is not for aye ; nor ’tis not strange. 
 
 That even our loves should with our fortunes change ; 
 For 'tis a question left us yet to prove, 
 
 Whether love lead fortuna, or else fortune love. 
 
 The great man down, you mark, his favourite 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 trj’, 
 
 Directly seasons him his enemy. 
 
 But, orderly to end where I begun, — 
 
 Gur wills and fates do so contrary run. 
 
 That our devices still are overthrown ; 
 
 Gur thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own ; 
 
 So think thou wait no second husband wed ; 
 
 But die thy thoughts, when thy first lord is dead. 
 
 P. Queen. Nor earth to give me food, nor heaven 
 light ! 
 
 Sport and repose lock Irtim me, day and night ! 
 
 [To desperation turn my trust and hope ! 
 
 .\n anchor’s cheer in prison be my scope !] 
 
 Each opposite, that blanks the face of joy. 
 
 Meet what I would have w'ell, and it destroy ! 
 
 Both here, and hence, pursue me lasting strife. 
 
 If, once a widow, ever I be wife ! 
 
 Ham. Tf .she should hreak it now 
 
 [To Ophklia. 
 
 P. King. ’Tis deeply sworn . Sweet, leave me here 
 awhile ; 
 
 My spirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile 
 The tedious day with sleep. \_Slerpx. 
 
 P. Queen. Sleep rock thy brain. 
 
 And never come mischance between us twain 1 [A.ciV. 
 
 Ham. Madam, how like you this play ? 
 
 Queen. The lady protests too much, methinks. 
 Ham. 0, but she’ll keep her word. 
 
 King. Have you heard the argument ? Is 
 there uo offence in’t ? 
 
 Ham. No, no, they do hut jest, poison in jest; 
 
 no offence i’ the world. 
 
 King. What do you call the play ? 
 
 Ham. The mouse-traj). Marry, how ? Tropi- 
 cally. This play is the image of a murder 
 done ill Vienna ; Gonzago is the duke’s name ; 
 his wife, Baptista : you shall see anon : ’tis 
 a knavish jiiece of work : But what of that ? 
 your majesty, and we that have free souls, it 
 
 touches us not : Let the galled jade wince, our 
 withers are iinwrung. 
 
 Knter Lucianus. 
 
 This is one Lucianus, nephew to the king. 
 
 Oph. You are a good chorus, my lord. 
 
 Ham. I could interpret between you and 
 your love, if I could see the puppets dallying. 
 
 Oph. You are keen, my lord, you are keen. 
 
 Ham. It would cost you a groaning, to take 
 off' my edge. 
 
 Oph. Still better, and worse. 
 
 Ham. So you must take husbands. — Begin, 
 murderer ; leave thy damnable faces, and begin. 
 Come ; 
 
 The croaking raven 
 
 Doth bellow for revenge. 
 
 Luc. Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, and time 
 agreeing ; 
 
 Confederate season, else no creature seeing ; 
 
 Thou mixture rank, of midnight weeds collected. 
 
 With Hecate’s ban thrice blasted, thrice infected. 
 
 Thy natural magic and dire property. 
 
 On wholesome life usurp immediately. 
 
 \Pouri the poiton in his ears. 
 
 Ham. He poisons him i’ the garden for his 
 estate. His name’s Gonzago ; the story is 
 extant, and writ in choice Italian : You shall 
 see anon, how the murtherer gets the love of 
 Gonzago’s wife. 
 
 Oph. The king rises. 
 
 Ham. What ! frighted with false fire ! 
 
 Queen. How fares my lord ? 
 
 Pol. Give o’er the play. 
 
 King. Give me some light : — away ! 
 
 All. Lights, lights, lights ! 
 
 [Exeunt all lut Hamlet and Horatio. 
 
 Ham. Why, let the strucken deer go weep. 
 The hart ungalled play : 
 
 For some must watch, while some must sleep; 
 So runs the world away. — 
 
 Would not this, sir, and a forest of feathers, (if 
 the rest of my fortunes turn Turk with me,) 
 with two Provincial roses on my razed shoes, 
 get me a iellowship in a cry of players, sir ? 
 
 Hor. Half a share. 
 
 Ham. A whole one 1. 
 
 For thou dost know, 0 Damon dear, 
 
 This realm dismantled was 
 
 Of Jove himself ; and now reigns here 
 A very, very — Paiocke. 
 
 Hor. You might have rhymed. 
 
HAMLET. 
 
 41 
 
 Ham. 0 good Horatio, I’ll take the ghost’s 
 word for a thousand pound. Didst perceive ? 
 
 Hot. Very well, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Upon the talk of the poisoning, — 
 
 Hot. 1 did very well note him. 
 
 Ham. Ah, ha! — Come, some music ; come, the 
 recorders. — 
 
 For if the king like not the comedy. 
 Why then, belike, he likes it not, jierdy. 
 
 Enter Eosenckantz and Guildenstern. 
 Come, some music. 
 
 Guil. Good my lord, vouchsafe me a word 
 with you. 
 
 Ham. Sir, a whole history. 
 
 Guil. The king, sir, — 
 
 Ham. Ay, sir, what of him ? 
 
 Guil. Is in his retirement, marvellous dis- 
 tempered. 
 
 Ham. With drink, sir ? 
 
 Guil. No, my lord, rather witli choler. 
 
 Ham. Your wisdom should show itself more 
 richer, to signify this to his doctor ; for, for me 
 to put him to his purgation, would, perhaps, 
 plunge him into far more choler. 
 
 Guil. Good my lord, put your discourse into 
 some frame, and start not so wildly from my 
 affair. 
 
 Ham. I am tame, sir, pronounce. 
 
 Guil. The qiieen, your mother, in most great 
 affliction of spirit, hath sent me to you. 
 
 Ham. You are welcome. 
 
 Guil. Nay, good my lord, this courtesy is not 
 of the right breed. If it shall please you to 
 make me a wholesome answer, I will do your 
 mother’s commandment : if not, your pardon, 
 and my return, shall he the end of my business. 
 
 Ham. Sir, I cannot. 
 
 Guil. What, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. Make you a wholesome answer ; my 
 wit’s diseased : But, sir, such answers as I can 
 make you shall command ; or, rather, you say, 
 my mother : therefore, no more, but to the 
 matter ; My mother, you say, — 
 
 Ros. Then thus she says : Your behaviour 
 hath struck her into amazement and admiration. 
 
 Ham. 0 wonderful son, that can so astonish 
 a mother ! — But is there no sequel at the heels 
 of this mother’s admiration ? 
 
 Ros. She desires to speak with you in her 
 closet, ere you go to bed. 
 
 Hain. We shall obey, were she ten times our 
 mother. Have you any further trade with us ? 
 
 Ros. My lord, you once did love me. 
 
 Ham. So I do still, hy these pickers and 
 stealers. 
 
 Ros. Good my lord, what is your cause of dis_ 
 
 r 
 
42 
 
 H A M L P: T, 
 
 temper ? you do freely bar the door of your own 
 liberty, if you deny your griefs to your friend. 
 
 Ham. Sir, I lack advancement. 
 
 Ros. How can that be, when you have the 
 voice of the king himself for your succession in 
 Denmark ? 
 
 Ham. Ay, but While the grass grows , — the 
 proverb is something musty. 
 
 Enter one with a recorder. 
 
 0, the recorder : let me see. — To withdraw with 
 you : — Why do you go about to recover the 
 wind of me, as if you would drive me into a toil ? 
 
 Cruil. O, my lord, if my duty be too bold, my 
 love is too unmannerly. 
 
 Ham. I do not well understand that. Will 
 you play upon this pipe ? 
 
 G-ail. My lord, I cannot. 
 
 Ham. I pray you. 
 
 CriLil. Believe me, I cannot. 
 
 Ham. I do beseech you. 
 
 Gull. I know no touch of it, my lord. 
 
 Ham. ’Tis as easy as lying : govern these 
 ventages with your fingers and thumb, give it 
 breath with your mouth, and it will discourse 
 most excellent music. Look you, these are the 
 stops. 
 
 Guil. But these cannot I command to any 
 utterance of harmony ; I have not the skill. 
 
 Ham. Wliy, look you now, how unworthy a 
 thing you make of me. You would play upon 
 me ; you would seem to know my stops ; you 
 would pluck out the heart of my mystery; you 
 would sound me from my lowest note to the 
 top of my compass : and there is much music, 
 excellent voice, in this little organ ; yet cannot 
 you make it speak. Why, do you think that T 
 
 am easier to be j)layed on than a pipe ? Call 
 me what instrument you will, though you can 
 fret me, you cannot play upon me. 
 
 Enter I’OLONIUS. 
 
 God bless you, sir ! 
 
 Pol. ;My lord, the queen wmuld speak with 
 you, and presently. 
 
 Ham. Do you see that cloud, that’s almost in 
 shape like a camel ? 
 
 Pol. By the mass, and ’tis like a camel, indeed. 
 Ham. Methinks, it is like a weasel. 
 
 Pol. It is backed like a weasel. 
 
 Ham,. Or, like a whale ? 
 
 Pol. Very like a whale. 
 
 Ham. Then will I come to my mother hy 
 and by. — They fool me to the top of my bent. — 
 1 will come by and by. 
 
 Pol. I will say so. [Exit POLONIUS. 
 
 Ham. By and by is easily said. — Leave me, 
 friends. [Exeunt Eos., Guil., Hoe., &c. 
 
 ’Tis now the very witching time of night; 
 
 When churchyards yawn, and hell itself breathes 
 out 
 
 Contagion to this world : Now could I drink 
 hot blood. 
 
 And do such bitter business as the day 
 Would quake to look on. Soft ; now to my 
 mother. — 
 
 0, heart, lose not thy nature ; let not ever 
 The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom : 
 
 Let me be cruel, not unnatural : 
 
 I will speak daggers to her, but use none ; 
 
 My tongue and soul in this be hypocrites : 
 
 How in my words soever she be shent. 
 
 To give them seals never, my soul, consent ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
HAMLET. 
 
 43 
 
 SCENE III. — A Boom in the same. 
 
 Enter King, Kosencrantz, and Guildenstern. 
 
 King. I like him not; nor stands it safe with us, 
 To let his madness range. Therefore, prepare you ; 
 1 your commission will forthwith despatch, 
 
 And he to England shall along with you : 
 
 . The terms of our estate may not endure 
 Hazard so dangerous, as doth hourly grow 
 Out of his lunacies. 
 
 Gail, We will ourselves provide. 
 
 IMost holy and religious fear it is, 
 
 To keep those many many bodies safe, 
 
 That live and feed upon your majesty. 
 
 Eos. The singular and peculiar life is bound. 
 With all the strength and armour of the mind, 
 To keep itself from ’noyance ; but much more 
 That spirit, upon whose spirit depend and rest 
 The lives of many. The cease of majesty 
 1 )ies not alone ; but, like a gulf, doth draw 
 What’s near it with it : it is a nia.ssy wheel, 
 Fix’d on the summit of the highest mount, 
 
 To whose huge s])okes ten thou.sand lesser things 
 Are mortis’d and adjoin’d ; which, when it falls 
 Each small annexment, petty consecpience, 
 Attends the boist’rous ruin. Never alone 
 Did the king sigh, but with a general groan. 
 King. Arm you, I pray you, to this speedy 
 voyage ; 
 
 F'or we will fetters put upon this fear, 
 
 AVhich now goes too free-footed. 
 
 Bos., Gail. We will haste us. 
 
 [Exeunt Eosencraxtz and Guildenstern. 
 
 Enter PoLONlUs. 
 
 Pol. My lord,he’s going to his mother’s closet : 
 llehind the arras I’ll convey myself. 
 
 To hear the process ; I’ll warrant, she’ll tax him 
 home. 
 
 And, as you said, and wisely was it said, 
 
 ’Tis meet, that some more amlience than a 
 mother. 
 
 Since nature makes them partial, should o’erhear 
 The speech of vantage. I'are you well, my liege : 
 I’ll call upon you ere you go t(j bed. 
 
 And tell you what I know. 
 
 King. Thanks, dear my lord. 
 
 [Exit POLONIUS. 
 
 O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven ; 
 
 It hath the primal eldest curse upon ’t, 
 
 A brother’s murther ! — Ihay can I not. 
 
 Though inclination be as sharp as will ; 
 
 My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent ; 
 And, like a man to double business bound, 
 
 I stand in pause where I shall first begin. 
 
 And both neglect. What if this cursed hand 
 Were thicker than itself with brother’s blood ? 
 Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens. 
 To wash it white as snow? Whereto serves mercy 
 But to confront the visage of offence ? 
 
 And what’s in prayer, but this two-fold force, — 
 To be forestalled, ere we come to fall. 
 
 Or pardon’d, being down ? Then I’ll look up ; 
 My fault is past. But, 0, what form of prayer 
 Gan serve my turn ? Eorgive me my fold 
 murther ! — 
 
 That cannot be ; since I am still possess’d 
 Of those effects for which I did the murther. 
 My crown, mine own ambition, and my queen. 
 May one be pardon’d, and retain the offence ? 
 
 In the corrupted currents of this world. 
 Offence’s gilded hand may shove by justice ; 
 And oft ’tis seen, the wicked j)rize itself 
 Buys out the law : But ’tis not so above : 
 
 There is no shuffling, there the action lies 
 In his true nature; and we ourselves compell’d. 
 Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults. 
 
 To give in evidence. What then ? what rests ? 
 Try what repentance can ; What can it not ? 
 Yet what can it, when one can not repent ? 
 
 O wretched state ! 0 bosom, black as death 
 
 0 limed soul ; that struggling to be free. 
 
44 
 
 HAMLET. 
 
 Art more engag’d ! Help, angels, make assay ! 
 
 Bow, stubborn knees ! and, heart, with strings 
 of steel. 
 
 Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe : 
 
 All may be well ! \^Bftirfs, and hneeh. 
 
 Elder Hamlet. 
 
 Ham. Now might I do it, pat, now he is 
 
 praying ; 
 
 And now I’ll do ’t ; — and so he goes to heaven ; 
 
 And so am I reveng’d ? That would be 
 scann’d : 
 
 A vUlain kills my father ; and, for that, 
 
 I, his sole son, do this same villain send 
 
 To heaven. 
 
 0, this is hire and salary, not revenge. 
 
 He took my father grossly, full of bread ; 
 
 With all his crimes broad blown, as fresh as 
 May; 
 
 And, how his audit stands, who knows, save 
 heaven ? 
 
 But, in our circumstance and course of thought 
 ’Tis heavy with him : And am I then reveng’d, 
 To take him in the purging of his soul. 
 
 When he is tit and season’d for liis jiassage ? 
 
 No. 
 
 Up, sword; and know thou a more horrid hent: 
 When he is drunk, asleep, or in his rage; 
 
 Or in the incestuous pleasure of his bed ; 
 
 At gaming, swearing; or al)out some act 
 That has no relish of salvation in ’t : 
 
 Then triji him, that his heels may kick at 
 heaven ; 
 
 And that his soul may be as damn’d and black. 
 As hell, whereto it goes. ]\Iy mother stays : 
 This physic but prolongs thy sickly days. \^Exit. 
 
 The King rises and advances. 
 
 Ki'ny. My words fly up, my thoughts remain 
 below : 
 
 Words without thoughts, never to heaven go. 
 
 \^Exit. 
 
HAMLET. 
 
 45 
 
 SCENE IV. — Another Room in the sanu. 
 
 Enter QuEEN and POLONIUS. 
 
 Pol. He will come straight. Look, you lay 
 home to him : 
 
 Tell him, his pranks have been too broad to hear 
 w'ith ; 
 
 And that your grace hath screen’d and stood 
 between 
 
 Much heat and him. I’ll silence me e’en here. 
 Pray you, be round with him. 
 
 Ham. \_Within.'\ Mother, mother, mother! 
 Queen. I’ll warrant you ; 
 
 Fear me not : — withdraw, I hear him coming. 
 
 [POLONIUS hides himself. 
 
 Enter Hamlet. 
 
 Ham. Now, mother ; what’s the matter ? 
 Queen. Hamlet, thou hast thy father much 
 offended. 
 
 Ham. Mother, you have my father much 
 offended. 
 
 Queen. Come, come, you answer with an idle 
 tongue. 
 
 Ham. Go, go, you tpiestion with an idle tongue. 
 Queen. Why, how now, Hamlet ? 
 
 Ham. What’s the matter now ? 
 
 Queen. Have you forgot me ? 
 
 Ham. No, by the rood, not so ; 
 
 You are the queen, your husband’s brother’s 
 wife ; 
 
 But would you were not so ! You are my mother. 
 Queen. Nay, then I’ll set those to you that 
 can speak. 
 
 Ham. Come, come, and sit you down ; you 
 shall not budge ; 
 
 You go not, till I set you up a glass 
 Where you may see the inmost part of you. 
 Queen. What wilt thou do ? thou wilt not 
 murder me ? 
 
 Help, help, ho ! 
 
 Pol. \Behind.'\ What, ho I help ! help ! help ! 
 Ham. How now ! a rat ? \_Draivs. 
 
 Dead, for a ducat, dead. 
 
 [Hamlet makes a pass through the arras. 
 Pol. [^Behind.'] 0 I am slain. 
 
 [^Falls and dies. 
 
 Queen. 0 me, what hast thou done ? 
 
 Ham. Nay, I know not : 
 
 Is it the king ? 
 
 {^lAfts up the arras, and draws forth POLONIUS. 
 
 Queen. 0, what a rash and bloody deed is this ! 
 Ham. A bloody deed ; — almost as bad, good 
 mother. 
 
 As kill a king, and marry with his brother. 
 Queen. As kill a king ! 
 
 Ham. Ay, lady, ’twas my word. — 
 
 Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell ! 
 
 {To POLONIUS. 
 
 I took thee for thy betters ; take thy fortune ; 
 Thou find’st, to be too busy is some danger. — 
 Leave wringing of your hands : Peace, sit you 
 down. 
 
 And let me wring your heart : for so I shall. 
 
 If it be made of penetrable stuff ; 
 
 If damned custom have not braz’d it so. 
 
 That it is proof and bulwark against sense. 
 Queen. What have I done, that thou dar’st 
 wag thy tongue 
 In noise so rude against me ? 
 
 Ham. Sucli an act. 
 
 That blurs the grace and blush of modesty ; 
 Calls virtue, hypocrite ; takes off the rose 
 From the fair forehead of an innocent love. 
 
 And sets a blister there ; makes marriage vows 
 As false as dicers’ oaths : 0, such a deed 
 As from the body of contraction plucks 
 The very soul ; and sweet religion makes 
 A rhapsody of words : Heaven’s face doth glow 
 Yea, this solidity and compound mass. 
 
 With tristful visiige, as against the doom. 
 
 Is thought-sick at the act. 
 
 Queen. Ah me, what act, 
 
 That roars so loud, and thunders in the index ? 
 Ham. Look here, upon this picture, and on 
 this ; 
 
 The counterfeit presentment of two lu’others. 
 See what a grace was seated on his brow : 
 Hyperion’s curls ; the front of dove himself ; 
 An eye like Mars, to threaten or command ; 
 
 A station like the herald Mercury, 
 
 New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill ; 
 
 A combination, and a form, indeed. 
 
 Where every god did seem to set his seal. 
 
 To give the world assurance of a man : 
 
 This was your husband, — look you now, what 
 follows : 
 
 Here is your husband ; like a mildew’d ear. 
 Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you 
 eyes ? 
 
 Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed, 
 
46 
 
 H A M L E T. 
 
 And batten on this moor? Ha! have you eyes? 
 You cannot call it love : for, at your age, 
 
 The hey-day in the blood is tame, it’s humble. 
 And waits upon the judgment : And what judg- 
 ment 
 
 AVould step from this to this ? Sense, sure, you 
 have. 
 
 Else, could you not have motion : But sure, that 
 sense 
 
 Is apoplex’d : for madness would not err ; 
 
 Xor sense to ecstasy was ne’er so thrall’d. 
 
 But it reserved some quantity of choice, 
 
 ’I’o serve in such a difference. What devil was’t, 
 U’hat thus hath cozen’d yon at hoodman-blind ? 
 Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight. 
 Ears without hands or eyes, smelling sans all. 
 Or but a sickly part of one true sense 
 Could not so mope. 
 
 O shame ! where is thy blush ? 
 
 Bebellious hell, 
 
 If thou canst mutine in a matron’s bones. 
 
 To flaming youtli let virtue be as wax. 
 
 And melt in her own fire: proclaim no shame. 
 When the compulsive ardour gives the charge 
 Since frost itself as actively doth l)urn. 
 
 And reason panders will. 
 
 Qioeen . O Hamlet, speak no more ; 
 
 Thou turn’st mine eyes into my very sold ; 
 
 And there I see such black and grained s})ots. 
 As will not leave their tinct. 
 
 Eanh Nay, but to live 
 
 In the rank sweat of an enseanied bed ; 
 
 Stew’d in corruption ; honeying, and making love 
 Over the nasty sty ; — 
 
 Queen. 0, speak to me no more; 
 
 These words, like daggers, enter in mine ears ; 
 No more, sweet Hamlet. 
 
 Ham. A murderer, and a villain : 
 
 A slave, that is not twentieth part the tythe 
 Of your precedent lord : a vice of kings : 
 
H A M L E T. 
 
 47 
 
 A cutpurse of the empire and the rule ; 
 
 That from a shelf the precious diadem stole, 
 
 And put it in his pocket ! 
 
 Queen. ^>"0 more. 
 
 Enter Ghost. 
 
 Ham. A king of shreds and patches : — 
 
 Save me, and hover o’er me with your wings. 
 You heavenly guards ! — What would you, 
 gracious figure ? 
 
 Que^n. Alas ! he’s mad. 
 
 Ham. Do you not come your tardy son to 
 chide. 
 
 That, laps’d in time and passion, lets go by 
 The important acting of your dread command ? 
 0, say. 
 
 Ghost. Do not forget : This visitation 
 is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose. 
 
 I)Ut, look ! amazement on thy mother sits : 
 
 < ), step between her and her fighting soul ; 
 
 < 'onceit in weakest bodies strongest works : 
 S])eak to her, Hamlet. 
 
 Ham. How is it with you, lady ? 
 
 Queen. Alas ! how is’t with you ? 
 
 That you do bend your eye on vacancy. 
 
 And with the incorporal air do hold discourse ? 
 Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep ; 
 And as the sleeping soldiers in the alarm. 
 
 Your bedded hair, like life in excrements. 
 
 Starts up, and stands on end. 0 gentle son. 
 Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper 
 Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look ? 
 Ham. On him ! on him ! — Look you, how 
 pale he glares ! 
 
 His form and cause conjoin’d, pi’eaching to 
 stones. 
 
 Would make them capable. — Do not look upon 
 me ; 
 
 Lest, with this piteous action, you convert 
 My stern effects : then what have I to do 
 AVill want true colour ; tears, perchance, for 
 blood. 
 
 Queen. To whom do you speak this ? 
 
 Ham. Do you see nothing there? 
 
 Queen. Nothing at all ; yet all that is I see. 
 Ham. Nor did you nothing hear? 
 
 Qmen. No, nothing, but ourselves. 
 
 Ham. Why, look you there ! look how it 
 steals away ! 
 
 My father, in his habit as he lived ! 
 
 Look, where he goes, even now, out at the 
 portal ! [Exit Ghost. 
 
 Qween. This is the very coinage of your brain : 
 This bodiless creation ecstasy 
 Is very cunning in. 
 
 Ham. Ecstasy ! 
 
 My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time, 
 And makes as healthful music: It is not madness 
 That I have uttered : bring me to the test. 
 
 And I the matter will re-word ; which madness 
 Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace. 
 Lay not that flattering unction to your soul. 
 That not your trespass, but my madness, speaks : 
 It will but skin and film the ulcerous place ; 
 Whiles rank corruption, mining all within. 
 Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven ; 
 Kepent what’s past ; avoid what is to come ; 
 And do not spread the compost o’er the weeds. 
 To make them rank. Forgive me this my virtue : 
 For in the fatness of these pursy times. 
 
 Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg ; 
 
 Yea, curb and woo, for leave to do him good. 
 Queen. O Hamlet! thou hast cleft my heart 
 in twain. 
 
 Ham. O throw away the worser part of it. 
 And live the purer with the other half. 
 
 Good night : Init go not to mine uncle’s bed ; 
 Assume a virtue, if you have it not. 
 
 ’I’hat monster, custom, who all sense doth eat — 
 Of habits devil, — is angel yet in this, — 
 
 'rhat to the use of actions fair and good 
 He likewise gives a frock, or livery. 
 
 That aptly is put on : Eefrain to-night : 
 
 And that shall lend a kind of easiness 
 To the next abstinence : the next more easy ; 
 For use almost can change the stamp of nature 
 And master the devil, or throw him out 
 
48 
 
 HAMLET. 
 
 With wondrous potency. Once more, good night: 
 And when yon are desirous to be bless’d, 
 
 I’ll blessing beg of you. — For this same lord, 
 
 {Pointing to POLONIUS. 
 I do repent. But heaven hath pleas’d it so, — 
 To punish me with this, and this with me. 
 
 That I must be their scourge and minister. 
 
 1 will bestow him, and will answer well 
 Tlie death I gave him. So again, good night ! 
 
 I must be cruel, only to be kind : 
 
 Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind. — 
 One word more, good lady. 
 
 Queen. What shall I do ? 
 
 Heim. Not this, by no means, that I bid you do : 
 Let the bloat king tempt you again to bed ; 
 Pinch wanton on your cheek ; call you his mouse ; 
 And let him, for a pair of reechy kisses. 
 
 Or padling in your neck with his damn’d fingers, 
 Make you to ravel all this matter out, 
 
 Tliat I essentially am not in madness. 
 
 But mad in craft. ’Twere good you let him Know: 
 For who, that’s but a queen, fair, sober, wise. 
 Would from a paddock, from a bat, a gib. 
 
 Such dear concernings hide ? who would do so ? 
 No, in despite of sense, and secrecy. 
 
 Unpeg the basket on the house’s top. 
 
 Let the birds fly ; and like the famous ape. 
 
 To try conclusions, in the basket creep. 
 
 And break your own neck down. 
 
 Queen. Be thou assur’d, if words be made of 
 breath. 
 
 And breath of life, I have no life to breathe 
 What thou hast said to me. 
 
 Ham. I must to England ; you know that ? 
 Queen. Alack, 
 
 I had forgot ; 'tis so concluded on. 
 
 
 Ham. There’s letters seal’d : and my two 
 schoolfellows, — 
 
 Whom I will trust, as I will adders fang’d, — 
 They bear the mandate ; they must sweep my 
 way. 
 
 And marslial me to knavery : Let it work. 
 
 For ’tis the sport, to have the engineer 
 Hoist with his own petar : and it shall go hard. 
 But I will delve one yard below their mines. 
 And blow them at the moon : O, ’tis most sweet. 
 When in one line two crafts directly meet. 
 
 This man shall set me packing. 
 
 I’ll lug the guts into the neighbour room : — 
 Mother, good night. — Indeed, this counsellor 
 Is now most still, most secret, and most grave. 
 Who was in life a foolish prating knave. 
 
 Come, sir, to draw toward an end with you : 
 Good night, mother. 
 
 {Exeunt severally ; Hamlet dragging in the 
 hody of POLONIUS. 
 

 SCENE l.—Thc same. 
 
 Enter King and Queen. 
 
 King. There’s matter in these sighs ; these 
 profound heaves ; 
 
 You must translate; ’tis fit we understand them: 
 Where is your son ? 
 
 Queen. Ah, my good lord, what have I seen 
 to-night ! 
 
 King. What, Gertrude ? How does Hamlet ? 
 Queen. Mad as the seas, and wind, when both 
 contend 
 
 Which is the mightier : In his lawless fit. 
 Behind the arras hearing something stir. 
 
 He whips his rapier out, and cries, A rat ! a rat ! 
 And, in his hrainish apprehension, kills 
 The unseen good old man. 
 
 King. 0 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. 
 
 a 
 
r.o 
 
 II A M L E T. 
 
 King. 0, Gertrude, come away ! 
 
 The sun no sooner shall the mountains touch, 
 Lut we will ship him hence ; and this vile deed 
 We must, with all our majesty and skill, 
 
 Jioth countenance and excuse. — Ho ! Guildeii- 
 stern ! 
 
 Enter Rosencrantz and Guildexsterx. 
 
 Friends both, go join you with some further aid : 
 Hamlet in madness hath Polouius 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 Eos. and Guil. 
 Come, Gertrude, we’ll call up our wisest friends ; 
 And let them know, both what we mean to do, 
 And what’s untimely done : so, haply, slander, 
 AYliose 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. 0 come away ! 
 j\Iy soul is full of discord, and dismay. [Exeunt^ 
 
H A M L E T. 
 
 51 
 
 SCEXE 11. — Another Room in the same. 
 
 Enter Ha-AILET. 
 
 Ham. Safely stowed, — 
 
 &c., within. Hamlet ! lord Hamlet !] 
 Ham. What noise? who calls on Hamlet? 
 0, here they come. 
 
 Enter Eosexcrantz and Guildexstern. 
 
 Eos. IVliat have you done, my lord, with the 
 dead body ? 
 
 Ham. Compounded it with dust, whereto 
 ’tis kin. 
 
 Pios. 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 
 tlie son of a king ? 
 
 Ros. Take you me for a sponge, my lord ? 
 •^-Ham. Ay, sir ; that soaks up the king’s coun- 
 tenance, his rewards, his authorities. But such 
 officers do the king best service in the end : 
 He keeps them, like an ape, 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, yon 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 — 
 
 Gnil. A thing, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. Of nothing : bring me to him. Hide 
 fox, and all after. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCEXE III. — Another Room in the same. 
 Enter Kixg, 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; 
 And, where ’tis so, the 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 Kosexcraxtz. 
 
 Or not at all. — How now ? what hath befallen ? 
 
 Ros. Wliere 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 : we fat all creatures else tn 
 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 fisli that 
 liath fed of that worm. 
 
II A J\I 1. K T. 
 
 King. What dost thou mean by this ? 
 
 Jfam. Nothing but to show you how a king 
 may go a progress through the guts of a beggar. 
 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 this month, you shall nose him as you 
 go up the stairs into the lobby. 
 
 King. Go seek him there. [2’c>so?ac Attendants. 
 J[am. He wUl stay till you come. 
 
 [^Eoccunt Attendants. 
 King. Hamlet, this deed of thine, for thine 
 esi)eeial safety, 
 
 Whieli we do tender, as we dearly grieve 
 For that which thou hast done, must send thee 
 lienee 
 
 With fiery i|uickness: Therefore, prepare thyself; 
 The bark is ready, and the wind at help. 
 
 The associates tend, and everything 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 him. — 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. \^Exi1. 
 King. Follow him at foot ; tempt him with 
 speed aboard ; 
 
 Delay it not, I’ll have him hence to-night: 
 
HAMLET. 
 
 55 
 
 Away ; for everything is seal’d and done 
 That else leans on the affair : Pray you, make 
 haste. 
 
 [^Excunt lios. and Guil. 
 And, England, if my love thou hold’s t 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, 
 Py letters conjuring 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 begun. 
 
 {^Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV. — A Plain in Denmark. 
 
 Enter Fortixbras and Forces, ■inarching. 
 
 For. Go, captain, from me greet the Danish 
 king; 
 
 Tell him, that, by his licence, Fortinbras 
 Claims the conveyance 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 safely on. 
 
 \_Excunt Fortixbras and Forces. 
 
 Enter Hamlet, PiOSExcraxtz, Guildexstern, &c. 
 
 Ham. Good sir, whose powers are these ? 
 Cap. They are of Norway, sir. 
 
 Ham. How proposed, 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, 
 W e go to gain a little patch of ground, 
 
 Tliat 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 de- 
 fend it. 
 
 Cap. Yes, ’tis already garrison’d. 
 
 Ham. Two thousand souls, and twenty thou- 
 sand ducats. 
 
 Will not debate the question of this straw : 
 
 This is the imjiosthume of much wealth andl 
 peace ; 
 
 That inward breaks, and shows no cause without 
 Wliy the man dies. — I humbly thank you, sir. 
 Cap. God be wi’ you,, sir. [Exit Captain. 
 PiOH. Will ’t please you go, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. I will be with you straight. Go a 
 little before. 
 
 [Exe.nnt Eos. and Guil. 
 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, 
 
 P>e but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more. 
 Sure, he, that made us with such large discourse. 
 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 the event, — 
 
 A thought, which, quarter’d, hath but one part 
 wisdom. 
 
 And ever, three parts coward, — I do not know 
 Why yet I live to say. This thing’s to do ; 
 
 Sith I have cause, and will, and strength ami 
 means. 
 
54 
 
 H A M L 1^: T. 
 
 To do ’t. Examples, gross as earth, exhort me ; 
 'Witness, this army of such mass and charge. 
 Led hy a delicate and tender prince ; 
 
 Whose spirit, with divine ambition puffd, 
 l\Iakes mouths at the invisible event ; 
 
 Exposing what is mortal, and unsure. 
 
 To all that fortune, death, and danger, dare. 
 Even for an egg-shell. Lightly to be great, 
 
 Is, not to stir without meat armnnent, 
 
 Lut 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 ; tight for a plot 
 AVhereon the numbers cannot try the cause, 
 Whicli is not tomb enough, and continent. 
 
 To hide the slain ? — 0, from this time forth. 
 
 My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth ! 
 
 \_Exit. 
 
 SCEISI’E V. — Elsinore. A Room in the Castle. 
 
 Enter Queex and Horatio. 
 
 Queen. I will not speak with her. 
 
 Jtor. She is imjiortnnate ; indeed, distract ; 
 Her mood will needs be pitied. 
 
 Queen. AVhat would she have ? 
 
 Hor. 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 l)ut half sense: her speech is nothing, 
 Yet the nnshaped use of it doth move 
 The hearers to collection ; they aim at it. 
 
 And botch the words up fit to their own thoughts: 
 AVhieh, as her winks, and nods, and gestures 
 yield them. 
 
 Indeed would make one think there would be 
 thought, 
 
 'J'hough nothing sure, yet much unhappily. 
 Queen. ’Twero good she were spoken with ; 
 for she may strew 
 
 Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds : 
 Let her come in. [Exit Horatio. 
 
 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 spilt. 
 
 Re-enter Horatio with Ophelia. 
 
 Oph. AYliere is the lieauteous majesty of Den- 
 mark ? 
 
 Queen. How now, Ophelia ? 
 
 Oph. [si;?y.s] How should I your true love know 
 From another one ? 
 
 By his cockle hat and staff 
 And his sandal shoon. 
 
 Queen. Alas, sweet lady, what imports this 
 soim ? 
 
 O 
 
 Oph. Say you ? nay, pray you, mark. 
 
 He is dead and gone, lady, 
 
 He is dead and gone ; 
 
 At his head a grass-green turf. 
 
 At his heels a stone. 
 
 Queen. Nay, but Ophelia, — 
 
 Oph. Pray you, mark. 
 
 White his shroud as the mountain snow. 
 
 Enter King. 
 
 Queen. Alas, look hei’e, my lord. 
 
 Oph. Larded with sweet flowers ; 
 
 Which bewept to the grave did not go. 
 
 With true-love showers. 
 
 King. How do you, pretty lady ? 
 
 Oph. AYell, God ’ield you ! 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 us have no words of this ; 
 but when they ask you what it means, say you 
 this ; 
 
 To-morrow is St. Valentine’s day 
 All in the morning betime, 
 
 And I a maid at your window. 
 
 To be your Valentine ; 
 
 Then up he rose, and donn’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 ! 
 
 Toimg 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 : 
 
 So would I ha’ done, by yonder aim. 
 
 An thou hadst not come to my bed. 
 
JIA MLET. 
 
 55. 
 
 King. How long has she been thus ? 
 
 Oph. I hope, all will he well. We must he 
 ])atient: but I cannot choose but weep, to 
 think they should lay him i’ the cold ground: 
 Hy brother shall know of it, and so I thank 
 you for your good counsel. Come, my coach ! 
 (food night, ladies ; good night, sweet ladies ; 
 good night, good night. \^Exif. 
 
 King. Follow her close ; give her good watch, 
 I pray you. [Exit Horatio. 
 
 Oh ! this is tlie poison of deep grief ; it springs 
 All from her father’s death ; O Gertrude, Gertrude, 
 When sorrows come, they come not single spies. 
 But in battalions ! First, her father slain ; 
 Xext, your son gone ; and he most violent author 
 < )f his own just remove : The people muddied, 
 d’hick and unwholesome in their thoughts and 
 whispers. 
 
 For good Folonius’ death ; and we have done but 
 greenly, 
 
 In hugger-mugger to inter him: Poor Ophelia, 
 Divided from herself, and her fair judgment ; 
 Without the which we are pictures, or merebea.sts.. 
 Last, and as much containing as all these, 
 
 Her brother is in secret come from France : 
 Feeds on his wonder, 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. 
 
 Will nothing stick our persons to arraign 
 In ear and ear. 0 my dear Gertrude, this, 
 
 Like to a murdering piece, in many places 
 Gives me superHuous death. \_A noise within. 
 Queen. Alack ! what noise is this ? 
 
 Enter a Gentleman. 
 
 King. Where are my Switzers ? Let them 
 guard the door : 
 
 What is the matter ? 
 
 Gent. Save yourself, my lord ; 
 
 The ocean, overpeering of his list. 
 
 Eats not the flats with more impitious haste, 
 Than young Laertes, in a riotous head, 
 
 O’erbears your officers. The rabble call him, lord 
 And as the world were now lint 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 theclouds,, 
 “ Laertes shall be king, Laertes king ! ” 
 
 Queen. How cheerfully on the false trail they 
 cry! 
 
 0, this is counter, you false Danish dogs. 
 
 King. The doors are broke. [Aofsc within.. 
 
 Enter Laertes, armed ; Danes follotving. 
 Lacr. Where is this king ? — Sirs, stand you 
 all without. 
 
 Dan. No, let’s come in. 
 
 Laer. I pray you, give me leave. 
 
 Dan. We will, we will. 
 
 \Theg retire 'ivithoid the door.. 
 Lacr. I thank you : — keep the door. — 0 thou 
 vile king. 
 
 Give me my father. 
 
 Queen. Calmly, good Laertes. 
 
 lAier. That drop of blood that’s calm, pro- 
 claims me bastard ; 
 
 Cries, cuckold, to my father; Ijrands the harlot 
 Even here, between the chaste unsmirched l»row 
 Of my true mother. 
 
■5G 
 
 jr AM L ET. 
 
 King. What is the cause, Laertes, 
 
 ^'hat thy rel)ellion looks so giant-like ? 
 
 Lot him go, Gertrude; do not fear our person ; 
 There’s such divinity doth hedge a king, 
 d'hat treason can lait peep to what it would. 
 Acts little of his will. Tell me, Laertes, 
 
 'W'hy thou art thus incensed; — Let him go, Gert- 
 rude ; — 
 
 ^])eak, man. 
 
 Lncr. AVhere is my father ? 
 
 King. 1 )ead. 
 
 Qiircn. Lilt nut by him. 
 
 King. Let him demand his fill. 
 
 Lucr. How came he dead ? I’ll not be juggled 
 with : 
 
 To hell, allegiance ! vows, to the Ifiackest devil ! 
 Conscience, and grace, to the profoundest pit ! 
 
 1 dare damnation ; To this point I stand, — 
 Tliat both the worlds I give to negligence. 
 
 Let come what comes; only I’ll be revenged 
 klost throughly for my father. 
 
 King. Who shall stay you ? 
 
 Lmr. Aly will, not all the world : 
 
 And for my means. I’ll Imsband them so well, 
 Tliey shall go far with little. 
 
 King. Good Laertes, 
 
 If you desire to know the certainty 
 Of your dear fatlier’s death, is ’t writ in your re- 
 venge, 
 
 Tliat, sweepstake, you will draw both friend and 
 foe. 
 
 Winner and loser ? 
 
 TAicr. Xone but his enemies. 
 
 King. AVill you know them then ? 
 
 lAtrr. To his good friends thus wide I’ll ope 
 my arms •;’*■* 
 
 .And, like the kind life-rend’ring pelican, 
 
 Eepast them with my blood. 
 
 King. Mdiy, 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 pierce. 
 
 As day does to your eye. 
 
 Danes. [ Within.'] Let her come in. 
 
 Lacr. How now ! what noise is that ? 
 
H A ]\I L E T. 
 
 57 
 
 Enter Ophelia, fantastically dressed with straws 
 and flowers. 
 
 0 heat, dry up my brains! tears, seven times salt, 
 I)uru 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 IMay ! 
 Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia ! — 
 
 0 heavens ! is ’t possible, a young maid’s wits 
 Should be as mortal as an old man’s life ? 
 Xature is fine in love : and, where ’tis fine. 
 
 It sends some precious instance of itself 
 After the thing it loves. 
 
 Oph. They bore him barefac'd on the bier ; 
 
 Hey non nonny, nonny, hey nonny ; 
 
 And on his grave rains many a tear ; — 
 
 Fare you well, my dove ! 
 
 Lacr. 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-doton-a. 0, how the wheel becomes it ! 
 It is the false steward, that stole his master’s 
 datighter. 
 
 Lacr. This nothing’s more than matter. 
 
 Oph. There’s rosemary, that’s for remem- 
 brance ; pray, love, remember : and there is 
 pansies, that’s for thoughts. 
 
 Ijacr. 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-grace o’ Sundays : — oh you 
 must wear your 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, — 
 
 Lacr. Thought and affliction, passion, hell 
 itself. 
 
 She turns to favour, and to prettiness. 
 
 Oph. And will he not come again ? 
 
 And will he not come again ? 
 
 No, no, he is dead. 
 
 Go to thy death-bed. 
 
 He never will come again. 
 
 His beard is white as snow, 
 
 All flaxen was his poll : 
 
 He is gone, he is gone. 
 
 And we cast away moan ; 
 
 Grammercy on his soul ! 
 
 And of all Christian souls ! I pray God. God 
 be wi’ you ! {Exit Ophelia, 
 
 Lacr. Do you see this, 0 God ? 
 
 King. Laertes,! must common with your grief, 
 Or you deny me right. Go but apart, 
 
 ]\Iake 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. 
 
 And we shall jointly labour with your soul 
 To give it due content. 
 
 Lacr. Let this be so ; 
 
 His means of death, his obscure burial — 
 
 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 the offence is, let the great axe fall. 
 
 I pray you, go with me. {Exeunt. 
 
 II 
 
58 
 
 H A M L E T. 
 
 SCENE A^I . — Another Room in the same. 
 
 Enter Horatio, anel a Servant. 
 
 Hot. AVliat are they that would speak with 
 me ? 
 
 Scrv. Sailors, sir ; 
 
 They say, they have letters for you. 
 
 Hor. Let them come iu. — 
 
 [Earit Servant. 
 
 1 do not know from what part of the world 
 1 should he 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 am- 
 
 bassadors that 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 
 thi.s, 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 our- 
 selves too slow of sail, we put on a compelled valour ; 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 them. Let the king 
 have the letters I have sent ; and repair thou to me with 
 as much haste as thou wouldst 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 knowcst 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. 
 
II AM LET. 
 
 59 
 
 SCENE VII. — Another Boom in the same. 
 
 Enter King aiid Laertes. 
 
 King. Now must your conscience my ac- 
 quittance seal 
 
 And you must put me in your heart for friend ; 
 Sith you have heard, and with a knowing ear, 
 That he which liath your noble father slain. 
 Pursu’d my life. 
 
 Laer. It well appears : — But teU me. 
 
 Why you proceeded not against these feats. 
 
 So crimeful and so capital in nature. 
 
 As by your safety, wisdom, all things else. 
 
 You mainly were stirr’d up. 
 
 King. 0, for two special reasons ; 
 
 Which may to you, perhaps, seem much un- 
 sinew’d. 
 
 And yet to me they ai’e strong. The queen, 
 his mother, 
 
 Li\’es almost by his looks ; and for myself, 
 
 (My virtue, or my plague, be it either which,) 
 She’s so conjunctive 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, 
 Woidd, 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 wind, 
 
 AVould 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 ; 
 
 AVhose worth, if praises may go back again. 
 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 fiat and dull. 
 
 That we can let our beard be shook with danger. 
 And think it pastime. You shortly shall hear 
 more : 
 
 I lov’d your father, and we love ourself ; 
 
 And that, I hope, will teach you to imagine, — 
 How now ? what news ? 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mcs. Letters, my lord, from Hamlet : 
 
 This to your majesty ; this to the queen. 
 
 King. From Hamlet! Who brought them? 
 Mes. Sailors, my lord, they say : I saw them 
 not. They were given to me by Claudio, he 
 receiv’d them. 
 
 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 
 strange return. ^ 
 
 ^ Hamlet. 
 
 What should this mean ? Are all the rest come 
 back ? 
 
 Or is it some abuse, or no such thing ? 
 
 Laer. Ivnow you the hand ? 
 
 King. ’Tis Hamlet’s character. “ Naked,” — 
 And, in a postscript here, he says “ alone 
 Can you advise me ? 
 
 Laer. I am 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 rul’d by me ? 
 
 Laxr. If so you’ll not o’errule me to a peace. 
 King. To thine own peace. If he be now re- 
 turned, 
 
 As checking at his voyage, and that he means 
 No more to undertake it, — I will work him 
 To an exploit, now ripe in my device. 
 
 Under 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. 
 
60 
 
 7f A M L E T. 
 
 A.; : • jk' , 
 
 Lacr. My 
 
 lord, I will 
 be rul’d : 
 
 The rather, if you 
 could de- 
 vise it so, 
 
 That 1 ini"ht be the 
 
 It 
 
 falls right. 
 
 have been 
 talk’d of 
 since your 
 travel much. 
 And that in Ham- 
 let’s hearing, 
 for a quality 
 Wherein, they say, 
 you shine : 
 your sum of 
 parts 
 
 1 )id not together pluck such envy from him. 
 
 As did that one ; and that, in my regard. 
 
 Of the unworthiest siege. 
 
 Lacr. What part is that, my lord ? 
 
 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, 
 'J'lian settled age his sables, and his weeds, 
 Importing health and graveness. — Some two 
 months hence. 
 
 Here was a gentleman of Normandy, — 
 
 I have seen myself, and serv’d against the 
 Erench, 
 
 And they can well on horseback : but this 
 gallant 
 
 Had witchcraft in’t ; he grew into his seat 
 And to such wondrous doing brouglit his horse, 
 As lie had been incorps’d and demi-natur’d 
 
 With the brave beast : so far he pass’d my 
 thought. 
 
 That I, in forgery of shapes and tricks. 
 
 Come short of what he did. 
 
 Lacr. A Norman, was’t ? 
 
 King. A Norman. 
 
 Ijacr. Upon my life, Lamound. 
 
 King. The very same. 
 
 Lacr. 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, ’t would be a sight indeed. 
 
 If one could match you : the scrimers of tlieir 
 nation. 
 
 He swore, had neither motion, guard, nor eye. 
 If you opposed them : Sir, this report of his 
 Did Hamlet so envenom with his envy. 
 
 That he could nothing do, but wish and beg 
 Your sudden coming o’er, to play with him. 
 Now, out of this 
 
 Lacr. Why out of this, my lord ? 
 
 King. Laertes, was your father dear to you ? 
 Or are you like the painting of a sorrow, 
 
 A face without a heart ? 
 
 Jjacr. Why ask you this ? 
 
 ILing. Not that I think you did not love yimr 
 father ; 
 
 llut 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 love 
 A kind of wick, or snuff, that will abate it ; 
 And nothing is at a like goodness still ; 
 
 For goodness, growing to a plurisy. 
 
 Dies in his own too-much : That we would d(j. 
 We should do when we would ; for this icould 
 changes. 
 
 And hath abatements and delays as many. 
 
 As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents ; 
 And then this shonld is like a spendthrift sigh. 
 That hurts by easing. But, to the quick o’ the 
 ulcer : 
 
 Hamlet comes back : what would you under- 
 take. 
 
 To show yourself your father’s son in deed 
 More than in words ? 
 
HAMLET. 
 
 01 
 
 Lacr. To cut his throat i’ the church. 
 
 King. No place, indeed, should murder saiic- 
 tuarize ; 
 
 Revenge should have no bounds. But, good 
 Laertes, 
 
 Will you do this, keep close witliin your 
 chamber ? 
 
 Hamlet, return’d, shall know you are come 
 home : 
 
 AVe’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 unbated, and, in a pass of practice. 
 Requite him for your father. 
 
 Lacr. I will do’t ; 
 
 And, for that purpose. I’ll anoint my sword. 
 
 I bought an unction of a mountebank. 
 
 So mortal, tliat but dip a knife in it. 
 
 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 furtlier think of this ; 
 
 AVeigh, what convenience, both of time and 
 means. 
 
 May fit xis to our shape : if this should fail. 
 And that our drift look through our bad per- 
 formance, 
 
 ’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 commings, — 
 I ha ’t. 
 
 Wlien in your motion you are hot and dry, 
 
 (As make your bouts more violent to that end,) 
 
62 
 
 ir A M L E T. 
 
 And that he calls for drink, I'll have prepar’d 
 him 
 
 A chalice for the nonce ; whereon hut sipping, 
 If he by chance escape your venom’d stuck. 
 Our purpose may hold there. 
 
 Enter QUEEX. 
 
 How now, sweet rpieen ? 
 
 Queen. One woe doth tread upon another’s 
 heel. 
 
 So fast they follow ; — Your sister’s drown’d, 
 Laertes. 
 
 Lacr. Drown’d ! — 0, where ? 
 
 Queen. Thei’e is a willow grows aslant a brook. 
 That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream ; 
 There, with fantastic garlands did she come. 
 
 Of crowllowers, 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 the weedy trophies, and herself. 
 Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread 
 wide ; 
 
 And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up ; 
 Which time, she chanted snatches of old 
 tunes ; 
 
 As one incapable of her own distress, 
 
 Or like a creature native and indued 
 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 la}^ 
 To muddy death. 
 
 Laer. Alas then, is she drown’d V 
 
 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 ! 
 
 1 have a speech of fire that fain would blaze. 
 But that this folly douts it. [^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... 
 
tt 
 
 I.y r. 
 
 Enter Two Clowns, with spades, &c. 
 
 1 CIo. Is she to be buried in Christian burial, 
 that wilfully seeks her own salvation ? 
 
 2 Clo. I tell thee, she is; and therefore make 
 her grave straight ; the crowner hath sate on 
 her, and finds it Christian burial. 
 
 1 Clo. How can that be, unless she drowned 
 herself in her own defence ? 
 
 2 Clo. ^Vhy, ’tis found so. 
 
 1 Clo. It must be se offendendo ; it cannot be 
 else. For here lies the point : If I drown my- 
 self wittingly, it argues an act; and an act hath 
 three branches ; it is to act, to do, and to 
 perform : argal, she drowned herself wittingly. 
 
 2 Clo. Xay,'but hear you, goodman delver. 
 
 1 Clo. Give me leave. Here lies the water ; 
 good : here stands the man ; good : If the man 
 goJJ to this water, and drown liimself, it is, 
 will he, nill he, he goes ; mark you that ? but 
 if the water come to him, and drown him, he 
 drowns not himself : argal, he, that is not 
 guilty of his own death, shortens not his own 
 life. 
 
 2 Clo. But is this law ? 
 
 1 Clo. Ay, marry is’t ; crowner’s-quest law. 
 
 2'jClo. Will you ha’ the truth on’t ? If this 
 had not been a gentlewoman, she should have 
 been buried out of Christian burial. 
 
 1 Clo. Why, there thou say’st : And the 
 more pity, that great folk should have coun- 
 tenance in this world to drown or hang them- 
 selves, more than their even Christian. Come, 
 my spade. There is no ancient gentlemen but 
 gardeners, ditchers, and grave-makers ; they 
 hold up Adam’s profession. 
 
 2 Clo. Was he a gentleman ? 
 
 1 Clo. He was the first that ever bore arms. 
 
 2 Clo. Why, he had none. 
 
 1 Clo. What, art a heathen? How dost thou 
 understand the Scripture ? The Scripture says, 
 Adam digged ; Could he dig without arms ? 
 I’ll put another question to thee : if thou 
 answerest me not to the purpose, confess thy- 
 self — 
 
 2 Clo. Go to. 
 
 1 Clo. What is he, that builds stronger 
 than either the mason, the shipwright, or the 
 carpenter ? 
 
 2 Clo. The gallows-maker ; for that frame 
 outlives a thousand tenants. 
 
 1 Clo. I like thy wit well, in good faith; tlio 
 gallows does well : but how does it well ? it 
 
64 
 
 H A M L E T. 
 
 does well to those that do ill : now thou dost ill 
 to say, the gallows is built stronger than the 
 church ; ai’gal, the gallows may do well to thee. 
 To ’t again ; come. 
 
 2 Clo. AVho builds stronger than a mason, a 
 shipwright, or a carpenter ? 
 
 1 Clo. Ay, tell me that, and unyoke. 
 
 2 Clo. Marry, now I can tell. 
 
 1 Clo. To ’t. 
 
 2 Clo. Mass, I cannot tell. 
 
 Enter Hamlet and Hor.ATio at a distance. 
 
 1 Clo. Cudgel thy brains no more about it ; 
 for your dull ass will not mend his pace with 
 beating : and when you are asked this question 
 next, say a grave-maker ; the houses that he 
 makes last till doomsday. Go, get thee to 
 Yaughan ; fetch me a stoup of liquor. 
 
 \_Exit 2 Clown, 
 
 1 Clown digs and sings. 
 
 In youth, when I did love, did love, 
 
 Methought, it was very sweet. 
 
 To contract, O, the time, for, ah, my behove 
 O, methought, there was nothing meet. 
 
 Ham. Hath this fellow no feeling of his 
 business, that he sings at grave-making ? 
 
 Hor. Custom hath made it in him a property 
 of easiness. 
 
 Ham. ’Tis e’en so : the hand of little employ- 
 ment hath the daintier sense. 
 
 1 Clo. But age with his stealing steps, 
 
 Hath caught me in his clutch, 
 
 And hath shipped me intUl the land. 
 
 As if I had never been such. 
 
 \_Throws up a skuiL 
 
 Ham. That skull had a tongue in it, and could 
 sing once : How the knave jowls it to the 
 ground, as if it were Cain’s jaw-bone, that did 
 the first murther ! It might be the pate of a 
 politician, which this ass o’er-oflfices ; one that 
 could circumvent God, might it not ? 
 
 Hot. It might, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Or of a courtier ; which could say, 
 “ Good morrow, sweet lord ! How dost thou, 
 good lord ? ” This might be my lord Such-a- 
 one, that praised my lord Such-a-one’s horse, 
 when he meant to beg it ; might it not ? 
 
 Hor. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Why, e’en so : and now my lady 
 Worm’s; chapless, and knocked about the 
 mazzard with a sexton’s spade : Here’s a fine 
 revolution, if we had the trick to see ’t. Did 
 these bones cost no more the breeding, but to- 
 play at loggats with them ? mine ache to think 
 on’t. 
 
 1 Clo. A pickaxe, and a spade, a spade, 
 
 For— and a shrouding sheet : 
 
 O, a pit of clay for to be made 
 For such a guest is meet. 
 
 [ Throws up a skull. 
 
 Ham. There’s another ! Why might not that 
 be the skull of a lawyer ? Where be his quiddits 
 now, his quillets, his cases, his tenures, and his 
 tricks ? Why does he suffer this rude knave 
 now to knock him about the sconce with a 
 dirty shovel, and will not tell him of his action 
 of battery ? Humph ! This fellow might be 
 in ’s time a great buyer of land, with his statutes, 
 his recognizances, his fines, his double vouchers, 
 his recoveries : Is this the fine of his fines, and 
 the recovery of his recoveries, to have his fine 
 pate full of fine dirt ? will his vouchers vouch 
 him no more of his purchases, and double ones 
 too, than the length and breadth of a pair of 
 indentures ? The very conveyances of his lands 
 will hardly lie in this box ; and must the 
 inheritor himself have no more ? ha ! 
 
 Hor. Not a jot more, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Is not parchment made of sheep-skins ? 
 
 Hor. Ay, my lord, and of calves’-skins too. 
 
 Ham. They are sheep, and calves, that seek 
 out assurance in that. I will speak to this 
 fellow ; — AVliose grave’s this, sir ? 
 
HAMLET. 
 
 65 
 
 1 Clo. Mine, sir. 
 
 O, a pit of clay for to be made 
 For such a guest is meet. 
 
 Hmn. I think it be thine, indeed ; for thou 
 liest in’t. 
 
 1 Clo. You lie out on ’t, sir, and therefore it is 
 not yours : for niy part, I do not lie in ’t, and 
 yet it is mine. 
 
 Ham. Thou dost lie in ’t, to be in ’t, and say it 
 is thine : ’tis for the dead, not for the quick ; 
 therefore thou liest. 
 
 1 Clo. ’Tis a quick lie, sir ; ’twill away again, 
 from me to you. 
 
 Ham. What man dost thou dig it for ? 
 
 1 Clo. Eor no man, sir. 
 
 Havi. What woman then ? 
 
 1 Clo. For none neither. 
 
 Ham. Who is to be buried in ’t ? 
 
 1 Clo. One that was a woman, sir ; but, rest 
 her soul, she’s dead. 
 
 Ham. How absolute the knave is ! we must 
 speak by the card, or equivocation will undo 
 us. By the lord, Horatio, these three years I 
 have taken note of it ; the age is grown so 
 picked, that the toe of the peasant comes so near 
 the heel of the courtie ’, he galls his kibe. — How 
 long hast thou been a grave-maker ? Q33fl 
 
 1 Clo. Of all the days i’ the year, I came to ’t 
 that day that our last king Hamlet o’ercame 
 Fortinbras. 
 
 Ham. How long is that since ? 
 
 1 Clo. Cannot you tell that ? every fool can 
 tell that : It was the very day that young 
 Hamlet was born : he that was mad, and sent 
 into England. 
 
 Ham. Ay, marry, why was he sent into 
 England ? 
 
 1 Clo. Why, because he was mad ; he shall 
 recover his wits there ; or, if he do not, it’s no 
 great matter there. 
 
 Ham. Why ? 
 
 1 Clo. ’Twill not he seen in him ; there the 
 men are as mad as he. 
 
 Ham. How came he mad ? 
 
 1 Clo. Very strangely, they say. 
 
 Ham. How strangely ? 
 
 1 Clo. ’Faith, e’en with losing his wits. 
 
 Ham. Upon what ground? 
 
 1 Clo. Why, here in Denmark. I have been 
 sexton here, man and hoy, thirty years. 
 
 Ham. How long will a man lie i’ the earth 
 ere he rot ? 
 
 1 Clo. ’Faith, if he be not rotten before he 
 die, (as we have many pocky corses now-a-days, 
 that will scarce hold the laying in,) he will last 
 you some eight year, or nine year ; a tanner will 
 last you nine year. 
 
 Ham. Why he more than another ? 
 
 1 Clo. Wliy, sir, his hide is so tanned with his 
 trade, that he will keep out water a great while ; 
 and your water is a sore decayer of your whore- 
 son dead body. Here’s a skull now ; this skull 
 has lain in the earth three-and-twenty years. 
 
 Ham. Wliose was it ? 
 
 1 Clo. A whoreson mad fellow’s it was ; 
 Whose do you think it was ? 
 
 Ham. Nay, I know not. 
 
 1 Clo. A pestilence on him for a mad rogue ! 
 ’a poured a flagon of Bhenish on my head once. 
 This same skull, sir ; this same skull, sir, was 
 Yorick’s skull, the king’s jester. 
 
 Ham. This ? 
 
 1 Clo. E’en that. 
 
 Ham. Let me see. Alas poor Yorick ! — I 
 knew him, Horatio ; a fellow of infinite jest, of 
 most excellent fancy : he hath borne me on his 
 back a thousand times ; and now how abhorred 
 my imagination is ! my gorge rises at it. Here 
 hung those lips that I have kissed I know not 
 how oft. Where be your gibes now ? your 
 gambols ? your songs ? your flashes of merriment, 
 that were wont to set the table on a roar ? Not 
 one now, to mock your own jeering ? quite chap- 
 fallen ? Now get you to my lady’s chamber, 
 and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this 
 favour she must come : make lier laugh at that. — 
 Prithee, Horatio, tell me one thing. 
 
 Hor. What’s that, my lord ? 
 
 Havi. Dost thou think Alexander looked o’ 
 this fashion i’ the eartli ? 
 
 Hor. E’en so. 
 
 Ham. And smelt so ? pub ! 
 
 [YArow’s do^vn the skull. 
 
 Hor. E’en so, my lord. 
 
 Ham. To wliat base uses we may return, 
 Horatio ! Why may not imagination trace the 
 noble dust of Alexander, till he find it stopping 
 a bung-hole ? 
 
 Hor. ’Twere to consider too curiously, to 
 consider so. 
 
 I 
 
66 
 
 HAMLET. 
 
 Havi. No, faith, not a jot ; but to follow'him 
 thither with modesty enough, and likelihood to 
 lead it. As thus ; Alexander died, Alexander 
 was buried, Alexander returneth into dust ; the 
 dust is earth ; of earth we make loam : And 
 why of that loam, whereto he was converted, 
 might they not stop a beer-barrel ? 
 
 Imperial Ciesar, dead, and turn’d to clay. 
 Might stop a hole to keep the wind away : 
 
 O, that that earth, which kept the world in 
 awe. 
 
 Should patch a wall to expel the winter’s flaw! 
 Jhit soft ! but soft ! aside : — Here comes the 
 king. 
 
 Enter Priests, &c., in 2 }'>'occssion ; the corpse of 
 Ophelia, Laep.tes and IMourners following; 
 King, Queen, tlicir Trains, &c. 
 
 The queen, the courtiers : Who is that they 
 follow ? 
 
 And with such maimed rites 1 This doth betoken 
 The corse they follow did with desperate hand 
 Fordo its own life. ’Twas of some estate. 
 Couch we awhile, and mark. 
 
 \^Eetiring with HoRATIO, 
 Larr. What ceremony else ? 
 
 Ham. This is Laertes. 
 
 A very noble youth : Mark. 
 
 Lacr. What ceremony else ? 
 
 1 Priest. Her obsequies have been as far 
 enlarg’d 
 
 As we have warrantise : Her death was doubt- 
 ful ; 
 
 And, but that great command o’ersways the 
 order. 
 
 She should in ground unsanctified have lodg’d 
 Till the last trumpet ; for charitable prayers. 
 Shards, flints, and pebbles, should be thrown on 
 her. 
 
 Yet here she is allow’d her virgin rites. 
 
 Her maiden strewments, and the bringing home 
 Of bell and burial. 
 
 Lacr. IMust there no more be done? 
 
 1 Priest. No more be doneT 
 
 We should })rofane the service of the dead. 
 
 To sing sage requiem, and such rest to her. 
 
 As to peace-parted souls. 
 
 Lacr. Lay her i’ the earth : 
 
 And from her fair and unpolluted flesh 
 IMay violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest, 
 A minist’ring angel shall my sister be, 
 
 When thou liest howling. 
 
 Ham. What, the fair Ophelia ! 
 
 Q^cccn. Sweets to the sweet : Farewell ! 
 
 \Scattering flowers. 
 I hop’d thou shouldst have been my Hamlet’s 
 wife ; 
 
 I thought thy bride-bed to have deck’d, sweet 
 maid. 
 
 And not t’ have strew’d thy grave. 
 
 Lacr. 0, treble woe 
 
 Fall ten times treble on that cursed head. 
 Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense 
 Depriv’d thee of ! — Hold off' the earth awhile. 
 Till I have caught her once more in mine arms : 
 
 [Zcqps into the grave. 
 
 Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead 
 Till of this flat a mountain you have made. 
 
 To o’er-top old Pelion, or the skyish head 
 Of blue Olympus. 
 
HAMLET. 
 
 67 
 
 Ham. [Advancing.'] What is he, whose grief 
 Bears such an emphasis ? whose phrase of 
 sorrow 
 
 Conjures the wand’ring stars, and makes them 
 stand 
 
 Like wonder-wounded hearers ? this is I, 
 Hamlet the Dane. [Leaps into the grave. 
 
 Imct. The devil take thy soul. 
 
 [Grappling ivith him. 
 Ham. Thou pray’st not well. 
 
 I prithee, take thy fingers from my throat ; 
 
 Sir, though I am not splenetive and rash, 
 
 Yet have I something in me dangerous. 
 
 Which let thy wiseness fear : Away thy 
 hand. 
 
 King. Pluck them asunder. 
 
 Queen. Hamlet, Hamlet ! 
 
 Gentlemen. Good my Lord, he quiet. 
 
 [The Attendants pari them and they 
 come out of the grave. 
 
 Ham. Why, I will fight with him upon this 
 theme. 
 
 Until my eyelids will no longer wag. 
 
 Queen. 0 my son, what theme ? 
 
 Ham. I lov’d Ophelia; forty thousand 
 brothers 
 
 Could not, with all their quantity of love, 
 
 Make up my sum. — What wilt thou do for 
 her ? 
 
 King. 0, he is mad, Laertes. 
 
 Queen. For love of God, forbear him. 
 
 Ham. Come, show me what thou’lt do : 
 
 Woul ’t weep? woul’t fight? woul ’t fast? 
 
 woul ’t tear thyself ? 
 
 Woul ’t drink up Esil ? eat a crocodile ? 
 
 I’ll do ’t. — Dost thou come here to whine ? 
 
 To outface me with leaping in her grave ? 
 
 Be buried quick with her, and so will I ; 
 
 And, if thou prate of mountains, let them 
 throw 
 
 IMillions of acres on us ; till our ground. 
 Singeing his pate against the burning zone. 
 Make Ossa like a wart ! Xay, an thou ’It 
 mouth. 
 
 I’ll rant as well as thou. 
 
 Queen. This is mere madness : 
 
 And thus awhile the fit will work on him ; 
 Anon, as patient as the female dove, 
 
 When that her golden couplets are disclos’d, 
 His silence wall sit drooping. 
 
 Ham. Hear you, sir ; 
 
 What is the reason that you use me thus ? 
 
 I lov’d you ever ; But it is no matter ; 
 
 Let Hercules himself do what he may. 
 
 The cat will mew, and dog will have his day. 
 
 King. I pray you, good Horatio, wait upon him. 
 
 [Exit Horatio. 
 
 Strengthen your patience in our last night’s 
 speech ; 
 
 [To Laertes. 
 
 We’ll put the matter to the present push. — 
 Good Gertrude, set some watch over your son. — 
 This grave shall have a living monument : 
 
 An hour of quiet shortly shall we see ; 
 
 Till then, in patience our proceeding be. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
68 
 
 HAMLET. 
 
 SCENE II. — A Hall in the Castle. 
 
 Enter Hamlet and Hoeatio. 
 
 na7n. So much for this, sir: now let me see the 
 other ; 
 
 You do remember all the circumstance ? 
 
 Hot. Eemember it, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. Sir, in my heart there was a kind of 
 fighting. 
 
 That would not let me sleep : methought, I lay 
 Worse than the mutines in the bilboes. Eashly, 
 And praise be rashness for it, — Let us know. 
 Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well. 
 When our dear plots do pall ; and that should 
 teach us. 
 
 There’s a divinity that sha})es our ends, 
 Iiough-hew them how we will. 
 
 Hor. That is most certain. 
 
 Ham. Up from my cabin. 
 
 My sea-gown scarf’d about me, in the dark 
 Grop’d I to find out them : had my desire ; 
 Finger’d their packet ; and, in fine, withdrew 
 To mine own room again : making so bold. 
 
 My fears forgetting manners, to unseal 
 Their grand commission ; where I found, Horatio, 
 
 0 royal knavery, an exact command. 
 
 Larded with many several sorts of reason. 
 Importing Denmark’s health, and England’s too. 
 With, ho ! such bugs and goblins in my life. 
 That, on the supervise, no leisure bated. 
 
 No, not to stay the grinding of the axe, 
 
 My head should be struck off. 
 
 Hor. Is’t possible ? 
 
 Ham. Here’s the commission ; read it at more 
 leisure. 
 
 But wilt thou hear me how I did proceed ? 
 
 Hor. Ay, ’beseech you. 
 
 Ham. Being thus benetted round with villains. 
 Ere I could make a prologue to my brains. 
 
 They had begun the play : I sat me down ; 
 Devis’d a new commission ; wrote it fair : 
 
 1 once did hold it, as our statists do, 
 
 A baseness to write fair, and labour’d much 
 How to forget that learning : l)ut, sir, now 
 It did me yeoman’s service : Wilt thou know 
 The effects of what I wrote ? 
 
 Hor. Ay, good my lord. 
 
 Ham. An earnest conjuration from the king, — 
 As England was his faithful tributary ; 
 
 As love between them as the palm should 
 flourish ; 
 
 As peace should still hej* wheaten garland wear, 
 And stand a comma ’tween their amities ; 
 
 And many such like as ’s of great charge, — 
 That on the view and know of these contents. 
 Without debatement further, more, or less. 
 
 He should the bearers put to sudden death. 
 
 Not shriving-time allow’d. 
 
 Hor. How was this seal’d ? 
 
 Ham. Wliy, even in that was heaven ordinate ; 
 I had my father’s signet in my purse, 
 
 Which was the model of that Danish seal : 
 Folded the writ up in form of the other ; 
 Subscrib’d it ; gave ’t the impression ; plac’d it 
 safely. 
 
 The changeling never known : Now, the next 
 day 
 
 Was our sea-fight : and what to this was sequent 
 Thou know’st already. 
 
 Hor. So Guildenstern and Eosencrantz go to ’t. 
 Ham. Why, man, they did make love to this 
 employment ; 
 
 They are not near my conscience ; their defeat 
 Does by their own insinuation grow : 
 
 ’Tis dangerous, when the baser nature comes 
 Between the pass and fell incensed points 
 Of mighty opposites. 
 
 Hor. Why, what a king is this ! 
 
 Ham. Does it not, think ’st thee, stand me 
 now upon — 
 
 He that hath kill’d my king, and whor’d my 
 mother ; 
 
 Popp’d in between the election and my hopes ; 
 Thrown out his angle for my proper life. 
 
 And with such cozenage ; is’t not perfect con- 
 science. 
 
 To quit it with this arm ? and is’t not to be 
 damn’d. 
 
 To let this canker of our nature come 
 In further evil ? 
 
 Hor. It must be shortly known to him from 
 England, 
 
 What is the issue of the business there. 
 
 Ham. It will be short : the interim is mine ; 
 .And a man’s life’s no more than to say, one. 
 
 But I am very sorry, good Horatio, 
 
 That to Laertes I forgot myself ; 
 
 For by the image of my cause, I see 
 
 The portraiture of his : I’ll count his favours : 
 
HAMLET. 
 
 6 ^ 
 
 But, sure, the bravery of his grief did put me 
 Into a towering passion. 
 
 Hor. Peace, who comes here ? 
 
 Enter OSRIC. 
 
 Osr. Your lordship is right welcome back to 
 Denmark. 
 
 Ham. I humbly thank you, sir. — Dost know 
 this water-hy ? 
 
 Hor. No, my good lord. 
 
 Ham. Thy state is the more gracious ; for 
 ’tis a vice to know him : He hath much land, 
 and fertile ; let a beast be lord of beasts, and 
 his crib shall stand at the king’s mess : ’Tis a 
 chough ; but, as I say, spacious in the posses- 
 sion of dirt. 
 
 Osr. Sweet lord, if your friendship were at 
 leisure, I should impart a thing to yoix from 
 his majesty. 
 
 Ham. I will receive it with all diligence of 
 spirit : Put your bonnet to his right use ; ’tis 
 for the head. 
 
 Osr. I thank your lordship, ’tis very hot. 
 
 Ham. No, believe, me, ’tis very cold ; the 
 wind is northerly. 
 
 Osr. It is indifferent cold, my lord, indeed. 
 Ham. Methinks it is very sultry and hot, for 
 my complexion. 
 
 Osr. Exceedingly, my lord ; it is very sultry, 
 — as ’twere, — I cannot tell how. — But, my lord, 
 his majesty hade me signify to you, that he has 
 laid a great wager on your head : Sir, this is 
 the matter. 
 
 Ham. I beseech you, remember — 
 
 [Hamlet moves him to on his hat. 
 Osr. Nay, in good faith ; for mine ease, in 
 good faith. Sir, here is newly come to court, 
 Laertes : believe me, an absolute gentleman, 
 full of most excellent differences, of very soft 
 society, and great showing : Indeed, to speak 
 feelingly of him, he is the card or calender of 
 gentry, for you shall find in him the continent 
 of what part a gentleman would see. 
 
 Ham. Sir, his definement suffers no perdition 
 in you ; — though, I know, to divide him inven- 
 torially, would dizzy the arithmetic of memory ; 
 and yet but raw neither, in respect of his quick 
 sail. But, in the verity of extolment, I take 
 him to be a soul of great article ; and his in- 
 
 fusion of such dearth and rareness, as, to make 
 true diction of him, his semblahle is his 
 mirror ; and, who else would trace him, his 
 umbrage, nothing more. 
 
 Osr. Your lordship speaks most infallibly of 
 him. 
 
 Ham. The concernancy, sir ? why do we 
 wrap the gentleman in our more rawer breath ? 
 
 Osr. Sir ? 
 
 Hor. Is’t not possible to understand in 
 another tongue ? You will do’t, sir, really. 
 
 Ham. What imports the nomination of this 
 gentleman ? 
 
 Osr. Of Laertes ? 
 
 Hor. His purse is empty already ; all his 
 golden words are spent. 
 
 Ham. Of him, sir. 
 
 Osr. I know, yoxi are not ignorant — 
 
 Ham. I would, you did, sir ; yet, in faith, if 
 you did, it would not much approve me. — Well, 
 sir. 
 
 Osr. You are not ignorant of what excellence 
 Laertes is at his weapon. 
 
 Ham. I dare not confess that, lest I should 
 compare with him in excellence ; hut, to know 
 a man well, were to know himself. 
 
 Osr. I mean, sir, for his weapon ; but in the 
 imputation laid on him by them, in his meed 
 he’s unfellowed. 
 
 Ham. What’s his weapon ? 
 
 Osr. Piapier and dagger. 
 
70 
 
 HAMLET. 
 
 Ham. That’s two of his weapons : but, well. 
 
 Osr. The king, sir, hath waged with him six 
 Barbary horses : against the which he has ini- 
 poned, as I take it, six French rapiers and 
 poniards, with their assigns, as girdle, hangers, 
 or so : Three of the carriages, in faith, are very 
 dear to fancy, very responsive to the hilts, most 
 delicate carriages, and of very liberal conceit. 
 
 Ham. Wliat call you the carriages ? 
 
 Hm'. I knew you must be edified by the 
 margent, ere you had done. 
 
 Osr. The carriages, sir, are the hangers. 
 
 Ham. The phrase would be more german 
 to the matter, if we could carry cannon by 
 our sides : I would it might be hangers till 
 then. But, on : Six Barbary horses against 
 six French swords, their assigns, and three 
 liberal conceited carriages ; that’s the French 
 
 bet against the Danish ; Why is this im- 
 poned, as you call it ? 
 
 Osr. The king, sir, hath laid, that in a dozen 
 passes between you and him, he shall not 
 exceed you three hits ; he hath laid on twelve 
 for nine ; and that would come to immediate 
 trial, if your lordship would vouchsafe the 
 answer. 
 
 Ham. How, if I answer no ? 
 
 Osr. I mean, my lord, the opposition of your 
 person in trial. 
 
 Ham. Sir, I will walk here in the hall. If 
 it please his majesty, it is the breathing time of 
 day with me : let the foils be brought, the gen- 
 tleman willing, and the king hold his purpose, 
 I will win for him, if I can ; if not, I will gain 
 nothing but my shame, and the odd hits. 
 
 Osr. Shall I re-deliver you e’en so ? 
 
HAMLET. 
 
 71 
 
 Ham. To this effect, sir ; after what flourish 
 your nature will. 
 
 Osr. I commend my duty to your lordship. 
 
 \Exit. 
 
 Ham. Yours, yours. He does well to com- 
 mend it himself ; there are no tongues else for’s 
 turn. 
 
 Hor. This lapwing runs away with the shell 
 on his head. 
 
 Ham. He did comply with his dug, before 
 he sucked it. Thus has he (and many more of 
 the same bevy, that, I know, the drossy age 
 dotes on,) only got the tune of the time, and 
 outward habit of encounter ; a kind of yesty 
 collection, which carries them through and 
 through the most fond and winnowed opinions; 
 and do but blow them to their trials, the 
 bubbles are out. 
 
 Enter a Lord. 
 
 Lord. My lord, his majesty commended him 
 to you by young Osric, who brings back to him, 
 that you attend him in the hall : He sends to 
 know, if your pleasure holds to play with 
 Laertes, or that you will take longer time. 
 
 Ham. I am constant to my purposes, they 
 follow the king’s pleasure : if his fitness speaks, 
 mine is ready ; now, or whensoever, provided I 
 be so able as now. 
 
 Lord. The king, and queen, and all are coming 
 down. 
 
 Ham. In happy time. 
 
 Lord. The queen desires you to use some 
 gentle entertainment to Laertes, before you go 
 to play. 
 
 Ham. She well instructs me. \_Exit Lord. 
 
 Hor. You will lose this wager, my lord. 
 
 Ham. I do not think so ; since he went into 
 France, I have been in continual practice ; I 
 shall win at the odds. But thou wouldst not 
 think, how iU all’s here about my heart : but it 
 is no matter. 
 
 Hor. Nay, good my lord, — 
 
 Ham. It is but foolery ; but it is such a kind 
 of gaingiving, as would, perhaps, trouble a woman. 
 
 Hor. If your mind dislike anything, obey : I 
 will forestall their repair hither, and say, you 
 are not fit. 
 
 Ham. Not a whit, we defy augury ; there’s a 
 special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If 
 
 it be now, ’tis not to come ; if it be not to come, 
 it will be now ; if it be not now, yet it will 
 come : the readiness is all : Since no man has 
 aught of what he leaves, what is’t to leave be- 
 times ? 
 
 Enter King, Queen, Laertes, Lords, Osric, aao? 
 Attendants with foils, &c. 
 
 Liing. Come, Hamlet, come, and take this 
 hand from me. 
 
 \The King -puts the haiid of Laertes 
 into that 0/ Hamlet. 
 
 Ham. Give me your pardon, sir : I have done 
 you wrong ; 
 
 But pardon’t, as you are a gentleman. 
 
 This presence knows, and you must needs have- 
 heard. 
 
 How I am punish’d with a sore distraction. 
 What I have done. 
 
 That might your nature, honour, and exception,, 
 Eoughly awake, I here proclaim was madness. 
 Was’t Hamlet wrong’d Laertes? Never, Hamlet, 
 If Hamlet from himself be ta’en away. 
 
 And, when he’s not himself, does wrong Laertes,. 
 Then Hamlet does it not, Hamlet denies it. 
 
 Who does it then ? His madness : If’t be so, 
 Hamlet is of the faction that is wrong’d ; 
 
 His madness is poor Hamlet’s enemy. 
 
 Sir, in this audience. 
 
 Let my disclaiming from a purpos’d evil 
 Free me so far in your most generous thoughts,. 
 That I have shot mine arrow o’er the house. 
 And hurt my brother. 
 
 Laer. I am satisfied in nature. 
 
 Whose motive, in this case, should stir me most 
 To my revenge ; but in my terms of honour, 
 
 I stand aloof ; and will no reconcilement. 
 
 Till by some elder masters, of known honour, 
 
 I have a voice and precedent of peace. 
 
 To keep my name ungor’d : But till that time, 
 
 I do receive your offer’d love like love. 
 
 And will not wrong it. 
 
 Ham. I embrace it freely ; 
 
 And will this brother’s wager frankly play. 
 
 Give us the foils ; come on. 
 
 Laer. Come, one for me- 
 
 Ham. I’ll be your foil, Laertes; in mine 
 ignorance 
 
 Your skill shall, like a star i’ the darkest night,. 
 Stick fiery off indeed. 
 
HAMLET. 
 
 Lucr. You mock me, sir. 
 
 Ilmi. No, by this hand. 
 
 King. Give them the foils, young Osric. 
 Cousin Hamlet, 
 
 You know the wager ? 
 
 Ham. Very well, my lord ; 
 
 Your grace hath laid the odds o’ the weaker side. 
 
 King. I do not fear it : I have seen you both. 
 But since he’s better’d, we have therefore odds. 
 Laer. This is too heavy, let me see another. 
 Ham. This likes me well: These foils have 
 all a length ? [They prepare to play. 
 
 Osr. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 King. Set me the stoups of wine upon that 
 table ; 
 
 If Handet give the first or second hit. 
 
 Or cpiit in answer of the third exchange. 
 
 Let all the battlements their ordnance fire ; 
 
 The king shall drink to Hamlet’s better breath ; 
 And in the cup an union shall he throw, 
 
 Eicher than that which four successive kings 
 In Denmark’s crown have worn. Give me the 
 cups ; 
 
 And let the kettle to the trumpet speak. 
 
 The trumpet to the cannoneer without. 
 
 The cannons to the heavens, the heaven to 
 earth. 
 
 Now the king drinks to Hamlet. — Come, begin; — 
 And you, the judges, bear a wary eye. 
 
 Ham. Come on, sir. 
 
 Lacr. Come on, sir. [They play. 
 
 Ham. One. 
 
 Lacr. No. 
 
 Ham. Judgment. 
 
 Osr. A hit, a very palpable hit. 
 
 Lacr. Well, — again. 
 
 King. Stay, give me drink : Hamlet, tliis 
 pearl is thine ; Here’s to tliy health. Give 
 him the cup. 
 
 [Trumpets sounel ; and canno'n shot off ivithin. 
 Ham. I’ll play this bout first, set it by awhile. 
 Lome. — Another hit ; What say you ? 
 
 [They play. 
 
 Lacr. A touch, a touch, I do confess. 
 
 King. Our son shall win. 
 
 Queen. He’s fat, and scant of breath. 
 
 Here, Hamlet, take my napkin, rub thy brows : 
 The queen carouses to thy fortune, Hamlet. 
 Ham. Good, madam. 
 
 King. Gertrude, do not drink. 
 
 Queen. I will, my lord ; — I pray you, pardon 
 me. 
 
 King. It is the poison’d cup : it is too late. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Ham. I dare not drink yet, madam; by and 
 
 by. 
 
 Queen. Come, let me wipe thy face. 
 
 Lacr. My lord. I’ll hit him now. 
 
 King. I do not think it. 
 
 Laer. And yet it is almost against my con- 
 science. [Aside. 
 
 Ham. Come, for the third, Laertes : You but 
 dally : 
 
 I pray you, pass with your best violence ; 
 
 I am afeard you make a wanton of me. 
 
 Laer. Say you so? come on. [They play. 
 Osr. Nothing neither way. 
 
 LMcr. Have at you now. 
 
 [Laertes wounds Hamlet ; then, in 
 scuffling, they change rapiers, and 
 Hamlet wounds Laertes. 
 
 LLing. Bart them, they are incens’d. 
 
 Ham. Nay, come again. [The Queen falls. 
 Osr. Look to the queen there, ho ! 
 
 Hor. They bleed on both sides : — How is it, 
 my lord ? 
 
 Osr. How is’t, Laertes ? 
 
 Lacr. Why, as a woodcock to mine own 
 springe, Osric ; 
 
 I am justly kill’d with mine own treachery. 
 Ham. How does the queen ? 
 
 King. She swoons to see them bleed. 
 
 Queen. No, no, the drink, the drink, — O my 
 dear Hamlet ! — 
 
 The drink, the drink ; — I am poison’d ! [Dies. 
 Ham. 0 villainy ! Ho ! Let the door be 
 lock’d : 
 
 Treachery ! seek it out. [Laertes falls. 
 
 Lacr. It is here, Hamlet : Hamlet, thou art 
 slain ; 
 
 No medicine in the world can do thee good. 
 
 In thee there is not half an hour of life ; 
 
 The treacherous instrument is in thy hand. 
 Unbated, and envenom’d : the foul practice 
 Hath turn’d itself on me ; lo, here I lie. 
 
 Never to rise again. Thy mother’s poisoned ; 
 
 I can no more ; the king, the king’s to blame. 
 Ham. The point 
 
 Envenom’d too 1 — Then, venom, to thy work. 
 
 [Stahs the King. 
 
HAMLET. 
 
 73 
 
 Osr. ti^'^Lords. Treason ! treason ! 
 
 King. O, yet defend me, friends ; I am bnt 
 hnrt. 
 
 Ham. Here, thou incestuous, murd’rous, 
 damned Dane, 
 
 Drink off this potion ; — Is thy union here ? 
 Follow my mother. [King dies. 
 
 Laer. He is justly serv’d ; 
 
 It is a poison temper’d hy himself. 
 
 Exchange forgiveness with me, nohle Hamlet : 
 Mine and my father’s death come not upon thee. 
 Nor thine on me ! [Dies. 
 
 Ham. Heaven make thee free of it ! I follow 
 thee. 
 
 I am dead, Horatio : — Wretched cpieen, adieu ! 
 You that look pale and tremble at this chance 
 That are but mutes or audience to this act. 
 
 Had I but time, (as this fell sergeant, death. 
 
 Is strict in his arrest,) O, I could tell you, — 
 But let it be : — Horatio, I am dead ; 
 
 Thou liv’st ; report me and my cause aright 
 To the unsatisfied. 
 
 Hor. Never believe it. 
 
 I am more an antique Eoman than a Dane : 
 Here’s yet some liquor left. 
 
 Ham. As thou’rt a man. 
 
 Give me the cup; let go; by heaven I’ll have it. 
 O, good Horatio, what a wounded name. 
 
 Things standing thus unknown, shall live be- 
 hind me ! 
 
 If thou did’st ever hold me in thy heart. 
 Absent thee from felicity awhile. 
 
 And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain. 
 To tell my story. 
 
 \_MaTc1i afar off, and shot within. 
 What warlike noise is this ? 
 Osr. Young Fortinbras, with conquest come 
 from Poland, 
 
 To the ambassadors of England gives 
 This warlike volley. 
 
 Ham. O, I die, Horatio ; 
 
 The potent poison quite o’er-crows my spirit ; 
 
 1 cannot live to hear the news from England ; 
 But I do prophesy the election lights 
 On Fortinbras ; he has my dying voice ; 
 
 So tell him, with the occurrents, more and less. 
 Which liave solicited. — The rest is silence. 
 
 {^Dics. 
 
 Hor. Now cracks a noble heart. Good-night, 
 sweet prince ; 
 
 And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest ! 
 Wliy does the drum come hither ? 
 
 \^March within. 
 
 Enter Fortinbras, the Englisli Ambassadors, 
 and others. 
 
 Fort. Where is this sight ? 
 
 Hor. What is it ye would see ? 
 
 If aught of woe, or wonder, cease your search. 
 Fort. This quarry cries on havoc. — 0 proud 
 deatli ! 
 
 What feast is toward in thine eternal cell. 
 
 That thou so many princes, at a shoot. 
 
 So bloodily liast struck ? 
 
 K 
 
74 
 
 HAMLET. 
 
 1 Amh. The sight is dismal ; 
 
 And our affaii's from England come too late : 
 The ears are senseless that should give us 
 hearing, 
 
 To tell him, his commandment is fulfill’d. 
 
 That Eosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead : 
 Where should we have our thanks? 
 
 Sor. Not from his mouth. 
 
 Had it the abihty of life to thank you ; 
 
 He never gave commandment for their death. 
 But since, so jump upon this bloody question. 
 You from the Polackwars,aud you from England 
 Are here arriv’d, give order, that these bodies 
 High on a stage be placed to the view ; 
 
 And let me speak, to the yet unknowing world. 
 How these things came about : So shall you 
 hear 
 
 Of carnal, bloody, and unnatural acts ; 
 
 Of accidental judgments, casual slaughters ; 
 
 Of deaths put on by cunning, and forc’d cause ; 
 And, in this upshot, purposes mistook 
 Eall’n on the inventors’ heads : all this can 1 
 Truly deliver. 
 
 Fort. Let us haste to hear it, 
 
 And call the noblest to the audience. 
 
 For me, with sorrow I embrace my fortune; ~ 
 
 I have some rights of memory in this kingdom. 
 Which now to claim my vantage doth invite me. 
 
 Hor. Of that I shall have always cause to speak, 
 And from his mouth whose voice will draw 
 on more : 
 
 But let this same be presently perform’d. 
 
 E’en while men’s minds are wild ; lest some 
 mischance, 
 
 On plots, and errors, happen. 
 
 Fort. Let four captains 
 
 Bear Hamlet, like a soldier, to the stage ; 
 
 For he was likely, had he been put on. 
 
 To have prov’d most royally : and, for his passage. 
 The soldier’s music, and the rites of war, 
 
 Speak loudly for him. 
 
 Take up the body : — Such a sight as tliis 
 Becomes the field, but here shows much amiss. 
 Go, bid the soldiers shoot. [A dead march, 
 \Exeunt, marching; after which a ’pcal 
 of ordnance is shot off.