William Shakespeare, Hamlet Prince of Denmark (1600-01)


William Shakespeare (1564-1616)

This is a part of a collection of works by William Shakespeare.

Source

The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, ed. with a glossary by W.J. Craig M.A. (London: Oxford University Press, 1916).

See the complete volume in HTML and facs. PDF.

HAMLET PRINCE OF DENMARK

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
ACT I.
ACT II.
- Scene I.— A Room in Polonius’ House
- Scene II.— A Room in the Castle.
ACT III.
ACT IV.
ACT V.
- Scene I.— A Churchyard.
- Scene II.— A Hall in the Castle.

HAMLET PRINCE OF DENMARK

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

Claudius,	King of Denmark.
Hamlet,	Son to the late, and Nephew to the present King.
Fortinbras,	Prince of Norway.
Horatio,	Friend to Hamlet.
Polonius,	Lord Chamberlain.
Laertes,	his Son.
Voltimand,	Courtiers.
Cornelius,
Rosencrantz,
Guildenstern,
Osric,
A Gentleman,
A Priest.
Marcellus,	Officers.
Bernardo,	Officers.
Francisco,	a Soldier.
Reynaldo,	Servant to Polonius.
A Captain.
English Ambassadors.
Players. Two Clowns, Grave-diggers.
Gertrude,	Queen of Denmark and Mother to Hamlet.
Ophelia,	Daughter to Polonius.
Lords, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Sailors, Messengers, and Attendants.

Fran.

For this relief much thanks; ’tis bitter cold, 8

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, 12

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 24

Touching this dreaded sight twice seen of us:

Therefore I have entreated him along

With us to watch the minutes of this night;

That if again this apparition come, 28

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, 32

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 yond same star that’s westward from the pole 36

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! 40

Enter Ghost.

Ber.

In the same figure, like the king that’s dead.

Mar.

Thou art a scholar; speak to it, Horatio.

Ber.

Looks it not like the king? mark it, Horatio.

Hor.

Most like: it harrows me with fear and wonder. 44

Ber.

Hor.

Before my God, I might not this believe 56

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 60

When he the ambitious Norway combated;

So frown’d he once, when, in an angry parle,

He smote the sledded Polacks on the ice.

’Tis strange. 64

Mar.

Thus twice before, and jump 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, 68

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; 72

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; 76

What might be toward, that this sweaty haste

Doth make the night joint-labourer with the day:

Who is ’t that can inform me?

Hor.

That can I;

At least, the whisper goes so. Our last king, 80

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— 84

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 88

Which he stood seiz’d of, to the conqueror;

Against the which, a moiety competent

Was gaged by our king; which had return’d

To the inheritance of Fortinbras, 92

Had he been vanquisher; as, by the same covenant,

And carriage of the article design’d,

His fell to Hamlet. Now, sir, young Fortinbras,

Of unimproved mettle hot and full, 96

Hath in the skirts of Norway here and there

Shark’d up a list of lawless resolutes,

For food and diet, to some enterprise

That hath a stomach in ’t; which is no other—

As it doth well appear unto our state— 101

But to recover of us, by strong hand

And terms compulsative, those foresaid lands

So by his father lost. And this, I take it, 104

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.

Ber

I think it be no other but e’en so; 108

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 mote it is to trouble the mind’s eye. 112

In the most high and palmy state of Rome,

A little ere the mightiest Julius fell,

The graves stood tenantless and the sheeted dead

Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets; 116

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; 120

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. 125

But, soft! behold! lo! where it comes again.

Re-enter Ghost.

I’ll cross it, though it blast me. Stay, illusion!

If thou hast any sound, or use of voice, 128

Speak to me:

If there be any good thing to be done,

That may to thee do ease and grace to me,

Speak to me: 132

If thou art privy to thy country’s fate,

Which happily foreknowing may avoid,

O! speak;

Or if thou hast uphoarded in thy life 136

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. 139

Mar.

Shall I strike at it with my partisan?

Hor.

Do, if it will not stand.

Ber.

’Tis here!

Her.

’Tis here!

[Exit Ghost.

Mar.

’Tis gone!

We do it wrong, being so majestical,

To offer it the show of violence; 144

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, 149

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, 152

Whether 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. 156

Mar.

It faded on the crowing of the cock.

Some say that ever ’gainst that season comes

Wherein our Saviour’s birth is celebrated,

The bird of dawning singeth all night long; 160

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. 164

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 168

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? 173

Mar.

Let’s do’t, I pray; and I this morning know

Where we shall find him most conveniently.

[Exeunt.

Scene II.— A Room of State in the Castle.

Enter the King, Queen, Hamlet, Polonius, Laertes, Voltimand, Cornelius, Lords, and Attendants.

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 be contracted in one brow of woe, 4

Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature

That we with wisest sorrow think on him,

Together with remembrance of ourselves.

Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen,

The imperial jointress of this war-like state, 9

Have we, as ’twere with a defeated joy,

With one auspicious and one dropping eye,

With mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage, 12

In equal scale weighing delight and dole,

Taken to wife: nor have we herein barr’d

Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone

With this affair along: for all, our thanks. 16

Now follows, that you know, young Fortinbras,

Holding a weak supposal of our worth,

Or thinking by our late dear brother’s death

Our state to be disjoint and out of frame, 20

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 bands of law, 24

To our most valiant brother. So much for him.

Now for ourself and for this time of meeting.

Thus much the business is: we have here writ

To Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras, 28

Who, impotent and bed-rid, scarcely hears

Of this his nephew’s purpose, to suppress

His further gait herein; in that the levies,

The lists and full proportions, are all made 32

Out of his subject; and we here dispatch

You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltimand,

For bearers of this greeting to old Norway,

Giving to you no further personal power 36

To business with the king more than the scope

Of these delated articles allow.

Farewell and let your haste commend your duty.

Cor.

In that and all things will we show our duty. 40

Vol.

In that and all things will we show our duty. 40

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, 44

And lose your voice; what 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, 48

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, 52

To show my duty in your coronation,

Yet now, I must confess, that duty done,

My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France

And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon. 56

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: 60

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,— 64

Ham.

[Aside.] A little more than kin, and less than kind.

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 nighted colour off, 68

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 live must die, 72

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.’ 76

’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, 80

Nor the dejected haviour of the visage,

Together with all forms, modes, shows of grief,

That can denote me truly; these indeed seem,

For they are actions that a man might play: 84

But I have that within which passeth show;

These but the trappings and the suits of woe.

King.

’Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet,

To give these mourning duties to your father: 88

But, you must know, your father lost a father;

That father lost, lost his; and the survivor bound

In filial obligation for some term

To do obsequious sorrow; but to persever 92

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, 96

An understanding simple and unschool’d:

For what we know must be and is as common

As any the most vulgar thing to sense,

Why should we in our peevish opposition 100

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, 104

From the first corse till he that died to-day,

‘This must be so.’ We pray you, throw to earth

This unprevailing woe, and think of us

As of a father; for let the world take note, 108

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 toward you. For your intent 112

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, 116

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, 124

No jocund health that Denmark drinks to-day,

But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell,

And the king’s rouse the heavens shall bruit again,

Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come away. 128

[Exeunt all except Hamlet.

Ham.

O! that this too too solid flesh would melt,

Thaw and resolve itself into a dew;

Or that the Everlasting had not fix’d

His canon ’gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God! 132

How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable

Seem to me all the uses of this world.

Fie on ’t! O fie! ’tis an unweeded garden,

That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature 136

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 140

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 144

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,— 149

O God! 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: within a month, 153

Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears

Had left the flushing in her galled eyes,

She married. O! most wicked speed, to post

With such dexterity to incestuous sheets. 157

It is not nor it cannot come to good;

But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue!

Enter Horatio, Marcellus, and Bernardo.

Hor.

Hail to your lordship!

Ham.

I am glad to see you well: 160

Horatio, or I do forget myself.

Hor.

The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever.

Ham.

Sir, my good friend; I’ll change that name with you.

And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio?

Marcellus? 165

Mar.

My good lord,—

Ham.

I am very glad to see you. [To Bernardo.] Good even, sir.

But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg?

Hor.

A truant disposition, good my lord. 169

Ham.

I would not hear your enemy say so,

Nor shall you do mine ear that violence,

To make it truster of your own report 172

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. 176

Ham.

Upon the witness of these gentlemen,

This marvel to you.

Ham.

For God’s love, let me hear.

Hor.

Two nights together had these gentlemen, 196

Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch,

In the dead vast and middle of the night,

Been thus encounter’d: a figure like your father,

Armed at points exactly, cap-a-pe, 200

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, distill’d 204

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, 209

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. 213

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 216

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. 220

Hor.

As I do live, my honour’d lord, ’tis true;

And we did think it writ down in our duty

To let you know of it.

Ham.

Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles me. 224

Hold you the watch to-night?

Mar.

We do, my lord.

Ber.

We do, my lord.

Ham.

Arm’d, say you?

Mar.

Arm’d, my lord.

Ber.

Arm’d, my lord.

Ham.

From top to toe?

Mar.

My lord, from head to foot.

Ber.

My lord, from head to foot.

Ham.

His beard was grizzled, no?

Hor.

It was, as I have seen it in his life, 240

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 244

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, 248

Give it an understanding, but no tongue:

I will requite your loves. So, fare you well.

Upon the platform, ’twixt eleven and twelve,

I’ll visit you.

All.

Our duty to your honour. 252

Ham.

Your loves, as mine to you. Farewell.

[Exeunt Horatio, Marcellus, and 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, 256

Though all the earth o’erwhelm them, to men’s eyes.

[Exit.

Scene III.— 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? 4

Laer.

For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favour,

Hold it a fashion and a toy in blood,

A violet in the youth of primy nature,

Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting, 8

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, 12

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, 16

His greatness weigh’d, his will is not his own,

For he himself is subject to his birth;

He may not, as unvalu’d persons do,

Carve for himself, for on his choice depends 20

The safety and the 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, 24

It fits your wisdom so far to believe it

As he in his particular act and place

May give his saying deed; which is no further

Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal. 28

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. 32

Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister;

And keep you in the rear of your affection,

Out of the shot and danger of desire.

The chariest maid is prodigal enough 36

If she unmask her beauty to the moon;

Virtue herself ’scapes not calumnious strokes;

The canker galls the infants of the spring

Too oft before their buttons be disclos’d, 40

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. 44

Oph.

I shall th’ 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,

Whiles, like a puff’d and reckless libertine, 49

Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads,

And recks not his own rede.

Laer.

O! fear me not.

I stay too long; but here my father comes. 52

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, 56

And you are stay’d for. There, my blessing with thee!

And these few precepts in thy memory

Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue,

Nor any unproportion’d thought his act. 60

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 64

Of each new-hatch’d, unfledg’d comrade. Beware

Of entrance to a quarrel, but, being in,

Bear ’t that th’ opposed may beware of thee.

Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice; 68

Take each man’s censure, but reserve thy judgment.

Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,

But not express’d in fancy; rich, not gaudy;

For the apparel oft proclaims the man, 72

And they in France of the best rank and station

Are most select and generous, chief in that.

Neither a borrower, nor a lender be;

For loan oft loses both itself and friend, 76

And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.

This above all: to thine own self be true,

And it must follow, as the night the day,

Thou canst not then be false to any man. 80

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. 86

Laer.

Farewell.

[Exit.

Pol.

What is ’t, Ophelia, he hath said to you?

Oph.

So please you, something 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 92

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 96

As it behoves my daughter and your honour.

What is between you? give me up the truth.

Oph.

He hath, my lord, of late made many tenders

Of his affection to me. 100

Pol.

Affection! pooh! you speak like a green girl,

Unsifted in such perilous circumstance.

Do you believe his tenders, as you call them?

Oph.

I do not know, my lord, what I should think. 104

Pol.

Marry, I’ll teach you: think yourself a baby,

That you have ta’en these tenders for true pay,

Which are not sterling. Tender yourself more dearly;

Or,—not to crack the wind of the poor phrase,

Running it thus,—you’ll tender me a fool. 109

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, 113

With almost all the holy vows of heaven.

Pol.

Ay, springes to catch woodcocks. I do know,

When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul 116

Lends 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. From this time 120

Be somewhat scanter of your maiden presence;

Set your entreatments at a higher rate

Than a command to parley. For Lord Hamlet,

Believe so much in him, that he is young, 124

And with a larger tether may he walk

Than may be given you: in few, Ophelia,

Do not believe his vows, for they are brokers,

Not of that dye which their investments show,

But mere implorators of unholy suits, 129

Breathing like sanctified and pious bawds,

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, 133

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.

Scene IV.— The Platform.

Enter Hamlet, Horatio, and Marcellus.

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. 4

Hor.

Indeed? I heard it not: then it draws near the season

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, 8

Keeps wassail, and the swaggering up-spring reels;

And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down,

The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out

The triumph of his pledge.

Hor.

Is it a custom? 12

Ham.

Ay, marry, is ’t:

But 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. 16

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 20

From our achievements, though perform’d at height,

The pith and marrow of our attribute.

So, oft it chances in particular men,

That for some vicious mole of nature in them, 24

As, in their birth,—wherein they are not guilty,

Since nature cannot choose his origin,—

By the o’ergrowth of some complexion,

Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason,

Or by some habit that too much o’er-leavens 29

The form of plausive manners; that these men,

Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect,

Being nature’s livery, or fortune’s star, 32

Their virtues else, be they as pure as grace,

As infinite as man may undergo,

Shall in the general censure take corruption

From that particular fault: the dram of eale 36

Doth all the noble substance of a doubt,

To his own scandal.

Enter Ghost.

Hor.

Look, my lord, it comes.

Ham.

Angels and ministers of grace defend us!

Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn’d, 40

Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell,

Be thy intents wicked or charitable,

Thou com’st in such a questionable shape

That I will speak to thee: I’ll call thee Hamlet,

King, father; royal Dane, O! answer me: 45

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 inurn’d, 49

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 52

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? 56

Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we do?

[The Ghost beckons Hamlet.

Hor.

It beckons you to go away with it,

As if it some impartment did desire

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, 72

Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason

And draw you into madness? think of it;

The very place puts toys of desperation,

Without more motive, into every brain 76

That looks so many fathoms to the sea

As hardy as the Nemean lion’s nerve.

[Ghost beckons.

Still am I call’d. Unhand me, gentlemen, 84

[Breaking from them.

By heaven! I’ll make a ghost of him that lets me:

I say, away! Go on, I’ll follow thee.

To what I shall unfold.

Ham

Speak; I am bound to hear.

Ghost.

So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear.

Ham.

What? 8

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 13

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, 16

Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres,

Thy knotted and combined locks to part,

And each particular hair to stand an end,

Like quills upon the fretful porpentine: 20

But this eternal blazon must not be

To ears of flesh and blood. List, list, O list!

If thou didst ever thy dear father love—

Ham.

O God! 24

Ghost.

Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder.

Ham.

Murder!

Ghost.

Murder most foul, as in the best it is;

But this most foul, strange, and unnatural. 28

Ham.

Haste me to know’t, 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 shouldst thou be than the fat weed

That rots itself in ease on Lethe wharf, 33

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 36

Is by a forged process of my death

Rankly 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! 40

My uncle!

Ghost.

Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast,

With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts,—

O wicked wit and gifts, that have the power 44

So to seduce!—won to his shameful lust

The will of my most seeming-virtuous queen.

O Hamlet! what a falling-off was there;

From me, whose love was of that dignity 48

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! 52

But 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, 56

And prey on garbage.

But, soft! methinks I scent the morning air;

Brief let me be. Sleeping within mine orchard,

My custom always in the afternoon, 60

Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole,

With juice of cursed hebona in a vial,

And in the porches of mine ears did pour

The leperous distilment; whose effect 64

Holds such an enmity with blood 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 68

And curd, like eager 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. 73

Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother’s hand,

Of life, of crown, of queen, at once dispatch’d;

Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin, 76

Unhousel’d, disappointed, unanel’d,

No reckoning made, but sent to my account

With all my imperfections on my head:

O, horrible! O, horrible! most horrible! 80

If thou hast 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, 84

Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive

Against thy mother aught; leave her 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, 89

And ’gins to pale his uneffectual fire;

Adieu, adieu! Hamlet, remember me.

[Exit.

Ham.

O all you host of heaven! O earth! What else? 92

And shall I couple hell? O fie! Hold, hold, my heart!

And you, my sinews, grow not instant old,

But bear me stiffly up! Remember thee!

Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat

In this distracted globe. Remember thee! 97

Yea, from the table of my memory

I’ll wipe away all trivial fond records,

All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past,

That youth and observation copied there; 101

And thy commandment all alone shall live

Within the book and volume of my brain,

Unmix’d with baser matter: yes, by heaven! 104

O most pernicious woman!

O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain!

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: 109

[Writing.

So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word;

It is, ‘Adieu, adieu! remember me.

But you’ll be secret?

Hor.

Ay, by heaven, my lord.

Mar.

Ay, by heaven, my lord.

Ham.

There’s ne’er a villain dwelling in all Denmark,

But he’s an arrant knave. 124

Hor.

There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave,

To tell us this.

Ham.

Why, right; you are i’ the right;

And so, without more circumstance at all,

I hold it fit that we shake hands and part; 128

You, as your business and desire shall point you,—

For every man hath business and desire,

Such as it is,—and, for mine own poor part,

Look you, I’ll go pray. 132

Hor.

These are but wild and whirling words, my lord.

Ham.

I am sorry they offend you, heartily;

Yes, faith, heartily.

Hor.

There’s no offence, my lord.

Ham.

Yes, by Saint Patrick, but there is, Horatio, 136

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’t as you may. And now, good friends, 140

As you are friends, scholars, and soldiers,

Give me one poor request.

Hor.

What is’t, my lord? we will.

Ham.

Never make known what you have seen to-night. 144

Hor.

My lord, we will not.

Mar.

My lord, we will not.

Ham.

Nay, but swear’t.

Hor.

In faith,

Never to speak of this that you have seen,

Swear by my sword.

Ghost.

[Beneath.] Swear.

Ham.

Hic et ubique? then we’ll shift our ground. 156

Come hither, gentlemen,

And lay your hands again upon my sword:

Never to speak of this that you have heard,

Swear by my sword. 160

Ghost.

[Beneath.] Swear.

Ham.

Well said, old mole! canst work i’ the earth so fast?

A worthy pioner! once more remove, good friends.

Hor.

O day and night, but this is wondrous strange! 164

Ham.

And therefore as a stranger give it welcome.

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,

Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

But come; 168

Here, as before, never, so help you mercy,

How strange or odd soe’er I bear myself,

As I perchance hereafter shall think meet

To put an antic disposition on, 172

That you, at such times seeing me, never shall,

With arms encumber’d thus, or this head-shake,

Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase,

As, ‘Well, well, we know,’ or, ‘We could, an if we would;’ 176

Or, ‘If we list to speak,’ or, ‘There be, an if they 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 you,

Swear. 180

Ghost.

[Beneath.] Swear.

[They swear.

Ham.

Rest, rest, perturbed spirit! So, gentlemen,

With all my love I do commend me to you:

And what so poor a man as Hamlet is 184

May do, to express his love and friending to you,

God willing, shall not lack. Let us go in together;

And still your fingers on your lips, I pray.

The time is out of joint; O cursed spite, 188

That ever I was born to set it right!

Nay, come, let’s go together.

[Exeunt.

Scene I.— A Room in Polonius’ House

Enter Polonius and Reynaldo.

Pol.

Give him this money and these notes, Reynaldo.

Rey.

I will, my lord.

Pol.

You shall do marvellous wisely, good Reynaldo,

Before you visit him, to make inquiry 4

Of his behaviour.

Rey.

My lord, I did intend it.

Pol.

Marry, well said, very well said. Look you, sir,

Inquire me first what Danskers are in Paris;

And how, and who, what means, and where they keep, 8

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: 12

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, Reynaldo?

Rey.

Ay, very well, my lord. 16

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

What forgeries you please; marry, none so rank

As may dishonour him; take heed of that; 21

But, sir, such wanton, wild, and usual slips

As are companions noted and most known

To youth and liberty.

Rey.

As gaming, my lord? 24

Pol.

Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing, quarrelling,

Drabbing; you may go so far.

Rey.

My lord, that would dishonour him.

Pol.

Faith, no; as you may season it in the charge. 28

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, 32

The flash and outbreak of a fiery mind,

A savageness in unreclaimed blood,

Of general assault.

Rey.

But, my good lord,—

Pol.

Wherefore should you do this?

Rey.

Ay, my lord, 36

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, 40

Mark you,

Your party in converse, him you would sound,

Having ever seen in the prenominate crimes

The youth you breathe of guilty, be assur’d, 44

He closes with you in this consequence;

‘Good sir,’ or so; or ‘friend,’ or ‘gentleman,’

According to the phrase or the addition

Of man and country.

Rey.

Very good, my lord. 48

Pol.

And then, sir, does he this,—he does,—what was I about to say? By the mass I was about to say something: where did I leave?

Rey.

At ‘closes in the consequence.’ 52

At ‘friend or so,’ and ‘gentleman.’

Pol.

At ‘closes in the consequence,’ ay, marry;

He closes with you thus: ‘I know the gentleman;

I saw him yesterday, or t’ other day, 56

Or then, or then; with such, or such; and, as you say,

There was a’ gaming; there o’ertook in ’s rouse;

There falling out at tennis;’ or perchance,

‘I saw him enter such a house of sale,’ 60

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, 64

With windlasses, and with assays of bias,

By indirections find directions out:

So by my former lecture and advice

Farewell!

[Exit Reynaldo.

Enter Ophelia.

How now, Ophelia! what’s the matter?

Oph.

Alas! my lord, I have been so affrighted.

Pol.

With what, in the name of God? 76

Oph.

My lord, as I was sewing in my closet,

Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbrac’d;

No hat upon his head; his stockings foul’d,

Ungarter’d, and down-gyved to his ancle; 80

Pale 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. 84

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, 88

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, 92

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, 96

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. 100

Pol.

Come, go with me; I will go seek the king.

This is the very ecstasy of love,

Whose violent property fordoes itself

And leads the will to desperate undertakings

As oft as any passion under heaven 105

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 command, 108

I did repel his letters and denied

His access to me.

Pol.

That hath made him mad.

I am sorry that with 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! 113

By heaven, it is as proper to our age

To cast beyond ourselves in our opinions

As it is common for the younger sort 116

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.

Come.

[Exeunt.

Scene II.— A Room in the Castle.

Enter King, Queen, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and Attendants.

King.

Welcome, dear Rosencrantz and Guildenstern!

Moreover that we much did long to see you,

The need we have to use you did provoke

Our hasty sending. Something have you heard

Of Hamlet’s transformation; so I call it, 5

Since nor the exterior nor the inward man

Resembles that it was. What it should be

More than his father’s death, that thus hath put him 8

So much from the understanding of himself,

I cannot dream 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, 12

That you vouchsafe your rest here in our court

Some little time; so by your companies

To draw him on to pleasures, and to gather,

So much as from occasion you may glean, 16

Whe’r 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 20

To whom he more adheres. If it will please you

To show us so much gentry and good will

As to expend your time with us awhile,

For the supply and profit of our hope, 24

Your visitation shall receive such thanks

As fits a king’s remembrance.

Ros.

Both your majesties

Might, by the sovereign power you have of us,

Put your dread pleasures more into command

Than to entreaty.

Guil.

But we both obey, 29

And here give up ourselves, in the full bent,

To lay our service freely at your feet,

To be commanded. 32

King.

Thanks, Rosencrantz and gentle Guildenstern.

Queen.

Thanks, Guildenstern and gentle Rosencrantz;

And I beseech you instantly to visit

My too much changed son. Go, some of you, 36

And bring these gentlemen where Hamlet is.

Guil.

Heavens make our presence, and our practices

Pleasant and helpful to him!

Queen.

Ay, amen!

[Exeunt Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and some Attendants.

Enter Polonius.

Pol.

The ambassadors from Norway, my good lord, 40

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, 44

Both to my God and to my gracious king;

And I do think—or else this brain of mine

Hunts not the trail of policy so sure

As it hath us’d to do—that I have found 48

The very cause of Hamlet’s lunacy.

King.

O! speak of that; that do I long to hear.

Pol.

Give first admittance to the ambassadors;

My news shall be the fruit to that great feast. 52

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 distemper.

Queen.

I doubt it is no-other but the main;

His father’s death, and our o’erhasty marriage.

King.

Well, we shall sift him.

Re-enter Polonius, with Voltimand and Cornelius.

Welcome, my good friends!

Say, Voltimand, what from our brother Norway?

Volt.

Most fair return of greetings, and desires. 60

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 64

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, 68

Receives 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, 72

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, 76

[Giving a paper.

That it might please you to give quiet pass

Through your dominions for this enterprise,

On such regards of safety and allowance

As therein are set down.

King.

It likes us well; 80

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 well ended. 85

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: 92

Mad call I it; for, to define true madness,

What is ’t but to be nothing else but mad?

But let that go.

Queen.

More matter, with less art.

Pol

Madam, I swear I use no art at all. 96

That he is mad, ’tis true; ’tis true ’tis pity;

And pity ’tis ’tis true: a foolish figure;

But farewell it, for I will use no art.

Mad let us grant him, then; and now remains

That we find out the cause of this effect, 101

Or rather say, the cause of this defect,

For this effect defective comes by cause;

Thus it remains, and the remainder thus.

Perpend. 105

I have a daughter, have while she is mine;

Who, in her duty and obedience, mark,

Hath given me this: now, gather, and surmise.

To the celestial, and my soul’s idol, the most beautified Ophelia.— 109

That’s an ill phrase, a vile phrase; ‘beautified’

is a vile phrase; but you shall hear. Thus:

In her excellent white bosom, these, &c.— 112

Queen.

Came this from Hamlet to her?

Pol.

Good madam, stay awhile; I will be faithful.

Doubt thou the stars are fire;

Doubt that the sun doth move; 116

Doubt truth to be a liar;

But never doubt I love.

O dear Ophelia! I am ill at these numbers: I have not art to reckon my groans; but that I love thee best, O most best! believe it. Adieu.

Thine evermore, most dear lady, whilst this machine is to him,

Hamlet.

This in obedience hath my daughter shown me;

And more above, hath his solicitings,

As they fell out by time, by means, and place,

All given to mine ear.

King.

But how hath she 128

Receiv’d his love?

Pol.

What do you think of me?

King.

As of a man faithful and honourable.

Pol.

I would fain prove so. But what might you think, 131

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, 136

Or given my heart a winking, mute and dumb,

Or look’d upon this love with idle sight;

What might you think? No, I went round to work,

And my young mistress thus I did bespeak: 140

‘Lord Hamlet is a prince, out of thy star;

This must not be:’ and then I precepts gave her,

That she should lock herself from his resort,

Admit no messengers, receive no tokens. 144

Which done, she took the fruits of my advice;

And he, repulsed,—a short tale to make,—

You know sometimes he walks four hours together 160

Here in the lobby.

Queen.

So he does indeed.

Pol.

At such a time I’ll loose my daughter to him;

Be you and I behind an arras then;

Mark the encounter; if he love her not, 164

And be not from his reason fallen thereon,

Let me be no assistant for a state,

But keep a farm, and carters.

King.

We will try it.

Queen.

But look, where sadly the poor wretch comes reading. 168

Pol.

Away! I do beseech you, both away.

I’ll board him presently.

[Exeunt King, Queen, and Attendants.

Fare you well, my lord.

[Going.

Ham.

These tedious old fools!

Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.

Pol.

You go to seek the Lord Hamlet; there he is. 228

Ros.

It is not very strange; for my uncle is King of Denmark, and those that would make mows at him while my father lived, give twenty, forty, fifty, a hundred ducats a-piece for his picture in little. ’Sblood, there is something in this more than natural, if philosophy could find it out.

[Flourish of trumpets within.

Guil.

There are the players. 395

Ham.

Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinore. Your hands, come then; the appurtenance of welcome is fashion and ceremony: let me comply with you in this garb, lest my extent to the players—which, I tell you, must show fairly outward—should more appear like entertainment than yours. You are welcome; but my uncle-father and aunt-mother are deceived.

Guil.

In what, my dear lord? 404

Ham.

One fair daughter and no more,

The which he loved passing well. 436

As by lot, God wot. 444

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 abridgment comes.

Enter four or five Players.

You are welcome, masters; welcome, all. I am glad to see thee well: welcome, good friends. O, my old friend! Thy face is valanced since I saw thee last: comest thou to beard me in Denmark? What! my young lady and mistress! By ’r lady, your ladyship is nearer heaven than when I saw you last, by the altitude 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, fly at anything we see: we’ll have a speech straight. Come, give us a taste of your quality; come, a passionate speech. 461

First Play.

What speech, my good 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: but it was—as I received it, and others, whose judgments in such matters cried in the top of mine—an excellent play, well digested in the scenes, set down with as much modesty as cunning. I remember one said there were no sallets in the lines to make the matter savoury, nor no matter in the phrase that might indict the author of affectation; but called it an honest method, as wholesome as sweet, and by very much more handsome than fine. One speech in it I chiefly loved; ’twas Æneas’ 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:— 480

Therugged Pyrrhus, like the Hyrcanian beast,—

’tis not so, it begins with Pyrrhus:—

The rugged Pyrrhus, he whose sable arm,

Black as his purpose, did the night resemble

When he lay couched in the ominous horse, 485

Hath now this dread and black complexion smear’d

With heraldry more dismal; head to foot

Now is he total gules; horridly trick’d 488

With blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, sons,

Bak’d and impasted with the parching streets,

That lend a tyrannous and damned light

To their vile murders: rousted in wrath and fire, 492

And thus o’er-sized with coagulate gore,

With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus

Old grandsire Priam seeks.

So proceed you. 496

Pol.

’Fore God, my lord, well spoken; with good accent and good discretion.

First Play.

Anon, he finds him

Striking too short at Greeks; his antique sword,

Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls, 500

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 Ilium, 504

Seeming to feel this blow, with flaming top

Stoops to his base, and with a hideous crash

Takes prisoner Pyrrhus’ ear: for lo! his sword,

Which was declining on the milky head 508

Of rever end 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. 512

But, as we often see, against some storm,

A silence in the heavens, the rack stand still,

The bold winds speechless and the orb below

As hush as death, anon the dreadful thunder 516

Doth rend the region; so, after Pyrrhus’ pause,

Aroused vengeance sets him new a-work;

And never did the Cyclops’ hammers fall

On Mars’s armour, forg’d for proof eterne, 520

With less remorse than Pyrrhus’ bleeding sword

Now falls on Priam.

Out, out, thou strumpet, Fortune! All you gods,

In general synod, take away her power; 524

Break all the spokes and fellies from her wheel,

And bowl the round nave down the hill of heaven,

As low as to the fiends!

Pol.

This is too long. 528

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. 532

First Play.

But who, O! who had seen the mobled queen—

Ham.

‘The mobled queen?’—

Pol.

That’s good; ‘mobled queen’ is good.

First Play.

Run barefoot up and down, threat’ning the flames 536

With bisson rheum; a clout upon that head

Where late the diadem stood; and, for a robe,

About her lank and all o’er-teemed loins,

A blanket, in the alarm of fear caught up; 540

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, 545

The instant burst of clamour that she made—

Good my lord!

[Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.

Ham.

Ay, so, God be wi’ ye! Now I am alone.

O! what a rogue and peasant slave am I: 584

Is it not monstrous that this player here,

But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,

Could force his soul so to his own conceit 587

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! 592

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, 596

And cleave the general ear with horrid speech,

Make mad the guilty and appal the free,

Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed

The very faculties of eyes and ears. 600

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, 604

Upon whose property and most dear life

A damn’d defeat was made. Am I a coward?

Who calls me villain? breaks my pate across?

Plucks off my beard and blows it in my face? 608

Tweaks me by the nose? gives me the lie i’ the throat,

As deep as to the lungs? Who does me this?

Ha!

Swounds, I should take it, for it cannot be 612

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!

Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain! 617

O! vengeance!

Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave

That I, the son of a dear father murder’d, 620

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! 624

Fie upon’t! foh! About, my brain! I have heard,

That guilty creatures sitting at a play

Have by the very cunning of the scene

Been struck so to the soul that presently 628

They have proclaim’d their malefactions;

For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak

With most miraculous organ. I’ll have these players

Play something like the murder of my father 632

Before mine uncle; I’ll observe his looks;

I’ll tent him to the quick: if he but blench

I know my course. The spirit that I have seen

May be the devil: and the devil hath power 636

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 640

More relative than this: the play ’s the thing

Wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the king.

[Exit.

ACT III.

Scene I.— A Room in the Castle.

Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern.

King.

And can you, by no drift of circumstance,

Get from him why he puts on this confusion,

Grating so harshly all his days of quiet

With turbulent and dangerous lunacy? 4

Ros.

He does confess he feels himself distracted;

But from what cause he will by no means speak.

Guil

Nor do we find him forward to be sounded,

But, with a crafty madness, keeps aloof, 8

When we would bring him on to some confession

Of his true state.

Queen.

Did he receive you well?

Ros.

Most like a gentleman.

Guil.

But with much forcing of his disposition. 12

Ros.

Niggard of question, but of our demands

Most free in his reply.

Queen.

Did you assay him

To any pastime?

Ros.

Madam, it so fell out that certain players 16

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 20

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 24

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, 29

That he, as ’twere by accident, may here

Affront Ophelia.

Her father and myself, lawful espials, 32

Will 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 36

That thus he suffers for.

Queen.

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 40

Will bring him to his wonted way again,

To both your honours.

Oph.

Madam, I wish it may.

[Exit Queen.

Pol.

Ophelia, walk you here. Gracious, so please you,

We will bestow ourselves. [To Ophelia.] Read on this book; 44

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 48

The devil himself.

King.

[Aside.] O! ’tis too true;

How smart a lash that speech doth give my conscience!

The harlot’s cheek, beautied with plastering art,

Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it 52

Than is my deed to my most painted word:

O heavy burden!

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: 56

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;

No more; and, by a sleep to say we end 61

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; 64

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 68

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 contumely,

The pangs of dispriz’d love, the law’s delay, 72

The insolence of office, and the spurns

That patient merit of the unworthy takes,

When he himself might his quietus make

With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear, 76

To grunt and sweat under a weary life,

But that the dread of something after death,

The undiscover’d country from whose bourn

No traveller returns, puzzles the will, 80

And makes us rather bear those ills we have

Than fly to others that we know not of?

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;

And thus the native hue of resolution 84

Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,

And enterprises of great pith and moment

With this regard their currents turn awry,

And lose the name of action. Soft you now! 88

The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons

Be all my sins remember’d.

Oph.

Good my lord,

How does your honour for this many a day?

Ham.

I humbly thank you; well, well, well.

Oph.

My lord, I have remembrances of yours,

That I have longed long to re-deliver;

I pray you, now receive them.

Ham.

No, not I;

I never gave you aught. 96

Oph.

My honour’d lord, you know right well you did;

And, with them, words of so sweet breath compos’d

As made the things more rich: their perfume lost,

Oph.

O! what a noble mind is here o’erthrown:

The courtier’s, soldier’s, scholar’s, eye, tongue, sword; 160

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, 164

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 168

Blasted with ecstasy: O! woe is me,

To have seen what I have seen, see what I see!

Re-enter King and Polonius.

King.

Love! his affections do not that way tend;

Nor what he spake, though it lack’d form a little, 172

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 for to prevent, 176

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 180

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?

Pol.

It shall do well: but yet do I believe 185

The origin and commencement of his 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; 189

But, if you hold it fit, after the play,

Let his queen mother all alone entreat him

To show his griefs: let her be round with him; 192

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: 196

Madness in great ones must not unwatch’d go.

O! 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 quantity of barren spectators to laugh too, though in the mean time some necessary question of the play be then to be considered; that’s villanous, and shows a most pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it. Go, make you ready.

[Exeunt Players.

Enter Polonius, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern.

How now, my lord! will the king hear this piece of work? 52

Pol.

And the queen too, and that presently.

Ham.

Bid the players make haste.

[Exit Polonius.

Will you two help to hasten them?

Ros.

We will, my lord. 56

Guil.

We will, my lord. 56

To feed and clothe thee? Why should the poor be flatter’d? 64

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 her choice

And could of men distinguish, her election 69

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 72

Hast ta’en with equal thanks; and bless’d are those

Whose blood and judgment are so well comingled

That they are not a pipe for fortune’s finger

To sound what stop she please. Give me that man 76

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; 80

One scene of it comes near the circumstance

Which I have told thee of my father’s death:

I prithee, when thou seest that act afoot,

Even with the very comment of thy soul 84

Observe mine uncle; if his occulted guilt

Do not itself unkennel in one speech,

It is a damned ghost that we have seen,

And my imaginations are as foul 88

As Vulcan’s stithy. Give him heedful note;

For I mine eyes will rivet to his face,

And after we will both our judgments join

In censure of his seeming.

Hor.

Well, my lord: 92

If he steal aught the whilst this play is playing,

Hautboys play. The dumb-show enters.

Enter a King and a Queen, very lovingly; the Queen embracing him, and he her. She kneels, and makes 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 King’s ears, and exit. The Queen returns, finds 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 Queen with gifts; 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. 149

Oph.

Belike this show imports the argument of the play.

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, 200

Of violent birth, but poor validity;

Which now, like fruit unripe, sticks on the tree,

But fall unshaken when they mellow be.

Most necessary ’tis that we forget 204

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 208

Their own enactures with themselves destroy;

Where 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 love should with our fortunes change; 213

For ’tis a question left us yet to prove

Whe’r love lead fortune or else fortune love.

The great man down, you mark his favourite flies; 216

The poor advanc’d makes friends of enemies.

And hitherto doth love on fortune tend,

For who not needs shall never lack a friend;

And who in want a hollow friend doth try 220

Directly seasons him his enemy.

But, orderly to end where I begun,

Our wills and fates do so contrary run

That our devices still are overthrown, 224

Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own:

So think thou wilt no second husband wed;

But die thy thoughts when thy first lord is dead

P. Queen.

Nor earth to me give food, nor heaven light! 228

Sport and repose lock from me day and night!

To desperation turn my trust and hope!

An anchor’s cheer in prison be my scope!

Each opposite that blanks the face of joy 232

Meet what I would have well, and it destroy!

Both here and hence pursue me lasting strife,

If, once a widow, ever I be wife!

Ham.

If she should break it now! 236

P. King.

’Tis deeply sworn. Sweet, leave me here awhile;

My spirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile

The tedious day with sleep.

The Mouse-trap. Marry, how? Tropically. This play is the image of a murder done in Vienna: Gonzago is the duke’s name; his wife, Baptista. You shall see anon; ’tis a knavish piece 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 unwrung. 257

Enter Player as 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. 261

Oph.

You are keen, my lord, you are keen.

Ham.

It would cost you a groaning to take off my edge. 264

Oph.

Still better, and worse.

Ham.

So you must take your husbands. Begin, murderer; pox, leave thy damnable faces, and begin. Come; the croaking raven doth bellow for revenge. 269

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, 274

On wholesome life usurp immediately.

[Pours the poison into the Sleeper’s ears.

Ham.

He poisons him i’ the garden for’s estate. Hisname’s Gonzago; the story is extant, and writ in very choice Italian. You shall see anon how the murderer gets the love of Gonzago’s wife. 280

Oph.

The king rises.

Ham.

What! frighted with false fire?

Queen.

How fares my lord?

Pol.

Give o’er the play. 284

King.

Give me some light: away!

All.

Lights, lights, lights!

[Exeunt all except Hamlet and Horatio.

Ham.

Why, let the stricken deer go weep,

The hart ungalled play; 288

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 fellowship in a cry of players, sir?

Hor.

Half a share.

Ham.

A whole one, I. 296

For thou dost know, O Damon dear,

This realm dismantled was

Of Jove himself; and now reigns here

A very, very—pajock. 300

For if the king like not the comedy,

Why then, belike he likes it not, perdy.

Ham.

By and by is easily said. Leave me, friends.

[Exeunt all but Hamlet.

’Tis now the very witching time of night, 413

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 416

Would quake to look on. Soft! now to my mother.

O heart! lose not thy nature; let not ever

The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom;

Let me be cruel, not unnatural; 420

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! 424

[Exit.

Scene III.— A Room in the Castle.

Enter King, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern.

King.

I like him not, nor stands it safe with us

To let his madness range. Therefore prepare you;

I your commission will forth with dispatch,

And he to England shall along with you. 4

The terms of our estate may not endure

Hazard so dangerous as doth hourly grow

Out of his lunacies.

Guil.

We will ourselves provide.

Most holy and religious fear it is 8

To keep those many many bodies safe

That live and feed upon your majesty.

Ros.

The single and peculiar life is bound

With all the strength and armour of the mind

To keep itself from noyance; but much more 13

That spirit upon whose weal depend and rest

The lives of many. The cease of majesty

Dies not alone, but, like a gulf doth draw 16

What’s near it with it; it is a massy wheel,

Fix’d on the summit of the highest mount,

To whose huge spokes ten thousand lesser things

Are mortis’d and adjoin’d; which, when it falls, 20

Each small annexment, petty consequence,

Attends the boisterous ruin. Never alone

Did the king sigh, but with a general groan.

King.

Arm you, I pray you, to this speedy voyage; 24

For we will fetters put upon this fear,

Which now goes too free-footed.

Ros.

We will haste us.

Guil.

We will haste us.

[Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.

Enter Polonius.

Pol.

My lord, he’s going to his mother’s closet:

Behind the arras I’ll convey myself 28

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 audience than a mother,

Since nature makes them partial, should o’erhear 32

The speech, of vantage. Fare you well, my liege:

I’ll call upon you ere you go to bed

And tell you what I know.

King.

Thanks, dear my lord.

[Exit Polonius.

O! my offence is rank, it smells to heaven; 36

It hath the primal eldest curse upon’t;

A brother’s murder! Pray can I not,

Though inclination be as sharp as will:

My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent; 40

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, 44

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, 48

To be forestalled, ere we come to fall,

Or pardon’d, being down? Then, I’ll look up;

My fault is past. But, O! what form of prayer

Can serve my turn? ‘Forgive me my foul murder?’ 52

That cannot be; since I am still possess’d

Of those effects for which I did the murder,

My crown, mine own ambition, and my queen.

May one be pardon’d and retain the offence? 56

In the corrupted currents of this world

Offence’s gilded hand may shove by justice,

And oft ’tis seen the wicked prise itself

Buys out the law; but ’tis not so above; 60

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? 65

Yet what can it, when one can not repent?

O wretched state! O bosom black as death!

O limed soul, that struggling to be free 68

Art more engaged! 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.

[Retires and kneels.

Enter Hamlet.

Ham.

Now might I do it pat, now he is praying; 73

And now I’ll do’t: and so he goes to heaven;

And so am I reveng’d. That would be scann’d:

A villain kills my father; and for that, 76

I, his sole son, do this same villain send

To heaven.

Why, this is hire and salary, not revenge.

He took my father grossly, full of bread, 80

With all his crimes broad blown, as flush 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, 85

When he is fit and season’d for his passage?

No.

Up, sword, and know thou a more horrid hent; 88

When he is drunk asleep, or in his rage,

Or in the incestuous pleasure of his bed,

At gaming, swearing, or about some act

That has no relish of salvation in’t; 92

Then trip him, that his heels may kick at heaven,

And that his soul may be as damn’d and black

As hell, whereto it goes. My mother stays:

This physic but prolongs thy sickly days.

[Exit.

The King rises and advances.

King.

My words fly up, my thoughts remain below: 97

Words without thoughts never to heaven go.

[Exit.

Scene IV.— The Queen’s Apartment.

Enter Queen and Polonius.

Pol.

He will come straight. Look you lay home to him;

Tell him his pranks have been too broad to bear with,

And that your Grace hath screen’d and stood between

Much heat and him. I’ll silence me e’en here. 4

Pray you, be round with him.

Ham.

[Within.] Mother, mother, mother!

Queen.

I’ll warrant you;

Have you forgot me?

Ham.

No, by the rood, not so:

You are the queen, your husband’s brother’s wife;

And,—would it were not so!—you are my mother. 16

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. 20

Queen.

What wilt thou do? thou wilt not murder me?

Help, help, ho!

Pol.

[Behind.] What, ho! help! help! help!

Ham.

[Draws.] How now! a rat? Dead, for a ducat, dead!

[Makes a pass through the arras.

Pol.

[Behind.] O! I am slain. 24

Queen

O me! what hast thou done?

Ham.

Nay, I know not: is it the king?

Queen.

O! what a rash and bloody deed is this!

Ham.

A bloody deed! almost as bad, good mother, 28

As kill a king, and marry with his brother.

Queen.

As kill a king!

Ham.

Ay, lady, ’twas my word.

[Lifts up the arras and discovers Polonius.

[To Polonius.] Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell!

I took thee for thy better; take thy fortune; 32

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, 36

If damned custom have not brass’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.

Such an act 40

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; O! such a deed 45

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, 49

With tristful visage, as against the doom,

Is thought-sick at the act.

Queen.

Ay me! what act,

That roars so loud and thunders in the index?

Ham.

Look here, upon this picture, and on this; 53

The counterfeit presentment of two brothers.

See, what a grace was seated on this brow;

Hyperion’s curls, the front of Jove himself, 56

An eye like Mars, to threaten and command,

A station like the herald Mercury

New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill,

A combination and a form indeed, 60

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, 64

Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes?

Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed,

And batten on this moor? Ha! have you eyes?

You cannot call it love, for at your age 68

The hey-day in the blood is tame, it’s humble,

And waits upon the judgment; and what judgment

Would step from this to this? Sense, sure, you have,

Else could you not have motion; but sure, that sense 72

Is apoplex’d; for madness would not err,

Nor sense to ecstasy was ne’er so thrall’d

But it reserv’d some quantity of choice, 75

To serve in such a difference. What devil was ’t

That thus hath comen’d you 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 80

Could not so mope.

O shame! where is thy blush? Rebellious hell,

If thou canst mutine in a matron’s bones,

To flaming youth let virtue be as wax, 84

And melt in her own fire: proclaim no shame

When the compulsive ardour gives the charge,

Since first itself as actively doth burn,

And reason panders will.

Queen.

O Hamlet! speak no more;

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?

O! say.

Ghost.

Do not forget: this visitation 109

Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose.

But, look! amazement on thy mother sits;

O! step between her and her fighting soul; 112

Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works:

Speak 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 116

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, 120

Starts up and stands an end. O 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! 124

His form and cause conjoin’d, preaching to stones,

Would make them capable. Do not look upon me;

Lest with this piteous action you convert

My stern effects: then what I have to do 128

Why, look you there! look, how it steals away; 133

My father, in his habit as he liv’d;

Look! where he goes, even now, out at the portal.

[Exit Ghost.

Queen.

This is the very coinage of your brain: 136

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 141

That I have utter’d: 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, 145

That not your trespass but my madness speaks;

It will but skin and film the ulcerous place,

Whiles rank corruption, mining all within, 148

Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven;

Repent what’s past; avoid what is to come;

And do not spread the compost on the weeds

To make them ranker. Forgive me this my virtue; 152

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. 156

Ham.

O! throw away the worser part of it,

And live the purer with the other half.

Good night; but go not to mine uncle’s bed;

Assume a virtue, if you have it not. 160

That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat,

Of habits devil, is angel yet in this,

That to the use of actions fair and good

He likewise gives a frock or livery, 164

That aptly is put on. Refrain 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 ev’n the devil or throw him out 169

With wondrous potency. Once more, goodnight:

And when you are desirous to be bless’d,

I’ll blessing beg of you. For this same lord, 172

[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.

I will bestow him, and will answer well 176

The 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? 180

Ham.

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, 184

Or paddling in your neck with his damn’d fingers,

Make you to ravel all this matter out,

That I essentially am not in madness,

But mad in craft. ’Twere good you let him know; 188

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, 192

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. 196

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. 201

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 marshal me to knavery. Let it work; 205

For ’tis the sport to have the enginer

Hoist with his own petar: and it shall go hard

But I will delve one yard below their mines, 208

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. 212

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. 216

Good-night, mother.

[Exeunt severally; Hamlet dragging in the body of Polonius.

ACT IV.

Scene I.— A Room in the Castle.

Enter King, Queen, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern.

King.

There’s matter in these sighs, these profound heaves:

You must translate; ’tis fit we understand them.

Where is your son?

Queen.

[To Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.] Bestow this place on us a little while. 4

[Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.

Ah! my good lord, what have I seen to-night.

King.

What, Gertrude? How does Hamlet?

Queen.

Mad as the sea and wind, when both contend

Which is the mightier. In his lawless fit, 8

Behind the arras hearing something stir,

Whips out his rapier, cries, ‘A rat! a rat!’

And, in his brainish apprehension, kills

The unseen good old man.

King.

O heavy deed! 12

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 17

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, 20

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; 24

O’er whom his very madness, like some ore

Among a mineral of metals base,

Shows itself pure: he weeps for what is done.

King.

O Gertrude! come away. 28

The sun no sooner shall the mountains touch

But we will ship him hence; and this vile deed

We must, with all our majesty and skill,

Both countenance and excuse. Ho! Guildenstern! 32

Re-enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.

Friends both, go join you with some further aid:

Hamlet in madness hath Polonius slain,

And from his mother’s closet hath he dragg’d him:

Go seek him out; speak fair, and bring the body

Into the chapel. I pray you, haste in this. 37

[Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.

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,

Whose whisper o’er the world’s diameter, 41

As level as the cannon to his blank

Transports his poison’d shot, may miss our name,

Compounded it with dust, whereto ’tis kin.

Ros.

Tell us where ’tis, that we may take it thence

Scene III.— Another Room in the Same.

Enter King, attended.

King.

I have sent to seek him, and to find the body.

How dangerous is it that this man goes loose!

Yet must not we put the strong law on him:

He’s lov’d of the distracted multitude, 4

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 8

Deliberate pause: diseases desperate grown

By desperate appliance are reliev’d,

Or not at all.

Enter Rosencrantz.

How now! what hath befall’n?

Ros.

Where the dead body is bestow’d, my lord, 12

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. 16

He will stay till you come.

[Exeunt Attendants.

King.

Hamlet, this deed, for thine especial safety,

Which we do tender, as we dearly grieve 44

For that which thou hast done, must send thee hence

With fiery quickness: therefore prepare thyself;

The bark is ready, and the wind at help,

The associates tend, and every thing is bent 48

King.

Follow him at foot; tempt him with speed aboard: 57

Delay it not, I’ll have him hence to-night.

Away! for every thing is seal’d and done

That else leans on the affair: pray you, make haste. 60

[Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.

And, England, if my love thou hold’st at aught,—

As my great power thereof may give thee sense,

Since yet thy cicatrice looks raw and red

After the Danish sword, and thy free awe 64

Pays homage to us,—thou mayst not coldly set

Our sovereign process, which imports at full,

By letters conjuring to that effect,

The present death of Hamlet. Do it, England;

For like the hectic in my blood he rages, 69

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 Fortinbras, a Captain, and Soldiers, marching.

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. 4

Who commands them, sir?

Cap.

The nephew to old Norway, Fortinbras.

Ham.

Goes it against the main of Poland, sir,

Or for some frontier? 16

Cap.

Truly to speak, and with no addition,

We go to gain a little patch of ground

That hath in it no profit but the name.

To pay five ducats, five, I would not farm it; 20

Nor will it yield to Norway or the Pole

A ranker rate, should it be sold in fee.

Ham.

Why, then the Polack never will defend it.

Cap.

Yes, ’tis already garrison’d. 24

Ham.

Two thousand souls and twenty thousand ducats

Will not debate the question of this straw:

This is the imposthume of much wealth and peace,

That inward breaks, and shows no cause without 28

Why the man dies. I humbly thank you, sir.

Cap.

God be wi’ you, sir.

[Exit.

Ros.

Will ’t please you go, my lord?

Ham.

I’ll be with you straight. Go a little before.

[Exeunt all except Hamlet.

How all occasions do inform against me, 32

And spur my dull revenge! What is a man,

If his chief good and market of his time

Be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more.

Sure he that made us with such large discourse, 36

Looking before and after, gave us not

That capability and god-like reason

To fust in us unus’d. Now, whe’r it be

Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple 40

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;’ 44

Sith I have cause and will and strength and means

To do ’t. Examples gross as earth exhort me:

Witness this army of such mass and charge

Led by a delicate and tender prince, 48

Whose spirit with divine ambition puff’d

Makes mouths at the invisible event,

Exposing what is mortal and unsure

To all that fortune, death and danger dare, 52

Even for an egg-shell. Rightly to be great

Is not to stir without great argument,

But greatly to find quarrel in a straw

When honour’s at the stake. How stand I then,

That have a father kill’d, a mother stain’d, 57

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, 61

Go to their graves like beds, fight for a plot

Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause,

Which is not tomb enough and continent 64

To hide the slaim? O! from this time forth,

My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth!

[Exit.

Scene V.— Elsinore. A Room in the Castle.

Enter Queen, Horatio, and a Gentleman.

Queen.

I will not speak with her.

Gent.

She is importunate, indeed distract:

Her mood will needs be pitied.

Queen.

What would she have?

Gent.

She speaks much of her father; says she hears 4

There’s tricks i’ the world; and hems, and beats her heart;

Spurns enviously at straws; speaks things in doubt,

That carry but half sense: her speech is nothing,

Yet the unshaped use of it doth move 8

The hearers to collection; they aim at it,

And botch the words up fit to their own thoughts;

Which, as her winks, and nods, and gestures yield them,

Indeed would make one think there might be thought, 12

Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily.

Hor

’Twere good she were spoken with, for she may strew

Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds.

Queen.

Let her come in.

[Exit Gentleman.

To my sick soul, as sin’s true nature is, 17

Each toy seems prologue to some great amiss:

So full of artless jealousy is guilt,

It spills itself in fearing to be spilt. 20

Re-enter Gentleman, with Ophelia.

Oph.

Where is the beauteous majesty of Denmark?

Queen.

How now, Ophelia!

Oph.

How should I your true love know

From another one? 24

By his cockle hat and staff,

And his sandal shoon.

Queen.

Alas! sweet lady, what imports this song?

Oph.

Say you? nay, pray you, mark. 28

He is dead and gone, lady,

He is dead and gone;

At his head a grass-green turf;

At his heals a stone. 32

O, ho!

Queen.

Nay, but Ophelia,—

Oph.

Pray you, mark.

White his shroud as the mountain snow,— 36

Enter King.

Queen.

Alas! look here, my lord.

Oph.

Larded with sweet flowers;

Which bewept to the grave did go

With true-love showers. 40

King.

How do you, pretty lady?

Oph.

All from her father’s death. O Gertrude, Gertrude!

When sorrows come, they come not single spies,

But in battalions. First, her father slain;

Next, your son gone; but he most violent author 80

Of his own just remove: the people muddied,

Thick and unwholesome in their thoughts and whispers,

For good Polonius’ death; and we have done but greenly,

In hugger-mugger to inter him: poor Ophelia

Divided from herself and her fair judgment, 85

Without the which we are pictures, or mere beasts:

Last, and as much containing as all these,

Her brother is in secret come from France, 88

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, 92

Will nothing stick our person to arraign

In ear and ear. O my dear Gertrude! this,

Like to a murdering-piece, in many places

Gives me superfluous death.

[A noise within.

Queen.

Alack! what noise is this?

Enter a Gentleman.

King.

Where are my Switzers? Let them guard the door. 97

What is the matter?

Gen.

Save yourself, my lord;

The ocean, overpeering of his list,

Eats not the flats with more impetuous haste

Than young Laertes, in a riotous head, 101

O’erbears your officers. The rabble call him lord;

And, as the world were now but to begin,

Antiquity forgot, custom not known, 104

The ratifiers and props of every word,

They cry, ‘Choose we; Laertes shall be king!’

Caps, hands, and tongues, applaud it to the clouds,

‘Laertes shall be king, Laertes king!’ 108

Queen.

How cheerfully on the false trail they cry!

O! this is counter, you false Danish dogs!

King.

The doors are broke.

[Noise within.

Enter Laertes, armed; Danes following.

Laer.

Where is the king? Sirs, stand you all without. 112

Danes.

No, let’s come in.

Laer.

I pray you, give me leave.

Danes.

We will, we will.

[They retire without the door.

Laer.

I thank you: keep the door. O thou vile king!

Give me my father.

Queen.

Calmly, good Laertes. 116

Laer.

That drop of blood that’s calm proclaims me bastard,

Cries cuckold to my father, brands the harlot

Even here, between the chaste unsmirched brow

Of my true mother.

King.

What is the cause, Laertes,

That thy rebellion looks so giant-like? 121

Let him go, Gertrude; do not fear our person:

There’s such divinity doth hedge a king,

That treason can but peep to what it would,

Acts little of his will. Tell me, Laertes, 125

Why thou art thus incens’d. Let him go, Gertrude.

Speak, man.

Laer.

Where is my father?

King.

Dead.

Queen.

But not by him.

King.

Let him demand his fill. 128

Laer.

How came he dead? I’ll not be juggled with.

To hell, allegiance! vows, to the blackest devil!

Conscience and grace, to the profoundest pit!

I dare damnation. To this point I stand, 132

Will you know them then?

Laer.

To his good friends thus wide I’ll ope my arms; 144

And like the kind life-rendering pelican,

Repast them with my blood.

King.

Why, now you speak

Like a good child and a true gentleman.

That I am guiltless of your father’s death, 148

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.

Laer.

How now! what noise is that? 152

Re-enter Ophelia.

O heat, dry up my brains! tears seven times salt,

Burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye;

By heaven, thy madness shall be paid by weight,

Till our scale turn the beam. O rose of May!

Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia! 157

O heavens! is’t possible a young maid’s wits

Should be as mortal as an old man’s life?

Nature is fine in love, and where ’tis fine 160

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; 164

And in his grave rain’d many a tear;—

Fare you well, my dove!

Laer.

Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade revenge,

It could not move thus. 168

Oph.

You must sing, a-down a-down,

And you call him a-down-a.

O how the wheel becomes it! It is the false steward that stole his master’s daughter. 172

Laer.

This nothing’s more than matter.

Oph.

There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance; brance; pray, love, remember: and there is pansies, that’s for thoughts. 176

Hamlet, by Henrietta Rae.

Laer.

A document in madness, thoughts and remembrance fitted.

Oph.

There’s fennel for you, and columbines; there’s rue for you; and here’s some for me; we may call it herb of grace o’ Sundays. O! 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,— 185

For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy.

Laer.

Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself,

She turns to favour and to prettiness. 188

Oph.

And will he not come again?

And will he not come again?

No, no, he is dead;

Go to thy death-bed, 192

He never will come again.

His beard was as white as snow

All fiaxen was his poll,

He is gone, he is gone, 196

And we cast away moan:

God ha’ mercy on his soul!

And of all Christian souls! I pray God. God be wi’ ye!

[Exit.

Laer.

Do you see this, O God? 201

King.

Laertes, I must common with your grief,

Or you deny me right. Go but apart,

Make choice of whom your wisest friends you will, 204

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, 208

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.

Laer.

Let this be so: 212

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; 217

And where the offence is let the great axe fall.

I pray you go with me.

[Exeunt.

Scene VI.— Another Room in the Same.

Enter Horatio and a Servant.

Hor.

What are they that would speak with me?

Serv.

Sailors, sir: they say, they have letters for you.

Hor.

Let them come in.

[Exit Servant.

I do not know from what part of the world 4

I should be greeted, if not from Lord Hamlet.

Enter Sailors.

First Sail.

God bless you, sir.

Hor.

Let him bless thee too.

Sec. Sail.

He shall, sir, an’t please him. There’s a letter for you, sir;—it comes from the ambassador that was bound for England;—if your name be Horatio, as I am let to know it is. 12

Hor.

Horatio, when thou shalt have overlooked this, give these fellows some means to the king: they have letters for him. Ere we were two days old at sea, a pirate of very war-like appointment gave us chase. Finding ourselves 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 knowest thine, 32

Hamlet.

Come, I will give you way for these your letters;

And do ’t the speedier, that you may direct me

To him from whom you brought them.

[Exeunt.

Scene VII.— Another Room in the Same.

Enter King and Laertes.

King.

Now must your conscience my acquittance seal,

And you must put me in your heart for friend,

Sith you have heard, and with a knowing ear,

That he which hath your noble father slain 4

Pursu’d my life.

Laer.

It well appears: but tell me

Why you proceeded not against these feats,

So crimeful and so capital in nature,

As by your safety, wisdom, all things else, 8

You mainly were stirr’d up.

King.

O! for two special reasons;

Which may to you, perhaps, seem much unsinew’d,

But yet to me they are strong. The queen his mother

Lives almost by his looks, and for myself,— 12

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, 16

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,

Would, like the spring that turneth wood to stone, 20

Convert his gyves to graces; so that my arrows,

Too slightly timber’d for so loud a wind,

Laertes, you shall hear them.

Leave us.

[Exit Messenger.

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? 49

Or is it some abuse and no such thing?

Laer.

Know you the hand?

King.

’Tis Hamlet’s character. ‘Naked,’

And in a postscript here, he says, ‘alone.’ 52

Can you advise me?

Laer.

I’m lost in it, my lord. But let him come:

It warms the very sickness in my heart,

That I shall live and tell him to his teeth, 56

‘Thus diddest thou.’

King.

If it be so, Laertes,

As how should it be so? how otherwise?

Will you be rul’d by me?

Laer.

Ay, my lord;

So you will not o’er-rule me to a peace. 60

King.

To thine own peace. If he be now return’d,

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, 64

Under the which he shall not choose but fall;

And for his death no wind of blame shall breathe,

But even his mother shall uncharge the practice

And call it accident.

Laer.

My lord, I will be rul’d; 68

The rather, if you could devise it so

That I might be the organ.

King.

It falls right.

You have been talk’d of since your travel much,

And that in Hamlet’s hearing, for a quality 72

Wherein, they say, you shine; your sum of parts

Did not together pluck such envy from him

As did that one, and that, in my regard,

Of the unworthiest siege.

Laer.

What part is that, my lord? 76

King.

A very riband in the cap of youth,

Yet needful too; for youth no less becomes

The light and careless livery that it wears

Than settled age his sables and his weeds, 80

Importing health and graveness. Two months since

Here was a gentleman of Normandy:

I’ve seen myself, and serv’d against, the French,

And they can well on horseback; but this gallant 84

Had witchcraft in ’t, he grew unto his seat,

And to such wondrous doing brought his horse,

As he had been incorps’d and demi-natur’d

With the brave beast; so far he topp’d my thought, 88

That I, in forgery of shapes and tricks,

King.

He made confession of you,

And gave you such a masterly report 96

For art and exercise in your defence,

And for your rapier most especially,

That he cried out, ’twould be a sight indeed

If one could match you; the scrimers of their nation, 100

He swore, had neither motion, guard, nor eye,

If you oppos’d them. Sir, this report of his

Did Hamlet so envenom with his envy

That he could nothing do but wish and beg 104

Your sudden coming o’er, to play with him.

Now, out of this,—

Laer.

What out of this, my lord?

King.

Laertes, was your father dear to you?

Or are you like the painting of a sorrow, 108

A face without a heart?

Laer.

Why ask you this?

King.

Not that I think you did not love your father,

But that I know love is begun by time,

And that I see, in passages of proof, 112

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, 116

For goodness, growing to a plurisy,

Dies in his own too-much. That we would do,

We should do when we would, for this ‘would’ changes,

And hath abatements and delays as many 120

As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents;

And then this ‘should’ is like a spendthrift sigh,

That hurts by easing. But, to the quick o’ the ulcer;

Hamlet comes back; what would you undertake

To show yourself your father’s son in deed 125

More than in words?

Laer.

To cut his throat i’ the church.

King.

No place, indeed, should murder sanctuarize;

Revenge should have no bounds. But, good Laertes, 128

Will you do this, keep close within your chamber.

Hamlet return’d shall know you are come home;

We’ll put on those shall praise your excellence,

And set a double varnish on the fame 132

The Frenchman gave you, bring you, in fine, together,

And wager on your heads: he, being remise,

Most generous and free from all contriving,

Will not peruse the foils; so that, with ease 136

Or with a little shuffling, you may choose

A sword unbated, and, in a pass of practice

Requite him for your father.

Laer.

I will do ’t;

And, for that purpose, I’ll anoint my sword. 140

I bought an unction of a mountebank,

So mortal that, but dip a knife in it,

Where it draws blood no cataplasm so rare,

Collected from all simples that have virtue 144

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 further think of this; 148

Weigh what convenience both of time and means

May fit us to our shape. If this should fail,

And that our drift look through our bad performance 151

’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 cunnings:

I ha’t: 156

When in your motion you are hot and dry,—

As make your bouts more violent to that end,—

And that he calls for drink, I’ll have prepar’d him

A chalice for the nonce, whereon but sipping,

If he by chance escape your venom’d stuck, 161

Our purpose may hold there. But stay! what noise?

Enter Queen.

How now, sweet queen!

Queen.

One woe doth tread upon another’s heel, 164

So fast they follow: your sister’s drown’d, Laertes.

Laer.

Drown’d! O, where?

Queen.

There is a willow grows aslant a brook,

That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream;

There with fantastic garlands did she come, 169

Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples,

That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,

But our cold maids do dead men’s fingers call them: 172

There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds

Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke,

When down her weedy trophies and herself

Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide, 176

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 indu’d 180

Unto that element; but long it could not be

Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,

Pull’d the poor wretch from her melodious lay

To muddy death.

Laer.

Alas! then, she is drown’d? 184

Queen.

Drown’d, drown’d.

Laer.

Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelis,

And therefore I forbid my tears; but yet

It is our trick, nature her custom holds, 188

Let shame say what it will; when these are gone

The woman will be out. Adieu, my lord!

I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze,

But that this folly douts it.

[Exit.

King.

Let’s follow, Gertrude.

How much I had to do to calm his rage! 193

Now fear I this will give it start again;

Therefore let’s follow.

[Exeunt.

I’ll put another question to thee; if thou answerest me not to the purpose, confess thyself—

Sec. Clo.

Go to. 43

First Clo.

What is he that builds stronger than either the mason, the shipwright, or the carpenter?

Sec. Clo.

The gallows-maker; for that frame outlives a thousand tenants. 48

First Clo.

I like thy wit well, in good faith; the gallows does well, but how does it well? it does well to those that do ill; now thou dost ill to say the gallows is built stronger than the church: argal, the gallows may do well to thee.

First 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 Second Clown.

First Clown digs, and sings.

In youth, when I did love, did love,

Methought it was very sweet, 68

To contract, O! the time, for-a my behove,

O! methought there was nothing meet.

Ham.

Has this fellow no feeling of his business, that he sings at grave-making? 72

Hor.

Custom hath made it in him a property of easiness.

Ham.

’Tis e’en so; the hand of little employment hath the daintier sense. 76

First Clo.

But age, with his stealing steps,

Hath claw’d me in his clutch,

And hath shipped me intil the land,

As if I had never been such. 80

A pick-axe, and a spade, a spade, 100

For and a shrouding sheet;

O! a pit of clay for to be made

For such a guest is meet.

Mine, sir,

O! a pit of clay for to be made 128

For such a guest is meet.

[Puts down the skull.

Hor.

E’en so, my lord.

Ham.

To what base uses we may return, Horatio! Why may not imagination trace the noble dust of Alexander, till he find it stopping a bung-hole? 225

Hor.

’Twere to consider too curiously, to consider so.

Ham.

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?

Imperious Cæsar, dead and turn’d to clay,

Might stop a hole to keep the wind away: 236

O! that that earth, which kept the world in awe,

Should patch a wall to expal the winter’s flaw.

But soft! but soft! aside: here comes the king.

Enter Priests, &c., in procession: the Corpse of Ophelia, Laertes and Mourners following; King, Queen, their Trains, &c.

The queen, the courtiers: who is that they follow? 240

And with such maimed rites? This doth betoken

The corse they follow did with desperate hand

Fordo its own life; ’twas of some estate.

Couch we awhile, and mark. 244

[Retiring with Horatio.

Laer.

What ceremony else?

Ham.

That is Laertes,

A very noble youth: mark.

Laer.

What ceremony else?

First Priest.

Her obsequies have been as far enlarg’d 248

As we have warrantise: her death was doubtful,

And, but that great command o’ersways the order,

She should in ground unsanctified have lodg’d

Till the last trumpet; for charitable prayers, 252

Shards, flints, and pebbles should be thrown on her;

Yet here she is allow’d her virgin crants,

Her maiden strewments, and the bringing home

Of bell and burial. 256

Laer.

Must there no more be done?

First Priest.

No more be done:

We should profane the service of the dead,

To sing a requiem, and such rest to her

As to peace-parted souls.

Laer.

Lay her i’ the earth; 260

And from her fair and unpolluted flesh

May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest,

A ministering angel shall my sister be,

When thou liest howling.

Ham.

What! the fair Ophelia? 264

Queen.

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 have strew’d thy grave.

Laer.

O! treble woe 268

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.

[Leaps into the grave.

Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead,

Till of this flat a mountain you have made, 274

To o’er-top old Pelion or the skyish head

Of blue Olympus.

Ham.

[Advancing.] What is he whose grief

Bears such an emphasis? whose phrase of sorrow 277

Conjures the wandering stars, and makes them stand

Like wonder-wounded hearers? this is I,

Hamlet the Dane.

[Leaps into the grave.

Laer.

The devil take thy soul! 280

[Grapples with him.

Ham.

Thou pray’st not well.

I prithee, take thy fingers from my throat;

For though I am not splenetive and rash

Yet have I in me something dangerous, 284

Which let thy wisdom fear. Away thy hand!

King.

Pluck them asunder.

Queen.

Hamlet! Hamlet!

All.

Gentlemen,—

Hor.

Good my lord, be quiet.

[The Attendants part them, and they come out of the grave.

Ham.

Why, I will fight with him upon this theme 288

Until my eyelids will no longer wag.

Queen.

O my son! what theme?

Ham.

I lov’d Ophelia: forty thousand brothers

Could not, with all their quantity of love, 292

Make up my sum. What wilt thou do for her?

King.

O! he is mad, Laertes.

Queen.

For love of God, forbear him.

Ham.

’Swounds, show me what thou’lt do:

Woo’t weep? woo’t fight? woo’t fast? woo’t tear thyself? 297

Woo’t drink up eisel? eat a crocodile?

I’ll do’t. Dost thou come here to whine?

To outface me with leaping in her grave? 300

Be buried quick with her, and so will I:

And, if thou prate of mountains, let them throw

Millions of acres on us, till our ground,

Singeing his pate against the burning zone, 304

Make Ossa like a wart! Nay, an thou’lt mouth,

I’ll rant as well as thou.

Queen.

This is mere madness:

And thus a while the fit will work on him;

Anon, as patient as the female dove, 308

When that her golden couplets are disclos’d,

His silence will 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; 312

Let Hercules himself do what he may,

The cat will mew and dog will have his day.

[Exit.

King.

I pray you, good Horatio, wait upon him.

[Exit Horatio.

[To Laertes.] Strengthen your patience in our last night’s speech; 316

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; 320

Till then, in patience our proceeding be.

[Exeunt.

Scene II.— A Hall in the Castle.

Enter Hamlet and Horatio.

Ham.

So much for this, sir: now shall you see the other;

You do remember all the circumstance?

Hor.

Remember it, my lord?

Hem.

Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting 4

That would not let me sleep; methought I lay

Worse than the mutines in the bilboes. Rashly,—

And prais’d be rashness for it, let us know,

Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well 8

When our deep plots do pall; and that should teach us

There’s a divinity that shapes our ends,

Rough-hew them how we will.

Hor.

That is most certain.

Ham.

Up from my cabin, 12

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— 16

My fears forgetting manners—to unseal

Their grand commission; where I found, Horatio,

O royal knavery! an exact command,

Larded with many several sorts of reasons 20

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, 24

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.

I beseech you. 28

Ham.

Being thus be-netted round with villanies,—

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; 32

I once did hold it, as our statists do,

A baseness to write fair, and labour’d much

How to forget that learning; but, sir, now

It did me yeoman’s service. Wilt thou know 36

The effect 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 like the palm should flourish, 40

As peace should still her wheaten garland wear,

And stand a comma ’tween their amities,

And many such-like ‘As’es of great charge,

That, on the view and knowing of these contents, 44

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.

Why, even in that was heaven ordinant. 48

I had my father’s signet in my purse,

It must be shortly known to him from England

What is the issue of the business there. 72

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; 76

For, by the image of my cause, I see

The portraiture of his: I’ll count his favours:

But, sure, the bravery of his grief did put me

Into a towering passion.

Hor.

Peace! who comes here? 80

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 trial, the bubbles are out. 202

She well instructs me.

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 betimes? Let be. 238

Enter King, Queen, Laertes, Lords, Osric, and Attendants with foils, &c.

King.

Come, Hamlet, come, and take this hand from me.

[The King puts the hand of Laertes into that of Hamlet.

Ham.

Give me your pardon, sir; I’ve 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 sore distraction. What I have done, 244

That might your nature, honour and exception

Roughly awake, I here proclaim was madness.

Was’t Hamlet wrong’d Laertes? Never Hamlet:

If Hamlet from himself be ta’en away, 248

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; 252

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, 257

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 260

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, 265

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. 268

Ham.

I’ll be your foil, Laertes; in mine ignorance

Your skill shall, like a star i’ the darkest night,

Stick fiery off indeed.

Laer.

You mock me, sir.

Ham.

No, by this hand. 272

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 is 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?

Osr.

Ay, my good lord. 280

[They prepare to play.

King.

Set me the stoups of wine upon that table.

If Hamlet give the first or second hit,

Or quit in answer of the third exchange,

Let all the battlements their ordnance fire; 284

The king shall drink to Hamlet’s better breath;

And in the cup an union shall he throw,

Richer than that which four successive kings

In Denmark’s crown have worn. Give me the cups; 288

And let the kettle to the trumpet speak,

The trumpet to the cannoneer without,

The cannons to the heavens, the heavens to earth,

‘Now the king drinks to Hamlet!’ Come, begin;

And you, the judges, bear a wary eye. 293

Ham.

Come on, sir.

Laer.

Come, my lord.

[They play.

Ham.

One.

Laer.

No.

Ham.

Judgment.

Osr.

A hit, a very palpable hit.

Laer.

Well; again.

King.

Stay; give me drink. Hamlet, this pearl is thine; 296

Here’s to thy health. Give him the cup.

[Trumpets sound; and cannon shot off within.

Ham.

King.

I do not think ’t

Laer.

[Aside.] And yet ’tis almost ’gainst my conscience.

Ham.

Come, for the third, Laertes. You but dally;

I pray you, pass with your best violence. 312

I am afeard you make a wanton of me.

Laer.

Say you so? come on.

[They play

Osr.

Nothing, neither way.

Laer.

Have at you now.

[Laertes wounds Hamlet; then, in scuffling, they change rapiers, and Hamlet wounds Laertes.

King.

Part 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 it, Laertes?

Laer.

Why, as a woodcock to mine own springe, Osric; 320

I am justly kill’d with mine own treachery.

Ham.

How does the queen?

King.

She swounds to see them bleed.

Queen.

No, no, the drink, the drink,—O my dear Hamlet! 323

The drink, the drink; I am poison’d.

[Dies.

Ham.

O villany! Ho! let the door be lock’d:

Treachery! seek it out.

[Laertes falls.

Laer.

It is here, Hamlet. Hamlet, thou art slain;

No medicine in the world can do thee good; 328

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, 332

Never to rise again. Thy mother’s poison’d.

I can no more. The king, the king’s to blame.

Ham.

The point envenom’d tool—.

Then, venom, to thy work.

[Stabs the King.

All.

Treason! treason! 337

King.

O! yet defend me, friends; I am but hurt.

Ham.

Here, thou incestuous, murderous, damned Dane,

Drink off this potion;—is thy union here? 340

Follow my mother.

[King dies.

Laer.

He is justly serv’d;

It is a poison temper’d by himself.

Exchange forgiveness with me, noble 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. 346

I am dead, Horatio. Wretched queen, adieu!

You that look pale and tremble at this chance,

That are but mutes or audience to this act, 349

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; 352

Thou liv’st; report me and my cause aright

To the unsatisfied.

Hor.

Never believe it;

I am more an antique Roman than a Dane:

Here’s yet some liquor left.

Ham.

As thou’rt a man, 356

Give me the cup: let go; by heaven, I’ll have ’t.

O God! Horatio, what a wounded name,

Things standing thus unknown, shall live behind me.

If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart, 360

Absent thee from felicity awhile,

And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain,

To tell my story.

[March afar off, and shot within.

What war-like noise is this?

Osr.

Young Fortinbras, with conquest come from Poland, 364

To the ambassadors of England gives

This war-like volley.

Ham.

O! I die, Horatio;

The potent poison quite o’er-crows my spirit:

I cannot live to hear the news from England, 368

But I do prophesy the election lights

On Fortinbras: he has my dying voice;

So tell him, with the occurrents, more and less,

Which have solicited—The rest is silence.

[Dies.

Hor.

Now cracks a noble heart. Good-night, sweet prince, 373

And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!

Why does the drum come hither?

[March within.

Enter Fortinbras, the English Ambassadors, and Others.

Fort.

Where is this sight?

Hor.

What is it ye would see? 376

If aught of woe or wonder, cease your search.

Fort.

This quarry cries on havoc. O proud death!

What feast is toward in thine eternal cell,

That thou so many princes at a shot 380

So bloodily hast struck?

First Amb.

The sight is dismal;

And our affairs from England come too late:

The ears are senseless that should give us hearing,

To tell him his commandment is fulfill’d, 384

That Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead.

Where should we have our thanks?

Hor.

Not from his mouth,

Had it the ability of life to thank you: 387

He never gave commandment for their death.

But since, so jump upon this bloody question,

You from the Polack wars, and you from England,

Are here arriv’d, give order that these bodies

High on a stage be placed to the view; 392

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; 396

Of deaths put on by cunning and forc’d cause,

And, in this upshot, purposes mistook

Fall’n on the inventors’ heads; all this can I

Truly deliver.

Fort.

Let us haste to hear it, 400

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. 404

Hor.

Of that I shall have also cause to speak,

And from his mouth whose voice will draw on more:

But let this same be presently perform’d,

Even while men’s minds are wild, lest more mischance 408

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, 412

The soldiers’ music and the rites of war

Speak loudly for him.

Take up the bodies: such a sight as this

Becomes the field, but here shows much amiss.

Go, bid the soldiers shoot. 417

[A dead march. Exeunt, bearing off the bodies; after which a peal of ordnance is shot off.