Pol. Good madam, stay a while; I will be faith- | Pol. Away, I do beseech you, both away;

ful.

King.

Receiv'd his love?

Pol.

But how hath she

What do you think of me?
King. As of a man faithful and honourable.
Pol. I would fain prove so. But what might|
you think,

When I had seen this hot love on the wing
(As I perceiv'd it, I must tell you that,
Before my daughter told me,) what might you,
Or my dear majesty your queen here, think,
If I had play'd the desk, or table book;
Or given my heart a working, 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 did I bespeak;
Lord Hamlet is a prince out of thy sphere;
This must not be and then I precepts gave her,
That she should lock herself from his resort,
Admit no messengers, receive no tokens.
Which done, she took the fruits of my advice;
And he, repulsed (a short tale to make,)
Fell into a sadness; then into a fast;
Thence to a watch; thence into a weakness;
Thence to a lightness; and, by this declension,
Into the madness wherein now he raves,
And all we mourn for.
King.
Do you think, 'tis this?
Queen. It may be, very likely.
Pol. Hath there been such a time (I'd fain know
that,)

That I have positively said, 'Tis so,
When it prov'd otherwise?

King.

Not that I know.

Pol. Take this from this, if this be otherwise :
[Pointing to his head and shoulder.

If circumstances lead me, I will find
Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed
Within the centre.

King.

Pol. You know, together, Here in the lobby.

Queen.

How may we try it further?

sometimes he walks four hours

So he does, indeed.

Pol. At such a time I'll loose my daughter to

him :

Be you and I behind an arras2 then;

Mark the encounter: if he love her not,

And be not from his reason fallen thereon,
Let me be no assistant for a state,

But keep a farm, and carters.

King.

We will try it.

Enter Hamlet, reading.

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

(1) Roundly, without reserve. (3) Tapestry. (3) Accost. (4) Understanding.

I'll board' him presently :-0, give me leave.-
[Exeunt King, Queen, and Attendants.

How does my good Lord Hamlet?

Ham. Well, god-'a-mercy.

Pol. Do you know me, my lord?

Ham. Excellent well; you are a fishmonger.
Pol. Not I, my lord.

Ham. Then I would you were so honest a man.
Pol. Honest, my lord?

Ham. Ay, sir; to be honest, as this world goes,
is to be one man picked out of ten thousand.
Pol. That's very true, my lord.

Ham. For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a god, kissing carrion,--Have you a daughter

Pol. I have, my lord.

Ham. Let her not walk i'the sun: conception is a blessing; but as your daughter may conceive,'friend, look to't.

Pol. How say you by that? [Aside.] Still harping on my daughter :-yet he knew me not at first; he said, I was a fishmonger: He is far gone, far gone: and, truly, in my youth I suffered much extremity for love; very near this. I'll speak to him again.What do you read, my lord?

Ham. Words, words, words!

Pol. What is the matter, my lord?
Ham. Between who?

Pol. I mean, the matter that you read, my lord. Ham. Slanders, sir: for the satirical rogue says here, that old men have grey beards; that their faces are wrinkled; their eyes purging thick amber, and plum-tree gum; and that they have a plentiful lack of wit, together with most weak hams: All of which, sir, though I most powerfully and potently believe, yet I hold it not honesty to have it thus set down; for yourself, sir, shall be as old as I am, if, like a crab, you could go backward.

Pol. Though this be madness, yet there's method in it. Aside.] Will you walk out of the air, my lord?

Ham. Into my grave?

Pol. Indeed, that is out o'the air.-How pregnant sometimes his replies are! a happiness that often madness hits on, which reason and sanity" could not so prosperously be delivered of. I will leave him, and suddenly contrive the means of meeting between him and my daughter.-My honourable lord, I will most humbly take my leave of you.

Ham. You cannot, sir, take from me any thing that I will more willingly part withal; except my life, except my life, except my life.

Pol. Fare you well, my lord.
Ham. These tedious old fools!

Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.

Pol. You go to seek the lord Hamlet; there he is.
Ros. God save you, sir!
To Polonius.
[Exit Polonius.

Guil. My honour'd lord!

Ros. My most dear lord!

Ham. My excellent good friends! How dost thou, Guildenstern? Ah, Rosencrantz! Good lads, how do ye both?

Ros. As the indifferent children of the earth.
Guil. Happy, in that we are not overhappy;
On fortune's cap we are not the very button.
Ham. Nor the soles of her shoe?"
Ros. Neither, my lord.

Ham. Then you live about her waist, or in the [forgone all custom of exercises: and, indeed, it middle of her favours?

Guil. 'Faith, her privates we. Ham. In the secret parts of fortune? O, most true; she is a strumpet. What news!

Ros. None, my lord; but that the world is grown honest.

Ham. Then is doomsday near: But your news is not true. Let me question more in particular: What have you, my good friends, deserved at the hands of fortune, that she sends you to prison hither. Guil. Prison, my lord! Ham. Denmark's a prison. Ros. Then is the world one.

Ham. A goodly one; in which there are many confines, wards, and dungeons; Denmark being one of the worst.

Ros. We think not so, my lord.

Ham. Why, then 'tis none to you for there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so: to me it is a prison.

Ros. Why, then your ambition makes it one; 'tis too narrow for your mind.

Ham. O God! I could be bounded in a nutshell, and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.

Guil. Which dreams, indeed, are ambition; for the very substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream.

Ham. A dream itself is but a shadow.

Ros. Truly, and I hold ambition of so airy and light a quality, that it is but a shadow's shadow.

Ham. Then are our beggars, bodies; and our monarchs, and outstretch'd heroes, the beggars' shadows: Shall we to the court? for, by my fay,

cannot reason.

Ros. Guil. We'll wait upon you.

Ham. No such matter: I will not sort you with the rest of my servants; for, to speak to you like an honest man, I am most dreadfully attended. But, in the beaten way of friendship, what make you at Elsinore ?

Ros. To visit you, my lord; no other occasion. Ham. Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks; but I thank you; and sure, dear friends, my thanks are too dear, a halfpenny. Were you not sent for? Is it your own inclining? Is it a free visitation? Come, come; deal justly with me: come, come; nay, speak.

Guil. What should we say, my lord?

Ham. Any thing-but to the purpose. You were sent for; and there is a kind of confession in your looks, which your modesties have not craft enough to colour: I know, the good king and queen have sent for you.

Ros. To what end, my lord!

goes so heavily with my disposition, that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a steril promontory; this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to me, than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. What a piece of work is man! How noble in reason! how infinite in faculties! in form, and moving, how express and admirable! in action, how like an angel! in apprehension, how like a god the beauty of the world! the paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? man delights not me, nor woman neither; though, by your smiling, you seem to say so.

Ros. My lord, there is no such stuff in my thoughts.

Ham. Why did you laugh then, when I said, Man delights not me?

Ros. To think, my lord, if you delight not in man, what lenten' entertainment the players shall receive from you: we coted them on the way; and hither are they coming, to offer you service.

Ham. He that plays the king, shall be welcome; his majesty shall have tribute of me: the adventurous knight shall use his foil, and target: the lover shall not sigh gratis; the humorous man shall end his part in peace: the clown shall make those laugh, whose lungs are tickled o'the sere; and the lady shall say her mind freely, or the blank verse shall halt for't.-What players are they?

Ros. Even those you were wont to take such delight in, the tragedians of the city.

Ham. How chances it, they travel? their resiIdence, both in reputation and profit, was better both ways.

Ros. I think, their inhibition comes by the means of the late innovation.

Ham. Do they hold the same estimation they did when I was in the city? Are they so followed? Ros. No, indeed, they are not.

Ham. How comes it? Do they grow rusty? Ros. Nay, their endeavour keeps in the wonted pace: But there is, sir, an aiery of children, little eyases, that cry out on the top of question, and are most tyrannically clapped for't: these are now the fashion; and so berattle the common stages (so they call them,) that many, wearing rapiers, are afraid of goose-quills, and dare scarce come thither.

Ham. What, are they children? who maintains them? how are they escoted? Will they pursue the quality no longer than they can sin? will they not say afterwards, if they should grow themselves to common players (as it is most like, if their means are no better,) their writers do them wrong, to make them exclaim against their own succession?

Ham. That you must teach me. But let me Ros. 'Faith, there has been much to do on both conjure you by the rights of our fellowship, by the sides; and the nation holds it no sin, to tarre them consonancy of our youth, by the obligation of our on to controversy: there was, for a while, no money ever-preserved love, and by what more dear a bet-bid for argument, unless the poet and the player

ter proposer could charge you withal, be even and
direct with me, whether you were sent for, or no?
Ros. What say you?
[To Guildenstern.
Ham. Nay, then I have an eye of you; [Aside.]
-if you love me, hold not off.

Guil. My lord, we were sent for.

Ham. I will tell you why; so shall my anticipation prevent your discovery, and your secrecy to the king and queen moult no eather. I have of late (but, wherefore, I know not,) lost all my mirth,

(1) Spare.
(2) Overtook.
(3) Become strollers. (4) Young nestlings.
(5) Dialogue.
(6) Paid.

went to cuffs in the question.
Ham. Is it possible?

Guil. O, there has been much throwing about of brains.

Ham. Do the boys carry it away?

Ros. Ay, that they do, my lord; Hercules and his load too."

Ham. It is not very strange; for my uncle is king of Denmark, and those, that would make mouths at him while my father lived, give twenty,

forty, fifty, a hundred ducats a-piece, for his picture straight: Come, give us a taste of your quality;" in little. 'Sblood, there is something in this more come, a passionate speech. than natural, if philosophy could find it out. 1 Play. What speech, my lord? [Flourish of trumpets within. Ham. I heard thee speak me a speech once,Guil. There are the players. but it was never acted; or, if it was, not above Ham. Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinore. once: for the play, I remember, pleased not the Your hands. Come then the appurtenance of million; 'twas caviare to the general:19 but it was welcome is fashion and ceremony: let me comply (as I received it, and others, whose judgments, in with you in this garb; lest my extent to the play-such matters, cried in the top of mine,) an excelers, which, I tell you, must show fairly outward, lent play; well digested in the scenes, set down should more appear like entertainment than yours. You are welcome; but my uncle-father, and auntinother, are deceived.

Guil. In what, my dear lord?

Ham. I am but mad north-north-west: when the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a hand-saw. Enter Polonius.

Pol. Well be with you, gentlemen!

with as much modesty as cunning. I remember, one said, there were no sallads in the lines, to make the matter savoury; nor no matter in the phrase, that might indite1 the author of affection:" 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 me

Ham. Hark you, Guildenstern;-and you too;mory, begin at this line; let me see, let me see ;at each ear a hearer: that great baby, you see there, is not yet out of his swaddling-clouts. Ros. Happily, he's the second time come to them; for, they say, an old man is twice a child. Ham. I will prophesy, he comes to tell me of the players; mark it.-You say right, sir: o'Monday morning: 'twas then, indeed.

Pol. My lord, I have news to tell you.
Ham. My lord, I have news to tell you; When

Roscius was an actor in Rome,

Pol. The actors are come hither, my lord.
Ham. Buzz, buzz!

Pol. Upon mine honour,-

Ham. Then came each actor on his ass,-Pol. The best actors in the world, either for tragedy, comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral-comical, historical-pastoral [tragical-historical, tragical-comical-historical-pastoral,] scene individable, or poem unlimited: Seneca cannot be too heavy, nor Plautus too light. For the law of writ, and the liberty, these are the only men.

Ham. O Jephthah, judge of Israel,—what a trea

sure hadst thou!

Pol. What a treasure had he, my lord?
Ham. Why-One fair daughter and no more,
The which he loved passing well.

[Aside.

Pol. Still on my daughter.
Ham. Am I not i'the right, old Jephthah?
Pol. If you call me Jephthah, my lord, I have a
daughter, that I love passing well.
Ham. Nay, that follows not.

Pol. What follows then, my lord?

Ham. Why, As by lot, God wot, and then, you know, It came to pass, As most like it was,-The first row of the pious chanson will show you more; for look, my abridgment comes.

Enter four or five Players.

The rugged Pyrrhus, like the Hyrcanian beast,—
'tis not so; it begins with Pyrrhus.
The rugged Pyrrhus,-he, whose sable arms,
Black as his purpose, did the night resemble
When he lay couched in the ominous horse,-
Hath now this dread and black complexion smear'd
With heraldry more dismal; head to foot
Now is he total gules;14 horridly trick'd's
With blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, sons,
Bak'd and impasted with the parching streets,
That lend a tyrannous and a damned light

To their lord's murder: Roasted in wrath, and
And thus o'er-sized with coagulate gore,
fire,
With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus
Old grandsire Priam seeks ;-So proceed you.

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

1 Play. Anon he finds him
Striking too short at Greeks; his antique sword,
Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls,
Repugnant to command: Unequal match'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,
Seeming to feel this blow, with flaming top
Stoops to his base; and with a hideous crash
Takes prisoner Pyrrhus' ear: for, lo! his sword,
Which was declining on the milky head
Of reverend Priam, seem'd i'the air to stick:
So, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrhus stood;
And, like a neutral to his will and matter,
Did nothing.

But, as we often see, against some storm, A silence in the heavens, the rack stand still, The bold winds speechless, and the orb below You are welcome, masters; Welcome, all:-I am As hush as death; anon the dreadful thunder glad to see thee well:-welcome, good friends.Doth rend the region: So, after Pyrrhus' pause, O, old friend! Why, thy face is valenced since IA roused vengeance sets him new a-work; saw thee last; Com'st thou to beard me in Den-And never did the Cyclops' hammers fall mark?-What! my young lady and mistress! By'r- On Mars's armour, forg'd for proof eterne," lady, your ladyship is nearer to heaven, than when With less remorse than Pyrrhus' bleeding sword I saw you last, by the altitude of a chopine." Pray Now falls on Priam.— God, your voice, like a piece of uncurrent gold, be Out, out, thou strumpet, Fortune! All you gods, not cracked with the ring.-Masters, you are all In general synod, take away her power; welcome. We'll e'en to't like French falconers, Break all the spokes and fellies from her wheel, fly at any thing we see: We'll have a speech And bowl the round nave down the hill of heaven, As low as to the fiends!

(1) Miniature. (2) Compliment. (3) Writing.
(4) Christmas carols. (5) Fringed.
(6) Defy. (7) Clog, (8) Profession.
(9) An Italian dish, made of the roes of fishes.

(10) Multitude. (11) Above. (12) Conviet
(13) Affectation. (14) Red. (15) Blazoned.
(16) Light clouds. (17) Eternal.

Pol. This is too long.

Ham. It shall to the barber's, with your beard. Pr'ythee, say on:-He's for a jig, or a tale of bawdry, or he sleeps:-say on: come to Hecuba.

1 Play. But who, ah wo! had seen the mobled

queen

Ham. The mobled queen?

Pol. That's good; mobled queen is good.
1 Play. Run barefoot up and down, threat'ning
the flames

With bisson 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;
Who this had seen, with tongue in venom steep'd,
'Gainst Fortune's state would treason have pro-

nounc'd:

But if the gods themselves did see her then,
When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious sport
In mincing with his sword her husband's limbs ;
The instant burst of clamour that she made
(Unless things mortal move them not at all,)

Had he the motive and the cue for passion,
That I have? He would drown the stage with tears
And cleave the general ear with horrid speech;
Make mad the guilty, and appal the free,
Confound the ignorant; and amaze, indeed,
The very faculties of eyes and ears.
Yet I,

A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak,
Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause,
And can say nothing; no, not for a king,
Upon whose property, and most dear life,
A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward?
Who calls me villain? breaks my pate across?
Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face?
Tweaks me by the nose? gives me the lie i'the throat,
As deep as to the lungs? Who does me this?
Ha!

Why, I should take it for it cannot be,
But I am pigeon-liver'd, and lack gall
To make oppression bitter; or, ere this,
I should have fatted all the region kites
With this slave's offal: Bloody, bawdy villain!
Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless, vil-
lain!

Would have made milch the burning eye of Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave;

heaven,

And passion in the gods.

Pol. Look, whether he has not turn'd his colour, and has tears in's eyes.-Pr'ythee, no more.

Ham. 'Tis well; I'll have thee speak out the rest of this soon.-Good my lord, will you see the players well bestowed? Do you hear, let them be well used; for they are the abstract, and brief chronicles, of the time; After your death you were better have a bad epitaph, than their ill report while you live.

Pol. My lord, I will use them according to their

desert.

Ham. Odd's bodikin, man, much better: Use every man after his desert, and who shall 'scape whipping? Use them after your own honour and dignity: The less they deserve, the more merit is in your bounty. Take them in.

Pol. Come, sirs.

[Exit Polonius, with some of the Players. Ham. Follow him, friends: we'll hear a play tomorrow. Dost thou hear me, old friend; can you play the murder of Gonzago?

1 Play. Ay, my lord.

Ham. We'll have it to-morrow night. You could, for a need, study a speech of some dozen or sixteen lines, which I would set down, and insert in't? could you not?

1 Play. Ay, my lord.

Ham. Very well.-Follow that lord; and look you mock him not. [Exit Player.] My good friends, To Ros. and Guil.] I'll leave you till night: you are welcome to Elsinore.

Ros. Good my lord! [Exeunt Ros. and Guil.
Ham. Ay, so, God be wi' you:-Now I am alone.
9, what a rogue and peasant slave am I!
Is it not monstrous, that this player here,
But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,
Could force his soul so to his own conceit,
That, from her working, all his visage wann'd;
Tears in his eyes, distraction in's aspect,
A broken voice, and his whole function suiting
With forms to his conceit? And all for nothing!
For Hecuba!

What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,
That he should weep for her? What would he do,
(2) Blind. (3) Milky.
(5) Unnatural.

(1) Muffled. (4) Destruction.

VOL. II.

5

That I, the son of a dear father murder'd,
Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell,
Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words,
And fall a cursing, like a very drab,
A scullion!

Fie upon't! foh! About my brains! Humph! I have
heard,
That guilty creatures, sitting at a play,
Have by the very cunning of the scene
Been struck so to the soul, that presently
They have proclaim'd their malefactions;
For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak
With most miraculous organ. I'll have these players
Play something like the murder of my father,
Before mine uncle: I'll observe his looks;
I'll tent him to the quick; if he do blench,"
The spirit, that I have seen,
I know my course.
May be a devil: and the devil hath power
To assume a pleasing shape; yea, and, perhaps,
Out of my weakness, and my melancholy
(As he is very potent with such spirits,)
More relative than this: The play's the thing,
Abuses me to damn me: I'll have grounds
Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king.

ACT III.

[Exit.

SCENE I.—A room in the castle. Enter King
Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosencrantz, and
Guildenstern.

King. And can you by no drift of conference
Get from him, why he puts on this confusion;
Grating so harshly all his days of quiet
With turbulent and dangerous lunacy?

Ros. He does confess, he feels himself 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,
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.
Ros. Niggard of question; but, of our demands,

(6) Search his wounds. (7) Shrink or start.

3 X

I shall obey you:
And, for your part, Ophelia, I do wish,
That your good beauties be the happy cause

Of Hamlet's wildness: so shall I hope, your virtues
Will bring him to his wonted way again,
To both your honours.

[Exit Queen. Pol. Ophelia, walk you here ;-Gracious, so please you,

We will bestow ourselves:-Read on this book;

[To Ophelia.

That show of such an exercise may colour
Your loneliness.-We are oft to blame in this,-
'Tis too much prov'd,"--that with devotion's visage,
And pious action, we do sugar o'er
The devil himself.

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, Than is my deed to my most painted word: O heavy burden!

[Aside. Pol. I hear him coming; let's withdraw, my lord. [Exeunt King and Polonius. Enter Hamlet.

:

Ham. To be, or not to be, that is the question Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune; Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And, by opposing, end them?-To die,-to sleep,No more; and, by a sleep, to say we end The heart-ach, and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to,-'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wish'd. To die ;-to sleep ;To sleep! perchance to dream;-ay, there's the