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VoLTIMAND, CORNELIUS, ) „ .
RoSENCRANTZ, GtJILDENSTERN, J ""^
Osric, a Courtier.
Marcellus, ) „_
Francisco, a soldier.
Reynaldo, servant to Polonius.
Ghost of Hamlet's father.
Fortinbras, Prince of Norway.
Gertrude, Queen of Denmar A, and mother of Hamlet.
Lords, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Players, Grave-diggers, Sailors, Messengers, and other Attendants.
SCENE I.—Elsinore. A Platform before the Castle. Francisco on his post. Enter to him Bernardo. Ber. Who's there?
Fran. Nay, answer me: stand, and unfold
Ber. Long live the king!
Fran. You come most carefully upon your hour.
Ber. "Tis now struck twelve; get thee to bed, Francisco.
Fran. For this relief, much thanks: 'tis bitter cold, And I am sick at heart.
Ber. Have you had quiet guard?
Fran. Not a mouse stirring.
Ber. Well, good night.
Enter Horatio and Marcellus.
Fran. I think I hear them—Stand, ho! Who is there?
Hor. Friends to this ground.
Mar. And liegemen to the Dane.
Fran. Give you good night.
Mar. O, farewell, honest soldier:
Who hath reliev'd you?
Fran. Bernardo hath my place.
Give you good night. [Exit Francisco.
Mar. Holla, Bernardo!
Ber. Say. What, is Horatio there 1
Hor. A piece of him.
Ber. Welcome, Horatio; welcome, good Marcellus.
Hor. What, has this thing appear'd again to-night?
Ber. I have seen nothing.
Mar. Horatio says, 'tis but our fantasy;
Hor. Tush! tush! 'twill not appear.
Ber. Sit down awhile;
And let us once again assail your ears,
Hor. Well, sit we down,
And let us hear Bernardo speak of this.
Ber. Last night of all,
Mar. Peace, break thee off; look, where it comes again!
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.
Ber. It would be spoke to.
Mar.' Speak to it, Horatio.
Hor. What art thou, that usurp'st this time of night,
Mar. It is offended.
Ber. See! it stalks away.
Hor. Stay; speak: speakj charge thee, speak. [Exit Ghost
Mar. 'Tis gone, and will not answer.
Ber. How now, Horatio? you tremble, and look pale:
Hor. I might not this believe.
Without the sensible and true avouch
Mar. Is it not like the king?
Hor. As thou art to thyself:
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;
If there be any good thing to be done,
If thou art privy to thy country's fate,
Or, if thou hast uphoarded in thy life
Extorted treasure from the depths of earth,
For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death:
Speak of it:—stay, and speak. [Exit Ghost
Mar. 'Tis gone!
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 neard,
The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn,
Mar. It faded on the crowing of the cock.
Hor. So have I heard, and do in part believe it.
Mar. Let's do't, I pray; and I this morning know
SCENE II.—The same. A Room of State in tlie same.
Enter the King, Queen, Hamlet, Polonius, Laertes, Lorc'ls, and
King. Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death
Laertes. My dread lord, , ,
Your leave and favor to return to France;
From whence though willingly I came to Denmark,
King. Take thy fair hour, Laertes; time be thine,
But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son,
Ham. A little more than kin, and less than kind. [Aside. King. How is it that the clouds still hang on you? Ham. Not so, my lord, I am too much i' the sun. Queen. Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted color off, And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark. Do not, for ever, with thy vailed lids Seek for thy noble father in the dust: Thou know'st, 'tis common; all that live, must die, Passing through nature to eternity. Ham. Ay, madam, it is common.
Why seems it so particular with thee?
Ham. Seems, madam! nay, it is; I know not seems.
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: 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 In obstinate condolement, is a course Of impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief: It shows a will most incorrect to heaven; A heart unfortified, or mind impatient: An understanding simple and unschool'd: For what, we know, must be; and is as common As any of the most vulgar thing to sense, Why should we, in our peevish opposition, Take it to heart? Fye! 'tis a fault to heaven. . _