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 warlike state,
Have we, as 'twere, with a defeated joy,-
With one auspicious, and one dropping eye;
With mirth in funeral, and with dirge in marriage,
In equal scale weighing delight and dole,-
Taken to wife: nor have we berein barr'd
Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone
With this affair along:-For all, our thanks.

Now follows that you know, young Fortinbras,
Holding a weak supposal of our worth;
Or thinking, by our late dear brother's death,
Our state to be disjoint and out of frame,
Colleagued with this 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,
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,-
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
Out of his subject:-and we here despatch
You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltimand,
For bearers of this greeting to old Norway;
Giving to you no further personal power
To business with the king, more than the scope
* Of these dilated articles allow.
Farewell; and let your haste commend your duty.
Cor.& Vol. In that, and all things, will we shew
our duty.
King. We doubt it nothing; heartily farewell.
[Exeunt Voltimand and Cornelius.
And now, Laertes, what's the news with you?
You told us of some suit; What is't, Laertes?
You cannot speak of reason to the Dane,

And lose your voice: What would'st thou beg,

Laertes,

That shall not be my offer, not thy asking?
The head is not more native to the heart,
The hand more instrumental to the mouth,
Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father.
What would'st thou have, Laertes?

'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,
Nor customary suits of solemn black,
Nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath,
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,
Nor the dejected haviour of the visage,
Together with all forms, modes, shews of grief,
That can denote me truly: These, indeed, seem,
For they are actions that a man might play :
But I have that within, which passeth shew;
These, but the trappings and the suits of woe.
King. 'Tis sweet and commendable in your na-
ture, Hamlet,

To do obsequious sorrow: But to perséver
In obstinate condolement, is a course

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

rd

Of impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief:
It shews 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 the most vulgar thing to sense,
Why should we, in our peevish opposition,
Take it to heart? Fy! 'tis a fault to heaven,
A fault against the dead, a fault to nature,
To reason most absurd; whose common theme
Is death of fathers, and who still hath cried.
From the first corse, till he that died to-day,
This must 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,
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
In going back to school in Wittenberg,
It is most retrograde to our desire:
And, we beseech you, bend you to remain
Here, in the cheer and comfort of our eye,
Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son.
Queen. Let not thy mother lose her prayers,
Hamlet;

I pray thee, stay with us, go not to Wittenberg.
Ham. I shall in all my best obey you, madam.
King. Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply;
Be as ourself in Denmark.-Madam, come;
This gentle and unforc'd accord of Hamlet
Sits smiling to my heart: in grace whereof,
No jocund health, that Denmark drinks to-day,
But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell,
And the king's rouse the heavens shall bruit again,
Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come away.

[Exeunt King, Queen, Lords, &c. Polo-
nius, and Laertes.

Laer.
My dread lord,
Your leave and favour to return to France;
From whence, though willingly I came to Denmark,
To shew my duty in your coronation;
Yet now, must confess, that duty done,
My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France,
And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon.
King. Have you your father's leave? What says
Polonius?
[leave,

Pol. He hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow
By laboursome petition; and, at last,
Upon his will I seal'd my hard consent:

do beseech you, give him leave to go.
King. Take thy fair hour, Laertes; time be thine,
And thy best graces: spend it at thy will.-
But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son,-
Ham. A little more than kin, and less than kind.
(Aside.)
King. How is it, that the clouds still hang on you?
Ham. Not so, my lord, I am too much i'the sun.
Queen. Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off,
nd let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark.
o not, for ever, with thy vailed lids
eek for thy noble father in the dust:

Fy on't! O fy! 'tis an unweeded garden, [ture,
That grows to seed; things rank, and gross in na-
Possess it merely. That it should come to this!
But two months dead!--nay, not so much, not two:
So excellent a king; that was, to this,
Hyperion to a satyr: so loving to my mother,
That he might not beteem the winds of heaven
Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth!
Must I remember? why, she would hang on him,
As if increase of appetite had grown
By what it fed on: And yet, within a month,-

man!

hou know'st, 'tis common; all, that live, must die, Let me not think on't;-Frailty, thy name is wo-
assing through nature to eternity.
Ham. Ay, madam, it is common.
Queen.
If it be,
hy seems it so particular with thee? [seems.
Ham. Seems, madam! nay, it is; I know not

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,-
O heaven! a beast, that wants discourse of reason,

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!
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable,
Seem to me all the uses of this world!

744 Hor

745

|

irn'd longer,-married with my
her;
but no more like my father,
Jules: within a month;
it of most unrighteous tears
ushing in her galled eyes,

It lifted up its head, and did address
Itself to motion, like as it would speak:
But, even then, the morning cock crew load;
And at the sound it shrunk in haste away,
And vanish'd from our sight.

-O most wicked speed, to post
Aexterity to incestuous sheets!

WIER
It is not, nor it cannot come to, good;

But break, my heart; for I must hold my tongue!
Enter HORATIO, BERNARDO, and MARCELLUS.

Hor. Hail to your lordship!
Ham.
I am glad to see you well:
Horatio, or I do forget myself.
[ever.
Hor. The same, my lord, and your poor servant
Ham. Sir, my good friend; I'll change that name
with you.
And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio?—
Marcellus?

Mar. My good lord,—

[sir.-
Ham. I am very glad to see you; good even,
But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg?
Hor. A truant disposition, good my lord.

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
Against yourself: I know, you are no truant.
But what is your affair in Elsinore?
We'll teach you to drink deep, ere you depart.
Hor. My lord, I came to see your father's funeral.
Ham. I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow-stu-
dent;

I think, it was to see my mother's wedding.
Hor. Indeed, my lord, it follow'd hard upon.
Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio! the funeral bak'd

meats

Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.
'Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven
Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio!-
My father, Methinks, I see my father.
Hor.
My lord?

Ham. In my mind's eye, Horatio.
Hor. I saw him once, he was a goodly king.
Ham. He was a man, take him for all in all,
I shall not look upon his like again.

Hor. My lord, I think I saw him yesternight.
Ham, Saw! who?

Hor. My lord, the king your father.
Ham.
The king my father!
Hor. Season your admiration for a while
With an attent ear; till I may deliver,
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,
Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch,
In the dead waist and middle of the night,
Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your father,
Armed at point, exactly, cap-à-pé,
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
Almost to jelly with the act of fear,
Stand dumb, and speak not to him. This to me
In dreadful secrecy impart they did;
And I with them, the third night kept the watch:
Where, as they had deliver'd, both in time,
Form of the thing, each word made true and good,
The apparition comes: I knew your father;
These hands are not more like.

Ham.
But where was this?
Mar. My lord, upon the platform, where we
watch'd.

Ham.

"Tis very strange.
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.
Hold you the watch to-night?
All.

We do, my lord.

Ham. Arm'd, say you?
All.

Arm❜d, my lord.

In sorrow than in anger.

Ham.

Hor. Nay, very pale.

Ham.

Very like: Stay'd it long?
Hor. While one with moderate haste might tela
Mar. & Ber. Longer, longer.
Hor. Not when I saw it.
Ham.
His beard was grizzl'd! no!
Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life,
| A sable silver'd.

Ham.
I will watch to-night;
Perchance, 'twill walk again.

Hor.

I warrant, it wil
Ham. If it assume my noble father's person,
I'll speak to it, though hell itself should gape,
Where, And bid me hold my peace. I pray you ali,
If you have hitherto conceal'd this sight,
Let it be tenable in your silence still;
And whatsoever else shall hap to-night,
Give it an understanding, but no tongue;
I will requite your loves: So, fare you well:
Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve,
I'll visit you.

Ham.
All. My lord, from head to foot.
Ham.

His face?

Hor. O yes, my lord; he wore his beaver up.
Ham. What, look'd he frowningly?
Hor.

A countenance men

From top to toe!

Then saw you nat

Pale, or red?

And fix'd his eyes upon you!

Hor. Most constantly.
Ham.

I would, I had been thert.
Hor. It would have much amaz'd you.
Ham.

Very like
Chundred

All.
Our duty to your honour.
Ham. Your loves, as mine to you; Farewell
[Exeunt Horatio, Marcellus, and Berners
My father's spirit in arms! all is not well;
I doubt some foul play :'would, the night were con
Till then sit still, my soul: Foul deeds will rise,
Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's ere
[B

SCENE III-A Room in Polonius's House.
Enter LAERTES and OPHELIA.

Laer. My necessaries are embark'd; farewel
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'
Laer. For Hamlet, and the trifling of his fave
Hold it a fashion, and a toy in blood;
A violet in the youth of primy nature,
Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting,
The perfume and suppliance of a minute;
No more.
Oph.
Laer.
Think it no more
For nature, crescent, does not grow alone
In thews, and bulk; but, as this temple waxes,
The inward service of the mind and soul
Grows wide withal. Perhaps, he loves you now
And now no soil, nor cautel, doth besmirch
The virtue of his will: but, you must fear,

No more but so?

His greatness weigh'd, his will is not his own;
For he himself is subject to his birth:
He may not, as unvalued persons do,
Carve for himself; for on his choice depends
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 If it be so, (as so 'tis put on me,

you,

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.

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.

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,
If she unmask her beauty to the moon:
Virtue itself scapes not calumnious strokes :
The canker galls the infants of the spring,
Too oft before their buttons be disclos'd;
And in the morn and liquid dew of youth,
Contagious blastments are most imminent.
Be wary then: best safety lies in fear;
Youth to itself rebels, though none else near.

Oph. I shall the effect of this good lesson keep,
As watchman to my heart: But, good my brother,
Do not, as some ungracious pastors do,
Shew me the steep and thorny way to heaven;
Whilst, like a puff'd and reckless libertine,
Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads,
And recks not his own read.

Laer.

O fear me not.
I stay too long;-But here my father comes.

shame;
The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail,
And you are staid for: There, my blessing with
you: (Laying his hand on Laertes' head.)
And these few precepts in thy memory
Look thou charácter. Give thy thoughts no tongue,
Nor any unproportion'd thought his act.
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.
The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel;
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Beware
Of entrance to a quarrel; but, being in,
Bear it, that the opposer may beware of thee.
Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice:
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;
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;
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
This above all,-To thine ownself be true;
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
Farewell; my blessing season this in thee!

Laer. Most humbly do I take my leave, my lord.
Pol. The time invites you; go, your servants tend.
Laer. Farewell, Ophelia; and remember well
What I have said to you.

Oph. So please you, something touching the lord
Hamlet.

Oph.
"Tis in my memory lock'd,
And you yourself shall keep the key of it."
Laer. Farewell.

[Exit.

Pol. What is't, Ophelia, he hath said to you?

Pol. Marry, well bethought:

'Tis told me, he hath very oft of late
Given private time to you; and you yourself

Have of your audience been most free and bounteous:

And that in way of caution,) I must tell you,
You do not understand yourself so clearly,
As it behoves my daughter, and your honour:
What is between you? give me up the truth.
Oph. He hath, my lord, of late, made many ten-
Of his affection to me.
[ders
Pol. Affection? puh! 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.
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;

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
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,
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;
And with a larger tether may be walk,

Enter POLONIUS.

A double blessing is a double grace;
Occasion smiles upon a second leave.

Pol. Yet here, Laertes! aboard, aboard, for Than may be given you: In few, Ophelia,
Do not believe his vows: for they are brokers'
Not of that die which their investments shew,
But mere implorators of unholy suits,
Breathing like sanctified and pious bonds,
The better to beguile. This is for all,-
I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth,
Have you so slander any moment's leisure,
As to give words or talk with the lord Hamlet.
Look to't, I charge you; come your ways.
Oph. I shall obey, my lord.

[Exeunt.

Or, (not to crack the wind of the poor phrase,
Wronging it thus,) you'll tender me a fool.

Oph. My lord, he hath impórtun'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,

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.
Hor. Indeed! I heard it not; it then 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,

Keeps wassel, 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.

Is it a custom ?

Hor.

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.
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
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,
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
The form of plausive manners;-that these men,-
Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect;
Being nature's livery, or fortune's star,-
Their virtues else (be they as pure as grace,
As infinite as man may undergo,)

Shall in the general censure take corruption
From that particular fault: The dram of base
Doth all the noble substance often dout,
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,
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:
Let me not burst in ignorance! but tell,
Why thy canoniz'd bones, hearsed in death,
Have burst their cerements! why the sepulchre,
Wherein we saw thee quietly in-urn'd,
Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws,
To cast thee up again! What may this mean,
That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel,
Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon,
Making night hideous; and we fools of nature,
So horribly to shake our disposition,
With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?
Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we do?
Hor. It beckons you to go away with it,
As if it some impartment did desire
To you alone.
Mar.
Look, with what courteous action
It waves you to a more removed ground:
But do not go with it.

Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff,
That beetles o'er his base into the sea?
And there assume some other horrible form,
Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason,
And draw you into madness? think of it:
The very place puts toys of desperation,
Without more motive, into every brain,
That looks so many fathoms to the sea,
And hears it roar beneath.

Ham.

Go on, I'll follow thee.

Mar. You shall not go, my lord.
Ham.

Hold off your hands.
Hor. Be rul'd, you shall not go.
Ham.
My fate cries out,
And makes each petty artery in this body
As hardy as the Némean lion's nerve.-

(Ghost beckons.)

Still am I call'd;-unhand me, gentlemen;

By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me:-
I say, away :-Go on, I'll follow thee.
[Exeunt Ghost and Hamlet.
Hor. He waxes desperate with imagination.
Mar. Let's follow;"'tis not fit thus to obey him.
Hor. Have after:-To what issue will this come?
Mar. Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.
Hor. Heaven will direct it.
Mar.

Nay, let's follow him. [Exeunt.
SCENE V.-A more remote Part of the Platform.
Re-enter Ghost and HAMLET.

Ham. Whither wilt thou lead me? speak, I'll go
no further.

Ghost. Mark me.
Ham.

I will.

Ghost.
My hour is almost come,
When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames
Must render up myself.

Hor.
No, by no means.
Ham. It will not speak; then I will follow it.
Hor. Do not, my lord.
Ham.
Why, what should be the fear?
I do not set my life at a pin's fee;
And, for my soul, what can it do to that,
Being a thing immortal as itself?

Ghost.
I find thee apt ;
And duller should'st thou be than the fat weed
That rots itself in ease on Lethe wharf,
Would'st 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 Denmari

It waves me forth again;-I'll follow it.

Hor. What, if it tempt you toward the flood, my Rankly abus'd: but know, thou noble youth,

of death

lord,

The serpent, that did sting thy father's life,
Now wears his crown.

Ham. Alas, poor ghost!

Ghost. Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing
To what I shall unfold.

(Breaking from them.) |

Ham.

Speak, I am bound to her.
Ghost. So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt
hear.
Ham. "What?

Ghost. I am thy father's spirit;

Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night;
And, for the day, contin'd to fast in fires,
Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature,
Are burnt and purg'd away. But that I am forbid
To tell the secrets of my prison-house,

I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word
Would harrow up thy soul; freeze thy young blood
Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their
spheres ;

Thy knotted and combined locks to part,
And each particular hair to stand an-end,
Like quills upon the fretful porcupine:
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 heaven!

It waves me still:- From me, whose love was of that dignity.

That it went hand in hand even with the vow
I made to her in marriage; and to decline
Upon a wretch, whose natural gifts were poor
To those of mine!

[den.

Ghost. Revenge his foul and most unnatural T
Ham. Murder?

Ghost. Murder most foul, as in the best it is;
But this most foul, strange, and unnatural.
Ham. Haste me to know it; that I, with wing
as swift

As meditation, or the thoughts of love,
May sweep to my revenge.

Ham. O, my prophetic soul! my uncle!

Ghost. Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beas
With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts,
(O wicked wit, and gifts, that have the power
So to seduce!) won to his shameful lust
The will of my most seeming-virtuous queen:
O, Hamlet, what a falling-off was there!

But virtue, as it never will be mov'd,
Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven;
So last, though to a radiant angel link'd,
Will sate itself in a celestial bed,

And

prey on garbage.

But, soft! methinks I scent the morning air;

B

Be