1

A silence in the heavens, the rack stand still,
The bold winds speechlefs, and the orb below
As hush as death: anon, the dreadful thunder
Doth rend the region: So, after Pyrrhus' pause,
A roused vengeance sets him new a work;
And never did the Cyclops hammers fall
On Marses armour, forg'd for proof eterne,
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;
Break all the spokes and fellies from her wheel,
And bowl the round nave down the hill of heaven,
As low as to the friends!

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 say on: come

a tale of bawdry, or he sleeps:

to Hecuba.

1. Play. But who, ah woe! had seen the mabled

queen

Ham. The mabled queen?

Pol. That's good; mabled 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 steen'd,
'Gainst fortune's state uould treason har · 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,)

Would have made milch the burning eyes of

heaven,

And passion in the gods.

Pol. Look, whether he has colour, and has tears in's eyes..

more.

not turn'd his Pr'ythee, no

Ham, Tis well; I'll have thee speak out the rest of this soon. Good ny lord, will you see the players, well bestow'd? 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.

1

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 lels they deserve, the more merit is in your bounty. Take them in.

Pol. Come, sirs.

Ham. Follow him, friends: we'll hear a play Dost thou hear me, old friend;

tomorrow.

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.

you mock him not.

Follow that lord; and look [Exeunt POLONIUS and

Players.] 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:

alone.

--

Now I am

O, 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,
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 appall 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!

Why,

Why, what an afs am I? This is most brave; 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,
I know my course. The spirit, that I have seen,
May be a devil: and the devil hath power
To assume a pleasing shape; yea, and, perhaps,
Out of my weaknefs, and my melancholy,
(As he is very potent with such spirits,)
Abuses me to damn me: I'll have grounds
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, POLONTUS, OPHELIA, ROSENCRÁNTZ, 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 dis

tracted;

But from what cause he will by no means speak. Nor do we find him forward to be sounded;

Guil.

But, with a crafty madness, keeps aloof,

When we would bring him on to some confes

sion

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,