I.
Elsinore.
A
platform
before
the
Castle.
[Francisco
at
his
post.
Enter
to
him
Bernardo.]
Ber.
Who's
there?
Fran.
Nay,
answer
me:
stand,
and
unfold
yourself.
Ber.
Long
live
the
king!
Fran.
Bernardo?
Ber.
He.
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.
If
you
do
meet
Horatio
and
Marcellus,
The
rivals
of
my
watch,
bid
them
make
haste.
Fran.
I
think
I
hear
them.--Stand,
ho!
Who
is
there?
[Enter
Horatio
and
Marcellus.]
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
has
my
place.
Give
you
good-night.
[Exit.]
Mar.
Holla!
Bernardo!
Ber.
Say.
What,
is
Horatio
there?
Hor.
A
piece
of
him.
Ber.
Welcome,
Horatio:--Welcome,
good
Marcellus.
Mar.
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
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
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,
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
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!
[Enter
Ghost,
armed.]
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.
Question
it,
Horatio.
Hor.
What
art
thou,
that
usurp'st
this
time
of
night,
Together
with
that
fair
and
warlike
form
In
which
the
majesty
of
buried
Denmark
Did
sometimes
march?
By
heaven
I
charge
thee,
speak!
Mar.
It
is
offended.
Ber.
See,
it
stalks
away!
Hor.
Stay!
speak,
speak!
I
charge
thee
speak!
[Exit
Ghost.]
Mar.
'Tis
gone,
and
will
not
answer.
Ber.
How
now,
Horatio!
You
tremble
and
look
pale:
Is
not
this
something
more
than
fantasy?
What
think
you
on't?
Hor.
Before
my
God,
I
might
not
this
believe
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
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.
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,
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;
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;
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,
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,--
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,
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,
Had
he
been
vanquisher;
as
by
the
same
cov'nant,
And
carriage
of
the
article
design'd,
His
fell
to
Hamlet.
Now,
sir,
young
Fortinbras,
Of
unimproved
mettle
hot
and
full,
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,--
But
to
recover
of
us,
by
strong
hand,
And
terms
compulsatory,
those
foresaid
lands
So
by
his
father
lost:
and
this,
I
take
it,
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:
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.
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;
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:
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
climature
and
countrymen.--
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,
Speak
to
me:
If
there
be
any
good
thing
to
be
done,
That
may
to
thee
do
ease,
and,
race
to
me,
Speak
to
me:
If
thou
art
privy
to
thy
country's
fate,
Which,
happily,
foreknowing
may
avoid,
O,
speak!
Or
if
thou
hast
uphoarded
in
thy
life
Extorted
treasure
in
the
womb
of
earth,
For
which,
they
say,
you
spirits
oft
walk
in
death,
[The
cock
crows.]
Speak
of
it:--stay,
and
speak!--Stop
it,
Marcellus!
Mar.
Shall
I
strike
at
it
with
my
partisan?
Hor.
Do,
if
it
will
not
stand.
Ber.
'Tis
here!
Hor.
'Tis
here!
Mar.
'Tis
gone!
[Exit
Ghost.]
We
do
it
wrong,
being
so
majestical,
To
offer
it
the
show
of
violence;
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
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,
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.
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;
And
then,
they
say,
no
spirit
dare
stir
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.
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
eastward
hill:
Break
we
our
watch
up:
and
by
my
advice,
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?
Mar.
Let's
do't,
I
pray;
and
I
this
morning
know
Where
we
shall
find
him
most
conveniently.
[Exeunt.]II.
Elsinore.
A
room
of
state
in
the
Castle.
[Enter
the
King,
Queen,
Hamlet,
Polonius,
Laertes,
Voltimand,
Cornelius,
Lords,
and
Attendant.]
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;
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,
Th'
imperial
jointress
to
this
warlike
state,
Have
we,
as
'twere
with
a
defeated
joy,--
With
an
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
herein
barr'd
Your
better
wisdoms,
which
have
freely
gone
With
this
affair
along:--or
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
bonds
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
dispatch
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.
and
Volt.
In
that
and
all
things
will
we
show
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
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,
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,
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.
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:
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--[Aside.]
A
little
more
than
kin,
and
less
than
kind!
King.
How
is
it
that
the
clouds
still
hang
on
you?Not
so,
my
lord;
I
am
too
much
i'
the
sun.
Queen.
Good
Hamlet,
cast
thy
nighted
colour
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
lives
must
die,
Passing
through
nature
to
eternity.Ay,
madam,
it
is
common.
Queen.
If
it
be,
Why
seems
it
so
particular
with
thee?Seems,
madam!
Nay,
it
is;
I
know
not
seems.
'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
'havior
of
the
visage,
Together
with
all
forms,
moods,
shows
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
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;
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
persevere
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;
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?
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,
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.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
heaven
shall
bruit
again,
Re-speaking
earthly
thunder.
Come
away.
[Exeunt
all
but
Hamlet.]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!
Fie
on't!
O
fie!
'tis
an
unweeded
garden,
That
grows
to
seed;
things
rank
and
gross
in
nature
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,--
Let
me
not
think
on't,--Frailty,
thy
name
is
woman!--
A
little
month;
or
ere
those
shoes
were
old
With
which
she
followed
my
poor
father's
body
Like
Niobe,
all
tears;--why
she,
even
she,--
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;
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!
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!I
am
glad
to
see
you
well:
Horatio,--or
I
do
forget
myself.
Hor.
The
same,
my
lord,
and
your
poor
servant
ever.Sir,
my
good
friend;
I'll
change
that
name
with
you:
And
what
make
you
from
Wittenberg,
Horatio?--
Marcellus?
Mar.
My
good
lord,--I
am
very
glad
to
see
you.--Good
even,
sir.--
But
what,
in
faith,
make
you
from
Wittenberg?
Hor.
A
truant
disposition,
good
my
lord.I
would
not
hear
your
enemy
say
so;
Nor
shall
you
do
my
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.I
prithee
do
not
mock
me,
fellow-student.
I
think
it
was
to
see
my
mother's
wedding.
Hor.
Indeed,
my
lord,
it
follow'd
hard
upon.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.
Where,
my
lord?In
my
mind's
eye,
Horatio.
Hor.
I
saw
him
once;
he
was
a
goodly
king.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.Saw
who?
Hor.
My
lord,
the
king
your
father.The
King
my
father!
Hor.
Season
your
admiration
for
awhile
With
an
attent
ear,
till
I
may
deliver,
Upon
the
witness
of
these
gentlemen,
This
marvel
to
you.For
God's
love
let
me
hear.
Hor.
Two
nights
together
had
these
gentlemen,
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
point
exactly,
cap-a-pe,
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.But
where
was
this?
Mar.
My
lord,
upon
the
platform
where
we
watch'd.Did
you
not
speak
to
it?
Hor.
My
lord,
I
did;
But
answer
made
it
none:
yet
once
methought
It
lifted
up
it
head,
and
did
address
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.'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.Indeed,
indeed,
sirs,
but
this
troubles
me.
Hold
you
the
watch
to-night?
Mar.
and
Ber.
We
do,
my
lord.Arm'd,
say
you?
Both.
Arm'd,
my
lord.From
top
to
toe?
Both.
My
lord,
from
head
to
foot.Then
saw
you
not
his
face?
Hor.
O,
yes,
my
lord:
he
wore
his
beaver
up.What,
look'd
he
frowningly?
Hor.
A
countenance
more
in
sorrow
than
in
anger.Pale
or
red?
Hor.
Nay,
very
pale.And
fix'd
his
eyes
upon
you?
Hor.
Most
constantly.I
would
I
had
been
there.
Hor.
It
would
have
much
amaz'd
you.Very
like,
very
like.
Stay'd
it
long?
Hor.
While
one
with
moderate
haste
might
tell
a
hundred.
Mar.
and
Ber.
Longer,
longer.
Hor.
Not
when
I
saw't.His
beard
was
grizzled,--no?
Hor.
It
was,
as
I
have
seen
it
in
his
life,
A
sable
silver'd.I
will
watch
to-night;
Perchance
'twill
walk
again.
Hor.
I
warr'nt
it
will.If
it
assume
my
noble
father's
person,
I'll
speak
to
it,
though
hell
itself
should
gape
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,
Give
it
an
understanding,
but
no
tongue:
I
will
requite
your
loves.
So,
fare
ye
well:
Upon
the
platform,
'twixt
eleven
and
twelve,
I'll
visit
you.
All.
Our
duty
to
your
honour.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,
Though
all
the
earth
o'erwhelm
them,
to
men's
eyes.
[Exit.]III.
A
room
in
Polonius's
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?
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;
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,
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,
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
The
safety
and
health
of
this
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,
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
scopes
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
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;
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.
[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,
And
you
are
stay'd
for.
There,--my
blessing
with
thee!
[Laying
his
hand
on
Laertes's
head.]
And
these
few
precepts
in
thy
memory
Look
thou
character.
Give
thy
thoughts
no
tongue,
Nor
any
unproportion'd
thought
his
act.
Be
thou
familiar,
but
by
no
means
vulgar.
Those
friends
thou
hast,
and
their
adoption
tried,
Grapple
them
unto
thy
soul
with
hoops
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't
that
the
opposed
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
own
self
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.
'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?
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
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
As
it
behooves
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.
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.
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,
Wronging
it
thus,--you'll
tender
me
a
fool.
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,
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
something
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
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,
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
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.]IV.
The
platform.
[Enter
Hamlet,
Horatio,
and
Marcellus.]The
air
bites
shrewdly;
it
is
very
cold.
Hor.
It
is
a
nipping
and
an
eager
air.What
hour
now?
Hor.
I
think
it
lacks
of
twelve.
Mar.
No,
it
is
struck.
Hor.
Indeed?
I
heard
it
not:
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?The
King
doth
wake
to-night
and
takes
his
rouse,
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?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
eale
Doth
all
the
noble
substance
often
doubt
To
his
own
scandal.
Hor.
Look,
my
lord,
it
comes!
[Enter
Ghost.]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
horridly
to
shake
our
disposition
With
thoughts
beyond
the
reaches
of
our
souls?
Say,
why
is
this?
wherefore?
what
should
we
do?
[Ghost
beckons
Hamlet.]
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!
Hor.
No,
by
no
means.It
will
not
speak;
then
will
I
follow
it.
Hor.
Do
not,
my
lord.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?
It
waves
me
forth
again;--I'll
follow
it.
Hor.
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
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
fadoms
to
the
sea
And
hears
it
roar
beneath.It
waves
me
still.--
Go
on;
I'll
follow
thee.
Mar.
You
shall
not
go,
my
lord.Hold
off
your
hands.
Hor.
Be
rul'd;
you
shall
not
go.My
fate
cries
out,
And
makes
each
petty
artery
in
this
body
As
hardy
as
the
Nemean
lion's
nerve.--
[Ghost
beckons.]
Still
am
I
call'd;--unhand
me,
gentlemen;--
[Breaking
free
from
them.]
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.]V.
A
more
remote
part
of
the
Castle.
[Enter
Ghost
and
Hamlet.]Whither
wilt
thou
lead
me?
speak!
I'll
go
no
further.
Ghost.
Mark
me.I
will.
Ghost.
My
hour
is
almost
come,
When
I
to
sulph'uous
and
tormenting
flames
Must
render
up
myself.Alas,
poor
ghost!
Ghost.
Pity
me
not,
but
lend
thy
serious
hearing
To
what
I
shall
unfold.Speak;I
am
bound
to
hear.
Ghost.
So
art
thou
to
revenge,
when
thou
shalt
hear.What?
Ghost.
I
am
thy
father's
spirit;
Doom'd
for
a
certain
term
to
walk
the
night,
And
for
the
day
confin'd
to
wastein
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
on
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--O
God!
Ghost.
Revenge
his
foul
and
most
unnatural
murder.Murder!
Ghost.
Murder
most
foul,
as
in
the
best
it
is;
But
this
most
foul,
strange,
and
unnatural.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,
Wouldst
thou
not
stir
in
this.
Now,
Hamlet,
hear.
'Tis
given
out
that,
sleeping
in
my
orchard,
A
serpent
stung
me;
so
the
whole
ear
of
Denmark
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.O
my
prophetic
soul!
Mine
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
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
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!
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
And
prey
on
garbage.
But
soft!
methinks
I
scent
the
morning
air;
Brief
let
me
be.--Sleeping
within
my
orchard,
My
custom
always
of
the
afternoon,
Upon
my
secure
hour
thy
uncle
stole,
With
juice
of
cursed
hebenon
in
a
vial,
And
in
the
porches
of
my
ears
did
pour
The
leperous
distilment;
whose
effect
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
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.
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,
Unhous'led,
disappointed,
unanel'd;
No
reckoning
made,
but
sent
to
my
account
With
all
my
imperfections
on
my
head:
O,
horrible!
O,
horrible!
most
horrible!
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,
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
glowworm
shows
the
matin
to
be
near,
And
'gins
to
pale
his
uneffectual
fire:
Adieu,
adieu!
Hamlet,
remember
me.
[Exit.]O
all
you
host
of
heaven!
O
earth!
what
else?
And
shall
I
couple
hell?
O,
fie!--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!
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;
And
thy
commandment
all
alone
shall
live
Within
the
book
and
volume
of
my
brain,
Unmix'd
with
baser
matter:
yes,
by
heaven!--
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
am
sure,
it
may
be
so
in
Denmark:
[Writing.]
So,
uncle,
there
you
are.
Now
to
my
word;
It
is
'Adieu,
adieu!
remember
me:'
I
have
sworn't.
Hor.
[Within.]
My
lord,
my
lord,--
Mar.
[Within.]
Lord
Hamlet,--
Hor.
[Within.]
Heaven
secure
him!So
be
it!
Mar.
[Within.]
Illo,
ho,
ho,
my
lord!Hillo,
ho,
ho,
boy!
Come,
bird,
come.
[Enter
Horatio
and
Marcellus.]
Mar.
How
is't,
my
noble
lord?
Hor.
What
news,
my
lord?O,
wonderful!
Hor.
Good
my
lord,
tell
it.No;
you'll
reveal
it.
Hor.
Not
I,
my
lord,
by
heaven.
Mar.
Nor
I,
my
lord.How
say
you
then;
would
heart
of
man
once
think
it?--
But
you'll
be
secret?
Hor.
and
Mar.
Ay,
by
heaven,
my
lord.There's
ne'er
a
villain
dwelling
in
all
Denmark
But
he's
an
arrant
knave.
Hor.
There
needs
no
ghost,
my
lord,
come
from
the
grave
To
tell
us
this.Why,
right;
you
are
i'
the
right;
And
so,
without
more
circumstance
at
all,
I
hold
it
fit
that
we
shake
hands
and
part:
You,
as
your
business
and
desires
shall
point
you,--
For
every
man
hath
business
and
desire,
Such
as
it
is;--and
for
my
own
poor
part,
Look
you,
I'll
go
pray.
Hor.
These
are
but
wild
and
whirling
words,
my
lord.I'm
sorry
they
offend
you,
heartily;
Yes,
faith,
heartily.
Hor.
There's
no
offence,
my
lord.Yes,
by
Saint
Patrick,
but
there
is,
Horatio,
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,
As
you
are
friends,
scholars,
and
soldiers,
Give
me
one
poor
request.
Hor.
What
is't,
my
lord?
we
will.Never
make
known
what
you
have
seen
to-night.
Hor.
and
Mar.
My
lord,
we
will
not.Nay,
but
swear't.
Hor.
In
faith,
My
lord,
not
I.
Mar.
Nor
I,
my
lord,
in
faith.Upon
my
sword.
Mar.
We
have
sworn,
my
lord,
already.Indeed,
upon
my
sword,
indeed.
Ghost.
[Beneath.]
Swear.Ha,
ha
boy!
say'st
thou
so?
art
thou
there,
truepenny?--
Come
on!--you
hear
this
fellow
in
the
cellarage,--
Consent
to
swear.
Hor.
Propose
the
oath,
my
lord.Never
to
speak
of
this
that
you
have
seen,
Swear
by
my
sword.
Ghost.
[Beneath.]
Swear.Hic
et
ubique?
then
we'll
shift
our
ground.--
Come
hither,
gentlemen,
And
lay
your
hands
again
upon
my
sword:
Never
to
speak
of
this
that
you
have
heard,
Swear
by
my
sword.
Ghost.
[Beneath.]
Swear.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!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;--
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,--
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';--
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
is
not
to
do,
So
grace
and
mercy
at
your
most
need
help
you,
Swear.
Ghost.
[Beneath.]
Swear.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
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,
That
ever
I
was
born
to
set
it
right!--
Nay,
come,
let's
go
together.
[Exeunt.]
Act
II.I.
A
room
in
Polonius's
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
Of
his
behaviour.
Rey.
My
lord,
I
did
intend
it.
Pol.
Marry,
well
said;
very
well
said.
Look
you,
sir,
Enquire
me
first
what
Danskers
are
in
Paris;
And
how,
and
who,
what
means,
and
where
they
keep,
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:
Take
you,
as
'twere,
some
distant
knowledge
of
him;
As
thus,
'I
know
his
father
and
his
friends,
And
in
part
hi;m;--do
you
mark
this,
Reynaldo?
Rey.
Ay,
very
well,
my
lord.
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;
But,
sir,
such
wanton,
wild,
and
usual
slips
As
are
companions
noted
and
most
known
To
youth
and
liberty.
Rey.
As
gaming,
my
lord.
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.
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;
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,
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,
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
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.
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,'
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,
Or
then,
or
then;
with
such,
or
such;
and,
as
you
say,
There
was
he
gaming;
there
o'ertook
in's
rouse;
There
falling
out
at
tennis':
or
perchance,
'I
saw
him
enter
such
a
house
of
sale,'--
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,
With
windlaces,
and
with
assays
of
bias,
By
indirections
find
directions
out:
So,
by
my
former
lecture
and
advice,
Shall
you
my
son.
You
have
me,
have
you
not?
Rey.
My
lord,
I
have.
Pol.
God
b'
wi'
you,
fare
you
well.
Rey.
Good
my
lord!
Pol.
Observe
his
inclination
in
yourself.
Rey.
I
shall,
my
lord.
Pol.
And
let
him
ply
his
music.
Rey.
Well,
my
lord.
Pol.
Farewell!
[Exit
Reynaldo.]
[Enter
Ophelia.]
How
now,
Ophelia!
what's
the
matter?
Oph.
Alas,
my
lord,
I
have
been
so
affrighted!
Pol.
With
what,
i'
the
name
of
God?
Oph.
My
lord,
as
I
was
sewing
in
my
chamber,
Lord
Hamlet,--with
his
doublet
all
unbrac'd;
No
hat
upon
his
head;
his
stockings
foul'd,
Ungart'red,
and
down-gyved
to
his
ankle;
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.
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;
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,
And
thrice
his
head
thus
waving
up
and
down,--
He
rais'd
a
sigh
so
piteous
and
profound
As
it
did
seem
to
shatter
all
his
bulk
And
end
his
being:
that
done,
he
lets
me
go:
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.
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
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,
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
wreck
thee;
but
beshrew
my
jealousy!
It
seems
it
as
proper
to
our
age
To
cast
beyond
ourselves
in
our
opinions
As
it
is
common
for
the
younger
sort
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.
[Exeunt.]II.
A
room
in
the
Castle.
[Enter
King,
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,
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
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,
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,
Whether
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
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,
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.
We
both
obey,
And
here
give
up
ourselves,
in
the
full
bent,
To
lay
our
service
freely
at
your
feet,
To
be
commanded.
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,
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.
Th'
ambassadors
from
Norway,
my
good
lord,
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,
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
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.
King.
Thyself
do
grace
to
them,
and
bring
them
in.
[Exit
Polonius.]
He
tells
me,
my
sweet
queen,
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.
[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.
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
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;
Receives
rebuke
from
Norway;
and,
in
fine,
Makes
vow
before
his
uncle
never
more
To
give
th'
assay
of
arms
against
your
majesty.
Whereon
old
Norway,
overcome
with
joy,
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,
[Gives
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;
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.--
My
liege,
and
madam,--to
expostulate
What
majesty
should
be,
what
duty
is,
Why
day
is
day,
night
is
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:
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.
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;
Or
rather
say,
the
cause
of
this
defect,
For
this
effect
defective
comes
by
cause:
Thus
it
remains,
and
the
remainder
thus.
Perpend.
I
have
a
daughter,--have
whilst
she
is
mine,--
Who,
in
her
duty
and
obedience,
mark,
Hath
given
me
this:
now
gather,
and
surmise.
[Reads.]
'To
the
celestial,
and
my
soul's
idol,
the
most
beautified
Ophelia,'--
That's
an
ill
phrase,
a
vile
phrase;
'beautified'
is
a
vile
phrase:
but
you
shall
hear.
Thus:
[Reads.]
'In
her
excellent
white
bosom,
these,
&c.'
Queen.
Came
this
from
Hamlet
to
her?
Pol.
Good
madam,
stay
awhile;
I
will
be
faithful.
[Reads.]
'Doubt
thou
the
stars
are
fire;
Doubt
that
the
sun
doth
move;
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
show'd
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
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,
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
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:
'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
wail
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:
[Points
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.
How
may
we
try
it
further?
Pol.
You
know
sometimes
he
walks
for
hours
together
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,
And
he
not
from
his
reason
fall'n
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.
Pol.
Away,
I
do
beseech
you,
both
away
I'll
board
him
presently:--O,
give
me
leave.
[Exeunt
King,
Queen,
and
Attendants.]
[Enter
Hamlet,
reading.]
How
does
my
good
Lord
Hamlet?Well,
God-a-mercy.
Pol.
Do
you
know
me,
my
lord?Excellent
well;
you're
a
fishmonger.
Pol.
Not
I,
my
lord.Then
I
would
you
were
so
honest
a
man.
Pol.
Honest,
my
lord!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.For
if
the
sun
breed
maggots
in
a
dead
dog,
being
a
god-kissing
carrion,--Have
you
a
daughter?
Pol.
I
have,
my
lord.Let
her
not
walk
i'
the
sun:
conception
is
a
blessing,
but
not
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?Words,
words,
words.
Pol.
What
is
the
matter,
my
lord?Between
who?
Pol.
I
mean,
the
matter
that
you
read,
my
lord.Slanders,
sir:
for
the
satirical
slave
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
which,
sir,
though
I
most
powerfully
and
potently
believe,
yet
I
hold
it
not
honesty
to
have
it
thus
set
down;
for
you
yourself,
sir,
should
be
old
as
I
am,
if,
like
a
crab,
you
could
go
backward.
Pol.
[Aside.]
Though
this
be
madness,
yet
there
is
a
method
in't.--
Will
you
walk
out
of
the
air,
my
lord?Into
my
grave?
Pol.
Indeed,
that
is
out
o'
the
air.
[Aside.]
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.You
cannot,
sir,
take
from
me
anything
that
I
will
more
willingly
part
withal,--except
my
life,
except
my
life,
except
my
life.
Pol.
Fare
you
well,
my
lord.These
tedious
old
fools!
[Enter
Rosencrantz
and
Guildenstern.]
Pol.
You
go
to
seek
the
Lord
Hamlet;
there
he
is.
Ros.
[To
Polonius.]
God
save
you,
sir!
[Exit
Polonius.]
Guil.
My
honoured
lord!
Ros.
My
most
dear
lord!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
over-happy;
On
fortune's
cap
we
are
not
the
very
button.Nor
the
soles
of
her
shoe?
Ros.
Neither,
my
lord.Then
you
live
about
her
waist,
or
in
the
middle
of
her
favours?
Guil.
Faith,
her
privates
we.In
the
secret
parts
of
fortune?
O,
most
true;
she
is
a
strumpet.
What's
the
news?
Ros.
None,
my
lord,
but
that
the
world's
grown
honest.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!Denmark's
a
prison.
Ros.
Then
is
the
world
one.A
goodly
one;
in
which
there
are
many
confines,
wards,
and
dungeons,
Denmark
being
one
o'
the
worst.
Ros.
We
think
not
so,
my
lord.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.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.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.Then
are
our
beggars
bodies,
and
our
monarchs
and
outstretch'd
heroes
the
beggars'
shadows.
Shall
we
to
the
court?
for,
by
my
fay,
I
cannot
reason.
Ros.
and
Guild.
We'll
wait
upon
you.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.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,
deal
justly
with
me:
come,
come;
nay,
speak.
Guil.
What
should
we
say,
my
lord?Why,
anything--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?That
you
must
teach
me.
But
let
me
conjure
you,
by
the
rights
of
our
fellowship,
by
the
consonancy
of
our
youth,
by
the
obligation
of
our
ever-preserved
love,
and
by
what
more
dear
a
better
proposer
could
charge
you
withal,
be
even
and
direct
with
me,
whether
you
were
sent
for
or
no.
Ros.
[To
Guildenstern.]
What
say
you?[Aside.]
Nay,
then,
I
have
an
eye
of
you.--If
you
love
me,
hold
not
off.
Guil.
My
lord,
we
were
sent
for.I
will
tell
you
why;
so
shall
my
anticipation
prevent
your
discovery,
and
your
secrecy
to
the
king
and
queen
moult
no
feather.
I
have
of
late,--but
wherefore
I
know
not,--lost
all
my
mirth,
forgone
all
custom
of
exercises;
and
indeed,
it
goes
so
heavily
with
my
disposition
that
this
goodly
frame,
the
earth,
seems
to
me
a
sterile
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;
no,
nor
woman
neither,
though
by
your
smiling
you
seem
to
say
so.
Ros.
My
lord,
there
was
no
such
stuff
in
my
thoughts.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.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
tickle
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.How
chances
it
they
travel?
their
residence,
both
in
reputation
and
profit,
was
better
both
ways.
Ros.
I
think
their
inhibition
comes
by
the
means
of
the
late
innovation.Do
they
hold
the
same
estimation
they
did
when
I
was
in
the
city?
Are
they
so
followed?
Ros.
No,
indeed,
are
they
not.How
comes
it?
do
they
grow
rusty?
Ros.
Nay,
their
endeavour
keeps
in
the
wonted
pace:
but
there
is,
sir,
an
aery
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.What,
are
they
children?
who
maintains
'em?
How
are
they
escoted?
Will
they
pursue
the
quality
no
longer
than
they
can
sing?
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?
Ros.
Faith,
there
has
been
much
to
do
on
both
sides;
and
the
nation
holds
it
no
sin
to
tarre
them
to
controversy:
there
was,
for
awhile,
no
money
bid
for
argument
unless
the
poet
and
the
player
went
to
cuffs
in
the
question.Is't
possible?
Guil.
O,
there
has
been
much
throwing
about
of
brains.Do
the
boys
carry
it
away?
Ros.
Ay,
that
they
do,
my
lord;
Hercules
and
his
load
too.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
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.Gentlemen,
you
are
welcome
to
Elsinore.
Your
hands,
come:
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?I
am
but
mad
north-north-west:
when
the
wind
is
southerly
I
know
a
hawk
from
a
handsaw.
[Enter
Polonius.]
Pol.
Well
be
with
you,
gentlemen!Hark
you,
Guildenstern;--and
you
too;--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.I
will
prophesy
he
comes
to
tell
me
of
the
players;
mark
it.--You
say
right,
sir:
o'
Monday
morning;
'twas
so
indeed.
Pol.
My
lord,
I
have
news
to
tell
you.My
lord,
I
have
news
to
tell
you.
When
Roscius
was
an
actor
in
Rome,--
Pol.
The
actors
are
come
hither,
my
lord.Buzz,
buzz!
Pol.
Upon
my
honour,--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.O
Jephthah,
judge
of
Israel,
what
a
treasure
hadst
thou!
Pol.
What
treasure
had
he,
my
lord?Why--
'One
fair
daughter,
and
no
more,
The
which
he
loved
passing
well.'
Pol.
[Aside.]
Still
on
my
daughter.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.Nay,
that
follows
not.
Pol.
What
follows,
then,
my
lord?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
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
valanc'd
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
to
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.
I
Play.
What
speech,
my
lord?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
indite
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
AEneas'
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:--
The
rugged
Pyrrhus,
like
th'
Hyrcanian
beast,--
it
is
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
be
total
gules;
horridly
trick'd
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
vile
murders:
roasted
in
wrath
and
fire,
And
thus
o'ersized
with
coagulate
gore,
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.
I
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
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
Mars's
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
fiends!
Pol.
This
is
too
long.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.
I
Play.
But
who,
O
who,
had
seen
the
mobled
queen,--'The
mobled
queen'?
Pol.
That's
good!
'Mobled
queen'
is
good.
I
Play.
Run
barefoot
up
and
down,
threatening
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'erteemed
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
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,
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
not
turn'd
his
colour,
and
has
tears
in's
eyes.--Pray
you,
no
more!'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
abstracts
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.Odd's
bodikin,
man,
better:
use
every
man
after
his
desert,
and
who
should
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.Follow
him,
friends.
we'll
hear
a
play
to-morrow.
[Exeunt
Polonius
with
all
the
Players
but
the
First.]
Dost
thou
hear
me,
old
friend?
Can
you
play
'The
Murder
of
Gonzago'?
I
Play.
Ay,
my
lord.We'll
ha't
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?
I
Play.
Ay,
my
lord.Very
well.--Follow
that
lord;
and
look
you
mock
him
not.
[Exit
First
Player.]
--My
good
friends
[to
Ros.
and
Guild.],
I'll
leave
you
till
night:
you
are
welcome
to
Elsinore.
Ros.
Good
my
lord!
[Exeunt
Rosencrantz
and
Guildenstern.]Ay,
so,
God
b'
wi'
ye!
Now
I
am
alone.
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
wan'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
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?
'Swounds,
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
villain!
O,
vengeance!
Why,
what
an
ass
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
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
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
but
blench,
I
know
my
course.
The
spirit
that
I
have
seen
May
be
the
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,--
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.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?
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,
Most
free
in
his
reply.
Queen.
Did
you
assay
him
To
any
pastime?
Ros.
Madam,
it
so
fell
out
that
certain
players
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
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
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,
That
he,
as
'twere
by
accident,
may
here
Affront
Ophelia:
Her
father
and
myself,--lawful
espials,--
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
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
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;
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.
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
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.]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
heartache,
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
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
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
despis'd
love,
the
law's
delay,
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
these
fardels
bear,
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,
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
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!
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?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.No,
not
I;
I
never
gave
you
aught.
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,
Take
these
again;
for
to
the
noble
mind
Rich
gifts
wax
poor
when
givers
prove
unkind.
There,
my
lord.Ha,
ha!
are
you
honest?
Oph.
My
lord?Are
you
fair?
Oph.
What
means
your
lordship?That
if
you
be
honest
and
fair,
your
honesty
should
admit
no
discourse
to
your
beauty.
Oph.
Could
beauty,
my
lord,
have
better
commerce
than
with
honesty?Ay,
truly;
for
the
power
of
beauty
will
sooner
transform
honesty
from
what
it
is
to
a
bawd
than
the
force
of
honesty
can
translate
beauty
into
his
likeness:
this
was
sometime
a
paradox,
but
now
the
time
gives
it
proof.
I
did
love
you
once.
Oph.
Indeed,
my
lord,
you
made
me
believe
so.You
should
not
have
believ'd
me;
for
virtue
cannot
so
inoculate
our
old
stock
but
we
shall
relish
of
it:
I
loved
you
not.
Oph.
I
was
the
more
deceived.Get
thee
to
a
nunnery:
why
wouldst
thou
be
a
breeder
of
sinners?
I
am
myself
indifferent
honest;
but
yet
I
could
accuse
me
of
such
things
that
it
were
better
my
mother
had
not
borne
me:
I
am
very
proud,
revengeful,
ambitious;
with
more
offences
at
my
beck
than
I
have
thoughts
to
put
them
in,
imagination
to
give
them
shape,
or
time
to
act
them
in.
What
should
such
fellows
as
I
do
crawling
between
earth
and
heaven?
We
are
arrant
knaves,
all;
believe
none
of
us.
Go
thy
ways
to
a
nunnery.
Where's
your
father?
Oph.
At
home,
my
lord.Let
the
doors
be
shut
upon
him,
that
he
may
play
the
fool
nowhere
but
in's
own
house.
Farewell.
Oph.
O,
help
him,
you
sweet
heavens!If
thou
dost
marry,
I'll
give
thee
this
plague
for
thy
dowry,--
be
thou
as
chaste
as
ice,
as
pure
as
snow,
thou
shalt
not
escape
calumny.
Get
thee
to
a
nunnery,
go:
farewell.
Or,
if
thou
wilt
needs
marry,
marry
a
fool;
for
wise
men
know
well
enough
what
monsters
you
make
of
them.
To
a
nunnery,
go;
and
quickly
too.
Farewell.
Oph.
O
heavenly
powers,
restore
him!I
have
heard
of
your
paintings
too,
well
enough;
God
hath
given
you
one
face,
and
you
make
yourselves
another:
you
jig,
you
amble,
and
you
lisp,
and
nickname
God's
creatures,
and
make
your
wantonness
your
ignorance.
Go
to,
I'll
no
more
on't;
it
hath
made
me
mad.
I
say,
we
will
have
no
more
marriages:
those
that
are
married
already,
all
but
one,
shall
live;
the
rest
shall
keep
as
they
are.
To
a
nunnery,
go.
[Exit.]
Oph.
O,
what
a
noble
mind
is
here
o'erthrown!
The
courtier's,
scholar's,
soldier's,
eye,
tongue,
sword,
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
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
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,
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,
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,
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
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;
But
if
you
hold
it
fit,
after
the
play,
Let
his
queen
mother
all
alone
entreat
him
To
show
his
grief:
let
her
be
round
with
him;
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:
Madness
in
great
ones
must
not
unwatch'd
go.
[Exeunt.]II.
A
hall
in
the
Castle.
[Enter
Hamlet
and
cartain
Players.]Speak
the
speech,
I
pray
you,
as
I
pronounced
it
to
you,
trippingly
on
the
tongue:
but
if
you
mouth
it,
as
many
of
your
players
do,
I
had
as
lief
the
town
crier
spoke
my
lines.
Nor
do
not
saw
the
air
too
much
with
your
hand,
thus,
but
use
all
gently:
for
in
the
very
torrent,
tempest,
and,
as
I
may
say,
whirlwind
of
passion,
you
must
acquire
and
beget
a
temperance
that
may
give
it
smoothness.
O,
it
offends
me
to
the
soul,
to
hear
a
robustious
periwig-pated
fellow
tear
a
passion
to
tatters,
to
very
rags,
to
split
the
cars
of
the
groundlings,
who,
for
the
most
part,
are
capable
of
nothing
but
inexplicable
dumb
shows
and
noise:
I
would
have
such
a
fellow
whipped
for
o'erdoing
Termagant;
it
out-herods
Herod:
pray
you
avoid
it.
I
Player.
I
warrant
your
honour.Be
not
too
tame
neither;
but
let
your
own
discretion
be
your
tutor:
suit
the
action
to
the
word,
the
word
to
the
action;
with
this
special
observance,
that
you
o'erstep
not
the
modesty
of
nature:
for
anything
so
overdone
is
from
the
purpose
of
playing,
whose
end,
both
at
the
first
and
now,
was
and
is,
to
hold,
as
'twere,
the
mirror
up
to
nature;
to
show
virtue
her
own
image,
scorn
her
own
image,
and
the
very
age
and
body
of
the
time
his
form
and
pressure.
Now,
this
overdone,
or
come
tardy
off,
though
it
make
the
unskilful
laugh,
cannot
but
make
the
judicious
grieve;
the
censure
of
the
which
one
must
in
your
allowance,
o'erweigh
a
whole
theatre
of
others.
O,
there
be
players
that
I
have
seen
play,--and
heard
others
praise,
and
that
highly,--not
to
speak
it
profanely,
that,
neither
having
the
accent
of
Christians,
nor
the
gait
of
Christian,
pagan,
nor
man,
have
so
strutted
and
bellowed
that
I
have
thought
some
of
nature's
journeymen
had
made
men,
and
not
made
them
well,
they
imitated
humanity
so
abominably.
I
Player.
I
hope
we
have
reform'd
that
indifferently
with
us,
sir.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
meantime
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?
Pol.
And
the
queen
too,
and
that
presently.Bid
the
players
make
haste.
[Exit
Polonius.]
Will
you
two
help
to
hasten
them?
Ros.
and
Guil.
We
will,
my
lord.
[Exeunt
Ros.
and
Guil.]What,
ho,
Horatio!
[Enter
Horatio.]
Hor.
Here,
sweet
lord,
at
your
service.Horatio,
thou
art
e'en
as
just
a
man
As
e'er
my
conversation
cop'd
withal.
Hor.
O,
my
dear
lord,--Nay,
do
not
think
I
flatter;
For
what
advancement
may
I
hope
from
thee,
That
no
revenue
hast,
but
thy
good
spirits,
To
feed
and
clothe
thee?
Why
should
the
poor
be
flatter'd?
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
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
Hast
ta'en
with
equal
thanks:
and
bles'd
are
those
Whose
blood
and
judgment
are
so
well
commingled
That
they
are
not
a
pipe
for
Fortune's
finger
To
sound
what
stop
she
please.
Give
me
that
man
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;
One
scene
of
it
comes
near
the
circumstance,
Which
I
have
told
thee,
of
my
father's
death:
I
pr'ythee,
when
thou
see'st
that
act
a-foot,
Even
with
the
very
comment
of
thy
soul
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
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:
If
he
steal
aught
the
whilst
this
play
is
playing,
And
scape
detecting,
I
will
pay
the
theft.They
are
coming
to
the
play.
I
must
be
idle:
Get
you
a
place.
[Danish
march.
A
flourish.
Enter
King,
Queen,
Polonius,
Ophelia,
Rosencrantz,
Guildenstern,
and
others.]
King.
How
fares
our
cousin
Hamlet?Excellent,
i'
faith;
of
the
chameleon's
dish:
I
eat
the
air,
promise-crammed:
you
cannot
feed
capons
so.
King.
I
have
nothing
with
this
answer,
Hamlet;
these
words
are
not
mine.No,
nor
mine
now.
My
lord,
you
play'd
once
i'
the
university,
you
say?
[To
Polonius.]
Pol.
That
did
I,
my
lord,
and
was
accounted
a
good
actor.What
did
you
enact?
Pol.
I
did
enact
Julius
Caesar;
I
was
kill'd
i'
the
Capitol;
Brutus
killed
me.It
was
a
brute
part
of
him
to
kill
so
capital
a
calf
there.--Be
the
players
ready?
Ros.
Ay,
my
lord;
they
stay
upon
your
patience.
Queen.
Come
hither,
my
dear
Hamlet,
sit
by
me.No,
good
mother,
here's
metal
more
attractive.
Pol.
O,
ho!
do
you
mark
that?
[To
the
King.]Lady,
shall
I
lie
in
your
lap?
[Lying
down
at
Ophelia's
feet.]
Oph.
No,
my
lord.I
mean,
my
head
upon
your
lap?
Oph.
Ay,
my
lord.Do
you
think
I
meant
country
matters?
Oph.
I
think
nothing,
my
lord.That's
a
fair
thought
to
lie
between
maids'
legs.
Oph.
What
is,
my
lord?Nothing.
Oph.
You
are
merry,
my
lord.Who,
I?
Oph.
Ay,
my
lord.O,
your
only
jig-maker!
What
should
a
man
do
but
be
merry?
for
look
you
how
cheerfully
my
mother
looks,
and
my
father
died
within
's
two
hours.
Oph.
Nay,
'tis
twice
two
months,
my
lord.So
long?
Nay
then,
let
the
devil
wear
black,
for
I'll
have
a
suit
of
sables.
O
heavens!
die
two
months
ago,
and
not
forgotten
yet?
Then
there's
hope
a
great
man's
memory
may
outlive
his
life
half
a
year:
but,
by'r
lady,
he
must
build
churches
then;
or
else
shall
he
suffer
not
thinking
on,
with
the
hobby-horse,
whose
epitaph
is
'For,
O,
for,
O,
the
hobby-horse
is
forgot!'
[Trumpets
sound.
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,
pours
poison
in
the
king's
ears,
and
exit.
The
Queen
returns,
finds
the
King
dead,
and
makes
passionate
action.
The
Poisoner
with
some
three
or
four
Mutes,
comes
in
again,
seeming
to
lament
with
her.
The
dead
body
is
carried
away.
The
Poisoner
wooes
the
Queen
with
gifts;
she
seems
loth
and
unwilling
awhile,
but
in
the
end
accepts
his
love.]
[Exeunt.]
Oph.
What
means
this,
my
lord?Marry,
this
is
miching
mallecho;
it
means
mischief.
Oph.
Belike
this
show
imports
the
argument
of
the
play.
[Enter
Prologue.]We
shall
know
by
this
fellow:
the
players
cannot
keep
counsel;
they'll
tell
all.
Oph.
Will
he
tell
us
what
this
show
meant?Ay,
or
any
show
that
you'll
show
him:
be
not
you
ashamed
to
show,
he'll
not
shame
to
tell
you
what
it
means.
Oph.
You
are
naught,
you
are
naught:
I'll
mark
the
play.
Pro.
For
us,
and
for
our
tragedy,
Here
stooping
to
your
clemency,
We
beg
your
hearing
patiently.Is
this
a
prologue,
or
the
posy
of
a
ring?
Oph.
'Tis
brief,
my
lord.As
woman's
love.
[Enter
a
King
and
a
Queen.]
P.
King.
Full
thirty
times
hath
Phoebus'
cart
gone
round
Neptune's
salt
wash
and
Tellus'
orbed
ground,
And
thirty
dozen
moons
with
borrow'd
sheen
About
the
world
have
times
twelve
thirties
been,
Since
love
our
hearts,
and
Hymen
did
our
hands,
Unite
commutual
in
most
sacred
bands.
P.
Queen.
So
many
journeys
may
the
sun
and
moon
Make
us
again
count
o'er
ere
love
be
done!
But,
woe
is
me,
you
are
so
sick
of
late,
So
far
from
cheer
and
from
your
former
state.
That
I
distrust
you.
Yet,
though
I
distrust,
Discomfort
you,
my
lord,
it
nothing
must:
For
women's
fear
and
love
holds
quantity;
In
neither
aught,
or
in
extremity.
Now,
what
my
love
is,
proof
hath
made
you
know;
And
as
my
love
is
siz'd,
my
fear
is
so:
Where
love
is
great,
the
littlest
doubts
are
fear;
Where
little
fears
grow
great,
great
love
grows
there.
P.
King.
Faith,
I
must
leave
thee,
love,
and
shortly
too;
My
operant
powers
their
functions
leave
to
do:
And
thou
shalt
live
in
this
fair
world
behind,
Honour'd,
belov'd,
and
haply
one
as
kind
For
husband
shalt
thou,--
P.
Queen.
O,
confound
the
rest!
Such
love
must
needs
be
treason
in
my
breast:
In
second
husband
let
me
be
accurst!
None
wed
the
second
but
who
kill'd
the
first.[Aside.]
Wormwood,
wormwood!
P.
Queen.
The
instances
that
second
marriage
move
Are
base
respects
of
thrift,
but
none
of
love.
A
second
time
I
kill
my
husband
dead
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;
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
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
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
loves
should
with
our
fortunes
change;
For
'tis
a
question
left
us
yet
to
prove,
Whether
love
lead
fortune,
or
else
fortune
love.
The
great
man
down,
you
mark
his
favourite
flies,
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,
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;
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!
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
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!If
she
should
break
it
now!
[To
Ophelia.]
P.
King.
'Tis
deeply
sworn.
Sweet,
leave
me
here
awhile;
My
spirits
grow
dull,
and
fain
I
would
beguile
The
tedious
day
with
sleep.
[Sleeps.]
P.
Queen.
Sleep
rock
thy
brain,
And
never
come
mischance
between
us
twain!
[Exit.]Madam,
how
like
you
this
play?
Queen.
The
lady
protests
too
much,
methinks.O,
but
she'll
keep
her
word.
King.
Have
you
heard
the
argument?
Is
there
no
offence
in't?No,
no!
They
do
but
jest,
poison
in
jest;
no
offence
i'
the
world.
King.
What
do
you
call
the
play?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
o'
that?
your
majesty,
and
we
that
have
free
souls,
it
touches
us
not:
let
the
gall'd
jade
wince;
our
withers
are
unwrung.
[Enter
Lucianus.]
This
is
one
Lucianus,
nephew
to
the
King.
Oph.
You
are
a
good
chorus,
my
lord.I
could
interpret
between
you
and
your
love,
if
I
could
see
the
puppets
dallying.
Oph.
You
are
keen,
my
lord,
you
are
keen.It
would
cost
you
a
groaning
to
take
off
my
edge.
Oph.
Still
better,
and
worse.So
you
must
take
your
husbands.--Begin,
murderer;
pox,
leave
thy
damnable
faces,
and
begin.
Come:--'The
croaking
raven
doth
bellow
for
revenge.'
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
On
wholesome
life
usurp
immediately.
[Pours
the
poison
into
the
sleeper's
ears.]He
poisons
him
i'
the
garden
for's
estate.
His
name's
Gonzago:
The
story
is
extant,
and
written
in
very
choice
Italian;
you
shall
see
anon
how
the
murderer
gets
the
love
of
Gonzago's
wife.
Oph.
The
King
rises.What,
frighted
with
false
fire!
Queen.
How
fares
my
lord?
Pol.
Give
o'er
the
play.
King.
Give
me
some
light:--away!
All.
Lights,
lights,
lights!
[Exeunt
all
but
Hamlet
and
Horatio.]Why,
let
the
strucken
deer
go
weep,
The
hart
ungalled
play;
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.A
whole
one,
I.
For
thou
dost
know,
O
Damon
dear,
This
realm
dismantled
was
Of
Jove
himself;
and
now
reigns
here
A
very,
very--pajock.
Hor.
You
might
have
rhymed.O
good
Horatio,
I'll
take
the
ghost's
word
for
a
thousand
pound!
Didst
perceive?
Hor.
Very
well,
my
lord.Upon
the
talk
of
the
poisoning?--
Hor.
I
did
very
well
note
him.Ah,
ha!--Come,
some
music!
Come,
the
recorders!--
For
if
the
king
like
not
the
comedy,
Why
then,
belike
he
likes
it
not,
perdy.
Come,
some
music!
[Enter
Rosencrantz
and
Guildenstern.]
Guil.
Good
my
lord,
vouchsafe
me
a
word
with
you.Sir,
a
whole
history.
Guil.
The
king,
sir--Ay,
sir,
what
of
him?
Guil.
Is,
in
his
retirement,
marvellous
distempered.With
drink,
sir?
Guil.
No,
my
lord;
rather
with
choler.Your
wisdom
should
show
itself
more
richer
to
signify
this
to
the
doctor;
for
me
to
put
him
to
his
purgation
would
perhaps
plunge
him
into
far
more
choler.
Guil.
Good
my
lord,
put
your
discourse
into
some
frame,
and
start
not
so
wildly
from
my
affair.I
am
tame,
sir:--pronounce.
Guil.
The
queen,
your
mother,
in
most
great
affliction
of
spirit,
hath
sent
me
to
you.You
are
welcome.
Guil.
Nay,
good
my
lord,
this
courtesy
is
not
of
the
right
breed.
If
it
shall
please
you
to
make
me
a
wholesome
answer,
I
will
do
your
mother's
commandment:
if
not,
your
pardon
and
my
return
shall
be
the
end
of
my
business.Sir,
I
cannot.
Guil.
What,
my
lord?Make
you
a
wholesome
answer;
my
wit's
diseased:
but,
sir,
such
answer
as
I
can
make,
you
shall
command;
or
rather,
as
you
say,
my
mother:
therefore
no
more,
but
to
the
matter:
my
mother,
you
say,--
Ros.
Then
thus
she
says:
your
behaviour
hath
struck
her
into
amazement
and
admiration.O
wonderful
son,
that
can
so
stonish
a
mother!--But
is
there
no
sequel
at
the
heels
of
this
mother's
admiration?
Ros.
She
desires
to
speak
with
you
in
her
closet
ere
you
go
to
bed.We
shall
obey,
were
she
ten
times
our
mother.
Have
you
any
further
trade
with
us?
Ros.
My
lord,
you
once
did
love
me.And
so
I
do
still,
by
these
pickers
and
stealers.
Ros.
Good
my
lord,
what
is
your
cause
of
distemper?
you
do,
surely,
bar
the
door
upon
your
own
liberty
if
you
deny
your
griefs
to
your
friend.Sir,
I
lack
advancement.
Ros.
How
can
that
be,
when
you
have
the
voice
of
the
king
himself
for
your
succession
in
Denmark?Ay,
sir,
but
'While
the
grass
grows'--the
proverb
is
something
musty.
[Re-enter
the
Players,
with
recorders.]
O,
the
recorders:--let
me
see
one.--To
withdraw
with
you:--why
do
you
go
about
to
recover
the
wind
of
me,
as
if
you
would
drive
me
into
a
toil?
Guil.
O
my
lord,
if
my
duty
be
too
bold,
my
love
is
too
unmannerly.I
do
not
well
understand
that.
Will
you
play
upon
this
pipe?
Guil.
My
lord,
I
cannot.I
pray
you.
Guil.
Believe
me,
I
cannot.I
do
beseech
you.
Guil.
I
know,
no
touch
of
it,
my
lord.'Tis
as
easy
as
lying:
govern
these
ventages
with
your
finger
and
thumb,
give
it
breath
with
your
mouth,
and
it
will
discourse
most
eloquent
music.
Look
you,
these
are
the
stops.
Guil.
But
these
cannot
I
command
to
any
utterance
of
harmony;
I
have
not
the
skill.Why,
look
you
now,
how
unworthy
a
thing
you
make
of
me!
You
would
play
upon
me;
you
would
seem
to
know
my
stops;
you
would
pluck
out
the
heart
of
my
mystery;
you
would
sound
me
from
my
lowest
note
to
the
top
of
my
compass;
and
there
is
much
music,
excellent
voice,
in
this
little
organ,
yet
cannot
you
make
it
speak.
'Sblood,
do
you
think
I
am
easier
to
be
played
on
than
a
pipe?
Call
me
what
instrument
you
will,
though
you
can
fret
me,
you
cannot
play
upon
me.
[Enter
Polonius.]
God
bless
you,
sir!
Pol.
My
lord,
the
queen
would
speak
with
you,
and
presently.Do
you
see
yonder
cloud
that's
almost
in
shape
of
a
camel?
Pol.
By
the
mass,
and
'tis
like
a
camel
indeed.Methinks
it
is
like
a
weasel.
Pol.
It
is
backed
like
a
weasel.Or
like
a
whale.
Pol.
Very
like
a
whale.Then
will
I
come
to
my
mother
by
and
by.--They
fool
me
to
the
top
of
my
bent.--I
will
come
by
and
by.
Pol.
I
will
say
so.
[Exit.]By-and-by
is
easily
said.
[Exit
Polonius.]
--Leave
me,
friends.
[Exeunt
Ros,
Guil.,
Hor.,
and
Players.]
'Tis
now
the
very
witching
time
of
night,
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
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;
I
will
speak
daggers
to
her,
but
use
none;
My
tongue
and
soul
in
this
be
hypocrites,--
How
in
my
words
somever
she
be
shent,
To
give
them
seals
never,
my
soul,
consent!
[Exit.]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
forthwith
dispatch,
And
he
to
England
shall
along
with
you:
The
terms
of
our
estate
may
not
endure
Hazard
so
near
us
as
doth
hourly
grow
Out
of
his
lunacies.
Guil.
We
will
ourselves
provide:
Most
holy
and
religious
fear
it
is
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
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
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,
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;
For
we
will
fetters
put
upon
this
fear,
Which
now
goes
too
free-footed.
Ros
and
Guil.
We
will
haste
us.
[Exeunt
Ros.
and
Guil.]
[Enter
Polonius.]
Pol.
My
lord,
he's
going
to
his
mother's
closet:
Behind
the
arras
I'll
convey
myself
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
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;
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;
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,--
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
twofold
force,--
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!--
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?
In
the
corrupted
currents
of
this
world
Offence's
gilded
hand
may
shove
by
justice;
And
oft
'tis
seen
the
wicked
prize
itself
Buys
out
the
law;
but
'tis
not
so
above;
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?
Yet
what
can
it
when
one
cannot
repent?
O
wretched
state!
O
bosom
black
as
death!
O
limed
soul,
that,
struggling
to
be
free,
Art
more
engag'd!
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.]Now
might
I
do
it
pat,
now
he
is
praying;
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,
I,
his
sole
son,
do
this
same
villain
send
To
heaven.
O,
this
is
hire
and
salary,
not
revenge.
He
took
my
father
grossly,
full
of
bread;
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,
When
he
is
fit
and
season'd
for
his
passage?
No.
Up,
sword,
and
know
thou
a
more
horrid
hent:
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;--
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:
Words
without
thoughts
never
to
heaven
go.
[Exit.]IV.
Another
room
in
the
castle.
[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.
Pray
you,
be
round
with
him.[Within.]
Mother,
mother,
mother!
Queen.
I'll
warrant
you:
Fear
me
not:--withdraw;
I
hear
him
coming.
[Polonius
goes
behind
the
arras.]
[Enter
Hamlet.]Now,
mother,
what's
the
matter?
Queen.
Hamlet,
thou
hast
thy
father
much
offended.Mother,
you
have
my
father
much
offended.
Queen.
Come,
come,
you
answer
with
an
idle
tongue.Go,
go,
you
question
with
a
wicked
tongue.
Queen.
Why,
how
now,
Hamlet!What's
the
matter
now?
Queen.
Have
you
forgot
me?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.
Queen.
Nay,
then,
I'll
set
those
to
you
that
can
speak.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.
Queen.
What
wilt
thou
do?
thou
wilt
not
murder
me?--
Help,
help,
ho!
Pol.
[Behind.]
What,
ho!
help,
help,
help!How
now?
a
rat?
[Draws.]
Dead
for
a
ducat,
dead!
[Makes
a
pass
through
the
arras.]
Pol.
[Behind.]
O,
I
am
slain!
[Falls
and
dies.]
Queen.
O
me,
what
hast
thou
done?Nay,
I
know
not:
is
it
the
king?
[Draws
forth
Polonius.]
Queen.
O,
what
a
rash
and
bloody
deed
is
this!A
bloody
deed!--almost
as
bad,
good
mother,
As
kill
a
king
and
marry
with
his
brother.
Queen.
As
kill
a
king!Ay,
lady,
'twas
my
word.--
Thou
wretched,
rash,
intruding
fool,
farewell!
[To
Polonius.]
I
took
thee
for
thy
better:
take
thy
fortune;
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;
If
damned
custom
have
not
braz'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?Such
an
act
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
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,
With
tristful
visage,
as
against
the
doom,
Is
thought-sick
at
the
act.
Queen.
Ah
me,
what
act,
That
roars
so
loud,
and
thunders
in
the
index?Look
here
upon
this
picture,
and
on
this,--
The
counterfeit
presentment
of
two
brothers.
See
what
a
grace
was
seated
on
this
brow;
Hyperion's
curls;
the
front
of
Jove
himself;
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,
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
milldew'd
ear
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
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
Is
apoplex'd;
for
madness
would
not
err;
Nor
sense
to
ecstacy
was
ne'er
so
thrall'd
But
it
reserv'd
some
quantity
of
choice
To
serve
in
such
a
difference.
What
devil
was't
That
thus
hath
cozen'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
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,
And
melt
in
her
own
fire:
proclaim
no
shame
When
the
compulsive
ardour
gives
the
charge,
Since
frost
itself
as
actively
doth
burn,
And
reason
panders
will.
Queen.
O
Hamlet,
speak
no
more:
Thou
turn'st
mine
eyes
into
my
very
soul;
And
there
I
see
such
black
and
grained
spots
As
will
not
leave
their
tinct.Nay,
but
to
live
In
the
rank
sweat
of
an
enseamed
bed,
Stew'd
in
corruption,
honeying
and
making
love
Over
the
nasty
sty,--
Queen.
O,
speak
to
me
no
more;
These
words
like
daggers
enter
in
mine
ears;
No
more,
sweet
Hamlet.A
murderer
and
a
villain;
A
slave
that
is
not
twentieth
part
the
tithe
Of
your
precedent
lord;
a
vice
of
kings;
A
cutpurse
of
the
empire
and
the
rule,
That
from
a
shelf
the
precious
diadem
stole
And
put
it
in
his
pocket!
Queen.
No
more.A
king
of
shreds
and
patches!--
[Enter
Ghost.]
Save
me
and
hover
o'er
me
with
your
wings,
You
heavenly
guards!--What
would
your
gracious
figure?
Queen.
Alas,
he's
mad!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
Is
but
to
whet
thy
almost
blunted
purpose.
But,
look,
amazement
on
thy
mother
sits:
O,
step
between
her
and
her
fighting
soul,--
Conceit
in
weakest
bodies
strongest
works,--
Speak
to
her,
Hamlet.How
is
it
with
you,
lady?
Queen.
Alas,
how
is't
with
you,
That
you
do
bend
your
eye
on
vacancy,
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
hairs,
like
life
in
excrements,
Start
up
and
stand
an
end.
O
gentle
son,
Upon
the
heat
and
flame
of
thy
distemper
Sprinkle
cool
patience!
Whereon
do
you
look?On
him,
on
him!
Look
you
how
pale
he
glares!
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
Will
want
true
colour;
tears
perchance
for
blood.
Queen.
To
whom
do
you
speak
this?Do
you
see
nothing
there?
Queen.
Nothing
at
all;
yet
all
that
is
I
see.Nor
did
you
nothing
hear?
Queen.
No,
nothing
but
ourselves.Why,
look
you
there!
look
how
it
steals
away!
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:
This
bodiless
creation
ecstasy
Is
very
cunning
in.Ecstasy!
My
pulse,
as
yours,
doth
temperately
keep
time,
And
makes
as
healthful
music:
it
is
not
madness
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
That
not
your
trespass,
but
my
madness
speaks:
It
will
but
skin
and
film
the
ulcerous
place,
Whilst
rank
corruption,
mining
all
within,
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;
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.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.
That
monster
custom,
who
all
sense
doth
eat,
Of
habits
evil,
is
angel
yet
in
this,--
That
to
the
use
of
actions
fair
and
good
He
likewise
gives
a
frock
or
livery
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
either
curb
the
devil,
or
throw
him
out
With
wondrous
potency.
Once
more,
good-night:
And
when
you
are
desirous
to
be
bles'd,
I'll
blessing
beg
of
you.--For
this
same
lord
[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
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?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,
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;
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,
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.
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.I
must
to
England;
you
know
that?
Queen.
Alack,
I
had
forgot:
'tis
so
concluded
on.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;
For
'tis
the
sport
to
have
the
enginer
Hoist
with
his
own
petard:
and
't
shall
go
hard
But
I
will
delve
one
yard
below
their
mines
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.--
Mother,
good-night.--Indeed,
this
counsellor
Is
now
most
still,
most
secret,
and
most
grave,
Who
was
in
life
a
foolish
peating
knave.
Come,
sir,
to
draw
toward
an
end
with
you:--
Good
night,
mother.
[Exeunt
severally;
Hamlet,
dragging
out
Polonius.]
ACT
IV.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.
Bestow
this
place
on
us
a
little
while.
[To
Rosencrantz
and
Guildenstern,
who
go
out.]
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
Behind
the
arras
hearing
something
stir,
Whips
out
his
rapier,
cries
'A
rat,
a
rat!'
And
in
this
brainish
apprehension,
kills
The
unseen
good
old
man.
King.
O
heavy
deed!
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
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;
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:
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!
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!
[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.
[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,
As
level
as
the
cannon
to
his
blank,
Transports
his
poison'd
shot,--may
miss
our
name,
And
hit
the
woundless
air.--O,
come
away!
My
soul
is
full
of
discord
and
dismay.
[Exeunt.]II.
Another
room
in
the
Castle.
[Enter
Hamlet.]Safely
stowed.
Ros.
and
Guil.
[Within.]
Hamlet!
Lord
Hamlet!What
noise?
who
calls
on
Hamlet?
O,
here
they
come.
[Enter
Rosencrantz
and
Guildenstern.]
Ros.
What
have
you
done,
my
lord,
with
the
dead
body?Compounded
it
with
dust,
whereto
'tis
kin.
Ros.
Tell
us
where
'tis,
that
we
may
take
it
thence,
And
bear
it
to
the
chapel.Do
not
believe
it.
Ros.
Believe
what?That
I
can
keep
your
counsel,
and
not
mine
own.
Besides,
to
be
demanded
of
a
sponge!--what
replication
should
be
made
by
the
son
of
a
king?
Ros.
Take
you
me
for
a
sponge,
my
lord?Ay,
sir;
that
soaks
up
the
King's
countenance,
his
rewards,
his
authorities.
But
such
officers
do
the
king
best
service
in
the
end:
he
keeps
them,
like
an
ape,
in
the
corner
of
his
jaw;
first
mouthed,
to
be
last
swallowed:
when
he
needs
what
you
have
gleaned,
it
is
but
squeezing
you,
and,
sponge,
you
shall
be
dry
again.
Ros.
I
understand
you
not,
my
lord.I
am
glad
of
it:
a
knavish
speech
sleeps
in
a
foolish
ear.
Ros.
My
lord,
you
must
tell
us
where
the
body
is
and
go
with
us
to
the
king.The
body
is
with
the
king,
but
the
king
is
not
with
the
body.
The
king
is
a
thing,--
Guil.
A
thing,
my
lord!Of
nothing:
bring
me
to
him.
Hide
fox,
and
all
after.
[Exeunt.]III.
Another
room
in
the
Castle.
[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,
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
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,
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.
[Enter
Hamlet
and
Guildenstern.]
King.
Now,
Hamlet,
where's
Polonius?At
supper.
King.
At
supper!
where?Not
where
he
eats,
but
where
he
is
eaten:
a
certain
convocation
of
politic
worms
are
e'en
at
him.
Your
worm
is
your
only
emperor
for
diet:
we
fat
all
creatures
else
to
fat
us,
and
we
fat
ourselves
for
maggots:
your
fat
king
and
your
lean
beggar
is
but
variable
service,--two
dishes,
but
to
one
table:
that's
the
end.
King.
Alas,
alas!A
man
may
fish
with
the
worm
that
hath
eat
of
a
king,
and
eat
of
the
fish
that
hath
fed
of
that
worm.
King.
What
dost
thou
mean
by
this?Nothing
but
to
show
you
how
a
king
may
go
a
progress
through
the
guts
of
a
beggar.
King.
Where
is
Polonius?In
heaven:
send
thither
to
see:
if
your
messenger
find
him
not
there,
seek
him
i'
the
other
place
yourself.
But,
indeed,
if
you
find
him
not
within
this
month,
you
shall
nose
him
as
you
go
up
the
stairs
into
the
lobby.
King.
Go
seek
him
there.
[To
some
Attendants.]He
will
stay
till
you
come.
[Exeunt
Attendants.]
King.
Hamlet,
this
deed,
for
thine
especial
safety,--
Which
we
do
tender,
as
we
dearly
grieve
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
everything
is
bent
For
England.For
England!
King.
Ay,
Hamlet.Good.
King.
So
is
it,
if
thou
knew'st
our
purposes.I
see
a
cherub
that
sees
them.--But,
come;
for
England!--
Farewell,
dear
mother.
King.
Thy
loving
father,
Hamlet.My
mother:
father
and
mother
is
man
and
wife;
man
and
wife
is
one
flesh;
and
so,
my
mother.--Come,
for
England!
[Exit.]
King.
Follow
him
at
foot;
tempt
him
with
speed
aboard;
Delay
it
not;
I'll
have
him
hence
to-night:
Away!
for
everything
is
seal'd
and
done
That
else
leans
on
the
affair:
pray
you,
make
haste.
[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
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,
And
thou
must
cure
me:
till
I
know
'tis
done,
Howe'er
my
haps,
my
joys
were
ne'er
begun.
[Exit.]IV.
A
plain
in
Denmark.
[Enter
Fortinbras,
and
Forces
marching.]
For.
Go,
Captain,
from
me
greet
the
Danish
king:
Tell
him
that,
by
his
license,
Fortinbras
Craves
the
conveyance
of
a
promis'd
march
Over
his
kingdom.
You
know
the
rendezvous.
If
that
his
majesty
would
aught
with
us,
We
shall
express
our
duty
in
his
eye;
And
let
him
know
so.
Capt.
I
will
do't,
my
lord.
For.
Go
softly
on.
[Exeunt
all
For.
and
Forces.]
[Enter
Hamlet,
Rosencrantz,
Guildenstern,
&c.]Good
sir,
whose
powers
are
these?
Capt.
They
are
of
Norway,
sir.How
purpos'd,
sir,
I
pray
you?
Capt.
Against
some
part
of
Poland.Who
commands
them,
sir?
Capt.
The
nephew
to
old
Norway,
Fortinbras.Goes
it
against
the
main
of
Poland,
sir,
Or
for
some
frontier?
Capt.
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;
Nor
will
it
yield
to
Norway
or
the
Pole
A
ranker
rate,
should
it
be
sold
in
fee.Why,
then
the
Polack
never
will
defend
it.
Capt.
Yes,
it
is
already
garrison'd.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
Why
the
man
dies.--I
humbly
thank
you,
sir.
Capt.
God
b'
wi'
you,
sir.
[Exit.]
Ros.
Will't
please
you
go,
my
lord?I'll
be
with
you
straight.
Go
a
little
before.
[Exeunt
all
but
Hamlet.]
How
all
occasions
do
inform
against
me
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,
Looking
before
and
after,
gave
us
not
That
capability
and
godlike
reason
To
fust
in
us
unus'd.
Now,
whether
it
be
Bestial
oblivion,
or
some
craven
scruple
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;'
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;
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,
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,
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,
Go
to
their
graves
like
beds;
fight
for
a
plot
Whereon
the
numbers
cannot
try
the
cause,
Which
is
not
tomb
enough
and
continent
To
hide
the
slain?--O,
from
this
time
forth,
My
thoughts
be
bloody,
or
be
nothing
worth!
[Exit.]V.
Elsinore.
A
room
in
the
Castle.
[Enter
Queen
and
Horatio.]
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
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
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,
Though
nothing
sure,
yet
much
unhappily.
'Twere
good
she
were
spoken
with;
for
she
may
strew
Dangerous
conjectures
in
ill-breeding
minds.
Queen.
Let
her
come
in.
[Exit
Horatio.]
To
my
sick
soul,
as
sin's
true
nature
is,
Each
toy
seems
Prologue
to
some
great
amiss:
So
full
of
artless
jealousy
is
guilt,
It
spills
itself
in
fearing
to
be
spilt.
[Re-enter
Horatio
with
Ophelia.]
Oph.
Where
is
the
beauteous
majesty
of
Denmark?
Queen.
How
now,
Ophelia?
Oph.
[Sings.]
How
should
I
your
true
love
know
From
another
one?
By
his
cockle
bat
and'
staff
And
his
sandal
shoon.
Queen.
Alas,
sweet
lady,
what
imports
this
song?
Oph.
Say
you?
nay,
pray
you,
mark.
[Sings.]
He
is
dead
and
gone,
lady,
He
is
dead
and
gone;
At
his
head
a
grass
green
turf,
At
his
heels
a
stone.
Queen.
Nay,
but
Ophelia--
Oph.
Pray
you,
mark.
[Sings.]
White
his
shroud
as
the
mountain
snow,
[Enter
King.]
Queen.
Alas,
look
here,
my
lord!
Oph.
[Sings.]
Larded
all
with
sweet
flowers;
Which
bewept
to
the
grave
did
go
With
true-love
showers.
King.
How
do
you,
pretty
lady?
Oph.
Well,
God
dild
you!
They
say
the
owl
was
a
baker's
daughter.
Lord,
we
know
what
we
are,
but
know
not
what
we
may
be.
God
be
at
your
table!
King.
Conceit
upon
her
father.
Oph.
Pray
you,
let's
have
no
words
of
this;
but
when
they
ask
you
what
it
means,
say
you
this:
[Sings.]
To-morrow
is
Saint
Valentine's
day
All
in
the
morning
bedtime,
And
I
a
maid
at
your
window,
To
be
your
Valentine.
Then
up
he
rose
and
donn'd
his
clothes,
And
dupp'd
the
chamber
door,
Let
in
the
maid,
that
out
a
maid
Never
departed
more.
King.
Pretty
Ophelia!
Oph.
Indeed,
la,
without
an
oath,
I'll
make
an
end
on't:
[Sings.]
By
Gis
and
by
Saint
Charity,
Alack,
and
fie
for
shame!
Young
men
will
do't
if
they
come
to't;
By
cock,
they
are
to
blame.
Quoth
she,
before
you
tumbled
me,
You
promis'd
me
to
wed.
So
would
I
ha'
done,
by
yonder
sun,
An
thou
hadst
not
come
to
my
bed.
King.
How
long
hath
she
been
thus?
Oph.
I
hope
all
will
be
well.
We
must
be
patient:
but
I
cannot
choose
but
weep,
to
think
they
would
lay
him
i'
the
cold
ground.
My
brother
shall
know
of
it:
and
so
I
thank
you
for
your
good
counsel.--Come,
my
coach!--Good
night,
ladies;
good
night,
sweet
ladies;
good
night,
good
night.
[Exit.]
King.
Follow
her
close;
give
her
good
watch,
I
pray
you.
[Exit
Horatio.]
O,
this
is
the
poison
of
deep
grief;
it
springs
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;
and
he
most
violent
author
Of
his
own
just
remove:
the
people
muddied,
Thick
and
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,
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;
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,
Will
nothing
stick
our
person
to
arraign
In
ear
and
ear.
O
my
dear
Gertrude,
this,
Like
to
a
murdering
piece,
in
many
places
Give,
me
superfluous
death.
[A
noise
within.]
Queen.
Alack,
what
noise
is
this?
King.
Where
are
my
Switzers?
let
them
guard
the
door.
[Enter
a
Gentleman.]
What
is
the
matter?
Gent.
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,
O'erbears
your
offices.
The
rabble
call
him
lord;
And,
as
the
world
were
now
but
to
begin,
Antiquity
forgot,
custom
not
known,
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!'
Queen.
How
cheerfully
on
the
false
trail
they
cry!
O,
this
is
counter,
you
false
Danish
dogs!
[A
noise
within.]
King.
The
doors
are
broke.
[Enter
Laertes,
armed;
Danes
following.]
Laer.
Where
is
this
king?--Sirs,
stand
you
all
without.
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.
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?--
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,
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.
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,--
That
both
the
worlds,
I
give
to
negligence,
Let
come
what
comes;
only
I'll
be
reveng'd
Most
throughly
for
my
father.
King.
Who
shall
stay
you?
Laer.
My
will,
not
all
the
world:
And
for
my
means,
I'll
husband
them
so
well,
They
shall
go
far
with
little.
King.
Good
Laertes,
If
you
desire
to
know
the
certainty
Of
your
dear
father's
death,
is't
writ
in
your
revenge
That,
sweepstake,
you
will
draw
both
friend
and
foe,
Winner
and
loser?
Laer.
None
but
his
enemies.
King.
Will
you
know
them
then?
Laer.
To
his
good
friends
thus
wide
I'll
ope
my
arms;
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,
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?
[Re-enter
Ophelia,
fantastically
dressed
with
straws
and
flowers.]
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!--
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,
It
sends
some
precious
instance
of
itself
After
the
thing
it
loves.
Oph.
[Sings.]
They
bore
him
barefac'd
on
the
bier
Hey
no
nonny,
nonny,
hey
nonny
And
on
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.
Oph.
You
must
sing
'Down
a-down,
an
you
call
him
a-down-a.'
O,
how
the
wheel
becomes
it!
It
is
the
false
steward,
that
stole
his
master's
daughter.
Laer.
This
nothing's
more
than
matter.
Oph.
There's
rosemary,
that's
for
remembrance;
pray,
love,
remember:
and
there
is
pansies,
that's
for
thoughts.
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
wither'd
all
when
my
father
died:--they
say
he
made
a
good
end,--
[Sings.]
For
bonny
sweet
Robin
is
all
my
joy,--
Laer.
Thought
and
affliction,
passion,
hell
itself,
She
turns
to
favour
and
to
prettiness.
Oph.
[Sings.]
And
will
he
not
come
again?
And
will
he
not
come
again?
No,
no,
he
is
dead,
Go
to
thy
death-bed,
He
never
will
come
again.
His
beard
was
as
white
as
snow,
All
flaxen
was
his
poll:
He
is
gone,
he
is
gone,
And
we
cast
away
moan:
God
ha'
mercy
on
his
soul!
And
of
all
Christian
souls,
I
pray
God.--God
b'
wi'
ye.
[Exit.]
Laer.
Do
you
see
this,
O
God?
King.
Laertes,
I
must
commune
with
your
grief,
Or
you
deny
me
right.
Go
but
apart,
Make
choice
of
whom
your
wisest
friends
you
will,
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,
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;
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;
And
where
the
offence
is
let
the
great
axe
fall.
I
pray
you
go
with
me.
[Exeunt.]VI.
Another
room
in
the
Castle.
[Enter
Horatio
and
a
Servant.]
Hor.
What
are
they
that
would
speak
with
me?
Servant.
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
I
should
be
greeted,
if
not
from
Lord
Hamlet.
[Enter
Sailors.]
I
Sailor.
God
bless
you,
sir.
Hor.
Let
him
bless
thee
too.
Sailor.
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.
Hor.
[Reads.]
'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
warlike
appointment
gave
us
chase.
Finding
ourselves
too
slow
of
sail,
we
put
on
a
compelled
valour,
and
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,
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.]VII.
Another
room
in
the
Castle.
[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
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,
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,--
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,
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,
Convert
his
gyves
to
graces;
so
that
my
arrows,
Too
slightly
timber'd
for
so
loud
a
wind,
Would
have
reverted
to
my
bow
again,
And
not
where
I
had
aim'd
them.
Laer.
And
so
have
I
a
noble
father
lost;
A
sister
driven
into
desperate
terms,--
Whose
worth,
if
praises
may
go
back
again,
Stood
challenger
on
mount
of
all
the
age
For
her
perfections:--but
my
revenge
will
come.
King.
Break
not
your
sleeps
for
that:--you
must
not
think
That
we
are
made
of
stuff
so
flat
and
dull
That
we
can
let
our
beard
be
shook
with
danger,
And
think
it
pastime.
You
shortly
shall
hear
more:
I
lov'd
your
father,
and
we
love
ourself;
And
that,
I
hope,
will
teach
you
to
imagine,--
[Enter
a
Messenger.]
How
now!
What
news?
Mess.
Letters,
my
lord,
from
Hamlet:
This
to
your
majesty;
this
to
the
queen.
King.
From
Hamlet!
Who
brought
them?
Mess.
Sailors,
my
lord,
they
say;
I
saw
them
not:
They
were
given
me
by
Claudio:--he
receiv'd
them
Of
him
that
brought
them.
King.
Laertes,
you
shall
hear
them.
Leave
us.
[Exit
Messenger.]
[Reads]'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?
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.'
Can
you
advise
me?
Laer.
I
am
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,
'Thus
didest
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'errule
me
to
a
peace.
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
exploit,
now
ripe
in
my
device,
Under
the
which
he
shall
not
choose
but
fall:
And
for
his
death
no
wind
shall
breathe;
But
even
his
mother
shall
uncharge
the
practice
And
call
it
accident.
Laer.
My
lord,
I
will
be
rul'd;
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
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?
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,
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
Had
witchcraft
in't:
he
grew
unto
his
seat;
And
to
such
wondrous
doing
brought
his
horse,
As
had
he
been
incorps'd
and
demi-natur'd
With
the
brave
beast:
so
far
he
topp'd
my
thought
That
I,
in
forgery
of
shapes
and
tricks,
Come
short
of
what
he
did.
Laer.
A
Norman
was't?
King.
A
Norman.
Laer.
Upon
my
life,
Lamond.
King.
The
very
same.
Laer.
I
know
him
well:
he
is
the
brooch
indeed
And
gem
of
all
the
nation.
King.
He
made
confession
of
you;
And
gave
you
such
a
masterly
report
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
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
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,
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,
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;
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
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
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,
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
The
Frenchman
gave
you;
bring
you
in
fine
together
And
wager
on
your
heads:
he,
being
remiss,
Most
generous,
and
free
from
all
contriving,
Will
not
peruse
the
foils;
so
that
with
ease,
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.
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
Under
the
moon,
can
save
the
thing
from
death
This
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;
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.
'Twere
better
not
assay'd:
therefore
this
project
Should
have
a
back
or
second,
that
might
hold
If
this
did
blast
in
proof.
Soft!
let
me
see:--
We'll
make
a
solemn
wager
on
your
cunnings,--
I
ha't:
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,
Our
purpose
may
hold
there.
[Enter
Queen.]
How
now,
sweet
queen!
Queen.
One
woe
doth
tread
upon
another's
heel,
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
Of
crowflowers,
nettles,
daisies,
and
long
purples,
That
liberal
shepherds
give
a
grosser
name,
But
our
cold
maids
do
dead
men's
fingers
call
them.
There,
on
the
pendant
boughs
her
coronet
weeds
Clamb'ring
to
hang,
an
envious
sliver
broke;
When
down
her
weedy
trophies
and
herself
Fell
in
the
weeping
brook.
Her
clothes
spread
wide;
And,
mermaid-like,
awhile
they
bore
her
up;
Which
time
she
chaunted
snatches
of
old
tunes;
As
one
incapable
of
her
own
distress,
Or
like
a
creature
native
and
indu'd
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?
Queen.
Drown'd,
drown'd.
Laer.
Too
much
of
water
hast
thou,
poor
Ophelia,
And
therefore
I
forbid
my
tears:
but
yet
It
is
our
trick;
nature
her
custom
holds,
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!
Now
fear
I
this
will
give
it
start
again;
Therefore
let's
follow.
[Exeunt.]
ACT
V.I.
A
churchyard.
[Enter
two
Clowns,
with
spades,
&c.]
1
Clown.
Is
she
to
be
buried
in
Christian
burial
when
she
wilfully
seeks
her
own
salvation?
2
Clown.
I
tell
thee
she
is;
and
therefore
make
her
grave
straight:
the
crowner
hath
sat
on
her,
and
finds
it
Christian
burial.
1
Clown.
How
can
that
be,
unless
she
drowned
herself
in
her
own
defence?
2
Clown.
Why,
'tis
found
so.
1
Clown.
It
must
be
se
offendendo;
it
cannot
be
else.
For
here
lies
the
point:
if
I
drown
myself
wittingly,
it
argues
an
act:
and
an
act
hath
three
branches;
it
is
to
act,
to
do,
and
to
perform:
argal,
she
drowned
herself
wittingly.
2
Clown.
Nay,
but
hear
you,
goodman
delver,--
1
Clown.
Give
me
leave.
Here
lies
the
water;
good:
here
stands
the
man;
good:
if
the
man
go
to
this
water
and
drown
himself,
it
is,
will
he,
nill
he,
he
goes,--mark
you
that:
but
if
the
water
come
to
him
and
drown
him,
he
drowns
not
himself;
argal,
he
that
is
not
guilty
of
his
own
death
shortens
not
his
own
life.
2
Clown.
But
is
this
law?
1
Clown.
Ay,
marry,
is't--crowner's
quest
law.
2
Clown.
Will
you
ha'
the
truth
on't?
If
this
had
not
been
a
gentlewoman,
she
should
have
been
buried
out
o'
Christian
burial.
1
Clown.
Why,
there
thou
say'st:
and
the
more
pity
that
great
folk
should
have
countenance
in
this
world
to
drown
or
hang
themselves
more
than
their
even
Christian.--Come,
my
spade.
There
is
no
ancient
gentlemen
but
gardeners,
ditchers,
and
grave-makers:
they
hold
up
Adam's
profession.
2
Clown.
Was
he
a
gentleman?
1
Clown.
He
was
the
first
that
ever
bore
arms.
2
Clown.
Why,
he
had
none.
1
Clown.
What,
art
a
heathen?
How
dost
thou
understand
the
Scripture?
The
Scripture
says
Adam
digg'd:
could
he
dig
without
arms?
I'll
put
another
question
to
thee:
if
thou
answerest
me
not
to
the
purpose,
confess
thyself,--
2
Clown.
Go
to.
1
Clown.
What
is
he
that
builds
stronger
than
either
the
mason,
the
shipwright,
or
the
carpenter?
2
Clown.
The
gallows-maker;
for
that
frame
outlives
a
thousand
tenants.
1
Clown.
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.
To't
again,
come.
2
Clown.
Who
builds
stronger
than
a
mason,
a
shipwright,
or
a
carpenter?
1
Clown.
Ay,
tell
me
that,
and
unyoke.
2
Clown.
Marry,
now
I
can
tell.
1
Clown.
To't.
2
Clown.
Mass,
I
cannot
tell.
[Enter
Hamlet
and
Horatio,
at
a
distance.]
1
Clown.
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
he
makes
last
till
doomsday.
Go,
get
thee
to
Yaughan;
fetch
me
a
stoup
of
liquor.
[Exit
Second
Clown.]
[Digs
and
sings.]
In
youth
when
I
did
love,
did
love,
Methought
it
was
very
sweet;
To
contract,
O,
the
time
for,
ah,
my
behove,
O,
methought
there
was
nothing
meet.Has
this
fellow
no
feeling
of
his
business,
that
he
sings
at
grave-making?
Hor.
Custom
hath
made
it
in
him
a
property
of
easiness.'Tis
e'en
so:
the
hand
of
little
employment
hath
the
daintier
sense.
1
Clown.
[Sings.]
But
age,
with
his
stealing
steps,
Hath
claw'd
me
in
his
clutch,
And
hath
shipp'd
me
intil
the
land,
As
if
I
had
never
been
such.
[Throws
up
a
skull.]That
skull
had
a
tongue
in
it,
and
could
sing
once:
how
the
knave
jowls
it
to
the
ground,as
if
'twere
Cain's
jawbone,
that
did
the
first
murder!
This
might
be
the
pate
of
a
politician,
which
this
ass
now
o'erreaches;
one
that
would
circumvent
God,
might
it
not?
Hor.
It
might,
my
lord.Or
of
a
courtier,
which
could
say
'Good
morrow,
sweet
lord!
How
dost
thou,
good
lord?'
This
might
be
my
lord
such-a-one,
that
praised
my
lord
such-a-one's
horse
when
he
meant
to
beg
it,--might
it
not?
Hor.
Ay,
my
lord.Why,
e'en
so:
and
now
my
Lady
Worm's;
chapless,
and
knocked
about
the
mazard
with
a
sexton's
spade:
here's
fine
revolution,
an
we
had
the
trick
to
see't.
Did
these
bones
cost
no
more
the
breeding
but
to
play
at
loggets
with
'em?
mine
ache
to
think
on't.
1
Clown.
[Sings.]
A
pickaxe
and
a
spade,
a
spade,
For
and
a
shrouding
sheet;
O,
a
pit
of
clay
for
to
be
made
For
such
a
guest
is
meet.
[Throws
up
another
skull].There's
another:
why
may
not
that
be
the
skull
of
a
lawyer?
Where
be
his
quiddits
now,
his
quillets,
his
cases,
his
tenures,
and
his
tricks?
why
does
he
suffer
this
rude
knave
now
to
knock
him
about
the
sconce
with
a
dirty
shovel,
and
will
not
tell
him
of
his
action
of
battery?
Hum!
This
fellow
might
be
in's
time
a
great
buyer
of
land,
with
his
statutes,
his
recognizances,
his
fines,
his
double
vouchers,
his
recoveries:
is
this
the
fine
of
his
fines,
and
the
recovery
of
his
recoveries,
to
have
his
fine
pate
full
of
fine
dirt?
will
his
vouchers
vouch
him
no
more
of
his
purchases,
and
double
ones
too,
than
the
length
and
breadth
of
a
pair
of
indentures?
The
very
conveyances
of
his
lands
will
scarcely
lie
in
this
box;
and
must
the
inheritor
himself
have
no
more,
ha?
Hor.
Not
a
jot
more,
my
lord.Is
not
parchment
made
of
sheep-skins?
Hor.
Ay,
my
lord,
And
of
calf-skins
too.They
are
sheep
and
calves
which
seek
out
assurance
in
that.
I
will
speak
to
this
fellow.--Whose
grave's
this,
sir?
1
Clown.
Mine,
sir.
[Sings.]
O,
a
pit
of
clay
for
to
be
made
For
such
a
guest
is
meet.I
think
it
be
thine
indeed,
for
thou
liest
in't.
1
Clown.
You
lie
out
on't,
sir,
and
therefore
'tis
not
yours:
for
my
part,
I
do
not
lie
in't,
yet
it
is
mine.Thou
dost
lie
in't,
to
be
in't
and
say
it
is
thine:
'tis
for
the
dead,
not
for
the
quick;
therefore
thou
liest.
1
Clown.
'Tis
a
quick
lie,
sir;
't
will
away
again
from
me
to
you.What
man
dost
thou
dig
it
for?
1
Clown.
For
no
man,
sir.What
woman
then?
1
Clown.
For
none
neither.Who
is
to
be
buried
in't?
1
Clown.
One
that
was
a
woman,
sir;
but,
rest
her
soul,
she's
dead.How
absolute
the
knave
is!
We
must
speak
by
the
card,
or
equivocation
will
undo
us.
By
the
Lord,
Horatio,
these
three
years
I
have
taken
note
of
it,
the
age
is
grown
so
picked
that
the
toe
of
the
peasant
comes
so
near
the
heel
of
the
courtier
he
galls
his
kibe.--How
long
hast
thou
been
a
grave-maker?
1
Clown.
Of
all
the
days
i'
the
year,
I
came
to't
that
day
that
our
last
King
Hamlet
overcame
Fortinbras.How
long
is
that
since?
1
Clown.
Cannot
you
tell
that?
every
fool
can
tell
that:
it
was
the
very
day
that
young
Hamlet
was
born,--he
that
is
mad,
and
sent
into
England.Ay,
marry,
why
was
be
sent
into
England?
1
Clown.
Why,
because
he
was
mad:
he
shall
recover
his
wits
there;
or,
if
he
do
not,
it's
no
great
matter
there.Why?
1
Clown.
'Twill
not
he
seen
in
him
there;
there
the
men
are
as
mad
as
he.How
came
he
mad?
1
Clown.
Very
strangely,
they
say.How
strangely?
1
Clown.
Faith,
e'en
with
losing
his
wits.Upon
what
ground?
1
Clown.
Why,
here
in
Denmark:
I
have
been
sexton
here,
man
and
boy,
thirty
years.How
long
will
a
man
lie
i'
the
earth
ere
he
rot?
1
Clown.
Faith,
if
he
be
not
rotten
before
he
die,--as
we
have
many
pocky
corses
now-a-days
that
will
scarce
hold
the
laying
in,--he
will
last
you
some
eight
year
or
nine
year:
a
tanner
will
last
you
nine
year.Why
he
more
than
another?
1
Clown.
Why,
sir,
his
hide
is
so
tann'd
with
his
trade
that
he
will
keep
out
water
a
great
while;
and
your
water
is
a
sore
decayer
of
your
whoreson
dead
body.
Here's
a
skull
now;
this
skull
hath
lain
in
the
earth
three-and-twenty
years.Whose
was
it?
1
Clown.
A
whoreson,
mad
fellow's
it
was:
whose
do
you
think
it
was?Nay,
I
know
not.
1
Clown.
A
pestilence
on
him
for
a
mad
rogue!
'a
pour'd
a
flagon
of
Rhenish
on
my
head
once.
This
same
skull,
sir,
was
Yorick's
skull,
the
king's
jester.This?
1
Clown.
E'en
that.Let
me
see.
[Takes
the
skull.]
Alas,
poor
Yorick!--I
knew
him,
Horatio;
a
fellow
of
infinite
jest,
of
most
excellent
fancy:
he
hath
borne
me
on
his
back
a
thousand
times;
and
now,
how
abhorred
in
my
imagination
it
is!
my
gorge
rises
at
it.
Here
hung
those
lips
that
I
have
kiss'd
I
know
not
how
oft.
Where
be
your
gibes
now?
your
gambols?
your
songs?
your
flashes
of
merriment,
that
were
wont
to
set
the
table
on
a
roar?
Not
one
now,
to
mock
your
own
grinning?
quite
chap-fallen?
Now,
get
you
to
my
lady's
chamber,
and
tell
her,
let
her
paint
an
inch
thick,
to
this
favour
she
must
come;
make
her
laugh
at
that.--Pr'ythee,
Horatio,
tell
me
one
thing.
Hor.
What's
that,
my
lord?Dost
thou
think
Alexander
looked
o'
this
fashion
i'
the
earth?
Hor.
E'en
so.And
smelt
so?
Pah!
[Throws
down
the
skull.]
Hor.
E'en
so,
my
lord.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?
Hor.
'Twere
to
consider
too
curiously
to
consider
so.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
Caesar,
dead
and
turn'd
to
clay,
Might
stop
a
hole
to
keep
the
wind
away.
O,
that
that
earth
which
kept
the
world
in
awe
Should
patch
a
wall
to
expel
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?
And
with
such
maimed
rites?
This
doth
betoken
The
corse
they
follow
did
with
desperate
hand
Fordo
it
own
life:
'twas
of
some
estate.
Couch
we
awhile
and
mark.
[Retiring
with
Horatio.]
Laer.
What
ceremony
else?That
is
Laertes,
A
very
noble
youth:
mark.
Laer.
What
ceremony
else?
1
Priest.
Her
obsequies
have
been
as
far
enlarg'd
As
we
have
warranties:
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,
Shards,
flints,
and
pebbles
should
be
thrown
on
her,
Yet
here
she
is
allowed
her
virgin
rites,
Her
maiden
strewments,
and
the
bringing
home
Of
bell
and
burial.
Laer.
Must
there
no
more
be
done?
1
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;--
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.What,
the
fair
Ophelia?
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
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,
To
o'ertop
old
Pelion
or
the
skyish
head
Of
blue
Olympus.[Advancing.]
What
is
he
whose
grief
Bears
such
an
emphasis?
whose
phrase
of
sorrow
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!
[Grappling
with
him.]Thou
pray'st
not
well.
I
pr'ythee,
take
thy
fingers
from
my
throat;
For,
though
I
am
not
splenetive
and
rash,
Yet
have
I
in
me
something
dangerous,
Which
let
thy
wiseness
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.]Why,
I
will
fight
with
him
upon
this
theme
Until
my
eyelids
will
no
longer
wag.
Queen.
O
my
son,
what
theme?I
lov'd
Ophelia;
forty
thousand
brothers
Could
not,
with
all
their
quantity
of
love,
Make
up
my
sum.--What
wilt
thou
do
for
her?
King.
O,
he
is
mad,
Laertes.
Queen.
For
love
of
God,
forbear
him!'Swounds,
show
me
what
thou'lt
do:
Woul't
weep?
woul't
fight?
woul't
fast?
woul't
tear
thyself?
Woul'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?
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,
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,
When
that
her
golden
couplets
are
disclos'd,
His
silence
will
sit
drooping.Hear
you,
sir;
What
is
the
reason
that
you
use
me
thus?
I
lov'd
you
ever:
but
it
is
no
matter;
Let
Hercules
himself
do
what
he
may,
The
cat
will
mew,
and
dog
will
have
his
day.
[Exit.]
King.
I
pray
thee,
good
Horatio,
wait
upon
him.--
[Exit
Horatio.]
[To
Laertes]
Strengthen
your
patience
in
our
last
night's
speech;
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;
Till
then
in
patience
our
proceeding
be.
[Exeunt.]II.
A
hall
in
the
Castle.
[Enter
Hamlet
and
Horatio.]So
much
for
this,
sir:
now
let
me
see
the
other;
You
do
remember
all
the
circumstance?
Hor.
Remember
it,
my
lord!Sir,
in
my
heart
there
was
a
kind
of
fighting
That
would
not
let
me
sleep:
methought
I
lay
Worse
than
the
mutinies
in
the
bilboes.
Rashly,
And
prais'd
be
rashness
for
it,--let
us
know,
Our
indiscretion
sometime
serves
us
well,
When
our
deep
plots
do
fail;
and
that
should
teach
us
There's
a
divinity
that
shapes
our
ends,
Rough-hew
them
how
we
will.
Hor.
That
is
most
certain.Up
from
my
cabin,
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,
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,
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,
My
head
should
be
struck
off.
Hor.
Is't
possible?Here's
the
commission:
read
it
at
more
leisure.
But
wilt
thou
bear
me
how
I
did
proceed?
Hor.
I
beseech
you.Being
thus
benetted
round
with
villanies,--
Or
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:
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
The
effect
of
what
I
wrote?
Hor.
Ay,
good
my
lord.An
earnest
conjuration
from
the
king,--
As
England
was
his
faithful
tributary;
As
love
between
them
like
the
palm
might
flourish;
As
peace
should
still
her
wheaten
garland
wear
And
stand
a
comma
'tween
their
amities;
And
many
such-like
as's
of
great
charge,--
That,
on
the
view
and
know
of
these
contents,
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?Why,
even
in
that
was
heaven
ordinant.
I
had
my
father's
signet
in
my
purse,
Which
was
the
model
of
that
Danish
seal:
Folded
the
writ
up
in
the
form
of
the
other;
Subscrib'd
it:
gave't
the
impression;
plac'd
it
safely,
The
changeling
never
known.
Now,
the
next
day
Was
our
sea-fight;
and
what
to
this
was
sequent
Thou
know'st
already.
Hor.
So
Guildenstern
and
Rosencrantz
go
to't.Why,
man,
they
did
make
love
to
this
employment;
They
are
not
near
my
conscience;
their
defeat
Does
by
their
own
insinuation
grow:
'Tis
dangerous
when
the
baser
nature
comes
Between
the
pass
and
fell
incensed
points
Of
mighty
opposites.
Hor.
Why,
what
a
king
is
this!Does
it
not,
thinks't
thee,
stand
me
now
upon,--
He
that
hath
kill'd
my
king,
and
whor'd
my
mother;
Popp'd
in
between
the
election
and
my
hopes;
Thrown
out
his
angle
for
my
proper
life,
And
with
such
cozenage--is't
not
perfect
conscience
To
quit
him
with
this
arm?
and
is't
not
to
be
damn'd
To
let
this
canker
of
our
nature
come
In
further
evil?
Hor.
It
must
be
shortly
known
to
him
from
England
What
is
the
issue
of
the
business
there.It
will
be
short:
the
interim
is
mine;
And
a
man's
life
is
no
more
than
to
say
One.
But
I
am
very
sorry,
good
Horatio,
That
to
Laertes
I
forgot
myself;
For
by
the
image
of
my
cause
I
see
The
portraiture
of
his:
I'll
court
his
favours:
But,
sure,
the
bravery
of
his
grief
did
put
me
Into
a
towering
passion.
Hor.
Peace;
who
comes
here?
[Enter
Osric.]
Osr.
Your
lordship
is
right
welcome
back
to
Denmark.I
humbly
thank
you,
sir.
Dost
know
this
water-fly?
Hor.
No,
my
good
lord.Thy
state
is
the
more
gracious;
for
'tis
a
vice
to
know
him.
He
hath
much
land,
and
fertile:
let
a
beast
be
lord
of
beasts,
and
his
crib
shall
stand
at
the
king's
mess;
'tis
a
chough;
but,
as
I
say,
spacious
in
the
possession
of
dirt.
Osr.
Sweet
lord,
if
your
lordship
were
at
leisure,
I
should
impart
a
thing
to
you
from
his
majesty.I
will
receive
it
with
all
diligence
of
spirit.
Put
your
bonnet
to
his
right
use;
'tis
for
the
head.
Osr.
I
thank
your
lordship,
t'is
very
hot.No,
believe
me,
'tis
very
cold;
the
wind
is
northerly.
Osr.
It
is
indifferent
cold,
my
lord,
indeed.Methinks
it
is
very
sultry
and
hot
for
my
complexion.
Osr.
Exceedingly,
my
lord;
it
is
very
sultry,--as
'twere--I
cannot
tell
how.
But,
my
lord,
his
majesty
bade
me
signify
to
you
that
he
has
laid
a
great
wager
on
your
head.
Sir,
this
is
the
matter,--I
beseech
you,
remember,--
[Hamlet
moves
him
to
put
on
his
hat.]
Osr.
Nay,
in
good
faith;
for
mine
ease,
in
good
faith.
Sir,
here
is
newly
come
to
court
Laertes;
believe
me,
an
absolute
gentleman,
full
of
most
excellent
differences,
of
very
soft
society
and
great
showing:
indeed,
to
speak
feelingly
of
him,
he
is
the
card
or
calendar
of
gentry;
for
you
shall
find
in
him
the
continent
of
what
part
a
gentleman
would
see.Sir,
his
definement
suffers
no
perdition
in
you;--though,
I
know,
to
divide
him
inventorially
would
dizzy
the
arithmetic
of
memory,
and
yet
but
yaw
neither,
in
respect
of
his
quick
sail.
But,
in
the
verity
of
extolment,
I
take
him
to
be
a
soul
of
great
article,
and
his
infusion
of
such
dearth
and
rareness
as,
to
make
true
diction
of
him,
his
semblable
is
his
mirror,
and
who
else
would
trace
him,
his
umbrage,
nothing
more.
Osr.
Your
lordship
speaks
most
infallibly
of
him.The
concernancy,
sir?
why
do
we
wrap
the
gentleman
in
our
more
rawer
breath?
Osr.
Sir?
Hor.
Is't
not
possible
to
understand
in
another
tongue?
You
will
do't,
sir,
really.What
imports
the
nomination
of
this
gentleman?
Osr.
Of
Laertes?
Hor.
His
purse
is
empty
already;
all's
golden
words
are
spent.Of
him,
sir.
Osr.
I
know,
you
are
not
ignorant,--I
would
you
did,
sir;
yet,
in
faith,
if
you
did,
it
would
not
much
approve
me.--Well,
sir.
Osr.
You
are
not
ignorant
of
what
excellence
Laertes
is,--I
dare
not
confess
that,
lest
I
should
compare
with
him
in
excellence;
but
to
know
a
man
well
were
to
know
himself.
Osr.
I
mean,
sir,
for
his
weapon;
but
in
the
imputation
laid
on
him
by
them,
in
his
meed
he's
unfellowed.What's
his
weapon?
Osr.
Rapier
and
dagger.That's
two
of
his
weapons:--but
well.
Osr.
The
king,
sir,
hath
wager'd
with
him
six
Barbary
horses:
against
the
which
he
has
imponed,
as
I
take
it,
six
French
rapiers
and
poniards,
with
their
assigns,
as
girdle,
hangers,
and
so:
three
of
the
carriages,
in
faith,
are
very
dear
to
fancy,
very
responsive
to
the
hilts,
most
delicate
carriages,
and
of
very
liberal
conceit.What
call
you
the
carriages?
Hor.
I
knew
you
must
be
edified
by
the
margent
ere
you
had
done.
Osr.
The
carriages,
sir,
are
the
hangers.The
phrase
would
be
more
german
to
the
matter
if
we
could
carry
cannon
by
our
sides.
I
would
it
might
be
hangers
till
then.
But,
on:
six
Barbary
horses
against
six
French
swords,
their
assigns,
and
three
liberal
conceited
carriages:
that's
the
French
bet
against
the
Danish:
why
is
this
all
imponed,
as
you
call
it?
Osr.
The
king,
sir,
hath
laid
that,
in
a
dozen
passes
between
your
and
him,
he
shall
not
exceed
you
three
hits:
he
hath
laid
on
twelve
for
nine;
and
it
would
come
to
immediate
trial
if
your
lordship
would
vouchsafe
the
answer.How
if
I
answer
no?
Osr.
I
mean,
my
lord,
the
opposition
of
your
person
in
trial.Sir,
I
will
walk
here
in
the
hall:
if
it
please
his
majesty,
it
is
the
breathing
time
of
day
with
me:
let
the
foils
be
brought,
the
gentleman
willing,
and
the
king
hold
his
purpose,
I
will
win
for
him
if
I
can;
if
not,
I
will
gain
nothing
but
my
shame
and
the
odd
hits.
Osr.
Shall
I
re-deliver
you
e'en
so?To
this
effect,
sir;
after
what
flourish
your
nature
will.
Osr.
I
commend
my
duty
to
your
lordship.Yours,
yours.
[Exit
Osric.]
He
does
well
to
commend
it
himself;
there
are
no
tongues
else
for's
turn.
Hor.
This
lapwing
runs
away
with
the
shell
on
his
head.He
did
comply
with
his
dug
before
he
suck'd
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
fanned
and
winnowed
opinions;
and
do
but
blow
them
to
their
trial,
the
bubbles
are
out,
[Enter
a
Lord.]
Lord.
My
lord,
his
majesty
commended
him
to
you
by
young
Osric,
who
brings
back
to
him
that
you
attend
him
in
the
hall:
he
sends
to
know
if
your
pleasure
hold
to
play
with
Laertes,
or
that
you
will
take
longer
time.I
am
constant
to
my
purposes;
they
follow
the
king's
pleasure:
if
his
fitness
speaks,
mine
is
ready;
now
or
whensoever,
provided
I
be
so
able
as
now.
Lord.
The
King
and
Queen
and
all
are
coming
down.In
happy
time.
Lord.
The
queen
desires
you
to
use
some
gentle
entertainment
to
Laertes
before
you
fall
to
play.She
well
instructs
me.
[Exit
Lord.]
Hor.
You
will
lose
this
wager,
my
lord.I
do
not
think
so;
since
he
went
into
France
I
have
been
in
continual
practice:
I
shall
win
at
the
odds.
But
thou
wouldst
not
think
how
ill
all's
here
about
my
heart:
but
it
is
no
matter.
Hor.
Nay,
good
my
lord,--It
is
but
foolery;
but
it
is
such
a
kind
of
gain-giving
as
would
perhaps
trouble
a
woman.
Hor.
If
your
mind
dislike
anything,
obey
it:
I
will
forestall
their
repair
hither,
and
say
you
are
not
fit.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?
[Enter
King,
Queen,
Laertes,
Lords,
Osric,
and
Attendants
with
foils
&c.]
King.
Come,
Hamlet,
come,
and
take
this
hand
from
me.
[The
King
puts
Laertes'
hand
into
Hamlet's.]Give
me
your
pardon,
sir:
I
have
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
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,
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;
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
my
arrow
o'er
the
house
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
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,
And
will
not
wrong
it.I
embrace
it
freely;
And
will
this
brother's
wager
frankly
play.--
Give
us
the
foils;
come
on.
Laer.
Come,
one
for
me.I'll
be
your
foil,
Laertes;
in
mine
ignorance
Your
skill
shall,
like
a
star
in
the
darkest
night,
Stick
fiery
off
indeed.
Laer.
You
mock
me,
sir.No,
by
this
hand.
King.
Give
them
the
foils,
young
Osric.
Cousin
Hamlet,
You
know
the
wager?Very
well,
my
lord;
Your
grace
has
laid
the
odds
o'
the
weaker
side.
King.
I
do
not
fear
it;
I
have
seen
you
both;
But
since
he's
better'd,
we
have
therefore
odds.
Laer.
This
is
too
heavy,
let
me
see
another.This
likes
me
well.
These
foils
have
all
a
length?
[They
prepare
to
play.]
Osr.
Ay,
my
good
lord.
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;
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;
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.Come
on,
sir.
Laer.
Come,
my
lord.
[They
play.]One.
Laer.
No.Judgment!
Osr.
A
hit,
a
very
palpable
hit.
Laer.
Well;--again.
King.
Stay,
give
me
drink.--Hamlet,
this
pearl
is
thine;
Here's
to
thy
health.--
[Trumpets
sound,
and
cannon
shot
off
within.]
Give
him
the
cup.I'll
play
this
bout
first;
set
it
by
awhile.--
Come.--Another
hit;
what
say
you?
[They
play.]
Laer.
A
touch,
a
touch,
I
do
confess.
King.
Our
son
shall
win.
Queen.
He's
fat,
and
scant
of
breath.--
Here,
Hamlet,
take
my
napkin,
rub
thy
brows:
The
queen
carouses
to
thy
fortune,
Hamlet.Good
madam!
King.
Gertrude,
do
not
drink.
Queen.
I
will,
my
lord;
I
pray
you
pardon
me.
King.
[Aside.]
It
is
the
poison'd
cup;
it
is
too
late.I
dare
not
drink
yet,
madam;
by-and-by.
Queen.
Come,
let
me
wipe
thy
face.
Laer.
My
lord,
I'll
hit
him
now.
King.
I
do
not
think't.
Laer.
[Aside.]
And
yet
'tis
almost
'gainst
my
conscience.Come,
for
the
third,
Laertes:
you
but
dally;
I
pray
you
pass
with
your
best
violence:
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.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't,
Laertes?
Laer.
Why,
as
a
woodcock
to
my
own
springe,
Osric;
I
am
justly
kill'd
with
mine
own
treachery.How
does
the
Queen?
King.
She
swoons
to
see
them
bleed.
Queen.
No,
no!
the
drink,
the
drink!--O
my
dear
Hamlet!--
The
drink,
the
drink!--I
am
poison'd.
[Dies.]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;
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,
Never
to
rise
again:
thy
mother's
poison'd:
I
can
no
more:--the
king,
the
king's
to
blame.The
point
envenom'd
too!--
Then,
venom,
to
thy
work.
[Stabs
the
King.]
Osric
and
Lords.
Treason!
treason!
King.
O,
yet
defend
me,
friends!
I
am
but
hurt.Here,
thou
incestuous,
murderous,
damned
Dane,
Drink
off
this
potion.--Is
thy
union
here?
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.]Heaven
make
thee
free
of
it!
I
follow
thee.--
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,
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;
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.As
thou'rt
a
man,
Give
me
the
cup;
let
go;
by
heaven,
I'll
have't.--
O
good
Horatio,
what
a
wounded
name,
Things
standing
thus
unknown,
shall
live
behind
me!
If
thou
didst
ever
hold
me
in
thy
heart,
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
warlike
noise
is
this?
Osr.
Young
Fortinbras,
with
conquest
come
from
Poland,
To
the
ambassadors
of
England
gives
This
warlike
volley.O,
I
die,
Horatio;
The
potent
poison
quite
o'er-crows
my
spirit:
I
cannot
live
to
hear
the
news
from
England;
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,
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
you
will
see?
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
So
bloodily
hast
struck?
1
Ambassador.
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
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:
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;
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;
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,
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.
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
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,
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.
