Clown. Of all the days i'th' Year, I came to't that day that our laft King Hamlet o'ercame Fortinbras.

Ham. How long is that fince?

Clown. Cannot you tell that? every fool can tell that: It was the very day that young Hamlet was born, he that was mad and fent into England.

Ham. Ay marry, why was he fent into England?
Clown. Why, because he

was mad; he fhall recover his

Wits there; or if he do not, it's no great matter there.
Ham. Why?

Clown. Twill not be feen in him, there the Men are as mad as he.

Ham. How came he mad?

Clown. Very ftrangely, they fay.

Ham. How ftrangely?

Clown. Faith e'en with lofing his Wits.

Ham. Upon what ground?

Clown. Why, here in Denmark. I have been Sexton here, Man and Boy, thirty Years.

Ham. How long will a Man lie i'th' Earth e'er he rot? Clown. I'faith, if he be not rotten before he dye, (as we have many pocky Coarfes now adays, that will scarce hold the laying in) he will laft you fome eight year, or nine year. you nine years.

A Tanner will laft

Ham. Why he, more than another?

Clown. Why Sir, his Hide is tann'd with his Trade, that he will keep out water a great while. And your water is a fore Decayer of your whorefon dead body. Here's a Scull now this Scull has lain in the Earth three and twenty Years.

Ham. Whofe was it?

Clown. A whorefon mad Fellow's it was; Whose do you think it was?

Ham. Nay, I know not.

Clown. A Peftilence on him for a mad a Flagon of Rhenifh on my Head once. Sir, this fame Scull, Sir, was Tarick's Scull, Ham. This?

Clown. E'en that.

Rogue, a pour'd This fame Scull, the King's Jefter.

Ham. Let me fee. Alas poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio, a Fellow of infinite Jeft; of moft excellent fancy, he hath

born

born me on his back a thoufand times: And how abhorred my imagination is now, my gorge rifes at it. Here hung thofe Lips that I have kifs'd I know not how oft. Where be your Gibes now? Your Gambals? Your Songs? Your flashes of Merriment that were wont to fet the Table on a Roar? No one now to mock your own Jeering? Quite chop fall'n? 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. Prithee, Horatio, tell me one thing.

Hor. What's that, my Lord?

Ham. Doft thou think Alexander look'd o'this fafhion it'th' Earth?

Hor. E'en fo.

Ham. And felt fo, Puh?

Hor. E'en fo, my Lord.

[Smelling to the Scull.

Ham. To what base uses we may return, Horatio. Why may not imagination trace the noble Duft of Alexander, 'till e find it stopping a bung-hole?

Hor. 'Twere to confider too curiously, to confider fo.

Ham. No faith, not a jot. But to follow him thither with modefty enough, and likelihood to lead it; as thus, Alexander died, Alexander was buried, Alexander returneth into duft; the duft is earth; of earth we make Lome, and why of that Lome whereto he was converted, might they not ftop a Beer-barrel?

Imperial Cafar, dead and turn'd to clay,

Might stop a hole to keep the wind away.

Oh, that that Earth, which kept the World in awe,
Should patch a Wall, t'expel the Winter's flaw.
But foft! but foft! afide-- here comes the King.
Enter King, Queen, Laertes, and a Coffin, with Lords and
Priefts Attendant.

The Queen, the Courtiers. What is't that they follow,
And with fuch maimed Rights? This doth betoken,
The Coarfe they follow, did with desperate hand
Fore-do it's own Life; 'twas fome Eftate.

Couch we a while, and mark.

Laer. What Ceremony elfe?

Ham. That is Laertes, a very noble Youth: Mark —— Laer. What Ceremony elfe?

Pricft.

Prieft. Her Obfequics have been as far enlarg'd,
As we have warranty; her death was doubtful,
And but that great command o'er-fways the order,
She fhould in ground unfanctified have lodg'd,
'Till the laft Trumpet. For charitable Prayer,
Shards, Flints, and Pebbles, fhould be thrown on her;
Yet here he is allowed her Virgin Rites,

Her Maiden ftrewments, and the bringing home
Of Bell and Burial.

Laer. Muft there no more be done?
Prieft. No more be done :

We fhould prophane the fervice. of the dead,
To fing fage Requiem, and fuch reft to her
As to peace-parted Souls.

Laer. Lay her i'th' earth,

And from her fair and unpolluted flesh,
May Violets fpring. I tell thee, churlish Prieft,
A Miniftring Angel fhall my Sifter be,
When thou lieft howling.

Ham. What, the fair Ophelia!

Queen. Sweets, to thee fweet, farewell,

I hop'd thou woul'dft have been my Hamlet's Wife;
I thought thy Bride-bed to have deck'd, fweet Maid,
And not t'have ftrew'd thy Grave.

Laer. O terrible wooer!

Fall tentimes treble woes on that curs'd head,
Whofe wicked deed, thy most ingenious sense
Depriv'd thee of. Hold off the Earth a while,
'Till I have caught her once more in my arms :

[Laertes leaps into the Graves Now pile your duft upon the quick and dead, 'Till of this flat a mountain you have made, To o'er-top old Pelion, or the skyish head Of blue Olympus.

Ham. What is he, whofe griefs

Bear fuch an Emphafis? whofe phrase of forrow
Conjures the wandring Stars, and makes them ftand

Like wonder-wounded hearers? This is I,

Hamlet the Dane.

[Hamlet leaps into the Grave.

Laer. The Devil take thy Soul.

[Grappling with him.

Ham.

Ham. Thou pray'st not well, I prithee take thy fingers from

my throat. Sir, though I am not fpleenative and rafh, Yet have I fomething in me dangerous,

Which let thy wifenefs fear. Away thy hand.

King. Pluck them afunder

Queen. Hamlet, Hamlet

Gen. Good my Lord be quiet.

[The Attendants part them.

Ham. Why, I will fight with him upon his Theme, Until my Eye-lids will no longer wag.

Queen. Oh my Son! what Theme?

Ham. I lov'd Ophelia; forty thoufand Brothers
Could not, with all their quantity of love,
Make up my Sum. What wilt thou do for her?
King. Oh he is mad, Laertes.

Queen. For love of God forbear him.
Ham. Come fhew me what thou'lt do.
Woo't weep? woo't fight? woo't tear thy self?
Woo't drink up Efile, eat a Crocodile ?
I'll do't. Do'st thou come hither to whine;
To out-face me with leaping into her Grave?
Be buried quick with her; and fo will I;
And if thou prate of Mountains; let them throw
Millions of Acres on us, 'till our ground
Sindging his pate against the burning Zone,
Make Offa like a wart. Nay, and thou'lt mouth,
I'll rant as well as thou.

King. 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 Cuplet are disclos'd,
His filence will fit drooping.

Ham. Hear you Sir

What is the reason that you ufe 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.
King. I pray you good Horatio, wait upon him.
Strengthen your patience in our laft Nights Speech

We'll put the matter to the prefent push.
Good Gertrude fet fome watch over your Son,

[Exit.

{To Laertes.

This

This Grave fhall have a living Monument:
An Hour of quiet fhortly fhall we fee;-
'Till then in patience our proceeding be.

SCENE II. A Hall.

Enter Hamlet and Horatio.

[Exeunt.

Ham. So much for this, Sir; now let me fee the other, You do remember all the circumftance.

Hor. Remember it, my Lord?

Ham. Sir, in my Heart there was a kind of fighting,
That would not let me fleep; methought I lay
Worfe than the mutineers in the Bilboes; rafhly,
(And prais'd be rashness for it) let us know
Our Indiscretion fometimes ferves us well,

When our dear Plots do pall; and that should teach us,
There's a Divinity that shapes our ends,
Rough-hew them how we will.

Hor. That is most certain.
Ham. Up from my Cabin,

My Sea-Gown scarft about me, in the dark,
Grop'd I to find out them; had my defire,
Finger'd their Packet, and in fine withdrew
To mine own Room again, making fo bold,
My Fears forgetting Manners, to unfeal
Their grand Commiffion, where I found, Horatio,
Oh Royal knavery! an exa& command,
Larded with many feveral forts of reason,
Importing Denmark's Health, and England's too,

With hoo, fuch Buggs and Goblins in my life,
That on the fupervize, no leifure bated,

No not to ftay the grinding of the Axe,

My Head should be ftruck off.

Hor. Is't poffible?

Ham. Here's, the Commiffion, read it at more leifure; But wilt thou hear how I did proceed?

Hor. I beseech you.

Ham. Being thus benetted round with Villains,

E'er I could make a Prologue to my Brains,

They