You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltimand, For bearers of this greeting to old Norway; Giving to you no further personal power To business with the king, more than the scope Of these dilated articles allow.
Farewell; and let your haste commend your duty.
Cor. & Vol. In that, and all things, will we show our duty.
King. We doubt it nothing; heartily fare- well. [Exeunt Voltimand and Cornelius. And now, Laertes, what's the news with you? You told us of some suit; What is't, Laertes? You cannot speak of reason to the Dane, And lose your voice: What would'st thou beg, Laertes,
That shall not be my offer, not thy asking? The head is not more native to the heart, The hand more instrumental to the mouth, Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father. What would'st thou have, Laertes ?
Your leave and favour to return to France; From whence though willingly I came to Denmark,
To shew my duty in your coronation; Yet now, 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,- Ham. A little more than kin, and less than kind.
King. How is it, that the clouds still hang on you?
Ham. Not so, my lord, I am too much i'the
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 live, must die,
Passing through nature to eternity. Ham. Ay, madam, it is common. Queen. If it be,
Why seems it so particular with thee?
Ham. Seems, madam! nay, it is; I know not
'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, Nor customary suits of solemn black, Nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath,
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, Nor the dejected haviour of the visage, Together with all forms, modes, 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 persever In obstinate condolement, is a course Of impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief: It shows a will most incorrect to heaven; A heart unfortified, or mind impatient; An understanding simple and unschool'd: For what, we know, must be, and is as common As any the most vulgar thing to sense, Why should we, in our peevish opposition, Take it to heart? Fye! '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 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;
pray thee, stay with us, go not to Wittenberg.
Ham. I shall in all my best obey you, madam. King. Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply; Be as ourself in Denmark.-Madam, come; This gentle and unforc'd accord of Hamlet Sits smiling to my heart: in grace whereof, No jocund health, that Denmark drinks to-day, But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell; And the king's rouse the heavens shall bruit again, Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come away.
[Exeunt King, Queen, Lords, &c. Polonius
Ham. O, that this too too solid flesh would melt, Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew! Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God!
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable, Seem to me all the uses of this world! Fye on't! O fye! 'tis an unweeded garden,
A little month; or ere those shoes were old, With which she follow'd my poor father's body, Like Niobe, all tears ;-why she, even she,— O heaven! a beast, that wants discourse of reason,❘ Would have mourn'd longer,―married with my 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, BERNARDO, and MARCELLUS. Hor. Hail to your lordship! Ham. I am glad to see you well: Horatio, or I do forget myself.
Hor. The same, my lord, and your poor ser
Ham. Sir, my good friend; I'll change that name with you.
And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio?
Mar. My good lord,
Ham. 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. Ham. I would not hear your enemy say so; Nor shall you do mine ear that violence, To make it truster of your own report Against yourself: I know, you are no truant. But what is your affair in Elsinore? We'll teach you to drink deep, ere you depart. Hor. My lord, I came to see your father's funeral.
Ham. I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow
I think, it was to see my mother's wedding. Hor. Indeed, my lord, it follow'd hard upon. Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio! the funeral
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.
Ham. In my mind's eye, Horatio.
Hor. I saw him once, he was a goodly king. Ham. He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again.
Hor. My lord, I think I saw him yesternight. Ham. Saw! who?
Hor. My lord, the king your father. Ham. The king my father!
Hor. Season your admiration for a while With an attent ear; till I may deliver, Upon the witness of these gentlemen, This marvel to you.
Ham. For God's love, let me hear.
Hor. Two nights together had these gentlemen, Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch, In the dead waist and middle of the night, Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your father, Armed at point, exactly, cap-à-pé, Appears before them, and, with solemn march, Goes slow and stately by them: thrice he walk'd, By their oppress'd and fear-surprised eyes, Within his truncheon's length; whilst they, dis
Almost to jelly with the act of fear, Stand dumb, and speak not to him. This to me In dreadful secrecy impart they did; And I with them the third night kept the watch: Where, as they had deliver❜d, both in time, Form of the thing, each word made true and good, The apparition comes: I knew your father; These hands are not more like.
Ham. But where was this?
Mar. My lord, upon the platform, where we watch'd.
Ham. Did you not speak to it? Hor. My lord, I did;
But answer made it none: yet once, methought, It lifted up its 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.
Ham. 'Tis very strange.
Hor. As I do live, my honour'd lord, 'tis true; And we did think it writ down in our duty, To let you know of it.
Ham. Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles
Ham. Very like,
Very like: Stay'd it long?
The safety and the health of the whole state; And therefore must his choice be circumscrib'd Unto the voice and yielding of that body, Whereof he is the head: Then, if he says he loves you,
It fits your wisdom so far to believe it, As he in his particular act and place
Hor. While one with moderate haste might May give his saying deed; which is no further,
tell a hundred.
Mar. Ber. Longer, longer.
Hor. Not when I saw it.
Ham. His beard was grizzl'd? no?
Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life, A sable silver'd.
Ham. I will watch to-night; Perchance, 'twill walk again. Hor. I warrant, it will.
Ham. 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 you well: Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve, I'll visit you.
All. Our duty to your honour. Ham. 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.
SCENE 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.
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 unvalued persons do, Carve for himself; for on his choice depends
Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal. Then weigh what loss your honour may sustain, If with too credent ear you list his songs; Or lose your heart; or your chaste treasure open To his unmaster'd importunity.
Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister; And keep you in the rear of your affection, Out of the shot and danger of desire. The chariest maid is prodigal enough, If she unmask her beauty to the moon : Virtue itself scapes not calumnious strokes : The canker galls the infants of the spring, Too oft before their buttons be disclos'd; And in the morn and liquid dew of youth Contagious blastments are most imminent. Be wary then: best safety lies in fear; Youth to itself rebels, though none else near.
Oph. I shall the effect of this good lesson keep, As watchman to my heart: But, good my brother, Do not, as some ungracious pastors do, 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.
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 staid for: There, my blessing with you: [Laying his hand on Laertes' head. And these few precepts in thy memory Look thou charácter. Give thy thoughts no tongue,
Nor any unproportion'd thought his act. Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel; But do not dull thy palm with entertainment Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Be-
Of entrance to a quarrel; but, being in, Bear it, that the opposer may beware of thee. Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice: Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judg-
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy: For the apparel oft proclaims the man; And they in France, of the best rank and station, Are most select and generous, chief in that.
Neither a borrower, nor a lender be: For loan oft loses both itself and friend; And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. This above all,-To thine ownself be true; And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man. Farewell; my blessing season this in thee! Laer. Most humbly do I take my leave, my lord.
Pol. The time invites you; go, your servants
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. [Exit Laertes.
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 boun-
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 behoves my daughter, and your honour: What is between you? give me up the truth. Oph. He hath, my lord, of late, made many tenders
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 die which their investments show, But mere implorators of unholy suits, Breathing like sanctified and pious bonds, The better to beguile. This is for all,- I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth, Have you so slander any moment's leisure, As to give words or talk with the lord Hamlet. Look to't, I charge you; come your ways. Oph. I shall obey, my lord. [Exeunt
SCENE IV. The platform.
Enter HAMLET, HORATIO, and MARCELLUS. Ham. The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold. Hor. It is a nipping and an eager air. Ham. What hour now?
Hor. I think, it lacks of twelve. Mar. No, it is struck.
Hor. Indeed! I heard it not; it then draws near the season,
Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk.
[A flourish of trumpets, and ordnance shut off within.
What does this mean, my lord?
Ham. The king doth wake to-night, and takes his rouse,
Keeps wassel, and the swaggering up-springreels; And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down, The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out
Pol. Affection? puh! you speak like a green The triumph of his pledge. 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;
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 impórtun'd me with love,
In honourable fashion.
Pol. Ay, fashion you may call it ; go to, go to. Oph. And hath given countenance to his speech, my lord,
With almost all the holy vows of heaven.
Pol. Ay, springes to catch woodcocks. I do know,
When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul Lends the tongue vows: these blazes, daughter, Giving more light than heat,-extinct in both, Even in their promise, as it is a making,- You must not take for fire. From this time Be somewhat scanter of your maiden presence; Set your entreatments at a higher rate, Than a command to parley. For lord Hamlet, Believe so much in him, That he is young;
Hor. Is it a custom ?
Ham. Ay, marry, is't:
But to my mind,-though I am native here, And to the manner born,-it is a custom More honour'd in the breach, than the observance. This heavy-headed revel, east and west, Makes us traduc'd, and tax'd of other nations: They clepe us, drunkards, and with swinish phrase
Soil our addition; and, indeed it takes From our achievements, though perform'd at height,
The pith and marrow of our attribute. So, oft it chances in particular men, That, for some vicious mole of nature in them, As, in their birth, (wherein they are not guilty, Since nature cannot choose his origin,) By the o'ergrowth of some complexion, Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason; Or by some habit, that too much o'er-leavens The form of plausive manners;-that these
Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect; Being nature's livery, or fortune's star,— Their virtues else (be they as pure as grace, As infinite as man may undergo,) Shall in the general censure take corruption From that particular fault: The dram of base Doth all the noble substance often dout, To his own scandal.
Hor. Look, my lord, it comes !
Ham. Angels and ministers of grace defend us!-Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damn'd, Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from hell,
Be thy intents wicked, or charitable, Thou com'st in such a questionable shape, That I will speak to thee; I'll call thee, Hamlet, King, father, royal Dane: O, answer me: Let me not burst in ignorance! but tell, Why thy canoniz'd bones, hearsed in death, Have burst their cerements! why the sepulchre, Wherein we saw thee quietly in-urn'd, Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws, To cast thee up again! What may this mean, That thou, dead corse, again, in cómplete 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 wedo? 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.
SCENE V.—A more remote part of the platform.
Re-enter Ghost and HAMLET.
Ham. Whither wilt thou lead me? speak, I'll go no further. Ghost. Mark me. Ham. I will.
Ghost. My hour is almost come,
When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames Must render up myself.
Ham. Alas, poor ghost!
Ghost. Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing
To what I shall unfold.
Ham. Speak, I am bound to hear.
Ghost. So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear.
Ghost. I am thy father's spirit,
Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night; And, for the day, confin'd to fast in fires,
Ham. It will not speak ; then I will follow it. Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature,
Hor. Do not, my lord.
Ham. Why, what should be the fear? I do not set my life at a pin's fee; And, for my soul, what can it do to that, Being a thing immortal as itself?
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 fathoms to the sea, And hears it roar beneath.
Ham. It waves me still:- Go on, I'll follow thee.
Mar. You shall not go, my lord. Ham. Hold off your hands. Hor. Be rul'd, you shall not go. Ham. My fate cries out, And makes each petty artery in this body As hardy as the Némean lion's nerve.[Ghost beckons. Still am I call'd ;-unhand me, gentlemen ;[Breaking from them. By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets
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,- Ham. O heaven!
Ghost. Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder.
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