The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark

1Who's there?

2Nay, answer me: stand, and unfold yourself.

3Long live the king!

4Bernardo?

5He.

6You come most carefully upon your hour.

7'Tis now struck twelve; get thee to bed, Francisco.

8For this relief much thanks: 'tis bitter cold,

9And I am sick at heart.

10Have you had quiet guard?

11Not a mouse stirring.

12Well, good night.

13If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus,

14The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste.

15I think I hear them. Stand, ho! Who's there?

16Friends to this ground.

17And liegemen to the Dane.

18Give you good night.

19O, farewell, honest soldier:

20Who hath relieved you?

21Bernardo has my place.

22Give you good night.

23Holla! Bernardo!

24Say,

25What, is Horatio there?

26A piece of him.

27Welcome, Horatio: welcome, good Marcellus.

28What, has this thing appear'd again to-night?

29I have seen nothing.

30Horatio says 'tis but our fantasy,

31And will not let belief take hold of him

32Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us:

33Therefore I have entreated him along

34With us to watch the minutes of this night;

35That if again this apparition come,

36He may approve our eyes and speak to it.

37Tush, tush, 'twill not appear.

38Sit down awhile;

39And let us once again assail your ears,

40That are so fortified against our story

41What we have two nights seen.

42Well, sit we down,

43And let us hear Bernardo speak of this.

44Last night of all,

45When yond same star that's westward from the pole

46Had made his course to illume that part of heaven

47Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself,

48The bell then beating one,--

49Peace, break thee off; look, where it comes again!

50In the same figure, like the king that's dead.

51Thou art a scholar; speak to it, Horatio.

52Looks it not like the king? mark it, Horatio.

53Most like: it harrows me with fear and wonder.

54It would be spoke to.

55Question it, Horatio.

56What art thou that usurp'st this time of night,

57Together with that fair and warlike form

58In which the majesty of buried Denmark

59Did sometimes march? by heaven I charge thee, speak!

60It is offended.

61See, it stalks away!

62Stay! speak, speak! I charge thee, speak!

63'Tis gone, and will not answer.

64How now, Horatio! you tremble and look pale:

65Is not this something more than fantasy?

66What think you on't?

67Before my God, I might not this believe

68Without the sensible and true avouch

69Of mine own eyes.

70Is it not like the king?

71As thou art to thyself:

72Such was the very armour he had on

73When he the ambitious Norway combated;

74So frown'd he once, when, in an angry parle,

75He smote the sledded Polacks on the ice.

76'Tis strange.

77Thus twice before, and jump at this dead hour,

78With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch.

79In what particular thought to work I know not;

80But in the gross and scope of my opinion,

81This bodes some strange eruption to our state.

82Good now, sit down, and tell me, he that knows,

83Why this same strict and most observant watch

84So nightly toils the subject of the land,

85And why such daily cast of brazen cannon,

86And foreign mart for implements of war;

87Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore task

88Does not divide the Sunday from the week;

89What might be toward, that this sweaty haste

90Doth make the night joint-labourer with the day:

91Who is't that can inform me?

92That can I;

93At least, the whisper goes so. Our last king,

94Whose image even but now appear'd to us,

95Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway,

96Thereto prick'd on by a most emulate pride,

97Dared to the combat; in which our valiant Hamlet--

98For so this side of our known world esteem'd him--

99Did slay this Fortinbras; who by a seal'd compact,

100Well ratified by law and heraldry,

101Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands

102Which he stood seized of, to the conqueror:

103Against the which, a moiety competent

104Was gaged by our king; which had return'd

105To the inheritance of Fortinbras,

106Had he been vanquisher; as, by the same covenant,

107And carriage of the article design'd,

108His fell to Hamlet. Now, sir, young Fortinbras,

109Of unimproved mettle hot and full,

110Hath in the skirts of Norway here and there

111Shark'd up a list of lawless resolutes,

112For food and diet, to some enterprise

113That hath a stomach in't; which is no other--

114As it doth well appear unto our state--

115But to recover of us, by strong hand

116And terms compulsatory, those foresaid lands

117So by his father lost: and this, I take it,

118Is the main motive of our preparations,

119The source of this our watch and the chief head

120Of this post-haste and romage in the land.

121I think it be no other but e'en so:

122Well may it sort that this portentous figure

123Comes armed through our watch; so like the king

124That was and is the question of these wars.

125A mote it is to trouble the mind's eye.

126In the most high and palmy state of Rome,

127A little ere the mightiest Julius fell,

128The graves stood tenantless and the sheeted dead

129Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets:

130As stars with trains of fire and dews of blood,

131Disasters in the sun; and the moist star

132Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands

133Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse:

134And even the like precurse of fierce events,

135As harbingers preceding still the fates

136And prologue to the omen coming on,

137Have heaven and earth together demonstrated

138Unto our climatures and countrymen.--

139But soft, behold! lo, where it comes again!

140I'll cross it, though it blast me. Stay, illusion!

141If thou hast any sound, or use of voice,

142Speak to me:

143If there be any good thing to be done,

144That may to thee do ease and grace to me,

145Speak to me:

146If thou art privy to thy country's fate,

147Which, happily, foreknowing may avoid, O, speak!

148Or if thou hast uphoarded in thy life

149Extorted treasure in the womb of earth,

150For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death,

151Speak of it: stay, and speak! Stop it, Marcellus.

152Shall I strike at it with my partisan?

153Do, if it will not stand.

154'Tis here!

155'Tis here!

156'Tis gone!

157We do it wrong, being so majestical,

158To offer it the show of violence;

159For it is, as the air, invulnerable,

160And our vain blows malicious mockery.

161It was about to speak, when the cock crew.

162And then it started like a guilty thing

163Upon a fearful summons. I have heard,

164The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn,

165Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat

166Awake the god of day; and, at his warning,

167Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air,

168The extravagant and erring spirit hies

169To his confine: and of the truth herein

170This present object made probation.

171It faded on the crowing of the cock.

172Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes

173Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,

174The bird of dawning singeth all night long:

175And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad;

176The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike,

177No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,

178So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.

179So have I heard and do in part believe it.

180But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad,

181Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastward hill:

182Break we our watch up; and by my advice,

183Let us impart what we have seen to-night

184Unto young Hamlet; for, upon my life,

185This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him.

186Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it,

187As needful in our loves, fitting our duty?

188Let's do't, I pray; and I this morning know

189Where we shall find him most conveniently.

1Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death

2The memory be green, and that it us befitted

3To bear our hearts in grief and our whole kingdom

4To be contracted in one brow of woe,

5Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature

6That we with wisest sorrow think on him,

7Together with remembrance of ourselves.

8Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen,

9The imperial jointress to this warlike state,

10Have we, as 'twere with a defeated joy,--

11With an auspicious and a dropping eye,

12With mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage,

13In equal scale weighing delight and dole,--

14Taken to wife: nor have we herein barr'd

15Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone

16With this affair along. For all, our thanks.

17Now follows, that you know, young Fortinbras,

18Holding a weak supposal of our worth,

19Or thinking by our late dear brother's death

20Our state to be disjoint and out of frame,

21Colleagued with the dream of his advantage,

22He hath not fail'd to pester us with message,

23Importing the surrender of those lands

24Lost by his father, with all bonds of law,

25To our most valiant brother. So much for him.

26Now for ourself and for this time of meeting:

27Thus much the business is: we have here writ

28To Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras,--

29Who, impotent and bed-rid, scarcely hears

30Of this his nephew's purpose,--to suppress

31His further gait herein; in that the levies,

32The lists and full proportions, are all made

33Out of his subject: and we here dispatch

34You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltimand,

35For bearers of this greeting to old Norway;

36Giving to you no further personal power

37To business with the king, more than the scope

38Of these delated articles allow.

39Farewell, and let your haste commend your duty.

40In that and all things will we show our duty.

41We doubt it nothing: heartily farewell.

42And now, Laertes, what's the news with you?

43You told us of some suit; what is't, Laertes?

44You cannot speak of reason to the Dane,

45And loose your voice: what wouldst thou beg, Laertes,

46That shall not be my offer, not thy asking?

47The head is not more native to the heart,

48The hand more instrumental to the mouth,

49Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father.

50What wouldst thou have, Laertes?

51My dread lord,

52Your leave and favour to return to France;

53From whence though willingly I came to Denmark,

54To show my duty in your coronation,

55Yet now, I must confess, that duty done,

56My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France

57And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon.

58Have you your father's leave? What says Polonius?

59He hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow leave

60By laboursome petition, and at last

61Upon his will I seal'd my hard consent:

62I do beseech you, give him leave to go.

63Take thy fair hour, Laertes; time be thine,

64And thy best graces spend it at thy will!

65But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son,--

66[Aside] A little more than kin, and less than kind.

67How is it that the clouds still hang on you?

68Not so, my lord; I am too much i' the sun.

69Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off,

70And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark.

71Do not for ever with thy vailed lids

72Seek for thy noble father in the dust:

73Thou know'st 'tis common; all that lives must die,

74Passing through nature to eternity.

75Ay, madam, it is common.

76If it be,

77Why seems it so particular with thee?

78Seems, madam! nay it is; I know not 'seems.'

79'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,

80Nor customary suits of solemn black,

81Nor windy suspiration of forced breath,

82No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,

83Nor the dejected 'havior of the visage,

84Together with all forms, moods, shapes of grief,

85That can denote me truly: these indeed seem,

86For they are actions that a man might play:

87But I have that within which passeth show;

88These but the trappings and the suits of woe.

89'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet,

90To give these mourning duties to your father:

91But, you must know, your father lost a father;

92That father lost, lost his, and the survivor bound

93In filial obligation for some term

94To do obsequious sorrow: but to persever

95In obstinate condolement is a course

96Of impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief;

97It shows a will most incorrect to heaven,

98A heart unfortified, a mind impatient,

99An understanding simple and unschool'd:

100For what we know must be and is as common

101As any the most vulgar thing to sense,

102Why should we in our peevish opposition

103Take it to heart? Fie! 'tis a fault to heaven,

104A fault against the dead, a fault to nature,

105To reason most absurd: whose common theme

106Is death of fathers, and who still hath cried,

107From the first corse till he that died to-day,

108'This must be so.' We pray you, throw to earth

109This unprevailing woe, and think of us

110As of a father: for let the world take note,

111You are the most immediate to our throne;

112And with no less nobility of love

113Than that which dearest father bears his son,

114Do I impart toward you. For your intent

115In going back to school in Wittenberg,

116It is most retrograde to our desire:

117And we beseech you, bend you to remain

118Here, in the cheer and comfort of our eye,

119Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son.

120Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet:

121I pray thee, stay with us; go not to Wittenberg.

122I shall in all my best obey you, madam.

123Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply:

124Be as ourself in Denmark. Madam, come;

125This gentle and unforced accord of Hamlet

126Sits smiling to my heart: in grace whereof,

127No jocund health that Denmark drinks to-day,

128But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell,

129And the king's rouse the heavens all bruit again,

130Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come away.

131O, that this too too solid flesh would melt

132Thaw and resolve itself into a dew!

133Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd

134His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! God!

135How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable,

136Seem to me all the uses of this world!

137Fie on't! ah fie! 'tis an unweeded garden,

138That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature

139Possess it merely. That it should come to this!

140But two months dead: nay, not so much, not two:

141So excellent a king; that was, to this,

142Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother

143That he might not beteem the winds of heaven

144Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth!

145Must I remember? why, she would hang on him,

146As if increase of appetite had grown

147By what it fed on: and yet, within a month--

148Let me not think on't--Frailty, thy name is woman!--

149A little month, or ere those shoes were old

150With which she follow'd my poor father's body,

151Like Niobe, all tears:--why she, even she--

152O, God! a beast, that wants discourse of reason,

153Would have mourn'd longer--married with my uncle,

154My father's brother, but no more like my father

155Than I to Hercules: within a month:

156Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears

157Had left the flushing in her galled eyes,

158She married. O, most wicked speed, to post

159With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!

160It is not nor it cannot come to good:

161But break, my heart; for I must hold my tongue.

162Hail to your lordship!

163I am glad to see you well:

164Horatio,--or I do forget myself.

165The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever.

166Sir, my good friend; I'll change that name with you:

167And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio? Marcellus?

168My good lord--

169I am very glad to see you. Good even, sir.

170But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg?

171A truant disposition, good my lord.

172I would not hear your enemy say so,

173Nor shall you do mine ear that violence,

174To make it truster of your own report

175Against yourself: I know you are no truant.

176But what is your affair in Elsinore?

177We'll teach you to drink deep ere you depart.

178My lord, I came to see your father's funeral.

179I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow-student;

180I think it was to see my mother's wedding.

181Indeed, my lord, it follow'd hard upon.

182Thrift, thrift, Horatio! the funeral baked meats

183Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.

184Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven

185Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio!

186My father!--methinks I see my father.

187Where, my lord?

188In my mind's eye, Horatio.

189I saw him once; he was a goodly king.

190He was a man, take him for all in all,

191I shall not look upon his like again.

192My lord, I think I saw him yesternight.

193Saw? who?

194My lord, the king your father.

195The king my father!

196Season your admiration for awhile

197With an attent ear, till I may deliver,

198Upon the witness of these gentlemen,

199This marvel to you.

200For God's love, let me hear.

201Two nights together had these gentlemen,

202Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch,

203In the dead vast and middle of the night,

204Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your father,

205Armed at point exactly, cap-a-pe,

206Appears before them, and with solemn march

207Goes slow and stately by them: thrice he walk'd

208By their oppress'd and fear-surprised eyes,

209Within his truncheon's length; whilst they, distilled

210Almost to jelly with the act of fear,

211Stand dumb and speak not to him. This to me

212In dreadful secrecy impart they did;

213And I with them the third night kept the watch;

214Where, as they had deliver'd, both in time,

215Form of the thing, each word made true and good,

216The apparition comes: I knew your father;

217These hands are not more like.

218But where was this?

219My lord, upon the platform where we watch'd.

220Did you not speak to it?

221My lord, I did;

222But answer made it none: yet once methought

223It lifted up its head and did address

224Itself to motion, like as it would speak;

225But even then the morning cock crew loud,

226And at the sound it shrunk in haste away,

227And vanish'd from our sight.

228'Tis very strange.

229As I do live, my honour'd lord, 'tis true;

230And we did think it writ down in our duty

231To let you know of it.

232Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles me.

233Hold you the watch to-night?

234We do, my lord.

235Arm'd, say you?

236Arm'd, my lord.

237From top to toe?

238My lord, from head to foot.

239Then saw you not his face?

240O, yes, my lord; he wore his beaver up.

241What, look'd he frowningly?

242A countenance more in sorrow than in anger.

243Pale or red?

244Nay, very pale.

245And fix'd his eyes upon you?

246Most constantly.

247I would I had been there.

248It would have much amazed you.

249Very like, very like. Stay'd it long?

250While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred.

251Longer, longer.

252Not when I saw't.

253His beard was grizzled--no?

254It was, as I have seen it in his life,

255A sable silver'd.

256I will watch to-night;

257Perchance 'twill walk again.

258I warrant it will.

259If it assume my noble father's person,

260I'll speak to it, though hell itself should gape

261And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all,

262If you have hitherto conceal'd this sight,

263Let it be tenable in your silence still;

264And whatsoever else shall hap to-night,

265Give it an understanding, but no tongue:

266I will requite your loves. So, fare you well:

267Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve,

268I'll visit you.

269Our duty to your honour.

270Your loves, as mine to you: farewell.

271My father's spirit in arms! all is not well;

272I doubt some foul play: would the night were come!

273Till then sit still, my soul: foul deeds will rise,

274Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes.

1My necessaries are embark'd: farewell:

2And, sister, as the winds give benefit

3And convoy is assistant, do not sleep,

4But let me hear from you.

5Do you doubt that?

6For Hamlet and the trifling of his favour,

7Hold it a fashion and a toy in blood,

8A violet in the youth of primy nature,

9Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting,

10The perfume and suppliance of a minute; No more.

11No more but so?

12Think it no more;

13For nature, crescent, does not grow alone

14In thews and bulk, but, as this temple waxes,

15The inward service of the mind and soul

16Grows wide withal. Perhaps he loves you now,

17And now no soil nor cautel doth besmirch

18The virtue of his will: but you must fear,

19His greatness weigh'd, his will is not his own;

20For he himself is subject to his birth:

21He may not, as unvalued persons do,

22Carve for himself; for on his choice depends

23The safety and health of this whole state;

24And therefore must his choice be circumscribed

25Unto the voice and yielding of that body

26Whereof he is the head. Then if he says he loves you,

27It fits your wisdom so far to believe it

28As he in his particular act and place

29May give his saying deed; which is no further

30Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal.

31Then weigh what loss your honour may sustain,

32If with too credent ear you list his songs,

33Or lose your heart, or your chaste treasure open

34To his unmaster'd importunity.

35Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister,

36And keep you in the rear of your affection,

37Out of the shot and danger of desire.

38The chariest maid is prodigal enough,

39If she unmask her beauty to the moon:

40Virtue itself 'scapes not calumnious strokes:

41The canker galls the infants of the spring,

42Too oft before their buttons be disclosed,

43And in the morn and liquid dew of youth

44Contagious blastments are most imminent.

45Be wary then; best safety lies in fear:

46Youth to itself rebels, though none else near.

47I shall the effect of this good lesson keep,

48As watchman to my heart. But, good my brother,

49Do not, as some ungracious pastors do,

50Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven;

51Whiles, like a puff'd and reckless libertine,

52Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads,

53And recks not his own rede.

54O, fear me not.

55I stay too long: but here my father comes.

56A double blessing is a double grace,

57Occasion smiles upon a second leave.

58Yet here, Laertes! aboard, aboard, for shame!

59The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail,

60And you are stay'd for. There; my blessing with thee!

61And these few precepts in thy memory

62See thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue,

63Nor any unproportioned thought his act.

64Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.

65Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,

66Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel;

67But do not dull thy palm with entertainment

68Of each new-hatch'd, unfledged comrade. Beware

69Of entrance to a quarrel, but being in,

70Bear't that the opposed may beware of thee.

71Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice;

72Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.

73Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,

74But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy;

75For the apparel oft proclaims the man,

76And they in France of the best rank and station

77Are of a most select and generous chief in that.

78Neither a borrower nor a lender be;

79For loan oft loses both itself and friend,

80And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.

81This above all: to thine ownself be true,

82And it must follow, as the night the day,

83Thou canst not then be false to any man.

84Farewell: my blessing season this in thee!

85Most humbly do I take my leave, my lord.

86The time invites you; go; your servants tend.

87Farewell, Ophelia; and remember well

88What I have said to you.

89'Tis in my memory lock'd,

90And you yourself shall keep the key of it.

91Farewell.

92What is't, Ophelia, be hath said to you?

93So please you, something touching the Lord Hamlet.

94Marry, well bethought:

95'Tis told me, he hath very oft of late

96Given private time to you; and you yourself

97Have of your audience been most free and bounteous:

98If it be so, as so 'tis put on me,

99And that in way of caution, I must tell you,

100You do not understand yourself so clearly

101As it behoves my daughter and your honour.

102What is between you? give me up the truth.

103He hath, my lord, of late made many tenders

104Of his affection to me.

105Affection! pooh! you speak like a green girl,

106Unsifted in such perilous circumstance.

107Do you believe his tenders, as you call them?

108I do not know, my lord, what I should think.

109Marry, I'll teach you: think yourself a baby;

110That you have ta'en these tenders for true pay,

111Which are not sterling. Tender yourself more dearly;

112Or--not to crack the wind of the poor phrase,

113Running it thus--you'll tender me a fool.

114My lord, he hath importuned me with love

115In honourable fashion.

116Ay, fashion you may call it; go to, go to.

117And hath given countenance to his speech, my lord,

118With almost all the holy vows of heaven.

119Ay, springes to catch woodcocks. I do know,

120When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul

121Lends the tongue vows: these blazes, daughter,

122Giving more light than heat, extinct in both,

123Even in their promise, as it is a-making,

124You must not take for fire. From this time

125Be somewhat scanter of your maiden presence;

126Set your entreatments at a higher rate

127Than a command to parley. For Lord Hamlet,

128Believe so much in him, that he is young

129And with a larger tether may he walk

130Than may be given you: in few, Ophelia,

131Do not believe his vows; for they are brokers,

132Not of that dye which their investments show,

133But mere implorators of unholy suits,

134Breathing like sanctified and pious bawds,

135The better to beguile. This is for all:

136I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth,

137Have you so slander any moment leisure,

138As to give words or talk with the Lord Hamlet.

139Look to't, I charge you: come your ways.

140I shall obey, my lord.

1The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold.

2It is a nipping and an eager air.

3What hour now?

4I think it lacks of twelve.

5No, it is struck.

6Indeed? I heard it not: then it draws near the season

7Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk.

8What does this mean, my lord?

9The king doth wake to-night and takes his rouse,

10Keeps wassail, and the swaggering up-spring reels;

11And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down,

12The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out

13The triumph of his pledge.

14Is it a custom?

15Ay, marry, is't:

16But to my mind, though I am native here

17And to the manner born, it is a custom

18More honour'd in the breach than the observance.

19This heavy-headed revel east and west

20Makes us traduced and tax'd of other nations:

21They clepe us drunkards, and with swinish phrase

22Soil our addition; and indeed it takes

23From our achievements, though perform'd at height,

24The pith and marrow of our attribute.

25So, oft it chances in particular men,

26That for some vicious mole of nature in them,

27As, in their birth--wherein they are not guilty,

28Since nature cannot choose his origin--

29By the o'ergrowth of some complexion,

30Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason,

31Or by some habit that too much o'er-leavens

32The form of plausive manners, that these men,

33Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect,

34Being nature's livery, or fortune's star,--

35Their virtues else--be they as pure as grace,

36As infinite as man may undergo--

37Shall in the general censure take corruption

38From that particular fault: the dram of eale

39Doth all the noble substance of a doubt

40To his own scandal.

41Look, my lord, it comes!

42Angels and ministers of grace defend us!

43Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn'd,

44Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell,

45Be thy intents wicked or charitable,

46Thou comest in such a questionable shape

47That I will speak to thee: I'll call thee Hamlet,

48King, father, royal Dane: O, answer me!

49Let me not burst in ignorance; but tell

50Why thy canonized bones, hearsed in death,

51Have burst their cerements; why the sepulchre,

52Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd,

53Hath oped his ponderous and marble jaws,

54To cast thee up again. What may this mean,

55That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel

56Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon,

57Making night hideous; and we fools of nature

58So horridly to shake our disposition

59With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?

60Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we do?

61It beckons you to go away with it,

62As if it some impartment did desire

63To you alone.

64Look, with what courteous action

65It waves you to a more removed ground:

66But do not go with it.

67No, by no means.

68It will not speak; then I will follow it.

69Do not, my lord.

70Why, what should be the fear?

71I do not set my life in a pin's fee;

72And for my soul, what can it do to that,

73Being a thing immortal as itself?

74It waves me forth again: I'll follow it.

75What if it tempt you toward the flood, my lord,

76Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff

77That beetles o'er his base into the sea,

78And there assume some other horrible form,

79Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason

80And draw you into madness? think of it:

81The very place puts toys of desperation,

82Without more motive, into every brain

83That looks so many fathoms to the sea

84And hears it roar beneath.

85It waves me still.

86Go on; I'll follow thee.

87You shall not go, my lord.

88Hold off your hands.

89Be ruled; you shall not go.

90My fate cries out,

91And makes each petty artery in this body

92As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve.

93Still am I call'd. Unhand me, gentlemen.

94By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me!

95I say, away! Go on; I'll follow thee.

96He waxes desperate with imagination.

97Let's follow; 'tis not fit thus to obey him.

98Have after. To what issue will this come?

99Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.

100Heaven will direct it.

101Nay, let's follow him.

1Where wilt thou lead me? speak; I'll go no further.

2Mark me.

3I will.

4My hour is almost come,

5When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames

6Must render up myself.

7Alas, poor ghost!

8Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing

9To what I shall unfold.

10Speak; I am bound to hear.

11So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear.

12What?

13I am thy father's spirit,

14Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night,

15And for the day confined to fast in fires,

16Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature

17Are burnt and purged away. But that I am forbid

18To tell the secrets of my prison-house,

19I could a tale unfold whose lightest word

20Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood,

21Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres,

22Thy knotted and combined locks to part

23And each particular hair to stand on end,

24Like quills upon the fretful porpentine:

25But this eternal blazon must not be

26To ears of flesh and blood. List, list, O, list!

27If thou didst ever thy dear father love--

28O God!

29Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder.

30Murder!

31Murder most foul, as in the best it is;

32But this most foul, strange and unnatural.

33Haste me to know't, that I, with wings as swift

34As meditation or the thoughts of love,

35May sweep to my revenge.

36I find thee apt;

37And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed

38That roots itself in ease on Lethe wharf,

39Wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear:

40'Tis given out that, sleeping in my orchard,

41A serpent stung me; so the whole ear of Denmark

42Is by a forged process of my death

43Rankly abused: but know, thou noble youth,

44The serpent that did sting thy father's life

45Now wears his crown.

46O my prophetic soul! My uncle!

47Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast,

48With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts,--

49O wicked wit and gifts, that have the power

50So to seduce!--won to his shameful lust

51The will of my most seeming-virtuous queen:

52O Hamlet, what a falling-off was there!

53From me, whose love was of that dignity

54That it went hand in hand even with the vow

55I made to her in marriage, and to decline

56Upon a wretch whose natural gifts were poor

57To those of mine!

58But virtue, as it never will be moved,

59Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven,

60So lust, though to a radiant angel link'd,

61Will sate itself in a celestial bed,

62And prey on garbage.

63But, soft! methinks I scent the morning air;

64Brief let me be. Sleeping within my orchard,

65My custom always of the afternoon,

66Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole,

67With juice of cursed hebenon in a vial,

68And in the porches of my ears did pour

69The leperous distilment; whose effect

70Holds such an enmity with blood of man

71That swift as quicksilver it courses through

72The natural gates and alleys of the body,

73And with a sudden vigour doth posset

74And curd, like eager droppings into milk,

75The thin and wholesome blood: so did it mine;

76And a most instant tetter bark'd about,

77Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust,

78All my smooth body.

79Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand

80Of life, of crown, of queen, at once dispatch'd:

81Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin,

82Unhousel'd, disappointed, unanel'd,

83No reckoning made, but sent to my account

84With all my imperfections on my head:

85O, horrible! O, horrible! most horrible!

86If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not;

87Let not the royal bed of Denmark be

88A couch for luxury and damned incest.

89But, howsoever thou pursuest this act,

90Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive

91Against thy mother aught: leave her to heaven

92And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge,

93To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once!

94The glow-worm shows the matin to be near,

95And 'gins to pale his uneffectual fire:

96Adieu, adieu! Hamlet, remember me.

97O all you host of heaven! O earth! what else?

98And shall I couple hell? O, fie! Hold, hold, my heart;

99And you, my sinews, grow not instant old,

100But bear me stiffly up. Remember thee!

101Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat

102In this distracted globe. Remember thee!

103Yea, from the table of my memory

104I'll wipe away all trivial fond records,

105All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past,

106That youth and observation copied there;

107And thy commandment all alone shall live

108Within the book and volume of my brain,

109Unmix'd with baser matter: yes, by heaven!

110O most pernicious woman!

111O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain!

112My tables,--meet it is I set it down,

113That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain;

114At least I'm sure it may be so in Denmark:

115So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word;

116It is 'Adieu, adieu! remember me.'

117I have sworn 't.

118[Within] My lord, my lord,--

119[Within] Lord Hamlet,--

120[Within] Heaven secure him!

121So be it!

122[Within] Hillo, ho, ho, my lord!

123Hillo, ho, ho, boy! come, bird, come.

124How is't, my noble lord?

125What news, my lord?

126O, wonderful!

127Good my lord, tell it.

128No; you'll reveal it.

129Not I, my lord, by heaven.

130Nor I, my lord.

131How say you, then; would heart of man once think it?

132But you'll be secret?

133Ay, by heaven, my lord.

134There's ne'er a villain dwelling in all Denmark

135But he's an arrant knave.

136There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave

137To tell us this.

138Why, right; you are i' the right;

139And so, without more circumstance at all,

140I hold it fit that we shake hands and part:

141You, as your business and desire shall point you;

142For every man has business and desire,

143Such as it is; and for mine own poor part,

144Look you, I'll go pray.

145These are but wild and whirling words, my lord.

146I'm sorry they offend you, heartily;

147Yes, 'faith heartily.

148There's no offence, my lord.

149Yes, by Saint Patrick, but there is, Horatio,

150And much offence too. Touching this vision here,

151It is an honest ghost, that let me tell you:

152For your desire to know what is between us,

153O'ermaster 't as you may. And now, good friends,

154As you are friends, scholars and soldiers,

155Give me one poor request.

156What is't, my lord? we will.

157Never make known what you have seen to-night.

158My lord, we will not.

159Nay, but swear't.

160In faith,

161My lord, not I.

162Nor I, my lord, in faith.

163Upon my sword.

164We have sworn, my lord, already.

165Indeed, upon my sword, indeed.

166[Beneath] Swear.

167Ah, ha, boy! say'st thou so? art thou there,

168truepenny?

169Come on--you hear this fellow in the cellarage--

170Consent to swear.

171Propose the oath, my lord.

172Never to speak of this that you have seen,

173Swear by my sword.

174[Beneath] Swear.

175Hic et ubique? then we'll shift our ground.

176Come hither, gentlemen,

177And lay your hands again upon my sword:

178Never to speak of this that you have heard,

179Swear by my sword.

180[Beneath] Swear.

181Well said, old mole! canst work i' the earth so fast?

182A worthy pioner! Once more remove, good friends.

183O day and night, but this is wondrous strange!

184And therefore as a stranger give it welcome.

185There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,

186Than are dreamt of in your philosophy. But come;

187Here, as before, never, so help you mercy,

188How strange or odd soe'er I bear myself,

189As I perchance hereafter shall think meet

190To put an antic disposition on,

191That you, at such times seeing me, never shall,

192With arms encumber'd thus, or this headshake,

193Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase,

194As 'Well, well, we know,' or 'We could, an if we would,'

195Or 'If we list to speak,' or 'There be, an if they might,'

196Or such ambiguous giving out, to note

197That you know aught of me: this not to do,

198So grace and mercy at your most need help you, Swear.

199[Beneath] Swear.

200Rest, rest, perturbed spirit!

201So, gentlemen,

202With all my love I do commend me to you:

203And what so poor a man as Hamlet is

204May do, to express his love and friending to you,

205God willing, shall not lack. Let us go in together;

206And still your fingers on your lips, I pray.

207The time is out of joint: O cursed spite,

208That ever I was born to set it right!

209Nay, come, let's go together.

1Give him this money and these notes, Reynaldo.

2I will, my lord.

3You shall do marvellous wisely, good Reynaldo,

4Before you visit him, to make inquire

5Of his behavior.

6My lord, I did intend it.

7Marry, well said; very well said. Look you, sir,

8Inquire me first what Danskers are in Paris;

9And how, and who, what means, and where they keep,

10What company, at what expense; and finding

11By this encompassment and drift of question

12That they do know my son, come you more nearer

13Than your particular demands will touch it:

14Take you, as 'twere, some distant knowledge of him;

15As thus, 'I know his father and his friends,

16And in part him: ' do you mark this, Reynaldo?

17Ay, very well, my lord.

18'And in part him; but' you may say 'not well:

19But, if't be he I mean, he's very wild;

20Addicted so and so:' and there put on him

21What forgeries you please; marry, none so rank

22As may dishonour him; take heed of that;

23But, sir, such wanton, wild and usual slips

24As are companions noted and most known

25To youth and liberty.

26As gaming, my lord.

27Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing, quarrelling,

28Drabbing: you may go so far.

29My lord, that would dishonour him.

30'Faith, no; as you may season it in the charge

31You must not put another scandal on him,

32That he is open to incontinency;

33That's not my meaning: but breathe his faults so quaintly

34That they may seem the taints of liberty,

35The flash and outbreak of a fiery mind,

36A savageness in unreclaimed blood,

37Of general assault.

38But, my good lord,--

39Wherefore should you do this?

40Ay, my lord,

41I would know that.

42Marry, sir, here's my drift;

43And I believe, it is a fetch of wit:

44You laying these slight sullies on my son,

45As 'twere a thing a little soil'd i' the working, Mark you,

46Your party in converse, him you would sound,

47Having ever seen in the prenominate crimes

48The youth you breathe of guilty, be assured

49He closes with you in this consequence;

50'Good sir,' or so, or 'friend,' or 'gentleman,'

51According to the phrase or the addition

52Of man and country.

53Very good, my lord.

54And then, sir, does he this--he does--what was I

55about to say? By the mass, I was about to say

56something: where did I leave?

57At 'closes in the consequence,' at 'friend or so,'

58and 'gentleman.'

59At 'closes in the consequence,' ay, marry;

60He closes thus: 'I know the gentleman;

61I saw him yesterday, or t' other day,

62Or then, or then; with such, or such; and, as you say,

63There was a' gaming; there o'ertook in's rouse;

64There falling out at tennis:' or perchance,

65'I saw him enter such a house of sale,'

66Videlicet, a brothel, or so forth.

67See you now;

68Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth:

69And thus do we of wisdom and of reach,

70With windlasses and with assays of bias,

71By indirections find directions out:

72So by my former lecture and advice,

73Shall you my son. You have me, have you not?

74My lord, I have.

75God be wi' you; fare you well.

76Good my lord!

77Observe his inclination in yourself.

78I shall, my lord.

79And let him ply his music.

80Well, my lord.

81Farewell!

82How now, Ophelia! what's the matter?

83O, my lord, my lord, I have been so affrighted!

84With what, i' the name of God?

85My lord, as I was sewing in my closet,

86Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbraced;

87No hat upon his head; his stockings foul'd,

88Ungarter'd, and down-gyved to his ancle;

89Pale as his shirt; his knees knocking each other;

90And with a look so piteous in purport

91As if he had been loosed out of hell

92To speak of horrors,--he comes before me.

93Mad for thy love?

94My lord, I do not know;

95But truly, I do fear it.

96What said he?

97He took me by the wrist and held me hard;

98Then goes he to the length of all his arm;

99And, with his other hand thus o'er his brow,

100He falls to such perusal of my face

101As he would draw it. Long stay'd he so;

102At last, a little shaking of mine arm

103And thrice his head thus waving up and down,

104He raised a sigh so piteous and profound

105As it did seem to shatter all his bulk

106And end his being: that done, he lets me go:

107And, with his head over his shoulder turn'd,

108He seem'd to find his way without his eyes;

109For out o' doors he went without their helps,

110And, to the last, bended their light on me.

111Come, go with me: I will go seek the king.

112This is the very ecstasy of love,

113Whose violent property fordoes itself

114And leads the will to desperate undertakings

115As oft as any passion under heaven

116That does afflict our natures. I am sorry.

117What, have you given him any hard words of late?

118No, my good lord, but, as you did command,

119I did repel his fetters and denied

120His access to me.

121That hath made him mad.

122I am sorry that with better heed and judgment

123I had not quoted him: I fear'd he did but trifle,

124And meant to wreck thee; but, beshrew my jealousy!

125By heaven, it is as proper to our age

126To cast beyond ourselves in our opinions

127As it is common for the younger sort

128To lack discretion. Come, go we to the king:

129This must be known; which, being kept close, might

130move

131More grief to hide than hate to utter love.

1Welcome, dear Rosencrantz and Guildenstern!

2Moreover that we much did long to see you,

3The need we have to use you did provoke

4Our hasty sending. Something have you heard

5Of Hamlet's transformation; so call it,

6Sith nor the exterior nor the inward man

7Resembles that it was. What it should be,

8More than his father's death, that thus hath put him

9So much from the understanding of himself,

10I cannot dream of: I entreat you both,

11That, being of so young days brought up with him,

12And sith so neighbour'd to his youth and havior,

13That you vouchsafe your rest here in our court

14Some little time: so by your companies

15To draw him on to pleasures, and to gather,

16So much as from occasion you may glean,

17Whether aught, to us unknown, afflicts him thus,

18That, open'd, lies within our remedy.

19Good gentlemen, he hath much talk'd of you;

20And sure I am two men there are not living

21To whom he more adheres. If it will please you

22To show us so much gentry and good will

23As to expend your time with us awhile,

24For the supply and profit of our hope,

25Your visitation shall receive such thanks

26As fits a king's remembrance.

27Both your majesties

28Might, by the sovereign power you have of us,

29Put your dread pleasures more into command

30Than to entreaty.

31But we both obey,

32And here give up ourselves, in the full bent

33To lay our service freely at your feet,

34To be commanded.

35Thanks, Rosencrantz and gentle Guildenstern.

36Thanks, Guildenstern and gentle Rosencrantz:

37And I beseech you instantly to visit

38My too much changed son. Go, some of you,

39And bring these gentlemen where Hamlet is.

40Heavens make our presence and our practises

41Pleasant and helpful to him!

42Ay, amen!

43The ambassadors from Norway, my good lord,

44Are joyfully return'd.

45Thou still hast been the father of good news.

46Have I, my lord? I assure my good liege,

47I hold my duty, as I hold my soul,

48Both to my God and to my gracious king:

49And I do think, or else this brain of mine

50Hunts not the trail of policy so sure

51As it hath used to do, that I have found

52The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy.

53O, speak of that; that do I long to hear.

54Give first admittance to the ambassadors;

55My news shall be the fruit to that great feast.

56Thyself do grace to them, and bring them in.

57He tells me, my dear Gertrude, he hath found

58The head and source of all your son's distemper.

59I doubt it is no other but the main;

60His father's death, and our o'erhasty marriage.

61Well, we shall sift him.

62Welcome, my good friends!

63Say, Voltimand, what from our brother Norway?

64Most fair return of greetings and desires.

65Upon our first, he sent out to suppress

66His nephew's levies; which to him appear'd

67To be a preparation 'gainst the Polack;

68But, better look'd into, he truly found

69It was against your highness: whereat grieved,

70That so his sickness, age and impotence

71Was falsely borne in hand, sends out arrests

72On Fortinbras; which he, in brief, obeys;

73Receives rebuke from Norway, and in fine

74Makes vow before his uncle never more

75To give the assay of arms against your majesty.

76Whereon old Norway, overcome with joy,

77Gives him three thousand crowns in annual fee,

78And his commission to employ those soldiers,

79So levied as before, against the Polack:

80With an entreaty, herein further shown,

81That it might please you to give quiet pass

82Through your dominions for this enterprise,

83On such regards of safety and allowance

84As therein are set down.

85It likes us well;

86And at our more consider'd time well read,

87Answer, and think upon this business.

88Meantime we thank you for your well-took labour:

89Go to your rest; at night we'll feast together:

90Most welcome home!

91This business is well ended.

92My liege, and madam, to expostulate

93What majesty should be, what duty is,

94Why day is day, night night, and time is time,

95Were nothing but to waste night, day and time.

96Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit,

97And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes,

98I will be brief: your noble son is mad:

99Mad call I it; for, to define true madness,

100What is't but to be nothing else but mad?

101But let that go.

102More matter, with less art.

103Madam, I swear I use no art at all.

104That he is mad, 'tis true: 'tis true 'tis pity;

105And pity 'tis 'tis true: a foolish figure;

106But farewell it, for I will use no art.

107Mad let us grant him, then: and now remains

108That we find out the cause of this effect,

109Or rather say, the cause of this defect,

110For this effect defective comes by cause:

111Thus it remains, and the remainder thus. Perpend.

112I have a daughter--have while she is mine--

113Who, in her duty and obedience, mark,

114Hath given me this: now gather, and surmise.

115'To the celestial and my soul's idol, the most

116beautified Ophelia,'--

117That's an ill phrase, a vile phrase; 'beautified' is

118a vile phrase: but you shall hear. Thus:

119'In her excellent white bosom, these, & c.'

120Came this from Hamlet to her?

121Good madam, stay awhile; I will be faithful.

122'Doubt thou the stars are fire;

123Doubt that the sun doth move;

124Doubt truth to be a liar;

125But never doubt I love.

126'O dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers;

127I have not art to reckon my groans: but that

128I love thee best, O most best, believe it. Adieu.

129'Thine evermore most dear lady, whilst

130this machine is to him, HAMLET.'

131This, in obedience, hath my daughter shown me,

132And more above, hath his solicitings,

133As they fell out by time, by means and place,

134All given to mine ear.

135But how hath she

136Received his love?

137What do you think of me?

138As of a man faithful and honourable.

139I would fain prove so. But what might you think,

140When I had seen this hot love on the wing--

141As I perceived it, I must tell you that,

142Before my daughter told me--what might you,

143Or my dear majesty your queen here, think,

144If I had play'd the desk or table-book,

145Or given my heart a winking, mute and dumb,

146Or look'd upon this love with idle sight;

147What might you think? No, I went round to work,

148And my young mistress thus I did bespeak:

149'Lord Hamlet is a prince, out of thy star;

150This must not be:' and then I precepts gave her,

151That she should lock herself from his resort,

152Admit no messengers, receive no tokens.

153Which done, she took the fruits of my advice;

154And he, repulsed--a short tale to make--

155Fell into a sadness, then into a fast,

156Thence to a watch, thence into a weakness,

157Thence to a lightness, and, by this declension,

158Into the madness wherein now he raves,

159And all we mourn for.

160Do you think 'tis this?

161It may be, very likely.

162Hath there been such a time--I'd fain know that--

163That I have positively said 'Tis so,'

164When it proved otherwise?

165Not that I know.

166[Pointing to his head and shoulder]

167Take this from this, if this be otherwise:

168If circumstances lead me, I will find

169Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed

170Within the centre.

171How may we try it further?

172You know, sometimes he walks four hours together

173Here in the lobby.

174So he does indeed.

175At such a time I'll loose my daughter to him:

176Be you and I behind an arras then;

177Mark the encounter: if he love her not

178And be not from his reason fall'n thereon,

179Let me be no assistant for a state,

180But keep a farm and carters.

181We will try it.

182But, look, where sadly the poor wretch comes reading.

183Away, I do beseech you, both away:

184I'll board him presently.

185O, give me leave:

186How does my good Lord Hamlet?

187Well, God-a-mercy.

188Do you know me, my lord?

189Excellent well; you are a fishmonger.

190Not I, my lord.

191Then I would you were so honest a man.

192Honest, my lord!

193Ay, sir; to be honest, as this world goes, is to be

194one man picked out of ten thousand.

195That's very true, my lord.

196For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a

197god kissing carrion,--Have you a daughter?

198I have, my lord.

199Let her not walk i' the sun: conception is a

200blessing: but not as your daughter may conceive.

201Friend, look to 't.

202[Aside] How say you by that? Still harping on my

203daughter: yet he knew me not at first; he said I

204was a fishmonger: he is far gone, far gone: and

205truly in my youth I suffered much extremity for

206love; very near this. I'll speak to him again.

207What do you read, my lord?

208Words, words, words.

209What is the matter, my lord?

210Between who?

211I mean, the matter that you read, my lord.

212Slanders, sir: for the satirical rogue says here

213that old men have grey beards, that their faces are

214wrinkled, their eyes purging thick amber and

215plum-tree gum and that they have a plentiful lack of

216wit, together with most weak hams: all which, sir,

217though I most powerfully and potently believe, yet

218I hold it not honesty to have it thus set down, for

219yourself, sir, should be old as I am, if like a crab

220you could go backward.

221[Aside] Though this be madness, yet there is method

222in 't. Will you walk out of the air, my lord?

223Into my grave.

224Indeed, that is out o' the air.

225How pregnant sometimes his replies are! a happiness

226that often madness hits on, which reason and sanity

227could not so prosperously be delivered of. I will

228leave him, and suddenly contrive the means of

229meeting between him and my daughter.--My honourable

230lord, I will most humbly take my leave of you.

231You cannot, sir, take from me any thing that I will

232more willingly part withal: except my life, except

233my life, except my life.

234Fare you well, my lord.

235These tedious old fools!

236You go to seek the Lord Hamlet; there he is.

237[To POLONIUS] God save you, sir!

238My honoured lord!

239My most dear lord!

240My excellent good friends! How dost thou,

241Guildenstern? Ah, Rosencrantz! Good lads, how do ye both?

242As the indifferent children of the earth.

243Happy, in that we are not over-happy;

244On fortune's cap we are not the very button.

245Nor the soles of her shoe?

246Neither, my lord.

247Then you live about her waist, or in the middle of

248her favours?

249'Faith, her privates we.

250In the secret parts of fortune? O, most true; she

251is a strumpet. What's the news?

252None, my lord, but that the world's grown honest.

253Then is doomsday near: but your news is not true.

254Let me question more in particular: what have you,

255my good friends, deserved at the hands of fortune,

256that she sends you to prison hither?

257Prison, my lord!

258Denmark's a prison.

259Then is the world one.

260A goodly one; in which there are many confines,

261wards and dungeons, Denmark being one o' the worst.

262We think not so, my lord.

263Why, then, 'tis none to you; for there is nothing

264either good or bad, but thinking makes it so: to me

265it is a prison.

266Why then, your ambition makes it one; 'tis too

267narrow for your mind.

268O God, I could be bounded in a nut shell and count

269myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I

270have bad dreams.

271Which dreams indeed are ambition, for the very

272substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream.

273A dream itself is but a shadow.

274Truly, and I hold ambition of so airy and light a

275quality that it is but a shadow's shadow.

276Then are our beggars bodies, and our monarchs and

277outstretched heroes the beggars' shadows. Shall we

278to the court? for, by my fay, I cannot reason.

279We'll wait upon you.

280No such matter: I will not sort you with the rest

281of my servants, for, to speak to you like an honest

282man, I am most dreadfully attended. But, in the

283beaten way of friendship, what make you at Elsinore?

284To visit you, my lord; no other occasion.

285Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks; but I

286thank you: and sure, dear friends, my thanks are

287too dear a halfpenny. Were you not sent for? Is it

288your own inclining? Is it a free visitation? Come,

289deal justly with me: come, come; nay, speak.

290What should we say, my lord?

291Why, any thing, but to the purpose. You were sent

292for; and there is a kind of confession in your looks

293which your modesties have not craft enough to colour:

294I know the good king and queen have sent for you.

295To what end, my lord?

296That you must teach me. But let me conjure you, by

297the rights of our fellowship, by the consonancy of

298our youth, by the obligation of our ever-preserved

299love, and by what more dear a better proposer could

300charge you withal, be even and direct with me,

301whether you were sent for, or no?

302[Aside to GUILDENSTERN] What say you?

303[Aside] Nay, then, I have an eye of you.--If you

304love me, hold not off.

305My lord, we were sent for.

306I will tell you why; so shall my anticipation

307prevent your discovery, and your secrecy to the king

308and queen moult no feather. I have of late--but

309wherefore I know not--lost all my mirth, forgone all

310custom of exercises; and indeed it goes so heavily

311with my disposition that this goodly frame, the

312earth, seems to me a sterile promontory, this most

313excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave

314o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted

315with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to

316me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours.

317What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason!

318how infinite in faculty! in form and moving how

319express and admirable! in action how like an angel!

320in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the

321world! the paragon of animals! And yet, to me,

322what is this quintessence of dust? man delights not

323me: no, nor woman neither, though by your smiling

324you seem to say so.

325My lord, there was no such stuff in my thoughts.

326Why did you laugh then, when I said 'man delights not me'?

327To think, my lord, if you delight not in man, what

328lenten entertainment the players shall receive from

329you: we coted them on the way; and hither are they

330coming, to offer you service.

331He that plays the king shall be welcome; his majesty

332shall have tribute of me; the adventurous knight

333shall use his foil and target; the lover shall not

334sigh gratis; the humourous man shall end his part

335in peace; the clown shall make those laugh whose

336lungs are tickled o' the sere; and the lady shall

337say her mind freely, or the blank verse shall halt

338for't. What players are they?

339Even those you were wont to take delight in, the

340tragedians of the city.

341How chances it they travel? their residence, both

342in reputation and profit, was better both ways.

343I think their inhibition comes by the means of the

344late innovation.

345Do they hold the same estimation they did when I was

346in the city? are they so followed?

347No, indeed, are they not.

348How comes it? do they grow rusty?

349Nay, their endeavour keeps in the wonted pace: but

350there is, sir, an aery of children, little eyases,

351that cry out on the top of question, and are most

352tyrannically clapped for't: these are now the

353fashion, and so berattle the common stages--so they

354call them--that many wearing rapiers are afraid of

355goose-quills and dare scarce come thither.

356What, are they children? who maintains 'em? how are

357they escoted? Will they pursue the quality no

358longer than they can sing? will they not say

359afterwards, if they should grow themselves to common

360players--as it is most like, if their means are no

361better--their writers do them wrong, to make them

362exclaim against their own succession?

363'Faith, there has been much to do on both sides; and

364the nation holds it no sin to tarre them to

365controversy: there was, for a while, no money bid

366for argument, unless the poet and the player went to

367cuffs in the question.

368Is't possible?

369O, there has been much throwing about of brains.

370Do the boys carry it away?

371Ay, that they do, my lord; Hercules and his load too.

372It is not very strange; for mine uncle is king of

373Denmark, and those that would make mows at him while

374my father lived, give twenty, forty, fifty, an

375hundred ducats a-piece for his picture in little.

376'Sblood, there is something in this more than

377natural, if philosophy could find it out.

378There are the players.

379Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinore. Your hands,

380come then: the appurtenance of welcome is fashion

381and ceremony: let me comply with you in this garb,

382lest my extent to the players, which, I tell you,

383must show fairly outward, should more appear like

384entertainment than yours. You are welcome: but my

385uncle-father and aunt-mother are deceived.

386In what, my dear lord?

387I am but mad north-north-west: when the wind is

388southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw.

389Well be with you, gentlemen!

390Hark you, Guildenstern; and you too: at each ear a

391hearer: that great baby you see there is not yet

392out of his swaddling-clouts.

393Happily he's the second time come to them; for they

394say an old man is twice a child.

395I will prophesy he comes to tell me of the players;

396mark it. You say right, sir: o' Monday morning;

397'twas so indeed.

398My lord, I have news to tell you.

399My lord, I have news to tell you.

400When Roscius was an actor in Rome,--

401The actors are come hither, my lord.

402Buz, buz!

403Upon mine honour,--

404Then came each actor on his ass,--

405The best actors in the world, either for tragedy,

406comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral-comical,

407historical-pastoral, tragical-historical, tragical-

408comical-historical-pastoral, scene individable, or

409poem unlimited: Seneca cannot be too heavy, nor

410Plautus too light. For the law of writ and the

411liberty, these are the only men.

412O Jephthah, judge of Israel, what a treasure hadst thou!

413What a treasure had he, my lord?

414Why,

415'One fair daughter and no more,

416The which he loved passing well.'

417[Aside] Still on my daughter.

418Am I not i' the right, old Jephthah?

419If you call me Jephthah, my lord, I have a daughter

420that I love passing well.

421Nay, that follows not.

422What follows, then, my lord?

423Why,

424'As by lot, God wot,'

425and then, you know,

426'It came to pass, as most like it was,'--

427the first row of the pious chanson will show you

428more; for look, where my abridgement comes.

429You are welcome, masters; welcome, all. I am glad

430to see thee well. Welcome, good friends. O, my old

431friend! thy face is valenced since I saw thee last:

432comest thou to beard me in Denmark? What, my young

433lady and mistress! By'r lady, your ladyship is

434nearer to heaven than when I saw you last, by the

435altitude of a chopine. Pray God, your voice, like

436apiece of uncurrent gold, be not cracked within the

437ring. Masters, you are all welcome. We'll e'en

438to't like French falconers, fly at any thing we see:

439we'll have a speech straight: come, give us a taste

440of your quality; come, a passionate speech.

441What speech, my lord?

442I heard thee speak me a speech once, but it was

443never acted; or, if it was, not above once; for the

444play, I remember, pleased not the million; 'twas

445caviare to the general: but it was--as I received

446it, and others, whose judgments in such matters

447cried in the top of mine--an excellent play, well

448digested in the scenes, set down with as much

449modesty as cunning. I remember, one said there

450were no sallets in the lines to make the matter

451savoury, nor no matter in the phrase that might

452indict the author of affectation; but called it an

453honest method, as wholesome as sweet, and by very

454much more handsome than fine. One speech in it I

455chiefly loved: 'twas Aeneas' tale to Dido; and

456thereabout of it especially, where he speaks of

457Priam's slaughter: if it live in your memory, begin

458at this line: let me see, let me see--

459'The rugged Pyrrhus, like the Hyrcanian beast,'--

460it is not so:--it begins with Pyrrhus:--

461'The rugged Pyrrhus, he whose sable arms,

462Black as his purpose, did the night resemble

463When he lay couched in the ominous horse,

464Hath now this dread and black complexion smear'd

465With heraldry more dismal; head to foot

466Now is he total gules; horridly trick'd

467With blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, sons,

468Baked and impasted with the parching streets,

469That lend a tyrannous and damned light

470To their lord's murder: roasted in wrath and fire,

471And thus o'er-sized with coagulate gore,

472With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus

473Old grandsire Priam seeks.'

474So, proceed you.

475'Fore God, my lord, well spoken, with good accent and

476good discretion.

477'Anon he finds him

478Striking too short at Greeks; his antique sword,

479Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls,

480Repugnant to command: unequal match'd,

481Pyrrhus at Priam drives; in rage strikes wide;

482But with the whiff and wind of his fell sword

483The unnerved father falls. Then senseless Ilium,

484Seeming to feel this blow, with flaming top

485Stoops to his base, and with a hideous crash

486Takes prisoner Pyrrhus' ear: for, lo! his sword,

487Which was declining on the milky head

488Of reverend Priam, seem'd i' the air to stick:

489So, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrhus stood,

490And like a neutral to his will and matter,

491Did nothing.

492But, as we often see, against some storm,

493A silence in the heavens, the rack stand still,

494The bold winds speechless and the orb below

495As hush as death, anon the dreadful thunder

496Doth rend the region, so, after Pyrrhus' pause,

497Aroused vengeance sets him new a-work;

498And never did the Cyclops' hammers fall

499On Mars's armour forged for proof eterne

500With less remorse than Pyrrhus' bleeding sword

501Now falls on Priam.

502Out, out, thou strumpet, Fortune! All you gods,

503In general synod 'take away her power;

504Break all the spokes and fellies from her wheel,

505And bowl the round nave down the hill of heaven,

506As low as to the fiends!'

507This is too long.

508It shall to the barber's, with your beard. Prithee,

509say on: he's for a jig or a tale of bawdry, or he

510sleeps: say on: come to Hecuba.

511'But who, O, who had seen the mobled queen--'

512'The mobled queen?'

513That's good; 'mobled queen' is good.

514'Run barefoot up and down, threatening the flames

515With bisson rheum; a clout upon that head

516Where late the diadem stood, and for a robe,

517About her lank and all o'er-teemed loins,

518A blanket, in the alarm of fear caught up;

519Who this had seen, with tongue in venom steep'd,

520'Gainst Fortune's state would treason have

521pronounced:

522But if the gods themselves did see her then

523When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious sport

524In mincing with his sword her husband's limbs,

525The instant burst of clamour that she made,

526Unless things mortal move them not at all,

527Would have made milch the burning eyes of heaven,

528And passion in the gods.'

529Look, whether he has not turned his colour and has

530tears in's eyes. Pray you, no more.

531'Tis well: I'll have thee speak out the rest soon.

532Good my lord, will you see the players well

533bestowed? Do you hear, let them be well used; for

534they are the abstract and brief chronicles of the

535time: after your death you were better have a bad

536epitaph than their ill report while you live.

537My lord, I will use them according to their desert.

538God's bodykins, man, much better: use every man

539after his desert, and who should 'scape whipping?

540Use them after your own honour and dignity: the less

541they deserve, the more merit is in your bounty.

542Take them in.

543Come, sirs.

544Follow him, friends: we'll hear a play to-morrow.

545Dost thou hear me, old friend; can you play the

546Murder of Gonzago?

547Ay, my lord.

548We'll ha't to-morrow night. You could, for a need,

549study a speech of some dozen or sixteen lines, which

550I would set down and insert in't, could you not?

551Ay, my lord.

552Very well. Follow that lord; and look you mock him

553not.

554My good friends, I'll leave you till night: you are

555welcome to Elsinore.

556Good my lord!

557Ay, so, God be wi' ye;

558Now I am alone.

559O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I!

560Is it not monstrous that this player here,

561But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,

562Could force his soul so to his own conceit

563That from her working all his visage wann'd,

564Tears in his eyes, distraction in's aspect,

565A broken voice, and his whole function suiting

566With forms to his conceit? and all for nothing!

567For Hecuba!

568What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,

569That he should weep for her? What would he do,

570Had he the motive and the cue for passion

571That I have? He would drown the stage with tears

572And cleave the general ear with horrid speech,

573Make mad the guilty and appal the free,

574Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed

575The very faculties of eyes and ears. Yet I,

576A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak,

577Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause,

578And can say nothing; no, not for a king,

579Upon whose property and most dear life

580A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward?

581Who calls me villain? breaks my pate across?

582Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face?

583Tweaks me by the nose? gives me the lie i' the throat,

584As deep as to the lungs? who does me this?

585Ha!

586'Swounds, I should take it: for it cannot be

587But I am pigeon-liver'd and lack gall

588To make oppression bitter, or ere this

589I should have fatted all the region kites

590With this slave's offal: bloody, bawdy villain!

591Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain!

592O, vengeance!

593Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave,

594That I, the son of a dear father murder'd,

595Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell,

596Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words,

597And fall a-cursing, like a very drab,

598A scullion!

599Fie upon't! foh! About, my brain! I have heard

600That guilty creatures sitting at a play

601Have by the very cunning of the scene

602Been struck so to the soul that presently

603They have proclaim'd their malefactions;

604For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak

605With most miraculous organ. I'll have these players

606Play something like the murder of my father

607Before mine uncle: I'll observe his looks;

608I'll tent him to the quick: if he but blench,

609I know my course. The spirit that I have seen

610May be the devil: and the devil hath power

611To assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhaps

612Out of my weakness and my melancholy,

613As he is very potent with such spirits,

614Abuses me to damn me: I'll have grounds

615More relative than this: the play 's the thing

616Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king.

1And can you, by no drift of circumstance,

2Get from him why he puts on this confusion,

3Grating so harshly all his days of quiet

4With turbulent and dangerous lunacy?

5He does confess he feels himself distracted;

6But from what cause he will by no means speak.

7Nor do we find him forward to be sounded,

8But, with a crafty madness, keeps aloof,

9When we would bring him on to some confession

10Of his true state.

11Did he receive you well?

12Most like a gentleman.

13But with much forcing of his disposition.

14Niggard of question; but, of our demands,

15Most free in his reply.

16Did you assay him?

17To any pastime?

18Madam, it so fell out, that certain players

19We o'er-raught on the way: of these we told him;

20And there did seem in him a kind of joy

21To hear of it: they are about the court,

22And, as I think, they have already order

23This night to play before him.

24'Tis most true:

25And he beseech'd me to entreat your majesties

26To hear and see the matter.

27With all my heart; and it doth much content me

28To hear him so inclined.

29Good gentlemen, give him a further edge,

30And drive his purpose on to these delights.

31We shall, my lord.

32Sweet Gertrude, leave us too;

33For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither,

34That he, as 'twere by accident, may here

35Affront Ophelia:

36Her father and myself, lawful espials,

37Will so bestow ourselves that, seeing, unseen,

38We may of their encounter frankly judge,

39And gather by him, as he is behaved,

40If 't be the affliction of his love or no

41That thus he suffers for.

42I shall obey you.

43And for your part, Ophelia, I do wish

44That your good beauties be the happy cause

45Of Hamlet's wildness: so shall I hope your virtues

46Will bring him to his wonted way again,

47To both your honours.

48Madam, I wish it may.

49Ophelia, walk you here. Gracious, so please you,

50We will bestow ourselves.

51Read on this book;

52That show of such an exercise may colour

53Your loneliness. We are oft to blame in this,--

54'Tis too much proved--that with devotion's visage

55And pious action we do sugar o'er

56The devil himself.

57[Aside] O, 'tis too true!

58How smart a lash that speech doth give my conscience!

59The harlot's cheek, beautied with plastering art,

60Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it

61Than is my deed to my most painted word:

62O heavy burthen!

63I hear him coming: let's withdraw, my lord.

64To be, or not to be, that is the question,

65Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer

66The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,

67Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,

68And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;

69No more; and by a sleep to say we end

70The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks

71That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation

72Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;

73To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;

74For in that sleep of death what dreams may come

75When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,

76Must give us pause: there's the respect

77That makes calamity of so long life;

78For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,

79The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,

80The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,

81The insolence of office and the spurns

82That patient merit of the unworthy takes,

83When he himself might his quietus make

84With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,

85To grunt and sweat under a weary life,

86But that the dread of something after death,

87The undiscover'd country from whose bourn

88No traveller returns, puzzles the will

89And makes us rather bear those ills we have

90Than fly to others that we know not of?

91Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;

92And thus the native hue of resolution

93Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,

94And enterprises of great pith and moment

95With this regard their currents turn awry,

96And lose the name of action.--Soft you now!

97The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons

98Be all my sins remember'd.

99Good my lord,

100How does your honour for this many a day?

101I humbly thank you; well, well, well.

102My lord, I have remembrances of yours,

103That I have longed long to re-deliver;

104I pray you, now receive them.

105No, not I;

106I never gave you aught.

107My honour'd lord, you know right well you did;

108And, with them, words of so sweet breath composed

109As made the things more rich: their perfume lost,

110Take these again; for to the noble mind

111Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.

112There, my lord.

113Ha, ha! are you honest?

114My lord?

115Are you fair?

116What means your lordship?

117That if you be honest and fair, your honesty should

118admit no discourse to your beauty.

119Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than

120with honesty?

121Ay, truly; for the power of beauty will sooner

122transform honesty from what it is to a bawd than the

123force of honesty can translate beauty into his

124likeness: this was sometime a paradox, but now the

125time gives it proof. I did love you once.

126Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so.

127You should not have believed me; for virtue cannot

128so inoculate our old stock but we shall relish of

129it: I loved you not.

130I was the more deceived.

131Get thee to a nunnery: why wouldst thou be a

132breeder of sinners? I am myself indifferent honest;

133but yet I could accuse me of such things that it

134were better my mother had not borne me: I am very

135proud, revengeful, ambitious, with more offences at

136my beck than I have thoughts to put them in,

137imagination to give them shape, or time to act them

138in. What should such fellows as I do crawling

139between earth and heaven? We are arrant knaves,

140all; believe none of us. Go thy ways to a nunnery.

141Where's your father?

142At home, my lord.

143Let the doors be shut upon him, that he may play the

144fool no where but in's own house. Farewell.

145O, help him, you sweet heavens!

146If thou dost marry, I'll give thee this plague for

147thy dowry: be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as

148snow, thou shalt not escape calumny. Get thee to a

149nunnery, go: farewell. Or, if thou wilt needs

150marry, marry a fool; for wise men know well enough

151what monsters you make of them. To a nunnery, go,

152and quickly too. Farewell.

153O heavenly powers, restore him!

154I have heard of your paintings too, well enough; God

155has given you one face, and you make yourselves

156another: you jig, you amble, and you lisp, and

157nick-name God's creatures, and make your wantonness

158your ignorance. Go to, I'll no more on't; it hath

159made me mad. I say, we will have no more marriages:

160those that are married already, all but one, shall

161live; the rest shall keep as they are. To a

162nunnery, go.

163O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown!

164The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's, eye, tongue, sword;

165The expectancy and rose of the fair state,

166The glass of fashion and the mould of form,

167The observed of all observers, quite, quite down!

168And I, of ladies most deject and wretched,

169That suck'd the honey of his music vows,

170Now see that noble and most sovereign reason,

171Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh;

172That unmatch'd form and feature of blown youth

173Blasted with ecstasy: O, woe is me,

174To have seen what I have seen, see what I see!

175Love! his affections do not that way tend;

176Nor what he spake, though it lack'd form a little,

177Was not like madness. There's something in his soul,

178O'er which his melancholy sits on brood;

179And I do doubt the hatch and the disclose

180Will be some danger: which for to prevent,

181I have in quick determination

182Thus set it down: he shall with speed to England,

183For the demand of our neglected tribute

184Haply the seas and countries different

185With variable objects shall expel

186This something-settled matter in his heart,

187Whereon his brains still beating puts him thus

188From fashion of himself. What think you on't?

189It shall do well: but yet do I believe

190The origin and commencement of his grief

191Sprung from neglected love. How now, Ophelia!

192You need not tell us what Lord Hamlet said;

193We heard it all. My lord, do as you please;

194But, if you hold it fit, after the play

195Let his queen mother all alone entreat him

196To show his grief: let her be round with him;

197And I'll be placed, so please you, in the ear

198Of all their conference. If she find him not,

199To England send him, or confine him where

200Your wisdom best shall think.

201It shall be so:

202Madness in great ones must not unwatch'd go.

1Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to

2you, trippingly on the tongue: but if you mouth it,

3as many of your players do, I had as lief the

4town-crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air

5too much with your hand, thus, but use all gently;

6for in the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say,

7the whirlwind of passion, you must acquire and beget

8a temperance that may give it smoothness. O, it

9offends me to the soul to hear a robustious

10periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to

11very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings, who

12for the most part are capable of nothing but

13inexplicable dumbshows and noise: I would have such

14a fellow whipped for o'erdoing Termagant; it

15out-herods Herod: pray you, avoid it.

16I warrant your honour.

17Be not too tame neither, but let your own discretion

18be your tutor: suit the action to the word, the

19word to the action; with this special o'erstep not

20the modesty of nature: for any thing so overdone is

21from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the

22first and now, was and is, to hold, as 'twere, the

23mirror up to nature; to show virtue her own feature,

24scorn her own image, and the very age and body of

25the time his form and pressure. Now this overdone,

26or come tardy off, though it make the unskilful

27laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve; the

28censure of the which one must in your allowance

29o'erweigh a whole theatre of others. O, there be

30players that I have seen play, and heard others

31praise, and that highly, not to speak it profanely,

32that, neither having the accent of Christians nor

33the gait of Christian, pagan, nor man, have so

34strutted and bellowed that I have thought some of

35nature's journeymen had made men and not made them

36well, they imitated humanity so abominably.

37I hope we have reformed that indifferently with us,

38sir.

39O, reform it altogether. And let those that play

40your clowns speak no more than is set down for them;

41for there be of them that will themselves laugh, to

42set on some quantity of barren spectators to laugh

43too; though, in the mean time, some necessary

44question of the play be then to be considered:

45that's villanous, and shows a most pitiful ambition

46in the fool that uses it. Go, make you ready.

47How now, my lord! I will the king hear this piece of work?

48And the queen too, and that presently.

49Bid the players make haste.

50Will you two help to hasten them?

51We will, my lord.

52What ho! Horatio!

53Here, sweet lord, at your service.

54Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man

55As e'er my conversation coped withal.

56O, my dear lord,--

57Nay, do not think I flatter;

58For what advancement may I hope from thee

59That no revenue hast but thy good spirits,

60To feed and clothe thee? Why should the poor be flatter'd?

61No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp,

62And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee

63Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou hear?

64Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice

65And could of men distinguish, her election

66Hath seal'd thee for herself; for thou hast been

67As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing,

68A man that fortune's buffets and rewards

69Hast ta'en with equal thanks: and blest are those

70Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled,

71That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger

72To sound what stop she please. Give me that man

73That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him

74In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart,

75As I do thee.--Something too much of this.--

76There is a play to-night before the king;

77One scene of it comes near the circumstance

78Which I have told thee of my father's death:

79I prithee, when thou seest that act afoot,

80Even with the very comment of thy soul

81Observe mine uncle: if his occulted guilt

82Do not itself unkennel in one speech,

83It is a damned ghost that we have seen,

84And my imaginations are as foul

85As Vulcan's stithy. Give him heedful note;

86For I mine eyes will rivet to his face,

87And after we will both our judgments join

88In censure of his seeming.

89Well, my lord:

90If he steal aught the whilst this play is playing,

91And 'scape detecting, I will pay the theft.

92They are coming to the play; I must be idle:

93Get you a place.

94How fares our cousin Hamlet?

95Excellent, i' faith; of the chameleon's dish: I eat

96the air, promise-crammed: you cannot feed capons so.

97I have nothing with this answer, Hamlet; these words

98are not mine.

99No, nor mine now.

100My lord, you played once i' the university, you say?

101That did I, my lord; and was accounted a good actor.

102What did you enact?

103I did enact Julius Caesar: I was killed i' the

104Capitol; Brutus killed me.

105It was a brute part of him to kill so capital a calf

106there. Be the players ready?

107Ay, my lord; they stay upon your patience.

108Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit by me.

109No, good mother, here's metal more attractive.

110[To KING CLAUDIUS] O, ho! do you mark that?

111Lady, shall I lie in your lap?

112No, my lord.

113I mean, my head upon your lap?

114Ay, my lord.

115Do you think I meant country matters?

116I think nothing, my lord.

117That's a fair thought to lie between maids' legs.

118What is, my lord?

119Nothing.

120You are merry, my lord.

121Who, I?

122Ay, my lord.

123O God, your only jig-maker. What should a man do

124but be merry? for, look you, how cheerfully my

125mother looks, and my father died within these two hours.

126Nay, 'tis twice two months, my lord.

127So long? Nay then, let the devil wear black, for

128I'll have a suit of sables. O heavens! die two

129months ago, and not forgotten yet? Then there's

130hope a great man's memory may outlive his life half

131a year: but, by'r lady, he must build churches,

132then; or else shall he suffer not thinking on, with

133the hobby-horse, whose epitaph is 'For, O, for, O,

134the hobby-horse is forgot.'

135What means this, my lord?

136Marry, this is miching mallecho; it means mischief.

137Belike this show imports the argument of the play.

138We shall know by this fellow: the players cannot

139keep counsel; they'll tell all.

140Will he tell us what this show meant?

141Ay, or any show that you'll show him: be not you

142ashamed to show, he'll not shame to tell you what it means.

143You are naught, you are naught: I'll mark the play.

144For us, and for our tragedy,

145Here stooping to your clemency,

146We beg your hearing patiently.

147Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring?

148'Tis brief, my lord.

149As woman's love.

150Full thirty times hath Phoebus' cart gone round

151Neptune's salt wash and Tellus' orbed ground,

152And thirty dozen moons with borrow'd sheen

153About the world have times twelve thirties been,

154Since love our hearts and Hymen did our hands

155Unite commutual in most sacred bands.

156So many journeys may the sun and moon

157Make us again count o'er ere love be done!

158But, woe is me, you are so sick of late,

159So far from cheer and from your former state,

160That I distrust you. Yet, though I distrust,

161Discomfort you, my lord, it nothing must:

162For women's fear and love holds quantity;

163In neither aught, or in extremity.

164Now, what my love is, proof hath made you know;

165And as my love is sized, my fear is so:

166Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear;

167Where little fears grow great, great love grows there.

168'Faith, I must leave thee, love, and shortly too;