Act III. Scene IV.


The QUEEN’S Apartment.
   
 
Enter QUEEN and POLONIUS.
   
  Pol.  He will come straight. Look you lay home to him;   
Tell him his pranks have been too broad to bear with,      4
And that your Grace hath screen’d and stood between   
Much heat and him. I’ll silence me e’en here.   
Pray you, be round with him.   
  Ham.  [Within.] Mother, mother, mother!      8
  Queen.        I’ll warrant you;   
Fear me not. Withdraw, I hear him coming.  POLONIUS hides behind the arras.   
 
Enter HAMLET.
   
  Ham.  Now, mother, what’s the matter?     12
  Queen  Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended.   
  Ham.  Mother, you have my father much offended.   
  Queen.  Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue.   
  Ham.  Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue.     16
  Queen.  Why, how now, Hamlet!   
  Ham.        What’s the matter now?   
  Queen.  Have you forgot me?   
  Ham.        No, by the rood, not so:     20
You are the queen, your husband’s brother’s wife;   
And,—would it were not so!—you are my mother.   
  Queen.  Nay then, I’ll set those to you that can speak.   
  Ham.  Come, come, and sit you down; you shall not budge;     24
You go not, till I set you up a glass   
Where you may see the inmost part of you.   
  Queen.  What wilt thou do? thou wilt not murder me?   
Help, help, ho!     28
  Pol.  [Behind.] What, ho! help! help! help!   
  Ham.  [Draws.] How now! a rat? Dead, for a ducat, dead!  [Makes a pass through the arras.   
  Pol.  [Behind.] O! I am slain.   
  Queen  O me! what hast thou done?     32
  Ham.  Nay, I know not: is it the king?   
  Queen.  O! what a rash and bloody deed is this!   
  Ham.  A bloody deed! almost as bad, good mother,   
As kill a king, and marry with his brother.     36
  Queen.  As kill a king!   
  Ham.        Ay, lady, ’twas my word.  [Lifts up the arras and discovers POLONIUS.   
[To POLONIUS.] Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell!   
I took thee for thy better; take thy fortune;     40
Thou find’st to be too busy is some danger.   
Leave wringing of your hands: peace! sit you down,   
And let me wring your heart; for so I shall   
If it be made of penetrable stuff,     44
If damned custom have not brass’d it so   
That it is proof and bulwark against sense   
  Queen.  What have I done that thou dar’st wag thy tongue   
In noise so rude against me?     48
  Ham.        Such an act   
That blurs the grace and blush of modesty,   
Calls virtue hypocrite, takes off the rose   
From the fair forehead of an innocent love     52
And sets a blister there, makes marriage vows   
As false as dicers’ oaths; O! such a deed   
As from the body of contraction plucks   
The very soul, and sweet religion makes     56
A rhapsody of words; heaven’s face doth glow,   
Yea, this solidity and compound mass,   
With tristful visage, as against the doom,   
Is thought-sick at the act.     60
  Queen.        Ay me! what act,   
That roars so loud and thunders in the index?   
  Ham.  Look here, upon this picture, and on this;   
The counterfeit presentment of two brothers.     64
See, what a grace was seated on this brow;   
Hyperion’s curls, the front of Jove himself,   
An eye like Mars, to threaten and command,   
A station like the herald Mercury     68
New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill,   
A combination and a form indeed,   
Where every god did seem to set his seal,   
To give the world assurance of a man.     72
This was your husband: look you now, what follows.   
Here is your husband; like a mildew’d ear,   
Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes?   
Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed,     76
And batten on this moor? Ha! have you eyes?   
You cannot call it love, for at your age   
The hey-day in the blood is tame, it’s humble,   
And waits upon the judgment; and what judgment     80
Would step from this to this? Sense, sure, you have,   
Else could you not have motion; but sure, that sense   
Is apoplex’d; for madness would not err,   
Nor sense to ecstasy was ne’er so thrall’d     84
But it reserv’d some quantity of choice,   
To serve in such a difference. What devil was ’t   
That thus hath cozen’d you at hoodman-blind?   
Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight,     88
Ears without hands or eyes, smelling sans all,   
Or but a sickly part of one true sense   
Could not so mope.   
O shame! where is thy blush? Rebellious hell,     92
If thou canst mutine in a matron’s bones,   
To flaming youth let virtue be as wax,   
And melt in her own fire: proclaim no shame   
When the compulsive ardour gives the charge,     96
Since frost itself as actively doth burn,   
And reason panders will.   
  Queen.        O Hamlet! speak no more;   
Thou turn’st mine eyes into my very soul;    100
And there I see such black and grained spots   
As will not leave their tinct.   
  Ham.        Nay, but to live   
In the rank sweat of an enseamed bed,    104
Stew’d in corruption, honeying and making love   
Over the nasty sty,—   
  Queen.        O! speak to me no more;   
These words like daggers enter in mine ears;    108
No more, sweet Hamlet!   
  Ham.        A murderer, and a villain;   
A slave that is not twentieth part the tithe   
Of your precedent lord; a vice of kings;    112
A cut-purse of the empire and the rule,   
That from a shelf the precious diadem stole,   
And put it in his pocket!   
  Queen.        No more!    116
  Ham.  A king of shreds and patches,—   
 
Enter Ghost.
   
Save me, and hover o’er me with your wings,   
You heavenly guards! What would your gracious figure?    120
  Queen.  Alas! he’s mad!   
  Ham.  Do you not come your tardy son to chide,   
That, laps’d in time and passion, lets go by   
The important acting of your dread command?    124
O! say.   
  Ghost.  Do not forget: this visitation   
Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose.   
But, look! amazement on thy mother sits;    128
O! step between her and her fighting soul;   
Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works:   
Speak to her, Hamlet.   
  Ham.        How is it with you, lady?    132
  Queen.  Alas! how is’t with you,   
That you do bend your eye on vacancy   
And with the incorporal air do hold discourse?   
Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep;    136
And, as the sleeping soldiers in the alarm,   
Your bedded hair, like life in excrements,   
Starts up and stands an end. O gentle son!   
Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper    140
Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look?   
  Ham.  On him, on him! Look you, how pale he glares!   
His form and cause conjoin’d, preaching to stones,   
Would make them capable. Do not look upon me;    144
Lest with this piteous action you convert   
My stern effects: then what I have to do   
Will want true colour; tears perchance for blood.   
  Queen.  To whom do you speak this?    148
  Ham.        Do you see nothing there?   
  Queen.  Nothing at all; yet all that is I see.   
  Ham.  Nor did you nothing hear?   
  Queen.        No, nothing but ourselves.    152
  Ham.  Why, look you there! look, how it steals away;   
My father, in his habit as he liv’d;   
Look! where he goes, even now, out at the portal.  [Exit Ghost.   
  Queen.  This is the very coinage of your brain:    156
This bodiless creation ecstasy   
Is very cunning in.   
  Ham.  Ecstasy!   
My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time,    160
And makes as healthful music. It is not madness   
That I have utter’d: bring me to the test,   
And I the matter will re-word, which madness   
Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace,    164
Lay not that flattering unction to your soul,   
That not your trespass but my madness speaks;   
It will but skin and film the ulcerous place,   
Whiles rank corruption, mining all within,    168
Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven;   
Repent what’s past; avoid what is to come;   
And do not spread the compost on the weeds   
To make them ranker. Forgive me this my virtue;    172
For in the fatness of these pursy times   
Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg,   
Yea, curb and woo for leave to do him good.   
  Queen.  O Hamlet! thou hast cleft my heart in twain.    176
  Ham.  O! throw away the worser part of it,   
And live the purer with the other half.   
Good night; but go not to mine uncle’s bed;   
Assume a virtue, if you have it not.    180
That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat,   
Of habits devil, is angel yet in this,   
That to the use of actions fair and good   
He likewise gives a frock or livery,    184
That aptly is put on. Refrain to-night;   
And that shall lend a kind of easiness   
To the next abstinence: the next more easy;   
For use almost can change the stamp of nature,    188
And master ev’n the devil or throw him out   
With wondrous potency. Once more, goodnight:   
And when you are desirous to be bless’d,   
I’ll blessing beg of you. For this same lord,  [Pointing to POLONIUS.    192
I do repent: but heaven hath pleas’d it so,   
To punish me with this, and this with me,   
That I must be their scourge and minister.   
I will bestow him, and will answer well    196
The death I gave him. So, again, good-night.   
I must be cruel only to be kind:   
Thus bad begins and worse remains behind.   
One word more, good lady.    200
  Queen.        What shall I do?   
  Ham.  Not this, by no means, that I bid you do:   
Let the bloat king tempt you again to bed;   
Pinch wanton on your cheek; call you his mouse;    204
And let him, for a pair of reechy kisses,   
Or paddling in your neck with his damn’d fingers,   
Make you to ravel all this matter out,   
That I essentially am not in madness,    208
But mad in craft. ’Twere good you let him know;   
For who that’s but a queen, fair, sober, wise,   
Would from a paddock, from a bat, a gib,   
Such dear concernings hide? who would do so?    212
No, in despite of sense and secrecy,   
Unpeg the basket on the house’s top,   
Let the birds fly, and, like the famous ape,   
To try conclusions, in the basket creep,    216
And break your own neck down.   
  Queen.  Be thou assur’d, if words be made of breath,   
And breath of life, I have no life to breathe   
What thou hast said to me.    220
  Ham.  I must to England; you know that?   
  Queen.        Alack!   
I had forgot: ’tis so concluded on.   
  Ham.  There’s letters seal’d; and my two schoolfellows,    224
Whom I will trust as I will adders fang’d,   
They bear the mandate; they must sweep my way,   
And marshal me to knavery. Let it work,   
For ’tis the sport to have the enginer    228
Hoist with his own petar: and it shall go hard   
But I will delve one yard below their mines,   
And blow them at the moon. O! ’tis most sweet,   
When in one line two crafts directly meet.    232
This man shall set me packing;   
I’ll lug the guts into the neighbour room.   
Mother, good-night. Indeed this counsellor   
Is now most still, most secret, and most grave,    236
Who was in life a foolish prating knave.   
Come, sir, to draw toward an end with you.   
Good-night, mother.  [Exeunt severally; HAMLET dragging in the body of POLONIUS.

Act IV. Scene I.


A Room in the Castle.
   
 
Enter KING, QUEEN, ROSENCRANTZ, and GUILDENSTERN.
   
  King.  There’s matter in these sighs, these profound heaves:   
You must translate; ’tis fit we understand them.      4
Where is your son?   
  Queen.  [To ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN.] Bestow this place on us a little while.  [Exeunt ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN.   
Ah! my good lord, what have I seen to-night.   
  King.  What, Gertrude? How does Hamlet?      8
  Queen.  Mad as the sea and wind, when both contend   
Which is the mightier. In his lawless fit,   
Behind the arras hearing something stir,   
Whips out his rapier, cries, ‘A rat! a rat!’     12
And, in his brainish apprehension, kills   
The unseen good old man.   
  King.        O heavy deed!   
It had been so with us had we been there.     16
His liberty is full of threats to all;   
To you yourself, to us, to every one.   
Alas! how shall this bloody deed be answer’d?   
It will be laid to us, whose providence     20
Should have kept short, restrain’d, and out of haunt,   
This mad young man: but so much was our love,   
We would not understand what was most fit,   
But, like the owner of a foul disease,     24
To keep it from divulging, let it feed   
Even on the pith of life. Where is he gone?   
  Queen.  To draw apart the body he hath kill’d;   
O’er whom his very madness, like some ore     28
Among a mineral of metals base,   
Shows itself pure: he weeps for what is done.   
  King.  O Gertrude! come away.   
The sun no sooner shall the mountains touch     32
But we will ship him hence; and this vile deed   
We must, with all our majesty and skill,   
Both countenance and excuse. Ho! Guildenstern!   
 
Re-enter ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN.
     36
Friends both, go join you with some further aid:   
Hamlet in madness hath Polonius slain,   
And from his mother’s closet hath he dragg’d him:   
Go seek him out; speak fair, and bring the body     40
Into the chapel. I pray you, haste in this.  [Exeunt ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN.   
Come, Gertrude, we’ll call up our wisest friends;   
And let them know both what we mean to do,   
And what’s untimely done: so, haply, slander,     44
Whose whisper o’er the world’s diameter,   
As level as the cannon to his blank   
Transports his poison’d shot, may miss our name,   
And hit the woundless air. O! come away;     48
My soul is full of discord and dismay.  [Exeunt.

Act IV. Scene II.


Another Room in the Same.
   
 
Enter HAMLET.
   
  Ham.  Safely stowed.   
  Ros. & Guil.        [Within.] Hamlet! Lord Hamlet!      4
  Ham.  What noise? who calls on Hamlet?   
O! here they come.   
 
Enter ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN.
   
  Ros.  What have you done, my lord, with the dead body?      8
  Ham.  Compounded it with dust, whereto ’tis kin.   
  Ros.  Tell us where ’tis, that we may take it thence   
And bear it to the chapel.   
  Ham.  Do not believe it.     12
  Ros.  Believe what?   
  Ham.  That I can keep your counsel and not mine own. Besides, to be demanded of a sponge! what replication should be made by the son of a king?   
  Ros.  Take you me for a sponge, my lord?   
  Ham.  Ay, sir, that soaks up the king’s countenance, his rewards, his authorities. But such officers do the king best service in the end: he keeps them, like an ape, in the corner of his jaw; first mouthed, to be last swallowed: when he needs what you have gleaned, it is but squeezing you, and, sponge, you shall be dry again.     16
  Ros.  I understand you not, my lord.   
  Ham.  I am glad of it: a knavish speech sleeps in a foolish ear.   
  Ros.  My lord, you must tell us where the body is, and go with us to the king.   
  Ham.  The body is with the king, but the king is not with the body. The king is a thing—     20
  Guil.  A thing, my lord!   
  Ham.  Of nothing: bring me to him. Hide fox, and all after.  [Exeunt.   

Act IV. Scene III.


Another Room in the Same.
   
 
Enter KING, attended.
   
  King.  I have sent to seek him, and to find the body.   
How dangerous is it that this man goes loose!      4
Yet must not we put the strong law on him:   
He’s lov’d of the distracted multitude,   
Who like not in their judgment, but their eyes;   
And where ’tis so, the offender’s scourge is weigh’d,      8
But never the offence. To bear all smooth and even,   
This sudden sending him away must seem   
Deliberate pause: diseases desperate grown   
By desperate appliance are reliev’d,     12
Or not at all.   
 
Enter ROSENCRANTZ.
   
How now! what hath befall’n?   
  Ros.  Where the dead body is bestow’d, my lord,     16
We cannot get from him.   
  King.        But where is he?   
  Ros.  Without, my lord; guarded, to know your pleasure.   
  King.  Bring him before us.     20
  Ros.  Ho, Guildenstern! bring in my lord.   
 
Enter HAMLET and GUILDENSTERN.
   
  King.  Now, Hamlet, where’s Polonius?   
  Ham.  At supper.     24
  King.  At supper! Where?   
  Ham.  Not where he eats, but where he is eaten: a certain convocation of politic worms are e’en at him. Your worm is your only emperor for diet: we fat all creatures else to fat us, and we fat ourselves for maggots: your fat king and your lean beggar is but variable service; two dishes, but to one table: that’s the end.   
  King.  Alas, alas!   
  Ham.  A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a king, and eat of the fish that hath fed of that worm.     28
  King.  What dost thou mean by this?   
  Ham.  Nothing, but to show you how a king may go a progress through the guts of a beggar.   
  King.  Where is Polonius?   
  Ham.  In heaven; send thither to see: if your messenger find him not there, seek him i’ the other place yourself. But, indeed, if you find him not within this month, you shall nose him as you go up the stairs into the lobby.     32
  King.  [To some Attendants.] Go seek him there.   
  Ham.  He will stay till you come.  [Exeunt Attendants.   
  King.  Hamlet, this deed, for thine especial safety,   
Which we do tender, as we dearly grieve     36
For that which thou hast done, must send thee hence   
With fiery quickness: therefore prepare thyself;   
The bark is ready, and the wind at help,   
The associates tend, and every thing is bent     40
For England.   
  Ham.        For England!   
  King.        Ay, Hamlet.   
  Ham.        Good.     44
  King.  So is it, if thou knew’st our purposes.   
  Ham.  I see a cherub that sees them. But, some; for England! Farewell, dear mother.   
  King.  Thy loving father, Hamlet.   
  Ham.  My mother: father and mother is man and wife, man and wife is one flesh, and so, my mother. Come, for England!  [Exit.     48
  King.  Follow him at foot; tempt him with speed aboard:   
Delay it not, I’ll have him hence to-night.   
Away! for every thing is seal’d and done   
That else leans on the affair: pray you, make haste.  [Exeunt ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN.     52
And, England, if my love thou hold’st at aught,—   
As my great power thereof may give thee sense,   
Since yet thy cicatrice looks raw and red   
After the Danish sword, and thy free awe     56
Pays homage to us,—thou mayst not coldly set   
Our sovereign process, which imports at full,   
By letters conjuring to that effect,   
The present death of Hamlet. Do it, England;     60
For like the hectic in my blood he rages,   
And thou must cure me. Till I know ’tis done,   
Howe’er my haps, my joys were ne’er begun.  [Exit.

Act IV. Scene IV.


A Plain in Denmark.
   
 
Enter FORTINBRAS, a Captain, and Soldiers, marching.
   
  For.  Go, captain, from me greet the Danish king;   
Tell him that, by his licence, Fortinbras      4
Claims the conveyance of a promis’d march   
Over his kingdom. You know the rendezvous.   
If that his majesty would aught with us,   
We shall express our duty in his eye,      8
And let him know so.   
  Cap.        I will do ’t, my lord.   
  For.  Go softly on.  [Exeunt FORTINBRAS and Soldiers.   
 
Enter HAMLET, ROSENCRANTZ, GUILDENSTERN, &c.
     12
  Ham.  Good sir, whose powers are these?   
  Cap.  They are of Norway, sir.   
  Ham.  How purpos’d, sir, I pray you?   
  Cap.  Against some part of Poland.     16
  Ham.  Who commands them, sir?   
  Cap.  The nephew to old Norway, Fortinbras.   
  Ham.  Goes it against the main of Poland, sir,   
Or for some frontier?     20
  Cap.  Truly to speak, and with no addition,   
We go to gain a little patch of ground   
That hath in it no profit but the name.   
To pay five ducats, five, I would not farm it;     24
Nor will it yield to Norway or the Pole   
A ranker rate, should it be sold in fee.   
  Ham.  Why, then the Polack never will defend it.   
  Cap.  Yes, ’tis already garrison’d.     28
  Ham.  Two thousand souls and twenty thousand ducats   
Will not debate the question of this straw:   
This is the imposthume of much wealth and peace,   
That inward breaks, and shows no cause without     32
Why the man dies. I humbly thank you, sir.   
  Cap.  God be wi’ you, sir.  [Exit.   
  Ros.        Will ’t please you go, my lord?   
  Ham.  I’ll be with you straight. Go a little before.  [Exeunt all except HAMLET.     36
How all occasions do inform against me,   
And spur my dull revenge! What is a man,   
If his chief good and market of his time   
Be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more.     40
Sure he that made us with such large discourse,   
Looking before and after, gave us not   
That capability and god-like reason   
To fust in us unus’d. Now, whe’r it be     44
Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple   
Of thinking too precisely on the event,   
A thought, which, quarter’d, hath but one part wisdom,   
And ever three parts coward, I do not know     48
Why yet I live to say ‘This thing’s to do;’   
Sith I have cause and will and strength and means   
To do ’t. Examples gross as earth exhort me:   
Witness this army of such mass and charge     52
Led by a delicate and tender prince,   
Whose spirit with divine ambition puff’d   
Makes mouths at the invisible event,   
Exposing what is mortal and unsure     56
To all that fortune, death and danger dare,   
Even for an egg-shell. Rightly to be great   
Is not to stir without great argument,   
But greatly to find quarrel in a straw     60
When honour’s at the stake. How stand I then,   
That have a father kill’d, a mother stain’d,   
Excitements of my reason and my blood,   
And let all sleep, while, to my shame, I see     64
The imminent death of twenty thousand men,   
That, for a fantasy and trick of fame,   
Go to their graves like beds, fight for a plot   
Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause,     68
Which is not tomb enough and continent   
To hide the slain? O! from this time forth,   
My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth!  [Exit.

Act IV. Scene V.


Elsinore. A Room in the Castle.
   
 
Enter QUEEN, HORATIO, and a Gentleman.
   
  Queen.  I will not speak with her.   
  Gent.  She is importunate, indeed distract:      4
Her mood will needs be pitied.   
  Queen.        What would she have?   
  Gent.  She speaks much of her father; says she hears   
There’s tricks i’ the world; and hems, and beats her heart;      8
Spurns enviously at straws; speaks things in doubt,   
That carry but half sense: her speech is nothing,   
Yet the unshaped use of it doth move   
The hearers to collection; they aim at it,     12
And botch the words up fit to their own thoughts;   
Which, as her winks, and nods, and gestures yield them,   
Indeed would make one think there might be thought,   
Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily.     16
  Hor  ’Twere good she were spoken with, for she may strew   
Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds.   
  Queen.  Let her come in.  [Exit Gentleman.   
To my sick soul, as sin’s true nature is,     20
Each toy seems prologue to some great amiss:   
So full of artless jealousy is guilt,   
It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.   
 
Re-enter Gentleman, with OPHELIA.
     24
  Oph.  Where is the beauteous majesty of Denmark?   
  Queen.  How now, Ophelia!   
  Oph. 
           How should I your true love know
     From another one?
   By his cockle hat and staff,
     And his sandal shoon.
   
  Queen.  Alas! sweet lady, what imports this song?     28
  Oph.  Say you? nay, pray you, mark.
           He is dead and gone, lady,
     He is dead and gone;
   At his head a grass-green turf;
     At his heels a stone.
   
O, ho!   
  Queen.  Nay, but Ophelia,—   
  Oph.  Pray you, mark.
           White his shroud as the mountain snow,—
     32
 
Enter KING.
   
  Queen.  Alas! look here, my lord.   
  Oph. 
             Larded with ’sweet flower;
   Which bewept to the grave did go
     With true-love showers.
   
  King.  How do you, pretty lady?     36
  Oph.  Well, God ’ild you! They say the owl was a baker’s daughter. Lord! we know what we are, but know not what we may be. God be at your table!   
  King.  Conceit upon her father.   
  Oph.  Pray you, let’s have no words of this; but when they ask you what it means, say you this:
           To-morrow is Saint Valentine’s day,
     All in the morning betime,
   And I a maid at your window,
     To be your Valentine:
   Then up he rose, and donn’d his clothes,
     And dupp’d the chamber door;
   Let in the maid, that out a maid
     Never departed more.
   
  King.  Pretty Ophelia!     40
  Oph.  Indeed, la! without an oath, I’ll make an end on ’t:
           By Gis and by Saint Charity,
     Alack, and fie for shame!
   Young men will do’t, if they come to’t;
     By Cock they are to blame.
   Quoth she, before you tumbled me,
     You promis’d me to wed:
   So would I ha’ done, by yonder sun,
     An thou hadst not come to my bed.
   
  King.  How long hath she been thus?   
  Oph.  I hope all will be well. We must be patient: but I cannot choose but weep, to think they should lay him i’ the cold ground. My brother shall know of it: and so I thank you for your good counsel. Come, my coach! Good-night, ladies; good-night, sweet ladies; good-night, good-night.  [Exit.   
  King.  Follow her close; give her good watch, I pray you.  [Exit HORATIO.     44
O! this is the poison of deep grief; it springs   
All from her father’s death. O Gertrude, Gertrude!   
When sorrows come, they come not single spies,   
But in battalions. First, her father slain;     48
Next, your son gone; but he most violent author   
Of his own just remove: the people muddied,   
Thick and unwholesome in their thoughts and whispers,   
For good Polonius’ death; and we have done but greenly,     52
In hugger-mugger to inter him: poor Ophelia   
Divided from herself and her fair judgment,   
Without the which we are pictures, or mere beasts:   
Last, and as much containing as all these,     56
Her brother is in secret come from France,   
Feeds on his wonder, keeps himself in clouds,   
And wants not buzzers to infect his ear   
With pestilent speeches of his father’s death;     60
Wherein necessity, of matter beggar’d,   
Will nothing stick our person to arraign   
In ear and ear. O my dear Gertrude! this,   
Like to a murdering-piece, in many places     64
Gives me superfluous death.  [A noise within.   
  Queen.        Alack! what noise is this?   
 
Enter a Gentleman.
   
  King.  Where are my Switzers? Let them guard the door.     68
What is the matter?   
  Gen.        Save yourself, my lord;   
The ocean, overpeering of his list,   
Eats not the flats with more impetuous haste     72
Than young Laertes, in a riotous head,   
O’erbears your officers. The rabble call him lord;   
And, as the world were now but to begin,   
Antiquity forgot, custom not known,     76
The ratifiers and props of every word,   
They cry, ‘Choose we; Laertes shall be king!’   
Caps, hands, and tongues, applaud it to the clouds,   
‘Laertes shall be king, Laertes king!’     80
  Queen.  How cheerfully on the false trail they cry!   
O! this is counter, you false Danish dogs!   
  King.  The doors are broke.  [Noise within.   
 
Enter LAERTES, armed; Danes following.
     84
  Laer.  Where is the king? Sirs, stand you all without.   
  Danes.  No, let’s come in.   
  Laer.        I pray you, give me leave.   
  Danes.  We will, we will.  [They retire without the door.     88
  Laer.  I thank you: keep the door. O thou vile king!   
Give me my father.   
  Queen.        Calmly, good Laertes.   
  Laer.  That drop of blood that’s calm proclaims me bastard,     92
Cries cuckold to my father, brands the harlot   
Even here, between the chaste unsmirched brow   
Of my true mother.   
  King.        What is the cause, Laertes,     96
That thy rebellion looks so giant-like?   
Let him go, Gertrude; do not fear our person:   
There’s such divinity doth hedge a king,   
That treason can but peep to what it would,    100
Acts little of his will. Tell me, Laertes,   
Why thou art thus incens’d. Let him go, Gertrude.   
Speak, man.   
  Laer.  Where is my father?    104
  King.        Dead.   
  Queen.        But not by him.   
  King.  Let him demand his fill.   
  Laer.  How came he dead? I’ll not be juggled with.    108
To hell, allegiance! vows, to the blackest devil!   
Conscience and grace, to the profoundest pit!   
I dare damnation. To this point I stand,   
That both the worlds I give to negligence,    112
Let come what comes; only I’ll be reveng’d   
Most throughly for my father.   
  King.        Who shall stay you?   
  Laer.  My will, not all the world:    116
And, for my means, I’ll husband them so well,   
They shall go far with little.   
  King.        Good Laertes,   
If you desire to know the certainty    120
Of your dear father’s death, is ’t writ in your revenge,   
That, swoopstake, you will draw both friend and foe,   
Winner and loser?   
  Laer.  None but his enemies.    124
  King.        Will you know them then?   
  Laer.  To his good friends thus wide I’ll ope my arms;   
And like the kind life-rendering pelican,   
Repast them with my blood.    128
  King.        Why, now you speak   
Like a good child and a true gentleman.   
That I am guiltless of your father’s death,   
And am most sensibly in grief for it,    132
It shall as level to your judgment pierce   
As day does to your eye.   
  Danes.        [Within.] Let her come in.   
  Laer.  How now! what noise is that?    136
 
Re-enter OPHELIA.
   
O heat, dry up my brains! tears seven times salt,   
Burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye!   
By heaven, thy madness shall be paid by weight,    140
Till our scale turn the beam. O rose of May!   
Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia!   
O heavens! is ’t possible a young maid’s wits   
Should be as mortal as an old man’s life?    144
Nature is fine in love, and where ’tis fine   
It sends some precious instance of itself   
After the thing it loves.   
  Oph. 
           They bore him barefac’d on the bier;
   Hey non nonny, nonny, hey nonny;
   And in his grave rain’d many a tear;—
    148
Fare you well, my dove!   
  Laer.  Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade revenge,   
It could not move thus.   
  Oph. 
           You must sing, a-down a-down,
   And you call him a-down-a.
    152
O how the wheel becomes it! It is the false steward that stole his master’s daughter.   
  Laer.  This nothing’s more than matter.   
  Oph.  There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance; pray, love, remember: and there is pansies, that’s for thoughts.   
  Laer.  A document in madness, thoughts and remembrance fitted.    156
  Oph.  There’s fennel for you, and columbines; there’s rue for you; and here’s some for me; we may call it herb of grace o’ Sundays. O! you must wear your rue with a difference. There’s a daisy; I would give you some violets, but they withered all when my father died. They say he made a good end,—
           For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy.
   
  Laer.  Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself,   
She turns to favour and to prettiness.   
  Oph. 
           And will he not come again?
   And will he not come again?
     No, no, he is dead;
     Go to thy death-bed,
   He never will come again.
   His beard was as white as snow
   All flaxen was his poll,
     He is gone, he is gone,
     And we cast away moan:
   God ha’ mercy on his soul!
    160
And of all Christian souls! I pray God. God be wi’ ye!  [Exit.   
  Laer.  Do you see this, O God?   
  King.  Laertes, I must common with your grief,   
Or you deny me right. Go but apart,    164
Make choice of whom your wisest friends you will,   
And they shall hear and judge ’twixt you and me.   
If by direct or by collateral hand   
They find us touch’d, we will our kingdom give,    168
Our crown, our life, and all that we call ours,   
To you in satisfaction; but if not,   
Be you content to lend your patience to us,   
And we shall jointly labour with your soul    172
To give it due content.   
  Laer.        Let this be so:   
His means of death, his obscure burial,   
No trophy, sword, nor hatchment o’er his bones,    176
No noble rite nor formal ostentation,   
Cry to be heard, as ’twere from heaven to earth,   
That I must call ’t in question.   
  King.        So you shall;    180
And where the offence is let the great axe fall.   
I pray you go with me.  [Exeunt.   

Act IV. Scene VI.


Another Room in the Same.
   
 
Enter HORATIO and a Servant.
   
  Hor.  What are they that would speak with me?   
  Serv.  Sailors, sir: they say, they have letters for you.      4
  Hor.  Let them come in.  [Exit Servant.   
I do not know from what part of the world   
I should be greeted, if not from Lord Hamlet.   
 
Enter Sailors.
      8
  First Sail.  God bless you, sir.   
  Hor.  Let him bless thee too.   
  Sec. Sail.  He shall, sir, an ’t please him. There’s a letter for you, sir;—it comes from the ambassador that was bound for England;—if your name be Horatio, as I am let to know it is.   
  Hor.  Horatio, when thou shalt have over-looked this, give these fellows some means to the king: they have letters for him. Ere we were two days old at sea, a pirate of very war-like appointment gave us chase. Finding ourselves too slow of sail, we put on a compelled valour; in the grapple I boarded them: on the instant they got clear of our ship, so I alone became their prisoner. They have dealt with me like thieves of mercy, but they knew what they did; I am to do a good turn for them. Let the king have the letters I have sent; and repair thou to me with as much haste as thou wouldst fly death. I have words to speak in thine ear will make thee dumb; yet are they much too light for the bore of the matter. These good fellows will bring thee where I am. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern hold their course for England: of them I have much to tell thee. Farewell.     12
He that thou knowest thine,  HAMLET.   
Come, I will give you way for these your letters;   
And do ’t the speedier, that you may direct me   
To him from whom you brought them.  [Exeunt.     16

Act IV. Scene VII.


Another Room in the Same.
   
 
Enter KING and LAERTES.
   
  King.  Now must your conscience my acquittance seal,   
And you must put me in your heart for friend,      4
Sith you have heard, and with a knowing ear,   
That he which hath your noble father slain   
Pursu’d my life.   
  Laer.        It well appears: but tell me      8
Why you proceeded not against these feats,   
So crimeful and so capital in nature,   
As by your safety, wisdom, all things else,   
You mainly were stirr’d up.     12
  King.        O! for two special reasons;   
Which may to you, perhaps, seem much unsinew’d,   
But yet to me they are strong. The queen his mother   
Lives almost by his looks, and for myself,—     16
My virtue or my plague, be it either which,—   
She’s so conjunctive to my life and soul,   
That, as the star moves not but in his sphere,   
I could not but by her. The other motive,     20
Why to a public count I might not go,   
Is the great love the general gender bear him;   
Who, dipping all his faults in their affection,   
Would, like the spring that turneth wood to stone,     24
Convert his gyves to graces; so that my arrows,   
Too slightly timber’d for so loud a wind,   
Would have reverted to my bow again,   
And not where I had aim’d them.     28
  Laer.  And so have I a noble father lost;   
A sister driven into desperate terms,   
Whose worth, if praises may go back again,   
Stood challenger on mount of all the age     32
For her perfections. But my revenge will come.   
  King.  Break not your sleeps for that; you must not think   
That we are made of stuff so flat and dull   
That we can let our beard be shook with danger     36
And think it pastime. You shortly shall hear more;   
I lov’d your father, and we love ourself,   
And that, I hope, will teach you to imagine,—   
 
Enter a Messenger.
     40
How now! what news?   
  Mess.        Letters, my lord, from Hamlet:   
This to your majesty; this to the queen.   
  King.  From Hamlet! who brought them?     44
  Mess.  Sailors, my lord, they say; I saw them not:   
They were given me by Claudio, he receiv’d them   
Of him that brought them.   
  King.        Laertes, you shall hear them.     48
Leave us.  [Exit Messenger.   
  High and mighty, you shall know I am set naked on your kingdom. To-morrow shall I beg leave to see your kingly eyes; when I shall, first asking your pardon thereunto, recount the occasions of my sudden and more strange return.  HAMLET.   
What should this mean? Are all the rest come back?   
Or is it some abuse and no such thing?     52
  Laer.  Know you the hand?   
  King.        ’Tis Hamlet’s character. ‘Naked,’   
And in a postscript here, he says, ‘alone.’   
Can you advise me?     56
  Laer.  I’m lost in it, my lord. But let him come:   
It warms the very sickness in my heart,   
That I shall live and tell him to his teeth,   
‘Thus diddest thou.’     60
  King.        If it be so, Laertes,   
As how should it be so? how otherwise?   
Will you be rul’d by me?   
  Laer.        Ay, my lord;     64
So you will not o’er-rule me to a peace.   
  King.  To thine own peace. If he be now return’d,   
As checking at his voyage, and that he means   
No more to undertake it, I will work him     68
To an exploit, now ripe in my device,   
Under the which he shall not choose but fall;   
And for his death no wind of blame shall breathe,   
But even his mother shall uncharge the practice     72
And call it accident.   
  Laer.        My lord, I will be rul’d;   
The rather, if you could devise it so   
That I might be the organ.     76
  King.        It falls right.   
You have been talk’d of since your travel much,   
And that in Hamlet’s hearing, for a quality   
Wherein, they say, you shine; your sum of parts     80
Did not together pluck such envy from him   
As did that one, and that, in my regard,   
Of the unworthiest siege.   
  Laer.        What part is that, my lord?     84
  King.  A very riband in the cap of youth,   
Yet needful too; for youth no less becomes   
The light and careless livery that it wears   
Than settled age his sables and his weeds,     88
Importing health and graveness. Two months since   
Here was a gentleman of Normandy:   
I’ve seen myself, and serv’d against, the French,   
And they can well on horseback; but this gallant     92
Had witchcraft in ’t, he grew unto his seat,   
And to such wondrous doing brought his horse,   
As he had been incorps’d and demi-natur’d   
With the brave beast; so far he topp’d my thought,     96
That I, in forgery of shapes and tricks,   
Come short of what he did.   
  Laer.        A Norman was ’t?   
  King.  A Norman.    100
  Laer.  Upon my life, Lamord.   
  King.        The very same.   
  Laer.  I know him well; he is the brooch indeed   
And gem of all the nation.    104
  King.  He made confession of you,   
And gave you such a masterly report   
For art and exercise in your defence,   
And for your rapier most especially,    108
That he cried out, ’twould be a sight indeed   
If one could match you; the scrimers of their nation,   
He swore, had neither motion, guard, nor eye,   
If you oppos’d them. Sir, this report of his    112
Did Hamlet so envenom with his envy   
That he could nothing do but wish and beg   
Your sudden coming o’er, to play with him.   
Now, out of this,—    116
  Laer.        What out of this, my lord?   
  King.  Laertes, was your father dear to you?   
Or are you like the painting of a sorrow,   
A face without a heart?    120
  Laer.        Why ask you this?   
  King.  Not that I think you did not love your father,   
But that I know love is begun by time,   
And that I see, in passages of proof,    124
Time qualifies the spark and fire of it.   
There lives within the very flame of love   
A kind of wick or snuff that will abate it,   
And nothing is at a like goodness still,    128
For goodness, growing to a plurisy,   
Dies in his own too-much. That we would do,   
We should do when we would, for this ‘would’ changes,   
And hath abatements and delays as many    132
As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents;   
And then this ‘should’ is like a spendthrift sigh,   
That hurts by easing. But, to the quick o’ the ulcer;   
Hamlet comes back; what would you undertake    136
To show yourself your father’s son in deed   
More than in words?   
  Laer.        To cut his throat i’ the church.   
  King.  No place, indeed, should murder sanctuarize;    140
Revenge should have no bounds. But, good Laertes,   
Will you do this, keep close within your chamber.   
Hamlet return’d shall know you are come home;   
We’ll put on those shall praise your excellence,    144
And set a double varnish on the fame   
The Frenchman gave you, bring you, in fine, together,   
And wager on your heads: he, being remiss,   
Most generous and free from all contriving,    148
Will not peruse the foils; so that, with ease   
Or with a little shuffling, you may choose   
A sword unbated, and, in a pass of practice   
Requite him for your father.    152
  Laer.        I will do ’t;   
And, for that purpose, I’ll anoint my sword.   
I bought an unction of a mountebank,   
So mortal that, but dip a knife in it,    156
Where it draws blood no cataplasm so rare,   
Collected from all simples that have virtue   
Under the moon, can save the thing from death   
That is but scratch’d withal; I’ll touch my point    160
With this contagion, that, if I gall him slightly,   
It may be death.   
  King.        Let’s further think of this;   
Weigh what convenience both of time and means    164
May fit us to our shape. If this should fail,   
And that our drift look through our bad performance   
’Twere better not assay’d; therefore this project   
Should have a back or second, that might hold,    168
If this should blast in proof. Soft! let me see;   
We’ll make a solemn wager on your cunnings:   
I ha ’t:   
When in your motion you are hot and dry,—    172
As make your bouts more violent to that end,—   
And that he calls for drink, I’ll have prepar’d him   
A chalice for the nonce, whereon but sipping,   
If he by chance escape your venom’d stuck,    176
Our purpose may hold there. But stay! what noise?   
 
Enter QUEEN.
   
How now, sweet queen!   
  Queen.  One woe doth tread upon another’s heel,    180
So fast they follow: your sister’s drown’d, Laertes.   
  Laer.  Drown’d! O, where?   
  Queen.  There is a willow grows aslant a brook,   
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream;    184
There with fantastic garlands did she come,   
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples,   
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,   
But our cold maids do dead men’s fingers call them:    188
There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds   
Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke,   
When down her weedy trophies and herself   
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide,    192
And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up;   
Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes,   
As one incapable of her own distress,   
Or like a creature native and indu’d    196
Unto that element; but long it could not be   
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,   
Pull’d the poor wretch from her melodious lay   
To muddy death.    200
  Laer.        Alas! then, she is drown’d?   
  Queen.  Drown’d, drown’d.   
  Laer.  Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia,   
And therefore I forbid my tears; but yet    204
It is our trick, nature her custom holds,   
Let shame say what it will; when these are gone   
The woman will be out. Adieu, my lord!   
I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze,    208
But that this folly douts it.  [Exit.   
  King.        Let’s follow, Gertrude.   
How much I had to do to calm his rage!   
Now fear I this will give it start again;    212
Therefore let’s follow.  [Exeunt.

Act V. Scene I.


A Churchyard.
   
 
Enter two Clowns, with spades and mattock.
   
  First Clo.  Is she to be buried in Christian burial that wilfully seeks her own salvation?   
  Sec. Clo.  I tell thee she is; and therefore make her grave straight: the crowner hath sat on her, and finds it Christian burial.      4
  First Clo.  How can that be, unless she drowned herself in her own defence?   
  Sec. Clo.  Why, ’tis found so.   
  First Clo.  It must be se offendendo; it cannot be else. For here lies the point: if I drown myself wittingly it argues an act; and an act hath three branches; it is, to act, to do, and to perform: argal, she drowned herself wittingly.   
  Sec. Clo.  Nay, but hear you, goodman delver,—      8
  First Clo.  Give me leave. Here lies the water; good: here stands the man; good: if the man go to this water, and drown himself, it is, will he, nill he, he goes; mark you that? but if the water come to him, and drown him, he drowns not himself: argal, he that is not guilty of his own death shortens not his own life.   
  Sec. Clo.  But is this law?   
  First Clo.  Ay, marry, is ’t; crowner’s quest law.   
  Sec. Clo.  Will you ha’ the truth on ’t? If this had not been a gentlewoman she should have been buried out o’ Christian burial.     12
  First Clo.  Why, there thou sayest; and the more pity that great folk should have countenance in this world to drown or hang themselves more than their even Christian. Come, my spade. There is no ancient gentlemen but gardeners, ditchers, and grave-makers; they hold up Adam’s profession.   
  Sec. Clo.  Was he a gentleman?   
  First Clo.  A’ was the first that ever bore arms.   
  Sec. Clo.  Why, he had none.     16
  First Clo.  What! art a heathen? How dost thou understand the Scripture? The Scripture says, Adam digged; could he dig without arms? I’ll put another question to thee; if thou answerest me not to the purpose, confess thyself—   
  Sec. Clo.  Go to.   
  First Clo.  What is he that builds stronger than either the mason, the shipwright, or the carpenter?   
  Sec. Clo.  The gallows-maker; for that frame outlives a thousand tenants.     20
  First Clo.  I like thy wit well, in good faith; the gallows does well, but how does it well? it does well to those that do ill; now thou dost ill to say the gallows is built stronger than the church: argal, the gallows may do well to thee. To ’t again; come.   
  Sec. Clo.  Who builds stronger than a mason, a shipwright, or a carpenter?   
  First Clo.  Ay, tell me that, and unyoke.   
  Sec. Clo.  Marry, now I can tell.     24
  First Clo.  To ’t.   
  Sec. Clo.  Mass, I cannot tell.   
 
Enter HAMLET and HORATIO at a distance.
   
  First Clo.  Cudgel thy brains no more about it, for your dull ass will not mend his pace with beating; and, when you are asked this question next, say, ‘a grave-maker:’ the houses that he makes last till doomsday. Go, get thee to Yaughan; fetch me a stoup of liquor.  [Exit Second Clown.     28
  First Clown digs, and sings. 
           In youth, when I did love, did love,
     Methought it was very sweet,
   To contract, O! the time, for-a my behove,
     O! methought there was nothing meet.
   
  Ham.  Has this fellow no feeling of his business, that he sings at grave-making?   
  Hor.  Custom hath made it in him a property of easiness.   
  Ham.  ’Tis e’en so; the hand of little employment hath the daintier sense.     32
  First Clo. 
           But age, with his stealing steps,
     Hath claw’d me in his clutch,
   And hath shipped me intil the land,
     As if I had never been such.
  [Throws up a skull.   
  Ham.  That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once; how the knave jowls it to the ground, as if it were Cain’s jaw-bone, that did the first murder! This might be the pate of a politician, which this ass now o’er-offices, one that would circumvent God, might it not?   
  Hor.  It might, my lord.   
  Ham.  Or of a courtier, which could say, ‘Good morrow, sweet lord! How dost thou, good lord?’ This might be my Lord Such-a-one, that praised my Lord Such-a-one’s horse, when he meant to beg it, might it not?     36
  Hor.  Ay, my lord.   
  Ham.  Why, e’en so, and now my Lady Worm’s; chapless, and knocked about the mazzard with a sexton’s spade. Here’s fine revolution, an we had the trick to see ’t. Did these bones cost no more the breeding but to play at loggats with ’em? mine ache to think on ’t.   
  First Clo. 
           A pick-axe, and a spade, a spade,
     For and a shrouding sheet;
   O! a pit of clay for to be made
     For such a guest is meet.
  [Throws up another skull.   
  Ham.  There’s another; why may not that be the skull of a lawyer? Where be his quiddities now, his quillets, his cases, his tenures, and his tricks? why does he suffer this rude knave now to knock him about the sconce with a dirty shovel, and will not tell him of his action of battery? Hum! This fellow might be in ’s time a great buyer of land, with his statutes, his recognizances, his fines, his double vouchers, his recoveries; is this the fine of his fines, and the recovery of his recoveries, to have his fine pate full of fine dirt? will his vouchers vouch him no more of his purchases, and double ones too, than the length and breadth of a pair of indentures? The very conveyance of his lands will hardly lie in this box, and must the inheritor himself have no more, ha?     40
  Hor.  Not a jot more, my lord.   
  Ham.  Is not parchment made of sheep-skins?   
  Hor.  Ay, my lord, and of calf-skins too.   
  Ham.  They are sheep and calves which seek out assurance in that. I will speak to this fellow. Whose grave’s this, sir?     44
  First Clo.  Mine, sir,
           O! a pit of clay for to be made
   For such a guest is meet.
   
  Ham.  I think it be thine, indeed; for thou liest in ’t.   
  First Clo.  You lie out on ’t, sir, and therefore it is not yours; for my part, I do not lie in ’t, and yet it is mine.   
  Ham.  Thou dost lie in ’t, to be in ’t and say it is thine: ’tis for the dead, not for the quick; therefore thou liest.     48
  First Clo.  ’Tis a quick lie, sir; ’twill away again, from me to you.   
  Ham.  What man dost thou dig it for?   
  First Clo.  For no man, sir.   
  Ham.  What woman, then?     52
  First Clo.  For none, neither.   
  Ham.  Who is to be buried in ’t?   
  First Clo.  One that was a woman, sir; but, rest her soul, she’s dead.   
  Ham.  How absolute the knave is! we must speak by the card, or equivocation will undo us. By the Lord, Horatio, these three years I have taken note of it; the age is grown so picked that the toe of the peasant comes so near the heel of the courtier, he galls his kibe. How long hast thou been a grave-maker?     56
  First Clo.  Of all the days i’ the year, I came to ’t that day that our last King Hamlet overcame Fortinbras.   
  Ham.  How long is that since?   
  First Clo.  Cannot you tell that? every fool can tell that; it was the very day that young Hamlet was born; he that is mad, and sent into England.   
  Ham.  Ay, marry; why was he sent into England?     60
  First Clo.  Why, because he was mad: he shall recover his wits there; or, if he do not, ’tis no great matter there,   
  Ham.  Why?   
  First Clo.  ’Twill not be seen in him there; there the men are as mad as he.   
  Ham.  How came he mad?     64
  First Clo.  Very strangely, they say.   
  Ham.  How strangely?   
  First Clo.  Faith, e’en with losing his wits.   
  Ham.  Upon what ground?     68
  First Clo.  Why, here in Denmark; I have been sexton here, man and boy, thirty years.   
  Ham.  How long will a man lie i’ the earth ere he rot?   
  First Clo.  Faith, if he be not rotten before he die,—as we have many pocky corses now-a-days, that will scarce hold the laying in,—he will last you some eight year or nine year; a tanner will last you nine year.   
  Ham.  Why he more than another?     72
  First Clo.  Why, sir, his hide is so tanned with his trade that he will keep out water a great while, and your water is a sore decayer of your whoreson dead body. Here’s a skull now; this skull hath lain you i’ the earth three-and-twenty years.   
  Ham.  Whose was it?   
  First Clo.  A whoreson mad fellow’s it was: whose do you think it was?   
  Ham.  Nay, I know not.     76
  First Clo.  A pestilence on him for a mad rogue! a’ poured a flagon of Rhenish on my head once. This same skull, sir, was Yorick’s skull, the king’s jester.   
  Ham.  This!   
  First Clo.  E’en that.   
  Ham.  Let me see.—[Takes the skull.]—Alas! poor Yorick. I knew him, Horatio; a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy; he hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chapfallen? Now get you to my lady’s chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come; make her laugh at that. Prithee, Horatio, tell me one thing.     80
  Hor.  What’s that, my lord?   
  Ham.  Dost thou think Alexander looked o’ this fashion i’ the earth?   
  Hor.  E’en so.   
  Ham.  And smelt so? pah!  [Puts down the skull.     84
  Hor.  E’en so, my lord.   
  Ham.  To what base uses we may return, Horatio! Why may not imagination trace the noble dust of Alexander, till he find it stopping a bung-hole?   
  Hor.  ’Twere to consider too curiously, to consider so.   
  Ham.  No, faith, not a jot; but to follow him thither with modesty enough, and likelihood to lead it; as thus: Alexander died, Alexander was buried, Alexander returneth into dust; the dust is earth; of earth we make loam, and why of that loam, whereto he was converted, might they not stop a beer-barrel?     88
Imperious Cæsar, dead and turn’d to clay,   
Might stop a hole to keep the wind away:   
O! that that earth, which kept the world in awe,   
Should patch a wall to expel the winter’s flaw.     92
But soft! but soft! aside: here comes the king.   
 
Enter Priests, &c., in procession: the Corpse of OPHELIA, LAERTES and Mourners following; KING, QUEEN, their Trains, &c.
   
The queen, the courtiers: who is that they follow?   
And with such maimed rites? This doth betoken     96
The corse they follow did with desperate hand   
Fordo its own life; ’twas of some estate.   
Couch we awhile, and mark.  [Retiring with HORATIO.   
  Laer.  What ceremony else?    100
  Ham.        That is Laertes,   
A very noble youth: mark.   
  Laer.  What ceremony else?   
  First Priest.  Her obsequies have been as far enlarg’d    104
As we have warrantise: her death was doubtful,   
And, but that great command o’ersways the order,   
She should in ground unsanctified have lodg’d   
Till the last trumpet; for charitable prayers,    108
Shards, flints, and pebbles should be thrown on her;   
Yet here she is allow’d her virgin crants,   
Her maiden strewments, and the bringing home   
Of bell and burial.    112
  Laer.  Must there no more be done?   
  First Priest.        No more be done:   
We should profane the service of the dead,   
To sing a requiem, and such rest to her    116
As to peace-parted souls.   
  Laer.        Lay her i’ the earth;   
And from her fair and unpolluted flesh   
May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest,    120
A ministering angel shall my sister be,   
When thou liest howling.   
  Ham.        What! the fair Ophelia?   
  Queen.  Sweets to the sweet: farewell!  [Scattering flowers.    124
I hop’d thou shouldst have been my Hamlet’s wife;   
I thought thy bride-bed to have deck’d, sweet maid,   
And not have strew’d thy grave.   
  Laer.        O! treble woe    128
Fall ten times treble on that cursed head   
Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense   
Depriv’d thee of. Hold off the earth awhile,   
Till I have caught her once more in mine arms.  [Leaps into the grave.    132
Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead,   
Till of this flat a mountain you have made,   
To o’er-top old Pelion or the skyish head   
Of blue Olympus.    136
  Ham.  [Advancing.] What is he whose grief   
Bears such an emphasis? whose phrase of sorrow   
Conjures the wandering stars, and makes them stand   
Like wonder-wounded hearers? this is I,    140
Hamlet the Dane.  [Leaps into the grave.   
  Laer.        The devil take thy soul!  [Grapples with him.   
  Ham.  Thou pray’st not well.   
I prithee, take thy fingers from my throat;    144
For though I am not splenetive and rash   
Yet have I in me something dangerous,   
Which let thy wisdom fear. Away thy hand!   
  King.  Pluck them asunder.    148
  Queen.        Hamlet! Hamlet!   
  All.  Gentlemen,—   
  Hor.        Good my lord, be quiet.  [The Attendants part them, and they come out of the grave.   
  Ham.  Why, I will fight with him upon this theme    152
Until my eyelids will no longer wag.   
  Queen.  O my son! what theme?   
  Ham.  I lov’d Ophelia: forty thousand brothers   
Could not, with all their quantity of love,    156
Make up my sum. What wilt thou do for her?   
  King.  O! he is mad, Laertes.   
  Queen.  For love of God, forbear him.   
  Ham.  ’Swounds, show me what thou’lt do:    160
Woo’t weep? woo’t fight? woo’t fast? woo’t tear thyself?   
Woo’t drink up eisel? eat a crocodile?   
I’ll do’t. Dost thou come here to whine;   
To outface me with leaping in her grave?    164
Be buried quick with her, and so will I:   
And, if thou prate of mountains, let them throw   
Millions of acres on us, till our ground,   
Singeing his pate against the burning zone,    168
Make Ossa like a wart! Nay, an thou’lt mouth,   
I’ll rant as well as thou.   
  Queen.        This is mere madness:   
And thus a while the fit will work on him;    172
Anon, as patient as the female dove,   
When that her golden couplets are disclos’d,   
His silence will sit drooping.   
  Ham.        Hear you, sir;    176
What is the reason that you use me thus?   
I lov’d you ever: but it is no matter;   
Let Hercules himself do what he may,   
The cat will mew and dog will have his day.  [Exit.    180
  King.  I pray you, good Horatio, wait upon him.  [Exit HORATIO.   
[To LAERTES.] Strengthen your patience in our last night’s speech;   
We’ll put the matter to the present push.   
Good Gertrude, set some watch over your son.    184
This grave shall have a living monument:   
An hour of quiet shortly shall we see;   
Till then, in patience our proceeding be.  [Exeunt.   

Act V. Scene II.


A Hall in the Castle.
   
 
Enter HAMLET and HORATIO.
   
  Ham.  So much for this, sir: now shall you see the other;   
You do remember all the circumstance?      4
  Hor.  Remember it, my lord?   
  Ham.  Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting   
That would not let me sleep; methought I lay   
Worse than the mutines in the bilboes. Rashly,—      8
And prais’d be rashness for it, let us know,   
Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well   
When our deep plots do pall; and that should teach us   
There’s a divinty that shapes our ends,     12
Rough-hew them how we will.   
  Hor.        That is most certain.   
  Ham.  Up from my cabin,   
My sea-gown scarf’d about me, in the dark     16
Grop’d I to find out them, had my desire,   
Finger’d their packet, and in fine withdrew   
To mine own room again; making so bold—   
My fears forgetting manners—to unseal     20
Their grand commission; where I found, Horatio,   
O royal knavery! an exact command,   
Larded with many several sorts of reasons   
Importing Denmark’s health, and England’s too,     24
With, ho! such bugs and goblins in my life,   
That, on the supervise, no leisure bated,   
No, not to stay the grinding of the axe,   
My head should be struck off.     28
  Hor.        Is ’t possible?   
  Ham.  Here’s the commission: read it at more leisure.   
But wilt thou hear me how I did proceed?   
  Hor.  I beseech you.     32
  Ham.  Being thus be-netted round with villanies,—   
Ere I could make a prologue to my brains   
They had begun the play,—I sat me down,   
Devis’d a new commission, wrote it fair;     36
I once did hold it, as our statists do,   
A baseness to write fair, and labour’d much   
How to forget that learning; but, sir, now   
It did me yeoman’s service. Wilt thou know     40
The effect of what I wrote?   
  Hor.        Ay, good my lord.   
  Ham.  An earnest conjuration from the king,   
As England was his faithful tributary,     44
As love between them like the palm should flourish,   
As peace should still her wheaten garland wear,   
And stand a comma ’tween their amities,   
And many such-like ‘As’es of great charge,     48
That, on the view and knowing of these contents,   
Without debatement further, more or less,   
He should the bearers put to sudden death,   
Not shriving-time allow’d.     52
  Hor.        How was this seal’d?   
  Ham.  Why, even in that was heaven ordinant.   
I had my father’s signet in my purse,   
Which was the model of that Danish seal;     56
Folded the writ up in form of the other,   
Subscrib’d it, gave ’t th’ impression, plac’d it safely,   
The changeling never known. Now, the next day   
Was our sea-fight, and what to this was sequent     60
Thou know’st already.   
  Hor.  So Guildenstern and Rosencrantz go to ’t.   
  Ham.  Why, man, they did make love to this employment;   
They are not near my conscience; their defeat     64
Does by their own insinuation grow.   
’Tis dangerous when the baser nature comes   
Between the pass and fell-incensed points   
Of mighty opposites.     68
  Hor.        Why, what a king is this!   
  Ham.  Does it not, thinks’t thee, stand me now upon—   
He that hath kill’d my king and whor’d my mother,   
Popp’d in between the election and my hopes,     72
Thrown out his angle for my proper life,   
And with such cozenage—is’t not perfect conscience   
To quit him with this arm? and is’t not to be damn’d   
To let this canker of our nature come     76
In further evil?   
  Hor.  It must be shortly known to him from England   
What is the issue of the business there.   
  Ham.  It will be short: the interim is mine;     80
And a man’s life’s no more than to say ‘One.’   
But I am very sorry, good Horatio,   
That to Laertes I forgot myself;   
For, by the image of my cause, I see     84
The portraiture of his: I’ll count his favours:   
But, sure, the bravery of his grief did put me   
Into a towering passion.   
  Hor.        Peace! who comes here?     88
 
Enter OSRIC.
   
  Osr.  Your lordship is right welcome back to Denmark.   
  Ham.  I humbly thank you, sir. [Aside to HORATIO.] Dost know this water-fly?   
  Hor.  [Aside to HAMLET.] No, my good lord.     92
  Ham.  [Aside to HORATIO.] Thy state is the more gracious; for ’tis a vice to know him. He hath much land, and fertile: let a beast be lord of beasts, and his crib shall stand at the king’s mess: ’tis a chough; but, as I say, spacious in the possession of dirt.   
  Osr.  Sweet lord, if your lordship were at leisure, I should impart a thing to you from his majesty.   
  Ham.  I will receive it, sir, with all diligence of spirit. Your bonnet to his right use; ’tis for the head.   
  Osr.  I thank your lordship, ’tis very hot.     96
  Ham.  No, believe me, ’tis very cold; the wind is northerly.   
  Osr.  It is indifferent cold, my lord, indeed.   
  Ham.  But yet methinks it is very sultry and hot for my complexion.   
  Osr.  Exceedingly, my lord; it is very sultry, as ’twere, I cannot tell how. But, my lord, his majesty bade me signify to you that he has laid a great wager on your head. Sir, this is the matter,—    100
  Ham.  I beseech you, remember—  [HAMLET moves him to put on his hat.   
  Osr.  Nay, good my lord; for mine ease, in good faith. Sir, here is newly come to court Laertes; believe me, an absolute gentleman, full of most excellent differences, of very soft society and great showing; indeed, to speak feelingly of him, he is the card or calendar of gentry, for you shall find in him the continent of what part a gentleman would see.   
  Ham.  Sir, his definement suffers no perdition in you; though, I know, to divide him inventorially would dizzy the arithmetic of memory, and yet but yaw neither, in respect of his quick sail. But, in the verity of extolment, I take him to be a soul of great article; and his infusion of such dearth and rareness, as, to make true diction of him, his semblable is his mirror; and who else would trace him, his umbrage, nothing more.   
  Osr.  Your lordship speaks most infallibly of him.    104
  Ham.  The concernancy, sir? why do we wrap the gentleman in our more rawer breath?   
  Osr.  Sir?   
  Hor.  Is’t not possible to understand in another tongue? You will do ’t, sir, really.   
  Ham.  What imports the nomination of this gentleman?    108
  Osr.  Of Laertes?   
  Hor.  His purse is empty already; all ’s golden words are spent.   
  Ham.  Of him, sir.   
  Osr.  I know you are not ignorant—    112
  Ham.  I would you did, sir; in faith, if you did, it would not much approve me. Well, sir.   
  Osr.  You are not ignorant of what excellence Laertes is—   
  Ham.  I dare not confess that, lest I should compare with him in excellence; but, to know a man well, were to know himself.   
  Osr.  I mean, sir, for his weapon; but in the imputation laid on him by them, in his meed he’s unfellowed.    116
  Ham.  What’s his weapon?   
  Osr.  Rapier and dagger.   
  Ham.  That’s two of his weapons; but, well.   
  Osr.  The king, sir, hath wagered with him six Barbary horses; against the which he has imponed, as I take it, six French rapiers and poniards, with their assigns, as girdle, hangers, and so: three of the carriages, in faith, are very dear to fancy, very responsive to the hilts, most delicate carriages, and of very liberal conceit.    120
  Ham.  What call you the carriages?   
  Hor.  I knew you must be edified by the margent, ere you had done.   
  Osr.  The carriages, sir, are the hangers.   
  Ham.  The phrase would be more german to the matter, if we could carry cannon by our sides; I would it might be hangers till then. But, on; six Barbary horses against six French swords, their assigns, and three liberal-conceited carriages; that’s the French bet against the Danish. Why is this ‘imponed,’ as you call it?    124
  Osr.  The king, sir, hath laid, that in a dozen passes between yourself and him, he shall not exceed you three hits; he hath laid on twelve for nine, and it would come to immediate trial, if your lordship would vouchsafe the answer.   
  Ham.  How if I answer no?   
  Osr.  I mean, my lord, the opposition of your person in trial.   
  Ham.  Sir, I will walk here in the hall; if it please his majesty, ’tis the breathing time of day with me; let the foils be brought, the gentleman willing, and the king hold his purpose, I will win for him an I can; if not, I will gain nothing but my shame and the odd hits.    128
  Osr.  Shall I re-deliver you so?   
  Ham.  To this effect, sir; after what flourish your nature will.   
  Osr.  I commend my duty to your lordship.   
  Ham.  Yours, yours. [Exit OSRIC.] He does well to commend it himself; there are no tongues else for ’s turn.    132
  Hor.  This lapwing runs away with the shell on his head.   
  Ham.  He did comply with his dug before he sucked it. Thus has he—and many more of the same bevy, that I know the drossy age dotes on—only got the tune of the time and outward habit of encounter, a kind of yesty collection which carries them through and through the most fond and winnowed opinions; and do but blow them to their trial, the bubbles are out.   
 
Enter a Lord.
   
  Lord.  My lord, his majesty commended him to you by young Osric, who brings back to him, that you attend him in the hall; he sends to know if your pleasure hold to play with Laertes, or that you will take longer time.    136
  Ham.  I am constant to my purposes; they follow the king’s pleasure: if his fitness speaks, mine is ready; now, or whensoever, provided I be so able as now.   
  Lord.  The king, and queen, and all are coming down.   
  Ham.  In happy time.   
  Lord.  The queen desires you to use some gentle entertainment to Laertes before you fail to play.    140
  Ham.  She well instructs me.  [Exit Lord.   
  Hor.  You will lose this wager, my lord.   
  Ham.  I do not think so; since he went into France, I have been in continual practice; I shall win at the odds. But thou wouldst not think how ill all’s here about my heart; but it is no matter.   
  Hor.  Nay, good my lord,—    144
  Ham.  It is but foolery; but it is such a kind of gain-giving as would perhaps trouble a woman.   
  Hor.  If your mind dislike any thing, obey it; I will forestal their repair hither, and say you are not fit.   
  Ham.  Not a whit, we defy augury; there’s a special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, ’tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come: the readiness is all. Since no man has aught of what he leaves, what is ’t to leave betimes? Let be.   
 
Enter KING, QUEEN, LAERTES, Lords, OSRIC, and Attendants with foils, &c.
    148
  King.  Come, Hamlet, come, and take this hand from me.  [The KING puts the hand of LAERTES into that of HAMLET.   
  Ham.  Give me your pardon, sir; I’ve done you wrong;   
But pardon ’t, as you are a gentleman.   
This presence knows,    152
And you must needs have heard, how I am punish’d   
With sore distraction. What I have done,   
That might your nature, honour and exception   
Roughly awake, I here proclaim was madness.    156
Was’t Hamlet wrong’d Laertes? Never Hamlet:   
If Hamlet from himself be ta’en away,   
And when he’s not himself does wrong Laertes,   
Then Hamlet does it not; Hamlet denies it.    160
Who does it then? His madness. If ’t be so,   
Hamlet is of the faction that is wrong’d;   
His madness is poor Hamlet’s enemy.   
Sir, in this audience,    164
Let my disclaiming from a purpos’d evil   
Free me so far in your most generous thoughts,   
That I have shot mine arrow o’er the house,   
And hurt my brother.    168
  Laer.        I am satisfied in nature,   
Whose motive, in this case, should stir me most   
To my revenge; but in my terms of honour   
I stand aloof, and will no reconcilement,    172
Till by some elder masters, of known honour,   
I have a voice and precedent of peace,   
To keep my name ungor’d. But till that time,   
I do receive your offer’d love like love,    176
And will not wrong it.   
  Ham.        I embrace it freely;   
And will this brother’s wager frankly play.   
Give us the foils. Come on.    180
  Laer.        Come, one for me.   
  Ham.  I’ll be your foil, Laertes; in mine ignorance   
Your skill shall, like a star i’ the darkest night,   
Stick fiery off indeed.    184
  Laer.        You mock me, sir.   
  Ham.  No, by this hand.   
  King.  Give them the foils, young Osric. Cousin Hamlet,   
You know the wager?    188
  Ham.        Very well, my lord;   
Your Grace hath laid the odds o’ the weaker side.   
  King.  I do not fear it; I have seen you both;   
But since he is better’d, we have therefore odds.    192
  Laer.  This is too heavy; let me see another.   
  Ham.  This likes me well. These foils have all a length?   
  Osr.  Ay, my good lord.  [They prepare to play.   
  King.  Set me the stoups of wine upon that table.    196
If Hamlet give the first or second hit,   
Or quit in answer of the third exchange,   
Let all the battlements their ordnance fire;   
The king shall drink to Hamlet’s better breath;    200
And in the cup an union shall he throw,   
Richer than that which four successive kings   
In Denmark’s crown have worn. Give me the cups;   
And let the kettle to the trumpet speak,    204
The trumpet to the cannoneer without,   
The cannons to the heavens, the heavens to earth,   
‘Now the king drinks to Hamlet!’ Come, begin;   
And you, the judges, bear a wary eye.    208
  Ham.  Come on, sir.   
  Laer.        Come, my lord.  [They play.   
  Ham.        One.   
  Laer.        No.    212
  Ham.        Judgment.   
  Osr.  A hit, a very palpable hit.   
  Laer.        Well; again.   
  King.  Stay; give me drink. Hamlet, this pearl is thine;    216
Here’s to thy health. Give him the cup.  [Trumpets sound; and cannon shot off within.   
  Ham.  I’ll play this bout first; set it by a while.   
Come.—[They play.] Another hit; what say you?   
  Laer.  A touch, a touch, I do confess.    220
  King.  Our son shall win.   
  Queen.        He’s fat, and scant of breath.   
Here, Hamlet, take my napkin, rub thy brows;   
The queen carouses to thy fortune, Hamlet.    224
  Ham.  Good madam!   
  King.        Gertrude, do not drink.   
  Queen.  I will, my lord; I pray you, pardon me.   
  King.  [Aside.] It is the poison’d cup! it is too late.    228
  Ham.  I dare not drink yet, madam; by and by.   
  Queen.  Come, let me wipe thy face.   
  Laer.  My lord, I’ll hit him now.   
  King.        I do not think’t.    232
  Laer.  [Aside.] And yet ’tis almost ’gainst my conscience.   
  Ham.  Come, for the third, Laertes. You but dally;   
I pray you, pass with your best violence.   
I am afeard you make a wanton of me.    236
  Laer.  Say you so? come on.  [They play.   
  Osr.  Nothing, neither way.   
  Laer.  Have at you now.  [LAERTES wounds HAMLET; then, in scuffling, they change rapiers, and HAMLET wounds LAERTES.   
  King.        Part them! they are incens’d.    240
  Ham.  Nay, come, again.  [The QUEEN falls.   
  Osr.        Look to the queen there, ho!   
  Hor.  They bleed on both sides. How is it, my lord?   
  Osr.  How is it, Laertes?    244
  Laer.  Why, as a woodcock to mine own springe, Osric;   
I am justly kill’d with mine own treachery.   
  Ham.  How does the queen?   
  King.        She swounds to see them bleed.    248
  Queen.  No, no, the drink, the drink,—O my dear Hamlet!   
The drink, the drink; I am poison’d.  [Dies.   
  Ham.  O villany! Ho! let the door be lock’d:   
Treachery! seek it out.  [LAERTES falls.    252
  Laer.  It is here, Hamlet. Hamlet, thou art slain;   
No medicine in the world can do thee good;   
In thee there is not half an hour of life;   
The treacherous instrument is in thy hand,    256
Unbated and envenom’d. The foul practice   
Hath turn’d itself on me; lo! here I lie,   
Never to rise again. Thy mother’s poison’d.   
I can no more. The king, the king’s to blame.    260
  Ham.  The point envenom’d too!—   
Then, venom, to thy work.  [Stabs the KING.   
  All.  Treason! treason!   
  King.  O! yet defend me, friends; I am but hurt.    264
  Ham.  Here, thou incestuous, murderous, damned Danes,   
Drink off this potion;—is thy union here?   
Follow my mother.  [KING dies.   
  Laer.        He is justly serv’d;    268
It is a poison temper’d by himself.   
Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet:   
Mine and my father’s death come not upon thee,   
Nor thine on me!  [Dies.    272
  Ham.  Heaven make thee free of it! I follow thee.   
I am dead, Horatio. Wretched queen, adieu!   
You that look pale and tremble at this chance,   
That are but mutes or audience to this act,    276
Had I but time,—as this fell sergeant, death,   
Is strict in his arrest,—O! I could tell you—   
But let it be. Horatio, I am dead;   
Thou liv’st; report me and my cause aright    280
To the unsatisfied.   
  Hor.        Never believe it;   
I am more an antique Roman than a Dane:   
Here’s yet some liquor left.    284
  Ham.        As thou’rt a man,   
Give me the cup: let go; by heaven, I’ll have ’t.   
O God! Horatio, what a wounded name,   
Things standing thus unknown, shall live behind me.    288
If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart,   
Absent thee from felicity awhile,   
And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain,   
To tell my story.  [March afar off, and shot within.    292
        What war-like noise is this?   
  Osr.  Young Fortinbras, with conquest come from Poland,   
To the ambassadors of England gives   
This war-like volley.    296
  Ham.        O! I die, Horatio;   
The potent poison quite o’er-crows my spirit:   
I cannot live to hear the news from England,   
But I do prophesy the election lights    300
On Fortinbras: he has my dying voice;   
So tell him, with the occurrents, more and less,   
Which have solicited—The rest is silence.  [Dies.   
  Hor.  Now cracks a noble heart. Good-night, sweet prince,    304
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!   
Why does the drum come hither?  [March within.   
 
Enter FORTINBRAS, the English Ambassadors, and Others.
   
  Fort.  Where is this sight?    308
  Hor.        What is it ye would see?   
If aught of woe or wonder, cease your search.   
  Fort.  This quarry cries on havoc. O proud death!   
What feast is toward in thine eternal cell,    312
That thou so many princes at a shot   
So bloodily hast struck?   
  First Amb.        The sight is dismal;   
And our affairs from England come too late:    316
The cars are senseless that should give us hearing,   
To tell him his commandment is fulfill’d,   
That Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead.   
Where should we have our thanks?    320
  Hor.        Not from his mouth,   
Had it the ability of life to thank you:   
He never gave commandment for their death.   
But since, so jump upon this bloody question,    324
You from the Polack wars, and you from England,   
Are here arriv’d, give order that these bodies   
High on a stage be placed to the view;   
And let me speak to the yet unknowing world    328
How these things came about: so shall you hear   
Of carnal, bloody, and unnatural acts,   
Of accidental judgments, casual slaughters;   
Of deaths put on by cunning and forc’d cause,    332
And, in this upshot, purposes mistook   
Fall’n on the inventors’ heads; all this can I   
Truly deliver.   
  Fort.        Let us haste to hear it,    336
And call the noblest to the audience.   
For me, with sorrow I embrace my fortune;   
I have some rights of memory in this kingdom,   
Which now to claim my vantage doth invite me.    340
  Hor.  Of that I shall have also cause to speak,   
And from his mouth whose voice will draw on more:   
But let this same be presently perform’d,   
Even while men’s minds are wild, lest more mischance    344
On plots and errors happen.   
  Fort.        Let four captains   
Bear Hamlet, like a soldier, to the stage;   
For he was likely, had he been put on,    348
To have prov’d most royally: and, for his passage,   
The soldiers’ music and the rites of war   
Speak loudly for him.   
Take up the bodies: such a sight as this    352
Becomes the field, but here shows much amiss.   
Go, bid the soldiers shoot.  [A dead march. Exeunt, bearing off the bodies; after which a peal of ordnance is shot off.