Act V. Scene II.


Before the Temple of DIANA at Ephesus.
   
 
Enter GOWER.
   
Now our sands are almost run;   
More a little, and then dumb.      4
This, my last boon, give me,   
For such kindness must relieve me,   
That you aptly will suppose   
What pageantry, what feats, what shows,      8
What minstrelsy, and pretty din,   
The regent made in Mitylen   
To greet the king. So he thriv’d,   
That he is promis’d to be wiv’d     12
To fair Marina; but in no wise   
Till he had done his sacrifice,   
As Dian bade: whereto being bound,   
The interim, pray you, all confound.     16
In feather’d briefness sails are fill’d,   
And wishes fall out as they ’re will’d.   
At Ephesus, the temple see,   
Our king and all his company.     20
That he can hither come so soon,   
Is by your fancy’s thankful doom.  [Exit.

Act V. Scene III.


The Temple of DIANA at Ephesus; THAISA standing near the altar, as high priestess; a number of Virgins on each side; CERIMON and other Inhabitants of Ephesus attending.
   
 
Enter PERICLES, with his Train; LYSIMACHUS, HELICANUS, MARINA, and a Lady.
   
  Per.  Hail, Dian! to perform thy just command,   
I here confess myself the King of Tyre;      4
Who, frighted from my country, did wed   
At Pentapolis the fair Thaisa.   
At sea in childbed died she, but brought forth   
A maid-child call’d Marina; who, O goddess!      8
Wears yet thy silver livery. She at Tarsus   
Was nurs’d with Cleon, whom at fourteen years   
He sought to murder; but her better stars   
Brought her to Mitylene, ’gainst whose shore     12
Riding, her fortunes brought the maid aboard us,   
Where, by her own most clear remembrance, she   
Made known herself my daughter.   
  Thai.        Voice and favour!     16
You are, you are—O royal Pericles!—  [She faints.   
  Per.  What means the nun? she dies! help, gentlemen!   
  Cer.  Noble sir,   
If you have told Diana’s altar true,     20
This is your wife.   
  Per.        Reverend appearer, no;   
I threw her o’erboard with these very arms.   
  Cer.  Upon this coast, I warrant you.     24
  Per.        ’Tis most certain.   
  Cer.  Look to the lady. O! she’s but o’erjoy’d.   
Early in blustering morn this lady was   
Thrown upon this shore. I op’d the coffin,     28
Found there rich jewels; recover’d her, and plac’d her   
Here in Diana’s temple.   
  Per.        May we see them?   
  Cer.  Great sir, they shall be brought you to my house,     32
Whither I invite you. Look! Thaisa is   
Recovered.   
  Thai.        O! let me look!   
If he be none of mine, my sanctity     36
Will to my sense bend no licentious ear,   
But curb it, spite of seeing. O! my lord,   
Are you not Pericles? Like him you speak,   
Like him you are. Did you not name a tempest,     40
A birth, and death?   
  Per.        The voice of dead Thaisa!   
  Thai.  That Thaisa am I, supposed dead   
And drown’d.     44
  Per.  Immortal Dian!   
  Thai.        Now I know you better.   
When we with tears parted Pentapolis,   
The king my father gave you such a ring.  [Shows a ring.     48
  Per.  This, this: no more, you gods! your present kindness   
Makes my past miseries sport: you shall do well,   
That on the touching of her lips I may   
Melt and no more be seen. O! come, be buried     52
A second time within these arms.   
  Mar.        My heart   
Leaps to be gone into my mother’s bosom.  [Kneels to THAISA.   
  Per.  Look, who kneels here! Flesh of thy flesh, Thaisa;     56
Thy burden at the sea, and call’d Marina,   
For she was yielded there.   
  Thai.        Bless’d, and mine own!   
  Hel.  Hail, madam, and my queen!     60
  Thai.        I know you not.   
  Per.  You have heard me say, when I did fly from Tyre,   
I left behind an ancient substitute;   
Can you remember what I call’d the man?     64
I have nam’d him oft.   
  Thai.        ’Twas Helicanus then.   
  Per.  Still confirmation!   
Embrace him, dear Thaisa; this is he.     68
Now do I long to hear how you were found,   
How possibly preserv’d, and whom to thank,   
Besides the gods, for this great miracle.   
  Thai.  Lord Cerimon, my lord; this man,     72
Through whom the gods have shown their power; that can   
From first to last resolve you.   
  Per.        Reverend sir,   
The gods can have no mortal officer     76
More like a god than you. Will you deliver   
How this dead queen re-lives?   
  Cer.        I will, my lord.   
Beseech you, first go with me to my house.     80
Where shall be shown you all was found with her;   
How she came placed here in the temple;   
No needful thing omitted.   
  Per.  Pure Dian! bless thee for thy vision; I     84
Will offer night-oblations to thee. Thaisa,   
This prince, the fair-betrothed of your daughter,   
Shall marry her at Pentapolis. And now   
This ornament     88
Makes me look dismal will I clip to form;   
And what this fourteen years no razor touch’d,   
To grace thy marriage-day I’ll beautify.   
  Thai.  Lord Cerimon hath letters of good credit, sir,     92
My father’s dead.   
  Per.  Heavens make a star of him! Yet there, my queen,   
We’ll celebrate their nuptials, and ourselves   
Will in that kingdom spend our following days;     96
Our son and daughter shall in Tyrus reign.   
Lord Cerimon, we do our longing stay   
To hear the rest untold. Sir, lead’s the way.  [Exeunt.   
 
Enter GOWER.
    100
In Antiochus and his daughter you have heard   
Of monstrous lust the due and just reward:   
In Pericles, his queen, and daughter, seen—   
Although assail’d with fortune fierce and keen—    104
Virtue preserv’d from fell destruction’s blast,   
Led on by heaven, and crown’d with joy at last.   
In Helicanus may you well descry   
A figure of truth, of faith, of loyalty.    108
In reverend Cerimon there well appears   
The worth that learned charity aye wears.   
For wicked Cleon and his wife, when fame   
Had spread their cursed deed, and honour’d name    112
Of Pericles, to rage the city turn,   
That him and his they in his palace burn:   
The gods for murder seemed so content   
To punish them; although not done, but meant.    116
So on your patience evermore attending,   
New joy wait on you! Here our play hath ending.  [Exit.

Introductory Note
 
 
THE TRAGEDY of “Hamlet,” the most renowned of English dramas, is based on a legend found in the “History of the Danes,” written by Saxo Grammaticus about 1200. It came to England through the French, and was already on the stage in a version now lost, before Shakespeare took it up. The earliest edition of our play was printed in a corrupt form in 1603, and was written at least as early as 1602. A more correct edition appeared in 1604, and further alterations appeared in the version printed in the first collected edition of Shakespeare’s plays in 1623. The author seems to have worked over and revised this tragedy more than any other of his dramas.     1
  The main situation of the tragedy goes back to the prose tale. There we have a king murdered by his brother, who had previously seduced and has now married the queen; and the son of the king, aiming at revenge, finally achieving it, and using the device of pretended madness to protect himself in the meantime. The prototype of Polonius is killed while eavesdropping, but his character bears little resemblance to Shakespeare’s Lord Chamberlain; Ophelia and Horatio are merely hinted at; while Laertes, Fortinbras, and several of the minor characters, such as the grave-diggers and Osric, are altogether absent. The original Hamlet goes to England without interruption from pirates, witnesses the death of his two companions, returns and kills not only the king, but all his courtiers, goes to England again and marries two wives, one of whom betrays him to his death.     2
  Other elements of the tragedy that are probably not due to Shakespeare’s invention have been gathered from a study of contemporary “tragedies of revenge.” How many of such additions were made by Shakespeare, how many by the author of the lost play, cannot be decided. But for those things which have raised “Hamlet” to its preeminent position in the history of literature,—the magnificence of the poetry, the amazing truth and subtlety of the psychology, and the intensity of the tragic emotion, it is not hard to assign the credit.     3
 

Act I
 
Scene I
 
 
[Elsinore. A platform before the castle]
FRANCISCO [at his post. Enter to him] BERNARDO

  Bernardo  WHO’S there?   
  Fran.  Nay, answer me. Stand, and unfold yourself.   
  Ber.  Long live the king!   
  Fran.  Bernardo?           4
  Ber.  He.   
  Fran.  You come most carefully upon your hour.   
  Ber.  ’Tis now struck twelve. Get thee to bed, Francisco.   
  Fran.  For this relief much thanks. ’Tis bitter cold,           8
And I am sick at heart.   
  Ber.  Have you had quiet guard?   
  Fran.        Not a mouse stirring.   
  Ber.  Well, good-night.           12
If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus,   
The rivals 1 of my watch, bid them make haste.   
 
Enter HORATIO and MARCELLUS

  Fran.  I think I hear them. Stand, ho! Who’s there?   
  Hor.  Friends to this ground.           16
  Mar.        And liegemen to the Dane.   
  Fran.  Give you good-night.   
  Mar.        O, farewell, honest soldier.   
Who hath reliev’d you?           20
  Fran.        Bernardo has my place.   
Give you good-night  Exit.   
  Mar.  Holla! Bernardo!   
  Ber.        Say,           24
What, is Horatio there?   
  Hor.        A piece of him.   
  Ber.  Welcome, Horatio; welcome, good Marcellus.   
  Hor.  What, has this thing appear’d again to-night?           28
  Ber.  I have seen nothing.   
  Mar.  Horatio says ’tis but our fantasy,   
And will not let belief take hold of him   
Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us;           32
Therefore I have entreated him along   
With us to watch the minutes of this night,   
That if again this apparition come,   
He may approve our eyes and speak to it.           36
  Hor.  Tush, tush, ’twill not appear.   
  Ber.        Sit down a while,   
And let us once again assail your ears,   
That are so fortified against our story,           40
What we two nights have seen.   
  Hor.        Well, sit we down,   
And let us hear Bernardo speak of this.   
  Ber.  Last night of all,           44
When yond same star that’s westward from the pole   
Had made his course to illume that part of heaven   
Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself,   
The bell then beating one,—           48
 
Enter Ghost

  Mar.  Peace, break thee off! Look, where it comes again!   
  Ber.  In the same figure, like the king that’s dead.   
  Mar.  Thou art a scholar; speak to it, Horatio.   
  Ber.  Looks it not like the King? Mark it, Horatio.           52
  Hor.  Most like; it harrows me with fear and wonder.   
  Ber.  It would be spoke to.   
  Mar.        Question it, Horatio.   
  Hor.  What art thou that usurp’st this time of night,           56
Together with that fair and warlike form   
In which the majesty of buried Denmark   
Did sometimes march? By heaven I charge thee, speak!   
  Mar.  It is offended.           60
  Ber.        See, it stalks away!   
  Hor.  Stay! speak, speak! I charge thee, speak!  Exit Ghost.   
  Mar.  ’Tis gone, and will not answer.   
  Ber.  How now, Horatio! you tremble and look pale.           64
Is not this something more than fantasy?   
What think you on’t?   
  Hor.  Before my God, I might not this believe   
Without the sensible 2 and true avouch 3           68
Of mine own eyes.   
  Mar.        Is it not like the King?   
  Hor.  As thou art to thyself.   
Such was the very armour he had on           72
When he the ambitious Norway combated.   
So frown’d he once, when, in an angry parle,   
He smote the sledded Polacks on the ice.   
’Tis strange.           76
  Mar.  Thus twice before, and jump 4 at this dead hour,   
With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch.   
  Hor.  In what particular thought to work I know not;   
But, in the gross and scope 5 of my opinion,           80
This bodes some strange eruption to our state.   
  Mar.  Good now, sit down, and tell me, he that knows,   
Why this same strict and most observant watch   
So nightly toils the subject of the land,           84
And why such daily cast of brazen cannon,   
And foreign mart for implements of war;   
Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore task   
Does not divide the Sunday from the week.           88
What might be toward, that this sweaty haste   
Doth make the night joint-labourer with the day,   
Who is’t that can inform me?   
  Hor.        That can I;           92
At least, the whisper goes so. Our last king,   
Whose image even but now appear’d to us,   
Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway,   
Thereto prick’d on by a most emulate pride,           96
Dar’d to the combat; in which our valiant Hamlet—   
For so this side of our known world esteem’d him—   
Did slay this Fortinbras; who, by a seal’d compact,   
Well ratified by law and heraldry,           100
Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands   
Which he stood seiz’d of, 6 to the conqueror;   
Against the which, a moiety competent   
Was gaged 7 by our king; which had return’d           104
To the inheritance of Fortinbras,   
Had he been vanquisher; as, by the same covenant,   
And carriage of the article design’d, 8   
His fell to Hamlet. Now, sir, young Fortinbras,           108
Of unimproved mettle hot and full,   
Hath in the skirts of Norway here and there   
Shark’d up 9 a list of landless resolutes,   
For food and diet, to some enterprise           112
That hath a stomach 10 in ’t; which is no other—   
As it doth well appear unto our state—   
But to recover of us, by strong hand   
And terms compulsative, 11 those foresaid lands           116
So by his father lost; and this, I take it,   
Is the main motive of our preparations,   
The source of this our watch, and the chief head   
Of this post-haste and romage 12 in the land.           120
  [Ber.  I think it be no other but e’en so.   
Well may it sort 13 that this portentous figure   
Comes armed through our watch, so like the King   
That was and is the question of these wars.           124
  Hor.  A mote it is to trouble the mind’s eye.   
In the most high and palmy state of Rome,   
A little ere the mightiest Julius fell,   
The graves stood tenantless and the sheeted dead           128
Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets.   
 
As stars with trains of fire and dews of blood,   
Disasters in the sun; and the moist star   
Upon whose influence Neptune’s empire stands           132
Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse.   
And even the like precurse of fierce events,   
As harbingers 14 preceding still the fates   
And prologue to the omen coming on,           136
Have heaven and earth together demonstrated   
Unto our climatures 15 and countrymen.]   
 
Re-enter Ghost

But soft, behold! Lo, where it comes again!   
I’ll cross it, though it blast me. Stay, illusion!           140
If thou hast any sound, or use of voice,   
Speak to me;   
If there be any good thing to be done   
That may to thee do ease and grace to me,           144
Speak to me;   
If thou art privy to thy country’s fate,   
Which, happily, foreknowing may avoid,   
O speak!           148
Or if thou hast uphoarded in thy life   
Extroted treasure in the womb of earth,   
For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death,   
Speak of it; stay, and speak!  (Cock crows.)           152
Stop it, Marcellus.   
  Mar.  Shall I strike at it with my partisan? 16   
  Hor.  Do, if it will not stand.   
  Ber.        ’Tis here!           156
  Hor.        ’Tis here!   
  Mar.  ’Tis gone!  Exit Ghost.   
We do it wrong, being so majestical,   
To offer it the show of violence;           160
For it is, as the air, invulnerable,   
And our vain blows malicious mockery.   
  Ber.  It was about to speak, when the cock crew.   
  Hor.  And then it started like a guilty thing           164
Upon a fearful summons. I have heard,   
The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn,   
Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat   
Awake the god of day; and, at his warning,           168
Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air,   
The extravagant 17 and erring 18 spirit hies   
To his confine; and of the truth herein   
This present object made probation.           172
  Mar.  It faded on the crowing of the cock.   
Some say that ever ’gainst that season comes   
Wherein our Saviour’s birth is celebrated,   
The bird of dawning singeth all night long;           176
And then, they say, no spirit can walk abroad;   
The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike, 19   
No fairy takes, 20 nor witch hath power to charm,   
So hallow’d and so gracious is the time.           180
  Hor.  So have I heard and do in part believe it.   
But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad,   
Walks o’er the dew of yon high eastern hill.   
Break we our watch up; and, by my advice,           184
Let us impart what we have seen to-night   
Unto young Hamlet; for, upon my life,   
This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him.   
Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it,           188
As needful in our loves, fitting our duty?   
  Mar.  Let’s do ’t, I pray; and I this morning know   
Where we shall find him most conveniently.  Exeunt.   
 
Note 1. Partners. [back]
Note 2. Appealing to the senses. [back]
Note 3. Evidence. [back]
Note 4. Precisely. [back]
Note 5. General view. [back]
Note 6. Possessed of. [back]
Note 7. Pledged. [back]
Note 8. Tenor of the agreement. [back]
Note 9. Gathered in. [back]
Note 10. Relish. [back]
Note 11. Compulsory. [back]
Note 12. Turmoil. [back]
Note 13. Agree. [back]
Note 14. Fore-runners. [back]
Note 15. Regions. [back]
Note 16. Halberd. [back]
Note 17. Wandering beyond bounds. [back]
Note 18. Wandering beyond bounds. [back]
Note 19. Exert evil influence. [back]
Note 20. Charms. [back]
 

Scene II
 
 
[A room of state in the castle]
Flourish. Enter the KING, QUEEN, HAMLET, POLONIUS, LAERTES, OPHELIA, Lords, and Attendants

  King.  Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother’s death   
The memory be green, and that it us befitted   
To bear our hearts in grief, and our whole kingdom   
To be contracted in one brow of woe,           4
Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature   
That we with wisest sorrow think on him   
Together with remembrance of ourselves.   
Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen,           8
The imperial jointress of this warlike state,   
Have we, as ’twere with a defeated 1 joy,—   
With one auspicious and one dropping eye,   
With mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage,           12
In equal scale weighing delight and dole,—   
Taken to wife; nor have we herein barr’d   
Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone   
With this affair along. For all, our thanks.           16
Now follows that you know: young Fortinbras,   
Holding a weak supposal of our worth,   
Or thinking by our late dear brother’s death   
Our state to be disjoint and out of frame,           20
Colleagued with the dream of his advantage,   
He hath not fail’d to pester us with message   
Importing the surrender of those lands   
Lost by his father, with all bonds of law,           24
To our most valiant brother. So much for him.   
 
Enter VOLTIMAND and CORNELIUS

Now for ourself and for this time of meeting,   
Thus much the business is: we have here writ   
To Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras,—           28
Who, impotent and bed-rid, scarcely hears   
Of this his nephew’s purpose,—to suppress   
His further gait 2 herein, in that the levies,   
The lists and full proportions, are all made           32
Out of his subject; 3 and we here dispatch   
You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltimand,   
For bearers of this greeting to old Norway;   
Giving to you no further personal power           36
To business with the king, more than the scope   
Of these delated 4 articles allow.  [Giving a paper.   
Farewell, and let your haste commend your duty.   
  [Cor.] & Vol.  In that and all things will we show our duty.           40
  King.  We doubt it nothing; heartily farewell.  Exeunt VOLTIMAND and CORNELIUS.   
  And now, Laertes, what’s the news with you?   
You told us of some suit; what is ’t, Laertes?   
You cannot speak of reason to the Dane,           44
And lose your voice. What wouldst thou beg, Laertes,   
That shall not be my offer, not thy asking?   
The head is not more native to the heart,   
The hand more instrumental to the mouth,           48
Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father.   
What wouldst thou have, Laertes?   
  Laer.        Dread my lord,   
Your leave and favour to return to France;           52
From whence though willingly I came to Denmark   
To show my duty in your coronation,   
Yet now, I must confess, that duty done,   
My thoughts and wishes bend again towards France           56
And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon.   
  King.  Have you your father’s leave? What says Polonius?   
  Pol.  He hath, my lord, [wrung from me my slow leave   
By laboursome petition, and at last           60
Upon his will I seal’d my hard consent.]   
I do beseech you, give him leave to go.   
  King.  Take thy fair hour, Laertes. Time be thine,   
And thy best graces spend it at thy will!           64
But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son,—   
  Ham.  [Aside.]  A little more than kin, and less than kind.   
  King.  How is it that the clouds still hang on you?   
  Ham.  Not so, my lord; I am too much i’ the sun.           68
  Queen.  Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off,   
And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark.   
Do not for ever with thy vailed 5 lids   
Seek for thy noble father in the dust.           72
Thou know’st ’tis common; all that lives must die,   
Passing through nature to eternity.   
  Ham.  Ay, madam, it is common.   
  Queen.        If it be,           76
Why seems it so particular with thee?   
  Ham.  Seems, madam! Nay, it is; I know not “seems.”   
’Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,   
Nor customary suits of solemn black,           80
Nor windy suspiration of forc’d breath,   
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,   
Nor the dejected haviour 6 of the visage,   
Together with all forms, moods, shows of grief,           84
That can denote me truly. These indeed seem,   
For they are actions that a man might play;   
But I have that within which passeth show,   
These but the trappings and the suits of woe.           88
  King.  ’Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet,   
To give these mourning duties to your father.   
But, you must know, your father lost a father;   
That father lost, lost his; and the survivor bound           92
In filial obligation for some term   
To do obsequious sorrow. But to persever   
In obstinate condolement is a course   
Of impious stubbornness; ’tis unmanly grief;           96
It shows a will most incorrect to heaven,   
A heart unfortified, a mind impatient,   
An understanding simple and unschool’d;   
For what we know must be, and is as common           100
As any the most vulgar thing to sense,   
Why should we in our peevish opposition   
Take it to heart? Fie! ’tis a fault to heaven,   
A fault against the dead, a fault to nature,           104
To reason most absurd, whose common theme   
Is death of fathers, and who still hath cried,   
From the first corse till he that died to-day,   
“This must be so.” We pray you, throw to earth           108
This unprevailing woe, and think of us   
As of a father; for, let the world take note,   
You are the most immediate to our throne,   
And with no less nobility of love           112
Than that which dearest father bears his son,   
Do I impart towards you. For your intent   
In going back to school in Wittenberg,   
It is most retrograde 7 to our desire;           116
And we beseech you, bend you to remain   
Here in the cheer and comfort of our eye,   
Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son.   
  Queen.  Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet,           120
I prithee, stay with us; go not to Wittenberg.   
  Ham.  I shall in all my best obey you, madam.   
  King.  Why, ’tis a loving and a fair reply.   
Be as ourself in Denmark. Madam, come;           124
This gentle and unforc’d accord of Hamlet   
Sits smiling to my heart; in grace whereof,   
No jocund health that Denmark drinks to-day,   
But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell,           128
And the King’s rouse 8 the heavens shall bruit 9 again,   
Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come away.  Flourish. Exeunt all but HAMLET.   
  Ham.  O, that this too too solid flesh would melt,   
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew!           132
Or that the Everlasting had not fix’d   
His canon ’gainst self-slaughter! O God! God!   
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable,   
Seems to me all the uses of this world!           136
Fie on’t! oh fie, fie! ’Tis an unweeded garden,   
That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature   
Possess it merely. 10 That it should come to this!   
But two months dead! Nay, not so much, not two.           140
So excellent a king; that was, to this,   
Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother   
That he might not beteem 11 the winds of heaven   
Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth!           144
Must I remember? Why, she would hang on him,   
As if increase of appetite had grown   
By what it fed on; and yet, within a month,—   
Let me not think on ’t!—Frailty, thy name is woman!—           148
A little month, or e’er those shoes were old   
With which she followed my poor father’s body,   
Like Niobe, all tears,—why she, even she—   
O God! a beast, that wants discourse of reason, 12           152
Would have mourn’d longer—married with mine uncle,   
My father’s brother, but no more like my father   
Than I to Hercules; within a month,   
Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears           156
Had left the flushing 13 of her galled eyes,   
She married. O, most wicked speed, to post   
With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!   
It is not, nor it cannot come to good.—           160
But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue.   
 
Enter HORATIO, MARCELLUS, and BERNARDO

  Hor.  Hail to your lordship!   
  Ham.  I am glad to see you well,   
Horatio!—or I do forget myself.           164
  Hor.  The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever.   
  Ham.  Sir, my good friend; I’ll change that name with you.   
And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio? Marcellus?   
  Mar.  My good lord!           168
  Ham.  I am very glad to see you. [To BER.] Good even, sir.—   
But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg?   
  Hor.  A truant disposition, good my lord.   
  Ham.  I would not hear your enemy say so,           172
Nor shall you do mine ear that violence,   
To make it truster of your own report   
Against yourself. I know you are no truant.   
But what is your affair in Elsinore?           176
We’ll teach you to drink deep ere you depart.   
  Hor.  My lord, I came to see your father’s funeral.   
  Ham.  I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow-student.   
I think it was to see my mother’s wedding.           180
  Hor.  Indeed, my lord, it followed hard upon.   
  Ham.  Thrift, thrift, Horatio! The funeral bak’d-meats   
Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.   
Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven           184
Ere I had ever seen that day, Horatio!   
My father!—methinks I see my father.   
  Hor.  Oh, where, my lord?   
  Ham.        In my mind’s eye, Horatio,           188
  Hor.  I saw him once; he was a goodly king.   
  Ham.  He was a man, take him for all in all,   
I shall not look upon his like again.   
  Hor.  My lord, I think I saw him yesternight.           192
  Ham.  Saw? Who?   
  Hor.  My lord, the King your father.   
  Ham.        The King my father!   
  Hor.  Season your admiration 14 for a while           196
With an attent ear, till I may deliver,   
Upon the witness of these gentlemen,   
This marvel to you.   
  Ham.        For God’s love, let me hear.           200
  Hor.  Two nights together had these gentlemen,   
Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch,   
In the dead waste and middle of the night,   
Been thus encount’red. A figure like your father,           204
Arm’d at all points exactly, cap-a-pie,   
Appears before them, and with solemn march   
Goes slow and stately by them. Thrice he walk’d   
By their oppress’d and fear-surprised eyes,           208
Within his truncheon’s length; whilst they, distill’d 15   
Almost to jelly with the act of fear,   
Stand dumb and speak not to him. This to me   
In dreadful secrecy impart they did,           212
And I with them the third night kept the watch;   
Where, as they had deliver’d, both in time,   
Form of the thing, each word made true and good,   
The apparition comes. I knew your father;           216
These hands are not more like.   
  Ham.        But where was this!   
  Mar.  My lord, upon the platform where we watch’d.   
  Ham.  Did you not speak to it?           220
  Hor.        My lord, I did;   
But answer made it none. Yet once methought   
It lifted up it 16 head and did address   
Itself to motion, like as it would speak;           224
But even then the morning cock crew loud,   
And at the sound it shrunk in haste away,   
And vanish’d from our sight.   
  Ham.        ’Tis very strange.           228
  Hor.  As I do live, my honour’d lord, ’tis true,   
And we did think it writ down in our duty   
To let you know of it.   
  Ham.  Indeed, indeed, sirs. But this troubles me.           232
Hold you the watch to-night?   
  Mar. & Ber.        We do, my lord.   
  Ham.  Arm’d, say you?   
  Mar. & Ber.  Arm’d, my lord.           236
  Ham.  From top to toe?   
  Mar. & Ber.        My lord, from head to foot.   
  Ham.  Then saw you not his face?   
  Hor.  O, yes, my lord; he wore his beaver up.           240
  Ham.  What, look’d he frowningly?   
  Hor.        A countenance more   
In sorrow than in anger.   
  Ham.        Pale, or red?           244
  Hor.  Nay, very pale.   
  Ham.        And fix’d his eyes upon you?   
  Hor.  Most constantly.   
  Ham.        I would I had been there.           248
  Hor.  It would have much amaz’d you.   
  Ham.  Very like, very like. Stay’d it long?   
  Hor.  While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred.   
  Mar. & Ber.  Longer, longer.           252
  Hor.  Not when I saw ’t.   
  Ham.        His beard was grizzly? No?   
  Hor.  It was, as I have seen it in his life,   
A sable silver’d.           256
  Ham.        I will watch to-night;   
Perchance ’twill walk again.   
  Hor.        I warrant you it will.   
  Ham.  If it assume my noble father’s person,           260
I’ll speak to it, though hell itself should gape   
And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all,   
If you have hitherto conceal’d this sight,   
Let it be tenable 17 in your silence still;           264
And whatsoever else shall hap to-night,   
Give it an understanding, but no tongue.   
I will requite your loves. So, fare ye well.   
Upon the platform ’twixt eleven and twelve,           268
I’ll visit you.   
  All.        Our duty to your honour.   
  Ham.  Your love, as mine to you; farewell.  Exeunt [all but HAMLET].   
My father’s spirit in arms! All is not well;           272
I doubt some foul play. Would the night were come!   
Till then sit still, my soul. Foul deeds will rise,   
Though all the earth o’erwhelm them, to men’s eyes.  Exit.   
 
Note 1. Disfigured. [back]
Note 2. Progress. [back]
Note 3. People. [back]
Note 4. Offered. [back]
Note 5. Lowered. [back]
Note 6. Behavior. [back]
Note 7. Opposed. [back]
Note 8. Carouse. [back]
Note 9. Report noisily. [back]
Note 10. Entirely. [back]
Note 11. Allow. [back]
Note 12. Reasoning power. [back]
Note 13. Redness, or filling full. [back]
Note 14. Wonder. [back]
Note 15. Melted. [back]
Note 16. Its. [back]
Note 17. Held. [back]

Scene III
 
 
[A room in Polonius’s house]
Enter LAERTES and OPHELIA

  Laer.  My necessaries are embark’d, farewell;   
And, sister, as the winds give benefit   
And convoy is assistant, do not sleep,   
But let me hear from you.           4
  Oph.        Do you doubt that?   
  Laer.  For Hamlet and the trifling of his favours,   
Hold it a fashion and a toy in blood,   
A violet in the youth of primy 1 nature,           8
Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting,   
The [perfume and] suppliance 2 of a minute;   
No more.   
  Oph.    No more but so?           12
  Laer.        Think it no more:   
For nature crescent does not grow alone   
In thews 3 and bulk, but, as this temple waxes,   
The inward service of the mind and soul           16
Grows wide withal. Perhaps he loves you now,   
And now no soil nor cautel 4 doth besmirch   
The virtue of his will; but you must fear,   
His greatness weigh’d, his will is not his own;           20
For he himself is subject to his birth.   
He may not, as unvalued persons do,   
Carve for himself, for on his choice depends   
The sanity and health of the whole state;           24
And therefore must his choice be circumscrib’d   
Unto the voice and yielding 5 of that body   
Whereof he is the head. Then, if he says he loves you,   
It fits your wisdom so far to believe it           28
As he in his particular act and place   
May give his saying deed; which is no further   
Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal.   
Then weigh what loss your honour may sustain           32
If with too credent 6 ear you list his songs,   
Or lose your heart, or your chaste treasure open   
To his unmast’red importunity.   
Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister,           36
And keep you in the rear of your affection,   
Out of the shot and danger of desire.   
The chariest maid is prodigal enough,   
If she unmask her beauty to the moon.           40
Virtue itself scapes not calumnious strokes.   
The canker 7 galls the infants of the spring   
Too oft before the buttons 8 be disclos’d,   
And in the morn and liquid dew of youth           44
Contagious blastments are most imminent.   
Be wary then, best safety lies in fear;   
Youth to itself rebels, though none else near.   
  Oph.  I shall the effect of this good lesson keep,           48
As watchman to my heart. But, good my brother,   
Do not, as some ungracious pastors do,   
Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven,   
Whilst, like a puff’d and reckless libertine,           52
Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads,   
And recks not his own rede. 9   
  Laer.        O, fear me not.   
 
Enter POLONIUS

I stay too long: but here my father comes.           56
A double blessing is a double grace;   
Occasion smiles upon a second leave.   
  Pol.  Yet here, Laertes? Aboard, aboard, for shame!   
The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail,           60
And you are stay’d for. There; my blessing with you!   
And these few precepts in thy memory   
See thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue,   
Nor any unproportion’d thought his act.           64
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.   
The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,   
Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel;   
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment           68
Of each new-hatch’d, unfledg’d comrade. Beware   
Of entrance to a quarrel; but being in,   
Bear’t that the opposed may beware of thee.   
Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice;           72
Take each man’s censure, 10 but reserve thy judgement.   
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,   
But not express’d in fancy; rich, not gaudy;   
For the apparel oft proclaims the man,           76
And they in France of the best rank and station   
Are most select and generous in that.   
Neither a borrower nor a lender be;   
For loan oft loses both itself and friend,           80
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. 11   
This above all: to thine own self be true,   
And it must follow, as the night the day,   
Thou canst not then be false to any man.           84
Farewell; my blessing season this in thee!   
  Laer.  Most humbly do I take my leave, my lord.   
  Pol.  The time invites you; go, your servants tend.   
  Laer.  Farewell, Ophelia, and remember well           88
What I have said to you.   
  Oph.        ’Tis in my memory lock’d,   
And you yourself shall keep the key of it.   
  Laer.  Farewell.  Exit.           92
  Pol.  What is ’t, Ophelia, he hath said to you?   
  Oph.  So please you, something touching the Lord Hamlet.   
  Pol.  Marry, well bethought.   
’Tis told me, he hath very oft of late           96
Given private time to you, and you yourself   
Have of your audience been most free and bounteous.   
If it be so—as so ’tis put on me,   
And that in way of caution—I must tell you,           100
You do not understand yourself so clearly   
As it behoves my daughter and your honour.   
What is between you? Give me up the truth.   
  Oph.  He hath, my lord, of late made many tenders 12           104
Of his affection to me.   
  Pol.  Affection! pooh! You speak like a green girl,   
Unsifted in such perilous circumstance.   
Do you believe his tenders, as you call them?           108
  Oph.  I do not know, my lord, what I should think.   
  Pol.  Marry, I’ll teach you: think yourself a baby   
That you have ta’en his tenders for true pay,   
Which are not sterling. Tender yourself more dearly,           112
Or—not to crack the wind of the poor phrase,   
Running it thus—you’ll tender me a fool.   
  Oph.  My lord, he hath importun’d me with love   
In honourable fashion.           116
  Pol.  Ay, fashion you may call it. Go to, go to.   
  Oph.  And hath given countenance to his speech, my lord,   
With almost all the holy vows of heaven.   
  Pol.  Ay, springes 13 to catch woodcocks. I do know,           120
When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul   
Lends the tongue vows. These blazes, daughter,   
Giving more light than heat, extinct in both   
Even in their promise, as it is a-making,           124
You must not take for fire. From this time, daughter,   
Be somewhat scanter of your maiden presence.   
Set your entreatments 14 at a higher rate   
Than a command to parley. For Lord Hamlet,           128
Believe so much in him, that he is young,   
And with a larger tether may he walk   
Than may be given you. In few, Ophelia,   
Do not believe his vows; for they are brokers,           132
Not of that dye which their investments 15 show,   
But mere implorators 16 of unholy suits,   
Breathing like sanctified and pious bawds,   
The better to beguile. This is for all:           136
I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth,   
Have you so slander any moment leisure   
As to give words or talk with the Lord Hamlet.   
Look to ’t, I charge you. Come your ways.           140
  Oph.  I shall obey, my lord.  Exeunt.   
 
Note 1. In the spring, lusty. [back]
Note 2. What fills in. [back]
Note 3. Muscles. [back]
Note 4. Deceit. [back]
Note 5. Consent. [back]
Note 6. Credulous. [back]
Note 7. Canker-worm. [back]
Note 8. Buds. [back]
Note 9. Advice. [back]
Note 10. Opinion. [back]
Note 11. Thrift. [back]
Note 12. Offers. [back]
Note 13. Snares. [back]
Note 14. Invitations. [back]
Note 15. Garments. [back]
Note 16. Pleaders. [back]
 

Scene IV
 
 
[The platform]
Enter HAMLET, HORATIO, and MARCELLUS

  Ham.  The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold.   
  Hor.  It is a nipping and an eager air.   
  Ham.  What hour now?   
  Hor.        I think it lacks of twelve.           4
  Mar.  No, it is struck.   
  Hor.  Indeed? I heard it not. Then it draws near the season   
Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk.  A flourish of trumpets, and two pieces go off [within].   
What does this mean, my lord?           8
  Ham.  The King doth wake to-night and takes his rouse,   
Keeps wassail, and the swaggering up-spring 1 reels;   
And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down,   
The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out           12
The triumph of his pledge.   
  Hor.        Is it a custom?   
  Ham.  Ay, marry, is ’t,   
But to my mind, though I am native here           16
And to the manner born, it is a custom   
More honour’d in the breach than the observance.   
[This heavy-headed revel east and west   
Makes us traduc’d and tax’d 2 of other nations.           20
They clepe 3 us drunkards, and with swinish phrase   
Soil our addition; 4 and indeed it takes   
From our achievements, though perform’d at height,   
The pith and marrow of our attribute.           24
So, oft it chances in particular men,   
That for some vicious mole 5 of nature in them,   
As, in their birth—wherein they are not guilty,   
Since nature cannot choose his origin—           28
By their o’ergrowth of some complexion 6   
Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason,   
Or by some habit that too much o’er-leavens   
The form of plausive 7 manners, that these men,           32
Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect,   
Being nature’s livery, or fortune’s star, 8—   
His virtues else—be they as pure as grace,   
As infinite as man may undergo—           36
Shall in the general censure 9 take corruption   
From that particular fault. The dram of eale 10   
Doth all the noble substance often dout 11   
To his own scandal.]           40
 
Enter Ghost

  Hor.  Look, my lord, it comes!   
  Ham.  Angels and ministers of grace defend us!   
Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn’d,   
Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell,           44
Be thy intents wicked or charitable,   
Thou com’st in such a questionable 12 shape   
That I will speak to thee. I’ll call thee Hamlet,   
King, father; royal Dane, O, answer me!           48
Let me not burst in ignorance, but tell   
Why thy canoniz’d bones, hearsed in death,   
Have burst their cerements; 13 why the sepulchre,   
Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn’d,           52
Hath op’d his ponderous and marble jaws,   
To cast thee up again. What may this mean,   
That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel   
Revisits thus the glimpses of the moon,           56
Making night hideous, and we fools of nature   
So horridly to shake our disposition   
With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?   
Say, why is this? Wherefore? What should we do?  Ghost beckons HAMLET.           60
  Hor.  It beckons you to go away with it,   
As if it some impartment did desire   
To you alone.   
  Mar.        Look, with what courteous action           64
It wafts you to a more removed ground.   
But do not go with it.   
  Hor.        No, by no means.   
  Ham.  It will not speak; then will I follow it.           68
  Hor.  Do not, my lord.   
  Ham.        Why, what should be the fear?   
I do not set my life at a pin’s fee,   
And for my soul, what can it do to that,           72
Being a thing immortal as itself?   
It waves me forth again. I’ll follow it.   
  Hor.  What if it tempt you toward the flood, my lord,   
Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff           76
That beetles o’er his base into the sea,   
And there assume some other horrible form,   
Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason   
And draw you into madness? Think of it.           80
[The very place puts toys of desperation,   
Without more motive, into every brain   
That looks so many fathoms to the sea   
And hears it roar beneath.]           84
  Ham.        It wafts me still.   
Go on, I’ll follow thee.   
  Mar.  You shall not go, my lord.   
  Ham.        Hold off your hand.           88
  Hor.  Be rul’d; you shall not go.   
  Ham.        My fate cries out,   
And makes each petty artery in this body   
As hardly as the Nemean lion’s nerve.           92
Still am I call’d. Unhand me, gentlemen.   
By heaven, I’ll make a ghost of him that lets 14 me!   
I say, away!—Go on, I’ll follow thee.  Exeunt Ghost and HAMLET.   
  Hor.  He waxes desperate with imagination.           96
  Mar.  Let’s follow. ’Tis not fit thus to obey him.   
  Hor.  Have after. To what issue will this come?   
  Mar.  Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.   
  Hor.  Heaven will direct it.           100
  Mar.        Nay, let’s follow him.  Exeunt.   
 
Note 1. A wild dance. [back]
Note 2. Accused. [back]
Note 3. Call. [back]
Note 4. Title. [back]
Note 5. Flaw. [back]
Note 6. Disposition. [back]
Note 7. Pleasing. [back]
Note 8. Whether due to nature or fortune. [back]
Note 9. Opinion. [back]
Note 10. Small quantity of evil (?). [back]
Note 11. Drive out, efface (?). The passage is probably corrupt. [back]
Note 12. Inviting discussion. [back]
Note 13. Waxed shroud. [back]
Note 14. Hinders. [back]

Scene V
 
 
[Another part of the platform]
Enter Ghost and HAMLET

  Ham.  Where wilt thou lead me? Speak, I’ll go no further.   
  Ghost.  Mark me.   
  Ham.        I will.   
  Ghost.        My hour is almost come,           4
When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames   
Must render up myself.   
  Ham.        Alas, poor ghost!   
  Ghost.  Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing           8
To what I shall unfold.   
  Ham.        Speak; I am bound to hear.   
  Ghost.  So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear.   
  Ham.  What?           12
  Ghost.  I am thy father’s spirit,   
Doom’d for a certain term to walk the night,   
And for the day confin’d to fast in fires,   
Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature           16
Are burnt and purg’d away. But that I am forbid   
To tell the secrets of my prison-house,   
I could a tale unfold whose lightest word   
Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood,           20
Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres,   
Thy knotty and combined locks to part   
And each particular hair to stand on end,   
Like quills upon the fretful porpentine. 1           24
But this eternal blazon 2 must not be   
To ears of flesh and blood. List, Hamlet, O, list!   
If thou didst ever thy dear father love—   
  Ham.  O God!           28
  Ghost.  Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder.   
  Ham.  Murder!   
  Ghost.  Murder most foul, as in the best it is,   
But this most foul, strange, and unnatural.           32
  Ham.  Haste me to know ’t, that I, with wings as swift   
As meditation or the thoughts of love,   
May sweep to my revenge.   
  Ghost.        I find thee apt;           36
And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed   
That roots itself in ease on Lethe wharf, 3   
Wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear.   
It’s given out that, sleeping in mine orchard,           40
A serpent stung me; so the whole ear of Denmark   
Is by a forged process 4 of my death   
Rankly abus’d; 5 but know, thou noble youth,   
The serpent that did sting thy father’s life           44
Now wears his crown.   
  Ham.        O my prophetic soul!   
Mine uncle!   
  Ghost.  Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast,           48
With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts,—   
O wicked wit and gifts, that have the power   
So to seduce!—won to his shameful lust   
The will of my most seeming-virtuous queen.           52
O Hamlet, what a falling-off was there!   
From me, whose love was of that dignity   
That it went hand in hand even with the vow   
I made to her in marriage, and to decline           56
Upon a wretch whose natural gifts were poor   
To those of mine!   
But virtue, as it never will be moved,   
Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven,           60
So lust, though to a radiant angel link’d,   
Will sate itself in a celestial bed   
And prey on garbage.   
But, soft! methinks I scent the morning’s air.           64
Brief let me be. Sleeping within mine orchard,   
My custom always in the afternoon,   
Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole,   
With juice of cursed hebenon 6 in a vial,           68
And in the porches of mine ears did pour   
The leperous distilment; whose effect   
Holds such an enmity with blood of man   
That swift as quicksilver it courses through           72
The natural gates and alleys of the body,   
And with a sudden vigour it doth posset 7   
And curd, like eager 8 droppings into milk,   
The thin and wholesome blood. So did it mine,           76
And a most instant tetter 9 bark’d about,   
Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust,   
All my smooth body.   
Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother’s hand           80
Of life, of crown, and queen, at once dispatch’d;   
Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin,   
Unhousel’d, 10 disappointed, 11 unanel’d, 12   
No reckoning made, but sent to my account           84
With all my imperfections on my head.   
O, horrible! O, horrible! most horrible!   
If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not;   
Let not the royal bed of Denmark be           88
A couch for luxury and damned incest.   
But, howsoever thou pursuest this act,   
Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive   
Against thy mother aught. Leave her to heaven           92
And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge,   
To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once!   
The glow-worm shows the matin to be near,   
And ’gins to pale his uneffectual fire.           96
Adieu, adieu! Hamlet, remember me.  Exit.   
  Ham.  O all you host of heaven! O earth! What else?   
And shall I couple hell? O, fie! Hold, my heart,   
And you, my sinews, grow not instant old,           100
But bear me stiffly up. Remember thee!   
Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat   
In this distracted globe. Remember thee!   
Yea, from the table of my memory           104
I’ll wipe away all trivial fond 13 records,   
All saws 14 of books, all forms, all pressures past,   
That youth and observation copied there,   
And thy commandment all alone shall live           108
Within the book and volume of my brain,   
Unmix’d with baser matter. Yes, yes, by heaven!   
O most pernicious woman!   
O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain!           112
My tables, my tables,—meet it is I set it down!   
That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain!   
At least I’m sure it may be so in Denmark.   
So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word;           116
It is “Adieu, adieu! remember me.”   
I have sworn ’t.   
  Mar. & Hor.  (Within.)  My lord, my lord!   
  Mar.        [Within.]  Lord Hamlet!           120
  Hor.        [Within.]  Heaven secure him!   
  Ham.  So be it!   
  Mar.  [Within.]  Illo, ho, ho, my lord!   
  Ham.  Hillo, ho, ho, boy! Come, bird, come.           124
 
Enter HORATIO and MARCELLUS

  Mar.  How is ’t, my noble lord?   
  Hor.        What news, my lord?   
  Ham.  O, wonderful!   
  Hor.  Good my lord, tell it.           128
  Ham.        No, you’ll reveal it.   
  Hor.  Not I, my lord, by heaven.   
  Mar.        Nor I, my lord.   
  Ham.  How say you, then, would heart of man once think it?—           132
But you’ll be secret?   
  Hor. & Mar.        Ay, by heaven, my lord.   
  Ham.  There’s ne’er a villain dwelling in all Denmark—   
But he’s an arrant knave.           136
  Hor.  There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave   
To tell us this.   
  Ham.        Why, right, you are i’ the right.   
And so, without more circumstance at all,           140
I hold it fit that we shake hands and part;   
You, as your business and desires shall point you,   
For every man has business and desire,   
Such as it is; and for mine own poor part,           144
Look you, I’ll go pray.   
  Hor.  These are but wild and whirling words, my lord.   
  Ham.  I’m sorry they offend you, heartily;   
Yes, faith, heartily.           148
  Hor.        There’s no offence, my lord.   
  Ham.  Yes, by Saint Patrick, but there is, Horatio,   
And much offence too. Touching this vision here,   
It is an honest ghost, that let me tell you.           152
For your desire to know what is between us,   
O’ermaster ’t as you may. And now, good friends,   
As you are friends, scholars, and soldiers,   
Give me one poor request.           156
  Hor.  What is ’t, my lord? We will.   
  Ham.  Never make known what you have seen to-night.   
  Hor. & Mar.  My lord, we will not.   
  Ham.        Nay, but swear ’t.           160
  Hor.        In faith,   
My lord, not I.   
  Mar.        Nor I, my lord, in faith.   
  Ham.  Upon my sword.           164
  Mar.        We have sworn, my lord, already.   
  Ham.  Indeed, upon my sword, indeed.   
  Ghost.  Swear!  Ghost cries under the stage.   
  Ham.  Ah, ha, boy! say’st thou so? Art thou there, truepenny?           168
Come on; you hear this fellow in the cellarage.   
Consent to swear.   
  Hor.        Propose the oath, my lord.   
  Ham.  Never to speak of this that you have seen.           172
Swear by my sword.   
  Ghost.  [Beneath.]  Swear.   
  Ham.  Hic et ubique? 15 Then we’ll shift our ground.   
Come thither, gentlemen,           176
And lay your hands again upon my sword.   
Never to speak of this that you have heard,   
Swear by my sword.   
  Ghost.  [Beneath.]  Swear.           180
  Ham.  Well said, old mole! Canst work i’ the earth so fast?   
A worthy pioner! 16 Once more remove, good friends.   
  Hor.  O day and night, but this is wondrous strange!   
  Ham.  And therefore as a stranger give it welcome.           184
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,   
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.   
But come;   
Here, as before, never, so help you mercy,           188
How strange or odd soe’er I bear myself,—   
As I perchance hereafter shall think meet   
To put an antic disposition on—   
That you, at such time seeing me, never shall,           192
With arms encumb’red thus, or this headshake,   
Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase,   
As “Well, we know,” or “We could, an if we would,”   
Or “If we list to speak,” or “There be, an if they might,”           196
Or such ambiguous giving out, to note   
That you know aught of me,—this not to do,   
So grace and mercy at your most need help you,   
Swear.           200
  Ghost.  [Beneath.]  Swear.   
  Ham.  Rest, rest, perturbed spirit! [They swear.] So, gentlemen,   
With all my love I do commend me to you.   
And what so poor a man as Hamlet is           204
May do, to express his love and friending to you,   
God willing, shall not lack. Let us go in together;   
And still your fingers on your lips, I pray.   
The time is out of joint;—O cursed spite,           208
That ever I was born to set it right!   
Nay, come, let’s go together.  Exeunt.   
 
Note 1. Porcupine. [back]
Note 2. Declaration about the eternal world. [back]
Note 3. Bank. [back]
Note 4. Account. [back]
Note 5. Deceived. [back]
Note 6. An unknown poison. [back]
Note 7. Thicken. [back]
Note 8. Sour. [back]
Note 9. Scurf. [back]
Note 10. Without the sacrament. [back]
Note 11. Unprepared. [back]
Note 12. Without extreme unction. [back]
Note 13. Foolish. [back]
Note 14. Sayings. [back]
Note 15. Lat. Here and everywhere. [back]
Note 16. Pioneer. [back]
 

Act II
 
Scene I
 
 
[A room in Polonius’s house]
Enter POLONIUS and REYNALDO

  Pol.  Give him this money and these notes, Reynaldo.   
  Rey.  I will, my lord.   
  Pol.  You shall do marvellous wisely, good Reynaldo,   
Before you visit him, to make inquiry           4
Of his behaviour.   
  Rey.        My lord, I did intend it.   
  Pol.  Marry, well said, very well said. Look you, sir,   
Inquire me first what Danskers 1 are in Paris,           8
And how, and who, what means, and where they keep,   
What company, at what expense; and finding   
By this encompassment and drift 2 of question   
That they do know my son, come you more nearer           12
Than your particular demands will touch it.   
Take you, as ’twere, some distant knowledge of him,   
As thus, “I know his father and his friends,   
And in part him.” Do you mark this, Reynaldo?           16
  Rey.  Ay, very well, my lord.   
  Pol.  “And in part him; but,” you may say, “not well.   
But, if ’t be he I mean, he’s very wild,   
Addicted so and so;” and there put on him           20
What forgeries 3 you please; marry, none so rank   
As may dishonour him,—take heed of that;   
But, sir, such wanton, wild, and usual slips   
As are companions noted and most known           24
To youth and liberty.   
  Rey.        As gaming, my lord?   
  Pol.  Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing, quarrelling,   
Drabbing; you may go so far.           28
  Rey.  My lord, that would dishonour him.   
  Pol.  Faith, no, as you may season 4 it in the charge.   
You must not put another scandal on him,   
That he is open to incontinency.           32
That’s not my meaning. But breathe his faults so quaintly 5   
That they may seem the taints of liberty,   
The flash and outbreak of a fiery mind,   
A savageness in unreclaimed blood,           36
Of general assault. 6   
  Rey.        But, my good lord,—   
  Pol.  Wherefore should you do this?   
  Rey.        Ay, my lord,           40
I would know that.   
  Pol.        Marry, sir, here’s my drift,   
And, I believe, it is a fetch of warrant: 7   
You laying these slight sullies on my son,           44
As ’twere a thing a little soil’d i’ the working,   
Mark you,   
Your party in converse, him you would sound,   
Having ever seen in the prenominate 8 crimes           48
The youth you breathe of guilty, be assur’d   
He closes with you in this consequence; 9   
“Good sir,” or so, or “friend,” or “gentleman,”   
According to the phrase and the addition 10           52
Of man and country.   
  Rey.        Very good, my lord.   
  Pol.  And then, sir, does he this—he does—   
What was I about to say? [By the mass,] I was about to say something. Where did I leave?           56
  Rey.  At “closes in the consequence,” at “friend or so,” and “gentleman.”   
  Pol.  At “closes in the consequence,” ay, marry.   
He closes with you thus: “I know the gentleman.   
I saw him yesterday, or t’ other day,           60
Or then, or then, with such and such; and, as you say,   
There was he gaming; there o’ertook in ’s rouse; 11   
There falling out at tennis;” or, perchance,   
“I saw him enter such a house of sale,”           64
  Videlicet, a brothel, or so forth.   
See you now;   
Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth;   
And thus do we of wisdom and of reach,           68
With windlasses and with assays of bias, 12   
By indirections find directions out.   
So by my former lecture and advice,   
Shall you my son. You have me, have you not?           72
  Rey.  My lord, I have.   
  Pol.        God buy you; fare you well.   
  Rey.  Good my lord.   
  Pol.  Observe his inclination in yourself.           76
  Rey.  I shall, my lord.   
  Pol.  And let him ply his music.   
  Rey.        Well, my lord.   
  Pol.  Farewell!  Exit REYNALDO.           80
 
Enter OPHELIA

        How now, Ophelia! what’s the matter?   
  Oph.  Alas, my lord, I have been so affrighted!   
  Pol.  With what, in the name of God?   
  Oph.  My lord, as I was sewing in my chamber,           84
Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbrac’d, 13   
No hat upon his head, his stockings foul’d,   
Ungart’red, and down-gyved 14 to his ankle,   
Pale as his shirt, his knees knocking each other,           88
And with a look so piteous in purport   
As if he had been loosed out of hell   
To speak of horrors,—he comes before me.   
  Pol.  Mad for thy love?           92
  Oph.        My lord, I do not know,   
But truly, I do fear it.   
  Pol.        What said he?   
  Oph.  He took me by the wrist and held me hard;           96
Then goes he to the length of all his arm,   
And, with his other hand thus o’er his brow,   
He falls to such perusal of my face   
As he would draw it. Long stay’d he so.           100
At last, a little shaking of mine arm,   
And thrice his head thus waving up and down   
He rais’d a sigh so piteous and profound   
That it did seem to shatter all his bulk           104
And end his being. That done, he lets me go;   
And, with his head over his shoulder turn’d,   
He seem’d to find his way without his eyes,   
For out o’ doors he went without their help,           108
And, to the last, bended their light on me.   
  Pol.  [Come,] go with me, I will go seek the King.   
This is the very ecstasy of love,   
Whose violent property fordoes itself           112
And leads the will to desperate undertakings   
As oft as any passion under heaven   
That does afflict our natures. I am sorry,—   
What, have you given him any hard words of late?           116
  Oph.  No, my good lord, but, as you did command,   
I did repel his letters and deni’d   
His access to me.   
  Pol.        That hath made him mad.           120
I am sorry that with better heed and judgement   
I had not quoted 15 him. I fear’d he did but trifle   
And meant to wreck thee; but beshrew my jealousy!   
By heaven, it is as proper to our age           124
To cast beyond ourselves in our opinions   
As it is common for the younger sort   
To lack discretion. Come, go we to the King.   
This must be known, which, being kept close, might move           128
More grief to hide than hate to utter love.   
[Come.]  Exeunt.   
 
Note 1. Danes. [back]
Note 2. Roundabout method. [back]
Note 3. False accusations. [back]
Note 4. Modify. [back]
Note 5. Carefully, delicately. [back]
Note 6. To which any man is subject. [back]
Note 7. Warranted device. [back]
Note 8. Before-mentioned. [back]
Note 9. Conclusion. [back]
Note 10. Title. [back]
Note 11. Overcome in drinking. [back]
Note 12. Circuitous methods. [back]
Note 13. Ungirt. [back]
Note 14. Hanging in rings like fetters. [back]
Note 15. Observed. [back]
 

Scene II
 
 
[A room in the castle]
Flourish. Enter KING, QUEEN, ROSENCRANTZ, GUILDENSTERN, with others

  King.  Welcome, dear Rosencrantz and Guildenstern!   
Moreover that we much did long to see you,   
The need we have to use you did provoke   
Our hasty sending. Something have you heard           4
Of Hamlet’s transformation; so I call it,   
Since not the exterior nor the inward man   
Resembles that it was. What it should be,   
More than his father’s death, that thus hath put him           8
So much from the understanding of himself,   
I cannot dream of. I entreat you both,   
That, being of so young days brought up with him   
And since so neighbour’d to his youth and humour,           12
That you vouchsafe your rest here in our court   
Some little time; so by your companies   
To draw him on to pleasures, and to gather   
So much as from occasions you may glean,           16
[Whether aught, to us unknown, afflicts him thus,]   
That, open’d, lies within our remedy.   
  Queen.  Good gentlemen, he hath much talk’d of you;   
And sure I am two men there are not living           20
To whom he more adheres. If it will please you   
To show us so much gentry 1 and good will   
As to expend your time with us a while   
For the supply and profit of our hope,           24
Your visitation shall receive such thanks   
As fits a king’s remembrance.   
  Ros.        Both your Majesties   
Might, by the sovereign power you have of us,           28
Put your dread pleasures more into command   
Than to entreaty.   
  Guil.        We both obey.   
And here give up ourselves, in the full bent           32
To lay our services freely at your feet,   
To be commanded.   
  King.  Thanks, Rosencrantz and gentle Guildenstern.   
  Queen.  Thanks, Guildenstern and gentle Rosencrantz,           36
And I beseech you instantly to visit   
My too much changed son. Go, some of ye,   
And bring the gentlemen where Hamlet is.   
  Guil.  Heavens make our presence and our practices           40
Pleasant and helpful to him!   
  Queen.        Amen!  Exeunt ROSENCRANTZ, GUILDENSTERN, and some Attendants].   
 
Enter POLONIUS

  Pol.  The ambassadors from Norway, my good lord,   
Are joyfully return’d           44
  King.  Thou still hast been the father of good news.   
  Pol.  Have I, my lord? Assure you, my good liege,   
I hold my duty as I hold my soul,   
Both to my God and to my gracious king.           48
And I do think, or else this brain of mine   
Hunts not the trail of policy so sure   
As it hath us’d to do, that I have found   
The very cause of Hamlet’s lunacy.           52
  King.  O, speak of that; that I do long to hear.   
  Pol.  Give first admittance to the ambassadors.   
My news shall be the fruit to that great feast.   
  King.  Thyself do grace to them, and bring them in.  [Exit POLONIUS.]           56
He tells me, my sweet queen, that he hath found   
The head and source of all your son’s distemper.   
  Queen. I doubt it is no other but the main,   
His father’s death and our o’erhasty marriage.           60
 
Re-enter POLONIUS, with VOLTIMAND and CORNELIUS

  King.  Well, we shall sift him.—Welcome, my good friends!   
Say, Voltimand, what from our brother Norway?   
  Volt.  Most fair return of greetings and desires.   
Upon our first, 2 he sent out to suppress           64
His nephew’s levies, which to him appear’d   
To be a preparation ’gainst the Polack,   
But, better look’d into, he truly found   
It was against your Highness. Whereat grieved,           68
That so his sickness, age, and impotence   
Was falsely borne in hand, 3 sends out arrests   
On Fortinbras; which he, in brief, obeys,   
Receives rebuke from Norway, and in fine           72
Makes vow before his uncle never more   
To give the assay of arms against your Majesty.   
Whereon old Norway, overcome with joy,   
Gives him three thousand crowns in annual fee,           76
And his commission to employ those soldiers,   
So levied as before, against the Polack;   
With an entreaty, herein further shown,  [Giving a paper.]   
That it might please you to give quiet pass           80
Through your dominions for his enterprise,   
On such regards of safety and allowance   
As therein are set down.   
  King.        It likes us well;           84
And at our more consider’d time 4 we’ll read,   
Answer, and think upon this business.   
Meantime we thank you for your well-took labour.   
Go to your rest; at night we’ll feast together.           88
Most welcome home!  Exeunt VOLTIMAND and CORNELIUS.   
  Pol.        This business is well ended.   
My liege, and madam, to expostulate   
What majesty should be, what duty is,           92
Why day is day, night night, and time is time,   
Were nothing but to waste night, day, and time;   
Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit   
And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes,           96
I will be brief. Your noble son is mad.   
Mad call I it; for, to define true madness,   
What is ’t but to be nothing else but mad?   
But let that go.           100
  Queen.        More matter, with less art.   
  Pol.  Madam, I swear I use no art at all.   
That he is mad, ’tis true; ’tis true ’tis pity,   
And pity ’tis ’tis true. A foolish figure!           104
But farewell it, for I will use no art.   
Mad let us grant him then; and now remains   
That we find out the cause of this effect,   
Or rather say, the cause of this defect,           108
For this effect defective comes by cause.   
Thus it remains, and the remainder thus.   
Perpend. 5   
I have a daughter—have whilst she is mine—           112
Who, in her duty and obedience, mark,   
Hath given me this. Now gather, and surmise.  [Reads] the letter.   
“To the celestial and my soul’s idol, the most beautified Ophelia,”—   
That’s an ill phrase, a vile phrase; “beautified” is a vile phrase. But you shall hear. Thus:           116
“In her excellent white bosom, these.”   
  Queen.  Came this from Hamlet to her?   
  Pol.  Good madam, stay a while. I will be faithful.  [Reads.]
           “Doubt thou the stars are fire,
     Doubt that the sun doth move,
   Doubt truth to be a liar,
     But never doubt I love.
   
“O dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers. I have not art to reckon my groans; but that I love thee best, O most best, believe it. Adieu.
           Thine evermore, most dear lady,
     Whilst this machine is to him,
   
HAMLET.”
           120
This in obedience hath my daughter show’d me,   
And more above, hath his solicitings,   
As they fell out by time, by means, and place,   
All given to mine ear.           124
  King.        But how hath she   
Receiv’d his love?   
  Pol.        What do you think of me?   
  King.  As of a man faithful and honourable.           128
  Pol.  I would fain prove so. But what might you think,   
When I had seen this hot love on the wing,—   
As I perceiv’d it, I must tell you that,   
Before my daughter told me,—what might you,           132
Or my dear Majesty your queen here, think,   
If I had play’d the desk or table-book,   
Or given my heart a winking, mute and dumb,   
Or look’d upon this love with idle sight,           136
What might you think? No, I went round to work,   
And my young mistress thus I did bespeak:   
“Lord Hamlet is a prince, out of thy star. 6   
This must not be;” and then I precepts gave her,           140
That she should lock herself from his resort,   
Admit no messengers, receive no tokens.   
Which done, she took the fruits of my advice;   
And he, repulsed—a short tale to make—           144
Fell into a sadness, then into a fast,   
Thence to a watch, thence into a weakness,   
Thence to a lightness, and, by this declension,   
Into the madness wherein now he raves,           148
And all we wail for.   
  King.        Do you think ’tis this?   
  Queen.  It may be, very likely.   
  Pol.  Hath there been such a time—I’d fain know that—           152
That I have positively said, “’Tis so,”   
When it prov’d otherwise?   
  King.        Not that I know.   
  Pol.  Take this from this, if this be otherwise.           156
If circumstances lead me, I will find   
Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed   
Within the centre.   
  King.        How may we try it further?           160
  Pol.  You know, sometimes he walks four hours together   
Here in the lobby.   
  Queen.        So he has, indeed.   
  Pol.  At such a time I’ll loose my daughter to him.           164
Be you and I behind an arras 7then;   
Mark the encounter. If he love her not   
And be not from his reason fallen thereon,   
Let me be no assistant for a state,           168
But keep a farm and carters.   
  King.        We will try it.   
 
Enter HAMLET, reading on a book

  Queen.  But look where sadly the poor wretch comes reading.   
  Pol.  Away, I do beseech you, both away.           172
I’ll board 8 him presently.  Exeunt KING, QUEEN [and Attendants].   
      O, give me leave,   
How does my good Lord Hamlet?   
  Ham.  Well, God-a-mercy.           176
  Pol.  Do you know me, my lord?   
  Ham.  Excellent well; you are a fishmonger.   
  Pol.  Not I, my lord.   
  Ham.  Then I would you were so honest a man.           180
  Pol.  Honest, my lord!   
  Ham.  Ay, sir. To be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man   
pick’d out of ten thousand.   
  Pol.  That’s very true, my lord.           184
  Ham.  For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a good   
kissing carrion,—Have you a daughter?   
  Pol.  I have, my lord.   
  Ham.  Let her not walk i’ the sun. Conception is a blessing, but           188
not as your daughter may conceive. Friend, look to ’t.   
  Pol.  [Aside.]  How say you by that? Still harping on my daughter. Yet he knew me not at first; he said I was a fishmonger. He is far gone, far gone. And truly in my youth I suff’red much extremity for love; very near this. I’ll speak to him again—What do you read, my lord?   
  Ham.  Words, words, words.   
  Pol.  What is the matter, my lord?           192
  Ham.  Between who?   
  Pol.  I mean, the matter you read, my lord.   
  Ham.  Slanders, sir; for the satirical slave says here that old men have grey beards, that their faces are wrinkled, their eyes purging thick amber or plum-tree gum, and that they have a plentiful lack of wit, together with weak hams; all which, sir, though I most powerfully and potently believe, yet I hold it not honesty to have it thus set down; for you yourself, sir, should be old as I am, if like a crab you could go backward.   
  Pol.  [Aside.]  Though this be madness, yet there is method in ’t—           196
Will you walk out of the air, my lord?   
  Ham.  Into my grave?   
  Pol.  Indeed, that is out o’ the air. [Aside.] How pregnant sometimes his replies are! a happiness that often madness hits on, which reason and sainty could not so properously be deliver’d of. I will leave him, and suddenly contrive the means of meeting between him and my daughter.—My honourable lord, I will most humbly take my leave of you.   
  Ham.  You cannot, sir, take from me anything that I will more willingly part withal,—[Aside] except my life, my life.           200
  Pol.  Fare you well, my lord.   
  Ham.  These tedious old fools!   
 
Enter ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN

  Pol.  You go to seek my Lord Hamlet? There he is.   
  Ros.  [To POLONIUS.]  God save you, sir!  [Exit POLONIUS.]           204
  Guil.  Mine honour’d lord!   
  Ros.  My most dear lord!   
  Ham.  My excellent good friends! How dost thou, Guildenstern?   
Oh, Rosencrantz! Good lads, how do ye both?           208
  Ros.  As the indifferent children of the earth.   
  Guil.  Happy, in that we are not the over-happy.   
On Fortune’s cap we are not the very button.   
  Ham.  Nor the soles of her shoe?           212
  Ros.  Neither, my lord.   
  Ham.  Then you live about her waist, or in the middle of her favour?   
  Guil.  Faith, her privates we.   
  Ham.  In the secret parts of Fortune? Oh, most true; she is a strumpet. What’s the news?           216
  Ros.  None, my lord, but that the world’s grown honest.   
  Ham.  Then is doomsday near. But your news is not true. Let me question more in particular. What have you, my good friends, deserved at the hands of Fortune, that she sends you to prison hither?   
  Guil  Prison, my lord?   
  Ham.  Denmark’s a prison.           220
  Ros.  Then is the world one.   
  Ham.  A goodly one, in which there are many confines, wards, and dungeons, Denmark being one o’ the worst.   
  Ros.  We think not so, my lord.   
  Ham.  Why, then ’tis none to you; for there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so. To me it is a prison.           224
  Ros.  Why, then your ambition makes it one. ’Tis too narrow for your mind.   
  Ham.  O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.   
  Guil.  Which dreams indeed are ambition, for the very substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream.   
  Ham.  A dream itself is but a shadow.           228
  Ros.  Truly, and I hold ambition of so airy and light a quality that it is but a shadow’s shadow.   
  Ham.  Then are our beggars bodies, and our monarchs and outstretch’d heroes the beggar’s shadows. Shall we to the court? for, by my fay, I cannot reason.   
  Ros. & Guil.  We’ll wait upon you.   
  Ham.  No such matter. I will not sort you with the rest of my servants, for, to speak to you like an honest man, I am most dreadfully attended. But in the beaten way of friendship, what make you at Elsinore?           232
  Ros.  To visit you, my lord; no other occasion.   
  Ham.  Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks, but I thank you; and sure, dear friends, my thanks are too dear a halfpenny.Were you not sent for? Is it your own inclining? Is it a free visitation? Come, deal justly with me. Come, come. Nay, speak.   
  Guil.  What should we say, my lord?   
  Ham.  Why, anything, but to the purpose. You were sent for; and there is a kind of confession in your looks which your modesties have not craft enough to colour. I know the good king and queen have sent for you.           236
  Ros.  To what end, my lord?   
  Ham.  That you must teach me. But let me conjure you, by the rights of our fellowship, by the consonancy of our youth, by the obligation of our ever-preserved love, and by what more dear a better proposer could charge you withal, be even and direct with me, whether you were sent for or no!   
  Ros.  [Aside to GUIL]  What say you?   
  Ham.  [Aside.]  Nay, then, I have an eye of you.—If you love me, hold not off.           240
  Guil.  My lord, we were sent for.   
  Ham.  I will tell you why; so shall my anticipation prevent 9 your discovery, 10 and your secrecy to the King and Queen moult no feather. I have of late—but wherefore I know not—lost all my mirth, foregone all custom of exercise; and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory, this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o’erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted 11 with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason! How infinte in faculty! In form and moving how express 12 and admirable! In action how like an angel! In apprehension how like a god! The beauty of the world! The paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me,—no, nor woman neither, though by your smiling you seem to say so.   
  Ros.  My lord, there was no such stuff in my thoughts.   
  Ham.  Why did you laugh then, when I said, “Man delights not me”?           244
  Ros.  To think, my lord, if you delight not in man, what lenten entertainment the players shall receive from you. We coted 13 them on the way, and hither are they coming to offer you service.   
  Ham.  He that plays the king shall be welcome; his majesty 14 shall have tribute of me; the adventurous knight 15 shall use his foil and target; the lover 16 shall not sigh gratis; the humorous man 17 shall end his part in peace; the clown shall make those laugh whose lungs are tickle o’the sere 18, and the lady shall say her mind freely, or the blank verse shall halt for ’t. What players are they?   
  Ros  Even those you were wont to take delight in, the tragedians of the city.   
  Ham.  How chances it they travel? Their residence, both in reputation and profit, was better both ways.           248
  Ros.  I think their inhibition 19 comes by the means of the late innovation. 20   
  Ham.  Do they hold the same estimation they did when I was in the city? Are they so follow’d?   
  Ros.  No, indeed, they are not.   
  Ham.  How comes it? Do they grow rusty?           252
  Ros.  Nay, their endeavour keeps in the wonted pace; but there is, sir, an aery of children, little eyases, 21 that cry out on the top of question, and are most tyrannically clapp’d for ’t. These are now the fashion, and so berattle the common stages 22—so they call them—that many wearing rapiers are afraid of goose-quills 23 and dare scarce come thither.   
  Ham.  What, are they children? Who maintains ’em? How are they escoted? 24 Will they pursue the quality 25 no longer than they can sing? Will they not say afterwards, if they should grow themselves to common players,—as it is most like, if their means are no better—their writers do them wrong, to make them exclaim against their own succession? 26   
  Ros.  Faith, there has been much to do on both sides, and the nation holds it no sin to tarre 27 them to controversy. There was for a while no money bid for argument unless the poet and the player went to cuffs in the question.   
  Ham.  Is ’t possible?           256
  Guil.  O, there has been much throwing about of brains.   
  Ham.  Do the boys carry it away? 28   
  Ros.  Ay, that they do, my lord; Hercules and his load too. 29   
  Ham.  It is not strange; for mine uncle is King of Denmark, and those that would make mows at him while my father lived, give twenty, forty, [fifty,] an hundred ducats apiece for his picture in little. [’Sblood,] there is something in this more than natural, if philosophy could find it out.  Flourish for the Players.           260
  Guil.  There are the players.   
  Ham.  Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinore. Your hands, come. The appurtenance of welcome is fashion and ceremony. Let me comply with you in the garb, 30 lest my extent 31 to the players, which, I tell you, must show fairly outward, should more appear like entertainment than yours. You are welcome; but my uncle-father and aunt-mother are deceiv’d.   
  Guil.  In what, my dear lord?   
  Ham.  I am but mad north-north-west. 32 When the wind is southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw. 33           264
 
Enter POLONIUS

  Pol.  Well be with you, gentlemen!   
  Ham.  [Aside to them.]  Hark you, Guildenstern, and you too, at each ear a hearer: that great baby you see there is not yet out of his swathing-clouts.   
  Ros.  Happily he is the second time come to them, for they say an old man is twice a child.   
  Ham.  I will prophesy he comes to tell me of the players; mark it. [Aloud.] You say right, sir; for o’ Monday morning ’twas so indeed.           268
  Pol.  My lord, I have news to tell you.   
  Ham.  My lord, I have news to tell you. When Roscius was an actor in Rome,—   
  Pol.  The actors are come hither, my lord.   
  Ham.  Buzz, buzz!           272
  Pol.  Upon mine honour,—   
  Ham.        “Then came each actor on his ass,”—   
  Pol.  The best actors in the world, either for tragedy, comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral-comical, historical-pastoral, tragical-historical, tragical-comical-historical-pastoral, scene individable, or poem unlimited; Seneca cannot be too heavy, nor Plautus too light. For the law of writ and the liberty, 34 these are the only men.   
  Ham.  O Jephthah, judge of Israel, what a treasure hadst thou!           276
  Pol.  What a treasure had he, my lord?   
  Ham.  Why,
           “One fair daughter, and no more,
   The which he loved passing well.”   
  Pol.  [Aside.]  Still on my daughter.   
  Ham.  Am I not i’ the right, old Jephthah?           280
  Pol.  If you call me Jephthah, my lord, I have a daughter that I   
love passing well.   
  Ham.  Nay, that follows not.   
  Pol.  What follows, then, my lord?           284
  Ham.  Why,
           “As by lot, God wot,”
and then, you know,
           “It came to pass, as most like it was,”—
The first row of the pious chanson 35 will show you more, for look where my abridgements 36 come.   
 
Enter four or five Players

You’re welcome, masters, welcome all. I am glad to see thee well. Welcome, good friends. O, my old friend! Thy face is valanc’d 37 since I saw thee last; com’st thou to beard me in Denmark? What, my young lady and mistress! By ’r lady, your ladyship is nearer heaven than when I saw-you last, by the altitude of a chopine. 38 Pray God, your voice, like a piece of uncurrent gold, be not crack’d within the ring. 39 Masters, you are all welcome. We’ll e’en to ’t like French falconers—fly at any thing we see; we’ll have a speech straight. Come, give us a taste of your quality; come, a passionate speech.   
  1. Play.  What speech, my lord?   
  Ham.  I heard thee speak me a speech once, but it was never acted; or, if it was, not above once. For the play, I remember, pleas’d not the million; ’twas caviare to the general; 40 but it was—as I receiv’d it, and others, whose judgement in such matters cried in the top of mine 41—an excellent play, well digested in the scenes, set down with as much modesty as cunning. I remember, one said there were no sallets 42 in the lines to make the matter savoury, nor no matter in the phrase that might indict the author of affectation; but call’d it an honest method, [as wholesome as sweet, and by very much more handsome than fine.] One speech in it I chiefly lov’d; ’twas Æneas’ tale to Dido, and thereabout of it especially where he speaks of Priam’s slaughter. If it live in your memory, begin at this line: let me see, let me see—
           “The rugged Pyrrhus, like the Hyrcanian beast,”
   —It is not so. It begins with Pyrrhus:—
   “The rugged Pyrrhus, he whose sable arms,
   Black as his purpose, did the night resemble
   When he lay couched in the ominous horse,
   Hath now this dread and black complexion smear’d
   With heraldry more dismal. Head to foot
   Now is he total gules, 43 horribly trick’d 44
   With blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, sons,
   Bak’d and impasted with the parching streets
   That lend a tyrannous and damned light
   To their vile murders. Roasted in wrath and fire,
   And thus o’er-sized with coagulate gore.
   With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus
   Old grandsire Priam seeks.”
[So, proceed you.]           288
  Pol.  ’Fore God, my lord, well spoken, with good accent and good discretion.   
  1. Play. 
                   “Anon he finds him
   Striking too short at Greeks. His antique sword,
   Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls,
   Repugnant to command. Unequal match,
   Pyrrhus at Priam drives, in rage strikes wide.
   But with the whiff and wind of his fell sword
   The unnerved father falls. Then senseless Ilium,
   Seeming to feel this blow, with flaming top
   Stoops to his base, and with a hideous crash
   Takes prisoner Pyrrhus’ ear; for, lo! his sword,
   Which was declining on the milky head
   Of reverend Priam, seem’d i’ the air to stick.
   So, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrhus stood
   And like a neutral to his will and matter,
   Did nothing.
   But, as we often see, against some storm,
   A silence in the heavens, the rack 45 stand still,
   The bold winds speechless and the orb below
   As hush as death, anon the dreadful thunder
   Doth rend the region; 46 so, after Pyrrhus’ pause,
   Aroused vengeance sets him new a-work;
   And never did the Cyclops’ hammers fall
   On Mars his armour forg’d for proof eterne
   With less remorse than Pyrrhus’ bleeding sword
   Now falls on Priam.
   Out, out, thou strumpet Fortune! All you gods,
   In general synod take away her power!
   Break all the spokes and fellies from her wheel,
   And bowl the round nave down the hill of heaven
   As low as to the fiends!”
   
  Pol.  This is too long.   
  Ham.  It shall to the barber’s, with your beard. Prithee, say on; he’s for a jig 47 or a tale of bawdry, or he sleeps. Say on; come to Hecuba.           292
  1. Play.  “But who, O, who had seen the mobled queen”—   
  Ham.  “The mobled 48 queen?”   
  Pol.  That’s good; “mobled queen” is good.   
  1. Play. 
           “Run barefoot up and down, threat’ning the flame
   With bisson 49 rheum, a clout about that head
   Where late the diadem stood, and for a robe,
   About her lank and all o’er-teemed 50 loins,
   A blanket, in the alarm of fear caught up;—
   Who this had seen, with tongue in venom steep’d,
   ’Gainst Fortune’s state would treason have pronounc’d.
   But if the gods themselves did see her then,
   When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious sport
   In mincing with his sword her husband’s limbs,
   The instant burst of clamour that she made,
   Unless things mortal move them not at all,
   Would have made milch 51 the burning eyes of heaven,
   And passion in the gods.”
           296
  Pol.  Look, whe’er he has not turn’d his colour and has tears in’s eyes. Pray you, no more.   
  Ham.  ’Tis well; I’ll have thee speak out the rest soon. Good my lord, will you see the players well bestow’d? 52 Do ye hear? Let them be well us’d, for they are the abstracts and brief chronicles of the time; after your death you were better have a bad epitaph than their ill report while you live.   
  Pol.  My lord, I will use them according to their desert.   
  Ham.  God’s bodykins, man, better. Use every man after his desert, and who should scape whipping? Use them after your own honour and dignity. The less they deserve, the more merit is in your bounty. Take them in.           300
  Pol.  Come, sirs.  [Exit.   
  Ham.  Follow him, friends; we’ll hear a play to-morrow. [Exeunt all the Players but the First.] Dost thou hear me, old friend? Can you play “The Murder of Gonzago”?   
  1. Play.  Ay, my lord.   
  Ham.  We’ll ha’t to-morrow night. You could, for a need, study a speech of some dozen or sixteen lines, which I would set down and insert in’t, could ye not?           304
  1. Play.  Ay, my lord.   
  Ham.  Very well. Follow that lord,—and look you mock him not.  [Exit First Player.] My good friends, I’ll leave you till night. You are welcome to Elsinore.   
  Ros.  Good my lord!  Exeunt [ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN.]   
  Ham.  Ay, so, God buy ye.—Now I am alone.           308
O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I!   
Is it not monstrous that this player here,   
But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,   
Could force his soul so to his own conceit           312
That from her working all his visage wann’d,   
Tears in his eyes, distraction in’s aspect,   
A broken voice, and his whole function suiting   
With forms to his conceit? And all for nothing!           316
For Hecuba!   
What’s Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,   
That he should weep for her? What would he do,   
Had he the motive and the cue for passion           320
That I have? He would drown the stage with tears   
And cleave the general ear with horrid speech,   
Make mad the guilty and appall the free, 53   
Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed           324
The very faculties of eyes and ears.   
Yet I,   
A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak   
Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of 54 my cause,           328
And can say nothing; no, not for a king,   
Upon whose property and most dear life   
A damn’d defeat 55 was made. Am I a coward?   
Who calls me villain, breaks my pate across,           332
Plucks off my beard and blows it in my face,   
Tweaks me by the nose, gives me the lie i’ the throat   
As deep as to the lungs, who does me this?   
Ha!           336
[’Swounds,] I should take it; for it cannot be   
But I am pigeon-liver’d and lack gall   
To make oppression bitter, or ere this   
I should have fatted all the region 56 kites           340
With this slave’s offal. Bloody, bawdy villain!   
Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless 57 villain!   
O, vengeance!   
Why, what an ass am I! Sure, this is most brave,           344
That I, the son of a dear father murdered,   
Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell,   
Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words,   
And fall a-cursing, like a very drab,           348
A scullion!   
Fie upon ’t! Foh! About, my brain! I have heard   
That guilty creatures sitting at a play   
Have by the very cunning of the scene           352
Been struck so to the soul that presently 58   
They have proclaim’d their malefactions;   
For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak   
With most miraculous organ. I’ll have these players           356
Play something like the murder of my father   
Before mine uncle. I’ll observe his looks;   
I’ll tent 59 him to the quick. If he but blench,   
I know my course. The spirit that I have seen           360
May be the devil; and the devil hath power   
To assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhaps   
Out of my weakness and my melancholy,   
As he is very potent with such spirits,           364
Abuses me to damn me. I’ll have grounds   
More relative 60 than this. The play’s the thing   
Wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the King.  Exit.   
 
Note 1. Courtesy. [back]
Note 2. First request. [back]
Note 3. Deceived. [back]
Note 4. Time for deliberation. [back]
Note 5. Consider. [back]
Note 6. Range of fortune. [back]
Note 7. Tapestry. [back]
Note 8. Accost. [back]
Note 9. Anticipate. [back]
Note 10. Revelation. [back]
Note 11. Adorned. [back]
Note 12. Exact. [back]
Note 13. Overtook and passed. [back]
Note 14. Stock characters in the drama. [back]
Note 15. Stock characters in the drama. [back]
Note 16. Stock characters in the drama. [back]
Note 17. The actor who plays whimsical parts. [back]
Note 18. Easily moved to laughter. “Sere” is the balance-lever of a gun-lock. [back]
Note 19. Stopping of their playing in the city. [back]
Note 20. The vogue of the children’s companies. [back]
Note 21. Unfledged hawks. [back]
Note 22. Public theatres. [back]
Note 23. A reference to personal satire on the stage. [back]
Note 24. Paid. [back]
Note 25. Profession of acting. [back]
Note 26. Against themselves when they grow up. [back]
Note 27. Urge on. [back]
Note 28. Win. [back]
Note 29. The sign of the Globe Theatre. [back]
Note 30. Observe the fashionable ceremonies. [back]
Note 31. Behavior. [back]
Note 32. Only in one direction. [back]
Note 33. The meaning is disputed. Perhaps, “In other matters I can tell chalk from cheese.” [back]
Note 34. Sticking to the text, or improvising. [back]
Note 35. Song. [back]
Note 36. Pastime. [back]
Note 37. Fringed. [back]
Note 38. A high-soled shoe. The “lady” is, of course, a boy who played women’s parts. [back]
Note 39. The circle round the sovereign’s head on a coin. [back]
Note 40. Multitude. [back]
Note 41. With higher authority. [back]
Note 42. Spicy herbs—improprieties. [back]
Note 43. Red. Heraldic term. [back]
Note 44. Drawn. Heraldic term. [back]
Note 45. Vapory clouds [back]
Note 46. Sky, air. [back]
Note 47. Merry ballad. [back]
Note 48. Muffled. [back]
Note 49. Blinding. [back]
Note 50. Exhausted by child-bearing. [back]
Note 51. Moist. [back]
Note 52. Lodged. [back]
Note 53. Innocent. [back]
Note 54. Unquickened by. [back]
Note 55. Destruction. [back]
Note 56. Of the air. [back]
Note 57. Unnatural. [back]
Note 58. At once. [back]
Note 59. Probe. [back]
Note 60. Conclusive. [back]