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Queen. 3 Ah me! what act,

That roars fo loud, and thunders in the index ?
Ham. Look here upon this picture, and on this,
The counterfeit prefentment of two brothers:
See, what a grace was feated on this brow;
Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself;
An eye, like Mars, to threaten or command,
A ftation, like the herald Mercury
New-lighted on a heaven-kiffing hill;
A combination, and a form indeed,
Where every God did feem to fet his feal,.
To give the world affurance of a man.

This was your husband,Look you now, what follows;

Here is your husband, like a mildew'd ear, Blafting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes? Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed, And batten on this moor? ha! have you eyes? You cannot call it Love; for,

is, I think, not fo ftriking as triftful, which was, I fuppofe, chofen at the revifal. I believe the whole paffage now ftands as the authour gave it. Dr. War burton's reading reftores two improprieties, which Shakespeare, by his alteration, had removed. In the firft, and in the new reading: Heav'n's face glows with triful vifage, and, Heav'n's face is thought-fick. To the common leading there is no juft objection. 3 Queen. Ay me! what act, That roars fo loud, and thunders

in the index?] This is a frange anfwer. But the old quaro brings us nearer to the poet's fenfe, by dividing the lines

thus;

Queen. Ab me, what act?

at your age,

Ham. That roars fo loud, and

thunders in the Index.
Here we find the Queen's answer
very natural. He had faid the
Sun was thought-fick at the act,
She says,

Ah me? what act?
He replies, (as we should read it)
That roars fo loud, IT thunders

To the INDIES.
He had before faid Heav'n was
fhocked at it; he now tells her,
it refounded all the world over.
This gives us a very good sense
where all fenfe was wanting.

WARBURTON.

The meaning is, What is this a&, of which the discovery, or mention, cannot be made, but with this violence of clamour ?

The

The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble,
And waits upon the judgment; and what judgment
Would step from this to this. Senfe, fure, you have,
Elfe could you not have notion; but, fure, that fenfe
Is apoplex'd, for madness would not err;
Nor fenfe to ecftafy was ne'er fo thrall'd,
But it referv'd fome quantity of choice
To ferve in fuch a diff'rence.

What devil was't,

That thus hath cozen'd you a hoodman blind?
Eyes without feeling, feeling without fight,
Ears without hands or eyes, fmelling fans all,
Or but a fickly part of one true fenfe
Could not fo mope.

O fhame! where is thy blush? rebellious hell,

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If thou canst mutiny in a matron's bones,
To flaming youth let virtue be as wax,

And melt in her own fire. Proclaim no fhame,
When the compulfive ardour gives the charge;
Since frost itself as actively doth burn,
And Reafon panders Will.

Queen. O Hamlet, speak no more,

Thou turn'ft mine eyes into my very foul,
And there I fee fuch black and

As will not leave their tinct.
Ham: Nay, but to live

grained spots,

In the rank fweat of an incestuous bed,
Stew'd. in corruption, honying and making love
Over the nafty fty!

Queen. Oh, fpeak no more;

These words like daggers enter in mine ears.
No more, fweet Hamlet.

Ham. A murderer, and a villain!

A flave, that is not twentieth part the tythe
Of your precedent Lord. A Vice of Kings?
A cutpurfe of the Empire and the Rule,

I

That from a fhelf the precious Diadem ftole And put it in his pocket.

Queen. No more.

mer's emendation produces nonfen e. May not what is faid of heat, be faid of hell, that it will mutiny wherever is is quartered?

6 Re fons panies Will.] So the folio, I think rightly; but the reading of the quarto is defenfible;

-Reafon pardons Will. 7-grained-] Died in grain. 8 incestuous bed,] The folio has enfeamed, that is, greafy bed.

9 Vice of Kings ;] A low mimick of Kings. The Vice is the fool of a farce; from whom the modern Punch is defcended.

That from a fhelf, &c.] This is faid not unmeaningly, but to fhew, that the ufurpér came not to the crown by any glorious villany that carried danger with it, bu: by the low cowardly theft of a common pilferer. WARB.

Enter

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2

Enter Ghoft.

Ham. A King of shreds and patchesŠave me! and hover o'er me with your wings,

[Starting up.

You heav'nly guards! What would your gracious fi

gure?

Queen. Alas, he's mad

3

Ham. Do you not come your tardy fon to chide, That's, laps'd in time and paffion, lets go by Th' important acting of your dread command? O fay!

Ghost. Do not forget. This vifitation

Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose.
But, look! amazement on thy mother fits;
Oftep between her and her fighting foul:
Conceit in weakest bodies ftrongest works.
Speak to her, Hamlet.

Ham. How is it with you, Lady?.
Queen. Alas, how is't with you?

That thus you bend your eye on vacancy,
And with th' incorporal air do hold discourse?
Forth at your eyes your fpirits wildly peep,
And as the sleeping soldiers in th' alarm,
Your bedded hairs, like life in excrements,
Start up, and ftand on end. O gentle fon,
Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper
Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look?

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Ham. On him! on him!-Look you, how pale he glares!

His form and caufe conjoin'd, preaching to ftones, Would make them capable. Do not look on me, Left with this piteous action you convert

My ftern effects; then what I have to do,

Will want true colour; tears, perchance, for blood. Queen. To whom do you speak this?

Ham. Do you fee nothing there?

[Pointing to the Ghoft. Queen. Nothing at all; yet all, that is, I fee. Ham. Nor did you nothing hear?

Queen. No, nothing but ourselves.

Ham. Why, look you there! Look, how it steals away!

My father in his habit as he liv'd !

Look, where he goes ev'n now, out at the portal.

Queen. This is the very coinage of

This bodilefs creation Ecftafy

Is very cunning in.

Ham. What Ecftafy?

[Exit Ghoft. your brain,

1

My pulfe, as yours, doth temp'rately keep time,
And makes as healthful mufick.. 'Tis not madness
That I have utter'd; bring me to the teft,
And I the matter will re-word; which madness
Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace,
Lay not that flattering unction to your foul,
That not your trefpafs, but my madness, speaks:
It will but skin and film the ulcerous place;
Whilft rank corruption, mining all within,
Infects unfeen. Confefs yourself to heav'n;
Repent what's paft, avoid what is to come;
And do not spread the compoft on the weeds
To make them ranker. Forgive me this my virtue;

5-do not spread the compof, dulgence, heighten your former &c.] Do not, by any new m- offences.

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