—at each ear a hearer: that great baby, you see | speaks of Priam's slaughter. If it live in your there, is hot yet out of his swaddling clouts.

Ros. Happily, he's the second time come to them; for, they say, an old man is twice a child.

Ham. I will prophecy, he comes to tell me of the players; mark it. You say right, sir: o'Monday morning; 'twas then, indeed.

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. Buz, buz!

Pol. Upon my 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, tragicalcomical-historical-pastoral, scene individable, or poem unlimited. Seneca cannot be too heavy, nor Plautus too light. For the law of writ and the liberty, these are the only men.

Ham. O Jephthah, judge of Israel,'—what a

treasure hadst thou

Pol. What a treasure had he, my lord?
Ham. Why-One fair daughter, and no more,
The which he loved passing well.'
Pol. Still on my daughter.
[aside.
Ham. Am I not i'the right, old Jephthah?
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?

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 will shew you more; for look, my abridgment comes.

Enter four or five Players.

You are welcome, masters; welcome, all:-I am
glad to see thee well:-welcome, good friends.
O, my old friend! Why, thy face is valanced since
I saw thee last.
Comest thou to beard me in
Denmark? What! my young lady and mistress!
By'r lady, your ladyship is nearer to heaven, than
when I saw you last, by the altitude of a chopine.
Pray God, your voice, like a piece of uncurrent
gold, be not cracked within the ring. 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, pleased not the million; 'twas caviare to the general: but it was (as I received it, and others, whose judgments, in such matters, cried in the top of mine) an excellent play; well digested in the scenes, set down with as much modesty as cunning. I remember, one said, there were no sallets in the lines to make the matter savoury; nor no matter in the phrase, that might indite the author of affection: but called it, an honest method, as wholesome as sweet, and by very much more handsome than fine. One speech in it I chiefly loved: 'twas Æneas' tale to Dido; and thereabout of it especially, where he

memory, begin at this line; let me see, let me see ;—
The rugged Pyrrhus, like the Hyrcanian beast,
-'tis 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; horridly trick'd
With blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, sons;
Bak'd and impasted with the parching streets,
That lend a tyrannous and a damned light
To their lord's murder. 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.

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'd,
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 in 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 stands still,
The bold winds speechless, and the orb below
As hush as death; anon the dreadful thunder
Doth rend the region: So, after Pyrrhus' pause
A roused vengeance sets him new a-work;
And never did the Cyclops' hammers fall
On Mars's 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— Pr'ythee, say on:-He's for a jig, or a tale of bawdry, or he sleeps:-say on. come to Hecuba. 1 Play. But who, ah woe! had seen the mobled Ham. The mobled queen?

[queen.
Pol. That's good; mobled queen is good.
1 Play. Run barefoot up and down, threat'ning
the flames

With bisson rheum; a clout upon that head,
Where late the diadem stood; and, for a robe,
About her lank and all o'er-teeming 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 pro-
But if the gods themselves did see her then,[nounc'd.
When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious sport

ACT III]

HAMLET.

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 the burning eye of
[heaven,
And passion in the gods.
Pol. Look, whether he has not turned his colour,
and has tears in's eyes.-Pr'ythee, no more.

Ham. 'Tis well; I'll have thee speak out the rest of this soon.- -Good, my lord, will you see the players well bestowed? Do you hear, let them be well used; for they are the abstract, and brief chronicles, of the time: After your death you were better have a bad epitaph, than their ill report while you live.

35

That he should weep for her? What would he do,
Had he the motive and the cue for passion,
That I have? He would drown the stage with tears,
And cleave the general ear with horrid speech;
Make mad the guilty, and appal the free,
Confound the ignorant; and amaze, indeed,
The very faculties of eyes and ears.
Yet I,

A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak,
Like John a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause,
And can say nothing; no, not for a king,
Upon whose property, and most dear life,
A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward?
Who calls me villain? breaks my pate across;

Pol. My lord, I will use them according to Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face? their desert.

Ham. Odd's bodikin, man, much better: use every man after his desert, and who shall 'scape whipping? Use them after your own honour and dignity. The less they deserve, the more merit is in your bounty. Take them in.

Pol. Come, sirs.

[exit Polonius, with some of the Players. Ham. Follow him, friends: we'll hear a play to-morrow. Dost thou hear me, old friend; can you play the murder of Gonzago?

1 Play. Ay, my lord.

Ham. We'll have it 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 you not?

1 Play. Ay, my lord.

Ham. Very well.-Follow that lord; and look you mock him not. [exit Player.] My good friends, [to Ros. and Guil.] I'll leave you till night: you are welcome to Elsinore.

Ros. Good, my lord!

[exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.
Hum. Ay, so, God be wi' you. Now I am alone.
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,
That, from her working, all his visage wann'd;
Tears in his eyes, distraction in 's aspéct,

A broken voice, and his whole function suiting
With forms to his conceit? and all for nothing!
For Hecuba!

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

Tweaks me by the nose? gives me the lie i'the throat,
As deep as to the lungs? who does me this?
Ha!

Why, 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 kites
With this slave's offal: bloody, bawdy, villain!
Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless, vil-
Why, what an ass am I? this is most brave; [lain!
That I, the son of a dear father murder'd,
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,
[have heard,
A scullion!
Fie upon't! foh! About my brains! Humph! I
That guilty creatures, sitting at a play,
Have by the very cunning of the scene
Been struck so to the soul, that presently
They have proclaim'd their malefactions;
For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak
With most miraculous organ. I'll have these players
Play something like the murder of my father,
Before mine uncle: I'll observe his looks;
I'll tent him to the quick; if he do blench,
I know my course. The spirit, that I have seen,
May be a 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,)
Abuses me to damn me; I'll have grounds
More relative than this: the play's the thing
Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king.

[exit.

SCENE 1. A ROOM IN THE CASTLE.

ACT III.

Queen. Did he receive you well?
Ros. Most like a gentleman.

Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosen-
crantz, and Guildenstern.

King. And can you, by no drift of conference,
(iet from him, why he puts on this confusion;
Grating so harshly all his days of quiet
With turbulent and dangerous lunacy?

Ros. He does confess, he feels himself distracted;
But from what cause he will by no means speak.
Guil. Nor do we find him forward to be sounded;
But, with a crafty madness, keeps aloof,

When we would bring him on to some confes

sion

Of his true state.

Guil. But with much forcing of his disposition. Ros. Niggard of question; but, of our demands, Most free in his reply.

Queen. Did you assay him

To any pastime?

Ros. Madam, it so fell out, that certain players
We o'er-raught on the way: of these we told him;
And there did seem in him a kind of joy
To hear of it: they are about the court;
And, as I think it, they have already order
This night to play before him.

Pol. 'Tis most true.

And he beseech'd me to entreat your majesties,
To hear and see the matter.
[tent me,
King. With all my heart; and it doth much con-
To hear him so inclin'd.

Good gentlemen, give him a further edge.
And drive his purpose on to these delights.
Ros. We shall, my lord.

[exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.
Kiny. Sweet Gertrude, leave us too:
For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither;
That he, as 'twere by accident, may here
Affront Ophelia :

His father, and myself (lawful espials,)

Will so bestow ourselves, that seeing, unseen,
We
We may of their encounter frankly judge;
And gather by him, as he is behav'd,

If't be the affliction of his love, or no,
That thus he suffers for.

Queen. I shall obey you:

And, for your part, Ophelia, I do wish,
That your good beauties be the happy cause

[tues

Of Hamlet's wildness: so shall I hope, your vir-
Will bring him to his wonted way again,
To both your honours.

Oph. Madam, I wish it may. [exit Queen.
Pol. Ophelia, walk you here.-Gracious, so
please you,

We will bestow ourselves.-Read on this book;
[to Ophelia.

That show of such an exercise may colour
Your loneliness. We are oft to blame in this,-
'Tis too much prov'd-that, with devotion's visage
And pious action, we do sugar o'er
The devil himself.

King. O, 'tis too true! how smart

A lash that speech doth give my conscience!
The harlot's cheek, beautied with plast'ring art,
Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it,
Than is my deed to my most painted word:
O heavy burden!
[aside.
Pol. I hear him coming; let's withdraw, my lord.
[exeunt King and Polonius.
Enter Hamlet.

-

The undiscover'd country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns,-puzzles the will;
And makes us rather bear those ills we have,
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all?
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought;
And enterprizes of great pith and moment,
With this regard, their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.-Soft you, now!
The fair Ophelia :-Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd.

Oph. My honour'd lord, you know right well,
And, with them, words of so sweet breath compos'd
As made the things more rich: their perfume lost,
Take these again; for to the noble mind,
Rich gifts wax poor, when givers prove unkind,
There, my lord.

Ham. Ha, ha! are you honest?
Oph. My lord?

Ham. Are you fair.

Oph. What means your lordship?

Ham. That, if you be honest and fair, you should admit no discourse to your beauty.

Oph. Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than with honesty?

Ham. Ay, truly; for the power of beauty will sooner transform honesty from what it is to a bawd, than the force of honesty can translate beauty into his likeness; this was some time a paradox, but now the time gives it proof. I did love you once.

Oph. Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so. Ham. You should not have believed me: for virtue cannot so inoculate our old stock, but we shall relish of it: I loved you not.

Oph. I was the more deceived.

Ham. Get thee to a nunnery; why would'st thou be a breeder of sinners? I am myself indiffer

honest: but yet I could accuse me of such things, that it were better, my mother had not borne me: I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious; with more offences at my beck, than I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them shape, or time to act them in. what should such fellows as I do, crawling between earth and heaven? we are arrant knaves, all; believe none of us: Go thy ways to a nunnery. Where's your father?

Ham. To be, or not to be, that is the question:—
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And, by opposing, end them?—To die,—to sleep,--ent
No more; and, by a sleep, to say we end
The heart-ach, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to,-'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die?--to sleep?-
To sleep! perchance to dream ;--aye, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect,
That makes calamity of so long life:
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life;
But that the dread of something after death,-

Oph. At home, my lord.
Ham. Let the doors be shut upon him: that he
may play the fool no where but in's own house.
Farewell.

Oph. O, help him, you sweet heavens!

Ham. If thou dost marry, I'll give thee this plague for thy dowry; be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny. Get thee to a nunnery; farewell: or, if thou wilt needs marry, marry a foc!; for wise men know well

To a tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings; which for the most part are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb shows, and noise: I would have such a fellow whipped for o'er-doing Termagant; it out-herods Herod. pray you, avoid it.

Enter Hamlet, and certain Players. Ham. Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue: but if you mouth it, as many of our players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. Nor do No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp; not saw the air too much with your hand, thus; And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee, but use all gently; for in the very torrent, temp- Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou hear! est, and (as I may say) whirlwind of your passion, Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice; you must acquire and beget a temperance, that And could of men distinguish her election, may give it smoothness. O, it offends me to the She hath seal'd thee for herself: for thou hast been soul, to hear a robustious periwig-pated-fellow' As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing;