No jocund health that Denmark drinks to-day, [Exeunt all except HAMLET. Ham. O, that this too too solid flesh would melt, Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew! Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God! Fie on 't! O fie! 'tis an unweeded garden, That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature Hyperion to a satyr: so loving to my mother, By what it fed on: and yet, within a month, Let me not think on 't,-Frailty, thy name is woman !— O God! a beast, that wants discourse of reason, Than I to Hercules: within a month; Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears She married:-O, most wicked speed, to post It is not, nor it cannot come to, good: But break, my heart,--for I must hold my tongue! Ham. Horatio, or I do forget myself. I am glad to see you well: 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, Ham. I am very glad to see you.-Good even, Sir. But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg? Hor. A truant disposition, good my lord. We'll teach you to drink deep ere you depart. Hor. My lord, I came to see your father's funeral. I think it was to see my mother's wedding. Hor. Indeed, my lord, it follow'd hard upon. Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio! the funeral bak'd meats Ere I had ever seen that day, Horatio! My father, methinks I see my father. Hor. O, where, my lord? Ham. In my mind's eye, Horatio. Hor. I saw him once; he was a goodly king. I shall not look upon his like again. Hor. My lord, I think I saw him yesternight. Hor. My lord, the king your father. Hor. Season your admiration for a while With an attent ear; till I may deliver, Upon the witness of these gentlemen, Ham. For God's love, let me hear. Hor. Two nights together, had these gentlemen, Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch, In the dead vast and middle of the night, Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your father, Arm'd at all points exactly, cap-à-pé, Appears before them, and with solemn march Stand dumb, and speak not to him. This to ine In dreadful secrecy impart they did; And I with them the third night kept the watch: Form of the thing, each word made true and good, These hands are not more like. Ham. But where was this? Mar. My lord, upon the platform where we watch'd. Hor. My lord, I did; Itself to motion, like as it would speak: But, even then, the morning cock crew loud; Ham. 'Tis very strange. 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. Hold you the watch to-night? Mar. Ber. We do, my lord. Ham. Arm'd, say you? Mar. Ber. Arm'd, my lord. 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. Ham. What, look'd he frowningly? Hor. A countenance more Pale, or red? And fix'd his eyes upon you? I would I had been there. Very like, Hor. It would have much amaz'd you. Ham. Very like. Stay'd it long? Hor. While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred. Mar. Ber. Longer, longer. Hor. Not when I saw it. Ham. His beard was grizzled,—no? Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life, A sable silver'd. Perchance 'twill walk again. Hor. All. Our duty to your honour. Ham. Your loves, as mine to you: farewell. [Exeunt HORATIO, MARCELLUS, and BERNARDO. My father's spirit in arms! all is not well, 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. SCENE III.-A Room in POLONIUS' 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. Oph. Do doubt that? Laer. For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favour, Hold it a fashion, and a toy in blood; A violet in the youth of primy nature, Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting, No more. Oph. No more but so? Laer. Think it no more: For nature, crescent, does not grow alone The virtue of his will: but you must fear, Whereof he is the head. Then, if he says he loves you, As he in his particular act and place May give his saying deed; which is no farther Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister; Laer. O, fear me not. I stay too long:-but here my father comes. Enter POLONIUS. Pol. Yet here, Laertes! aboard, aboard, for shame! The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail, |