PERSONS REPRESENTED.
Claudius, King of Denmark.Hamlet,
Son to the former, and Nephew
to the present King.Polonius,
Lord Chamberlain.Horatio, Friend
to Hamlet.Laertes, Son to Polonius.Voltimand,
Courtier.Cornelius, Courtier.Rosencrantz,
Courtier.Guildenstern, Courtier.Osric,
Courtier.A Gentleman, Courtier.A
Priest.Marcellus, Officer.Bernardo,
Officer.Francisco, a SoldierReynaldo,
Servant to Polonius.Players.Two
Clowns, Grave-diggers.Fortinbras,
Prince of Norway.A Captain.English
Ambassadors.Ghost of Hamlet's
Father.
Gertrude, Queen of Denmark, and
Mother of Hamlet.Ophelia, Daughter
to Polonius.
Lords, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers,
Sailors, Messengers, and otherAttendants.
SCENE. Elsinore.
ACT I.
Scene I. Elsinore. A platform
before the Castle.
[Francisco at his post. Enter
to him Bernardo.]
Ber.Who's there?
Fran.Nay, answer me: stand, and
unfold yourself.
Ber.Long live the king!
Fran.Bernardo?
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,And I am sick
at heart.
Ber.Have you had quiet guard?
Fran.Not a mouse stirring.
Ber.Well, good night.If you do
meet Horatio and Marcellus,The
rivals of my watch, bid them
make haste.
Fran.I think I hear them.--Stand,
ho! Who is there?
[Enter Horatio and Marcellus.]
Hor.Friends to this ground.
Mar.And liegemen to the Dane.
Fran.Give you good-night.
Mar.O, farewell, honest soldier;Who
hath reliev'd you?
Fran.Bernardo has my place.Give
you good-night.
[Exit.]
Mar.Holla! Bernardo!
Ber.Say.What, is Horatio there?
Hor.A piece of him.
Ber.Welcome, Horatio:--Welcome,
good Marcellus.
Mar.What, has this thing appear'd
again to-night?
Ber.I have seen nothing.
Mar.Horatio says 'tis but our
fantasy,And will not let belief
take hold of himTouching this
dreaded sight, twice seen of
us:Therefore I have entreated
him alongWith us to watch the
minutes of this night;That,
if again this apparition comeHe
may approve our eyes and speak
to it.
Hor.Tush, tush, 'twill not appear.
Ber.Sit down awhile,And let us
once again assail your ears,That
are so fortified against our
story,What we two nights have
seen.
Hor.Well, sit we down,And let
us hear Bernardo speak of this.
Ber.Last night of all,When yond
same star that's westward from
the poleHad made his course
to illume that part of heavenWhere
now it burns, Marcellus and
myself,The bell then beating
one,--
Mar.Peace, break thee off; look
where it comes again!
[Enter Ghost, armed.]
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.
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,Together
with that fair and warlike
formIn which the majesty of
buried DenmarkDid sometimes
march? By heaven I charge thee,
speak!
Mar.It is offended.
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:Is not this something
more than fantasy?What think
you on't?
Hor.Before my God, I might not
this believeWithout the sensible
and true avouchOf mine own
eyes.
Mar.Is it not like the King?
Hor.As thou art to thyself:Such
was the very armour he had
onWhen 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.
Mar.Thus twice before, and jump
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 of my opinion,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
watchSo nightly toils the subject
of the land;And why such daily
cast of brazen cannon,And foreign
mart for implements of war;Why
such impress of shipwrights,
whose sore taskDoes not divide
the Sunday from the week;What
might be toward, that this
sweaty hasteDoth make the night
joint-labourer with the day:Who
is't that can inform me?
Hor.That can I;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,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,Did forfeit, with
his life, all those his lands,Which
he stood seiz'd of, to the
conqueror:Against the which,
a moiety competentWas gaged
by our king; which had return'dTo
the inheritance of Fortinbras,Had
he been vanquisher; as by the
same cov'nant,And carriage
of the article design'd,His
fell to Hamlet. Now, sir, young
Fortinbras,Of unimproved mettle
hot and full,Hath in the skirts
of Norway, here and there,Shark'd
up a list of lawless resolutes,For
food and diet, to some enterpriseThat
hath a stomach in't; which
is no other,--As it doth well
appear unto our state,--But
to recover of us, by strong
hand,And terms compulsatory,
those foresaid landsSo 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
headOf this post-haste and
romage in the land.
Ber.I think it be no other but
e'en so:Well may it sort, that
this portentous figureComes
armed through our watch; so
like the kingThat was and is
the question of these wars.
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 deadDid 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,Was sick almost to doomsday
with eclipse:And even the like
precurse of fierce events,--As
harbingers preceding still
the fates,And prologue to the
omen coming on,--Have heaven
and earth together demonstratedUnto
our climature and countrymen.--But,
soft, behold! lo, where it
comes again!
[Re-enter Ghost.]
I'll cross it, though it blast
me.--Stay, illusion!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, race to
me,Speak to me:If thou art
privy to thy country's fate,Which,
happily, foreknowing may avoid,O,
speak!Or if thou hast uphoarded
in thy lifeExtorted treasure
in the womb of earth,For which,
they say, you spirits oft walk
in death,[The cock crows.]Speak
of it:--stay, and speak!--Stop
it, Marcellus!
Mar.Shall I strike at it with
my partisan?
Hor.Do, if it will not stand.
Ber.'Tis here!
Hor.'Tis here!
Mar.'Tis gone!
[Exit Ghost.]
We do it wrong, being so majestical,To
offer it the show of violence;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 thingUpon a fearful
summons. I have heardThe cock,
that is the trumpet to the
morn,Doth with his lofty and
shrill-sounding throatAwake
the god of day; and at his
warning,Whether in sea or fire,
in earth or air,The extravagant
and erring spirit hiesTo his
confine: and of the truth hereinThis
present object made probation.
Mar.It faded on the crowing of
the cock.Some say that ever
'gainst that season comesWherein
our Saviour's birth is celebrated,The
bird of dawning singeth all
night long;And then, they say,
no spirit dare stir abroad;The
nights are wholesome; then
no planets strike,No fairy
takes, nor witch hath power
to charm;So hallow'd and so
gracious is the time.
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 eastward hill:Break
we our watch up: and by my
advice,Let us impart what we
have seen to-nightUnto young
Hamlet; for, upon my life,This
spirit, dumb to us, will speak
to him:Do you consent we shall
acquaint him with it,As needful
in our loves, fitting our duty?
Mar.Let's do't, I pray; and I
this morning knowWhere we shall
find him most conveniently.
[Exeunt.]
Scene II. Elsinore. A room of
state in the Castle.
[Enter the King, Queen, Hamlet,
Polonius, Laertes, Voltimand,Cornelius,
Lords, and Attendant.]
King.Though yet of Hamlet our
dear brother's deathThe memory
be green, and that it us befittedTo
bear our hearts in grief, and
our whole kingdomTo be contracted
in one brow of woe;Yet so far
hath discretion fought with
natureThat we with wisest sorrow
think on him,Together with
remembrance of ourselves.Therefore
our sometime sister, now our
queen,Th' imperial jointress
to this warlike state,Have
we, as 'twere with a defeated
joy,--With an auspicious and
one dropping eye,With mirth
in funeral, and with dirge
in marriage,In equal scale
weighing delight and dole,--Taken
to wife; nor have we herein
barr'dYour better wisdoms,
which have freely goneWith
this affair along:--or all,
our thanks.Now follows, that
you know, young Fortinbras,Holding
a weak supposal of our worth,Or
thinking by our late dear brother's
deathOur state to be disjoint
and out of frame,Colleagued
with this dream of his advantage,He
hath not fail'd to pester us
with message,Importing the
surrender of those landsLost
by his father, with all bonds
of law,To our most valiant
brother. So much for him,--Now
for ourself and for this time
of meeting:Thus much the business
is:--we have here writTo Norway,
uncle of young Fortinbras,--Who,
impotent and bed-rid, scarcely
hearsOf this his nephew's purpose,--to
suppressHis further gait herein;
in that the levies,The lists,
and full proportions are all
madeOut of his subject:--and
we here dispatchYou, good Cornelius,
and you, Voltimand,For bearers
of this greeting to old Norway;Giving
to you no further personal
powerTo business with the king,
more than the scopeOf these
dilated articles allow.Farewell;
and let your haste commend
your duty.
Cor. and Volt.In that and all
things will we show our duty.
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,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,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;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
toward France,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 leaveBy laboursome
petition; and at lastUpon 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!--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.
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
lidsSeek for thy noble father
in the dust: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,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,Nor
windy suspiration of forc'd
breath,No, nor the fruitful
river in the eye,Nor the dejected
'havior of the visage,Together
with all forms, moods, shows
of grief,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.
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,In filial
obligation, for some termTo
do obsequious sorrow: but to
persevereIn obstinate condolement
is a courseOf impious stubbornness;
'tis unmanly grief;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 commonAs 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,To
reason most absurd; whose common
themeIs 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 earthThis
unprevailing woe; and think
of usAs of a father: for let
the world take noteYou are
the most immediate to our throne;And
with no less nobility of loveThan
that which dearest father bears
his sonDo I impart toward you.
For your intentIn going back
to school in Wittenberg,It
is most retrograde to our desire:And
we beseech you bend you to
remainHere in the cheer and
comfort of our eye,Our chiefest
courtier, cousin, and our son.
Queen.Let not thy mother lose
her prayers, Hamlet:I pray
thee 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;This
gentle and unforc'd accord
of HamletSits smiling to my
heart: in grace whereof,No
jocund health that Denmark
drinks to-dayBut the great
cannon to the clouds shall
tell;And the king's rouse the
heaven shall bruit again,Re-speaking
earthly thunder. Come away.
[Exeunt all but 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'dHis canon 'gainst self-slaughter!
O God! O God!How weary, stale,
flat, and unprofitableSeem
to me all the uses of this
world!Fie on't! O fie! 'tis
an unweeded garden,That grows
to seed; things rank and gross
in naturePossess it merely.
That it should come to this!But
two months dead!--nay, not
so much, not two:So excellent
a king; that was, to this,Hyperion
to a satyr; so loving to my
mother,That he might not beteem
the winds of heavenVisit her
face too roughly. Heaven and
earth!Must I remember? Why,
she would hang on himAs if
increase of appetite had grownBy
what it fed on: and yet, within
a month,--Let me not think
on't,--Frailty, thy name is
woman!--A little month; or
ere those shoes were oldWith
which she followed my poor
father's bodyLike Niobe, all
tears;--why she, even she,--O
God! a beast that wants discourse
of reason,Would have mourn'd
longer,--married with mine
uncle,My father's brother;
but no more like my fatherThan
I to Hercules: within a month;Ere
yet the salt of most unrighteous
tearsHad left the flushing
in her galled eyes,She married:--
O, most wicked speed, to postWith
such dexterity to incestuous
sheets!It is not, nor it cannot
come to good;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.
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.
Ham.I would not hear your enemy
say so;Nor shall you do my
ear that violence,To make it
truster of your own reportAgainst
yourself: I know you are no
truant.But what is your affair
in Elsinore?We'll teach you
to drink deep ere you depart.
Hor.My lord, I came to see your
father's funeral.
Ham.I prithee do not mock me,
fellow-student.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 meatsDid
coldly furnish forth the marriage
tables.Would I had met my dearest
foe in heavenOr ever I had
seen that day, Horatio!--My
father,--methinks I see my
father.
Hor.Where, my lord?
Ham.In my mind's eye, Horatio.
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.
Ham.Saw who?
Hor.My lord, the king your father.
Ham.The King my father!
Hor.Season your admiration for
awhileWith 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.
Hor.Two nights together had these
gentlemen,Marcellus and Bernardo,
on their watchIn the dead vast
and middle of the night,Been
thus encounter'd. A figure
like your father,Armed at point
exactly, cap-a-pe,Appears before
them and with solemn marchGoes
slow and stately by them: thrice
he walk'dBy their oppress'd
and fear-surprised eyes,Within
his truncheon's length; whilst
they, distill'dAlmost to jelly
with the act of fear,Stand
dumb, and speak not to him.
This to meIn dreadful secrecy
impart they did;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;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?
Hor.My lord, I did;But answer
made it none: yet once methoughtIt
lifted up it head, and did
addressItself to motion, like
as it would speak: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.
Hor.As I do live, my honour'd
lord, 'tis true;And we did
think it writ down in our dutyTo
let you know of it.
Ham.Indeed, indeed, sirs, but
this troubles me.Hold you the
watch to-night?
Mar. and Ber.We do, my lord.
Ham.Arm'd, say you?
Both.Arm'd, my lord.
Ham.From top to toe?
Both.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 in sorrow
than in anger.
Ham.Pale or red?
Hor.Nay, very pale.
Ham.And fix'd his eyes upon you?
Hor.Most constantly.
Ham.I would I had been there.
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. and Ber.Longer, longer.
Hor.Not when I saw't.
Ham.His beard was grizzled,--no?
Hor.It was, as I have seen it
in his life,A sable silver'd.
Ham.I will watch to-night;Perchance
'twill walk again.
Hor.I warr'nt it will.
Ham.If it assume my noble father's
person,I'll speak to it, though
hell itself should gapeAnd
bid me hold my peace. I pray
you all,If you have hitherto
conceal'd this sight,Let it
be tenable in your silence
still;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,I'll visit you.
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's
house.
[Enter Laertes and Ophelia.]
Laer.My necessaries are embark'd:
farewell:And, sister, as the
winds give benefitAnd convoy
is assistant, do not sleep,But
let me hear from you.
Oph.Do you 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;The
perfume and suppliance of a
minute;No more.
Oph.No more but so?
Laer.Think it no more:For nature,
crescent, does not grow aloneIn
thews and bulk; but as this
temple waxes,The inward service
of the mind and soulGrows wide
withal. Perhaps he loves you
now;And now no soil nor cautel
doth besmirchThe virtue of
his will: but you must fear,His
greatness weigh'd, his will
is not his own;For he himself
is subject to his birth:He
may not, as unvalu'd persons
do,Carve for himself; for on
his choice dependsThe safety
and health of this whole state;And
therefore must his choice be
circumscrib'dUnto the voice
and yielding of that bodyWhereof
he is the head. Then if he
says he loves you,It fits your
wisdom so far to believe itAs
he in his particular act and
placeMay give his saying deed;
which is no furtherThan the
main voice of Denmark goes
withal.Then weigh what loss
your honour may sustainIf with
too credent ear you list his
songs,Or lose your heart, or
your chaste treasure openTo
his unmaster'd importunity.Fear
it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear
sister;And keep you in the
rear of your affection,Out
of the shot and danger of desire.The
chariest maid is prodigal enoughIf
she unmask her beauty to the
moon:Virtue itself scopes not
calumnious strokes:The canker
galls the infants of the springToo
oft before their buttons be
disclos'd:And in the morn and
liquid dew of youthContagious
blastments are most imminent.Be
wary then; best safety lies
in fear:Youth to itself rebels,
though none else near.
Oph.I shall th' effect of this
good lesson keepAs 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,Himself
the primrose path of dalliance
treadsAnd recks not his own
read.
Laer.O, fear me not.I stay too
long:--but here my father comes.
[Enter Polonius.]
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,And you are stay'd for.
There,--my blessing with thee!
[Laying his hand on Laertes's
head.]
And these few precepts in thy
memoryLook thou character.
Give thy thoughts no tongue,Nor
any unproportion'd thought
his act.Be thou familiar, but
by no means vulgar.Those friends
thou hast, and their adoption
tried,Grapple them unto thy
soul with hoops of steel;But
do not dull thy palm with entertainmentOf
each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd
comrade. BewareOf 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:Take
each man's censure, but reserve
thy judgment.Costly thy habit
as thy purse can buy,But not
express'd in fancy; rich, not
gaudy:For the apparel oft proclaims
the man;And they in France
of the best rank and stationAre
most select and generous chief
in that.Neither a borrower
nor a lender be:For loan oft
loses both itself and friend;And
borrowing dulls the edge of
husbandry.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.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
wellWhat I have said to you.
Oph.'Tis in my memory lock'd,And
you yourself shall keep the
key of it.
Laer.Farewell.
[Exit.]
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
lateGiven private time to you;
and you yourselfHave 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 youYou do not understand
yourself so clearlyAs it behooves
my daughter and your honour.What
is between you? give me up
the truth.
Oph.He hath, my lord, of late
made many tendersOf 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?
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 these tenders for true
pay,Which are not sterling.
Tender yourself more dearly;Or,--not
to crack the wind of the poor
phrase,Wronging it thus,--you'll
tender me a fool.
Oph.My lord, he hath importun'd
me with loveIn honourable fashion.
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 to catch woodcocks.
I do know,When the blood burns,
how prodigal the soulLends
the tongue vows: these blazes,
daughter,Giving more light
than heat,--extinct in both,Even
in their promise, as it is
a-making,--You must not take
for fire. From this timeBe
something scanter of your maiden
presence;Set your entreatments
at a higher rateThan a command
to parley. For Lord Hamlet,Believe
so much in him, that he is
young;And with a larger tether
may he walkThan may be given
you: in few, Ophelia,Do not
believe his vows; for they
are brokers,--Not of that dye
which their investments show,But
mere implorators of unholy
suits,Breathing like sanctified
and pious bawds,The better
to beguile. This is for all,--I
would not, in plain terms,
from this time forthHave you
so slander any moment leisureAs
to give words or talk with
the Lord Hamlet.Look to't,
I charge you; come your ways.
Oph.I shall obey, my lord.
[Exeunt.]
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.
Mar.No, it is struck.
Hor.Indeed? I heard it not: then
draws near the seasonWherein
the spirit held his wont to
walk.
[A flourish of trumpets, and
ordnance shot off within.]
What does this mean, my lord?
Ham.The King doth wake to-night
and takes his rouse,Keeps wassail,
and the swaggering up-spring
reels;And, as he drains his
draughts of Rhenish down,The
kettle-drum and trumpet thus
bray outThe triumph of his
pledge.
Hor.Is it a custom?
Ham.Ay, marry, is't;But to my
mind,--though I am native here,And
to the manner born,--it is
a customMore honour'd in the
breach than the observance.This
heavy-headed revel east and
westMakes us traduc'd and tax'd
of other nations:They clepe
us drunkards, and with swinish
phraseSoil our addition; and,
indeed, it takesFrom our achievements,
though perform'd at height,The
pith and marrow of our attribute.So
oft it chances in particular
menThat, for some vicious mole
of nature in them,As in their
birth,--wherein they are not
guilty,Since nature cannot
choose his origin,--By the
o'ergrowth of some complexion,Oft
breaking down the pales and
forts of reason;Or by some
habit, that too much o'er-leavensThe
form of plausive manners;--that
these men,--Carrying, I say,
the stamp of one defect,Being
nature's livery, or fortune's
star,--Their virtues else,--be
they as pure as grace,As infinite
as man may undergo,--Shall
in the general censure take
corruptionFrom that particular
fault: the dram of ealeDoth
all the noble substance often
doubtTo his own scandal.
Hor.Look, my lord, it comes!
[Enter Ghost.]
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,Be thy
intents wicked or charitable,Thou
com'st in such a questionable
shapeThat I will speak to thee:
I'll call thee Hamlet,King,
father, royal Dane; O, answer
me!Let me not burst in ignorance;
but tellWhy thy canoniz'd bones,
hearsed in death,Have burst
their cerements; why the sepulchre,Wherein
we saw thee quietly in-urn'd,Hath
op'd his ponderous and marble
jawsTo cast thee up again!
What may this mean,That thou,
dead corse, again in complete
steel,Revisit'st thus the glimpses
of the moon,Making night hideous,
and we fools of natureSo horridly
to shake our dispositionWith
thoughts beyond the reaches
of our souls?Say, why is this?
wherefore? what should we do?
[Ghost beckons Hamlet.]
Hor.It beckons you to go away
with it,As if it some impartment
did desireTo you alone.
Mar.Look with what courteous
actionIt waves 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.
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,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 cliffThat
beetles o'er his base into
the sea,And there assume some
other horrible formWhich might
deprive your sovereignty of
reason,And draw you into madness?
think of it:The very place
puts toys of desperation,Without
more motive, into every brainThat
looks so many fadoms to the
seaAnd hears it roar beneath.
Ham.It waves me still.--Go on;
I'll follow thee.
Mar.You shall not go, my lord.
Ham.Hold off your hands.
Hor.Be rul'd; you shall not go.
Ham.My fate cries out,And makes
each petty artery in this bodyAs
hardy as the Nemean lion's
nerve.--
[Ghost beckons.]
Still am I call'd;--unhand me,
gentlemen;--
[Breaking free from them.]
By heaven, I'll make a ghost
of him that lets me!--I say,
away!--Go on; I'll follow thee.
[Exeunt Ghost and Hamlet.]
Hor.He waxes desperate with imagination.
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.
Mar.Nay, let's follow him.
[Exeunt.]
Scene V. A more remote part
of the Castle.
[Enter Ghost and Hamlet.]
Ham.Whither wilt thou lead me?
speak! I'll go no further.
Ghost.Mark me.
Ham.I will.
Ghost.My hour is almost come,When
I to sulph'uous and tormenting
flamesMust render up myself.
Ham.Alas, poor ghost!
Ghost.Pity me not, but lend thy
serious hearingTo what I shall
unfold.
Ham.Speak;I am bound to hear.
Ghost.So art thou to revenge,
when thou shalt hear.
Ham.What?
Ghost.I am thy father's spirit;Doom'd
for a certain term to walk
the night,And for the day confin'd
to wastein fires,Till the foul
crimes done in my days of natureAre
burnt and purg'd away. But
that I am forbidTo tell the
secrets of my prison-house,I
could a tale unfold whose lightest
wordWould harrow up thy soul;
freeze thy young blood;Make
thy two eyes, like stars, start
from their spheres;Thy knotted
and combined locks to part,And
each particular hair to stand
on endLike quills upon the
fretful porcupine:But this
eternal blazon must not beTo
ears of flesh and blood.--List,
list, O, list!--If thou didst
ever thy dear father love--
Ham.O God!
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.
Ham.Haste me to know't, that
I, with wings as swiftAs meditation
or the thoughts of love,May
sweep to my revenge.
Ghost.I find thee apt;And duller
shouldst thou be than the fat
weedThat rots itself in ease
on Lethe wharf,Wouldst thou
not stir in this. Now, Hamlet,
hear.'Tis given out that, sleeping
in my orchard,A serpent stung
me; so the whole ear of DenmarkIs
by a forged process of my deathRankly
abus'd; but know, thou noble
youth,The serpent that did
sting thy father's lifeNow
wears his crown.
Ham.O my prophetic soul!Mine
uncle!
Ghost.Ay, that incestuous, that
adulterate beast,With witchcraft
of his wit, with traitorous
gifts,--O wicked wit and gifts,
that have the powerSo to seduce!--won
to his shameful lustThe will
of my most seeming-virtuous
queen:O Hamlet, what a falling-off
was there!From me, whose love
was of that dignityThat it
went hand in hand even with
the vowI made to her in marriage;
and to declineUpon a wretch
whose natural gifts were poorTo
those of mine!But virtue, as
it never will be mov'd,Though
lewdness court it in a shape
of heaven;So lust, though to
a radiant angel link'd,Will
sate itself in a celestial
bedAnd prey on garbage.But
soft! methinks I scent the
morning air;Brief let me be.--Sleeping
within my orchard,My custom
always of the afternoon,Upon
my secure hour thy uncle stole,With
juice of cursed hebenon in
a vial,And in the porches of
my ears did pourThe leperous
distilment; whose effectHolds
such an enmity with blood of
manThat, swift as quicksilver,
it courses throughThe natural
gates and alleys of the body;And
with a sudden vigour it doth
possetAnd curd, like eager
droppings into milk,The thin
and wholesome blood; so did
it mine;And a most instant
tetter bark'd about,Most lazar-like,
with vile and loathsome crustAll
my smooth body.Thus was I,
sleeping, by a brother's hand,Of
life, of crown, of queen, at
once dispatch'd:Cut off even
in the blossoms of my sin,Unhous'led,
disappointed, unanel'd;No reckoning
made, but sent to my accountWith
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
beA couch for luxury and damned
incest.But, howsoever thou
pursu'st this act,Taint not
thy mind, nor let thy soul
contriveAgainst thy mother
aught: leave her to heaven,And
to those thorns that in her
bosom lodge,To prick and sting
her. Fare thee well at once!The
glowworm shows the matin to
be near,And 'gins to pale his
uneffectual fire: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,But bear
me stiffly up.--Remember thee!Ay,
thou poor ghost, while memory
holds a seatIn this distracted
globe. Remember thee!Yea, from
the table of my memoryI'll
wipe away all trivial fond
records,All saws of books,
all forms, all pressures past,That
youth and observation copied
there;And thy commandment all
alone shall liveWithin the
book and volume of my brain,Unmix'd
with baser matter: yes, by
heaven!--O most pernicious
woman!O villain, villain, smiling,
damned villain!My tables,--meet
it is I set it down,That one
may smile, and smile, and be
a villain;At least, I am sure,
it may be so in Denmark:
[Writing.]
So, uncle, there you are. Now
to my word;It is 'Adieu, adieu!
remember me:'I have sworn't.
Hor.[Within.] My lord, my lord,--
Mar.[Within.] Lord Hamlet,--
Hor.[Within.] Heaven secure him!
Ham.So be it!
Mar.[Within.] Illo, ho, ho, my
lord!
Ham.Hillo, ho, ho, boy! Come,
bird, come.
[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.
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?--But
you'll be secret?
Hor. and Mar.Ay, by heaven, my
lord.
Ham.There's ne'er a villain dwelling
in all DenmarkBut he's an arrant
knave.
Hor.There needs no ghost, my
lord, come from the graveTo
tell us this.
Ham.Why, right; you are i' the
right;And so, without more
circumstance at all,I hold
it fit that we shake hands
and part:You, as your business
and desires shall point you,--For
every man hath business and
desire,Such as it is;--and
for my own poor part,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.
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: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.
Hor.What is't, my lord? we will.
Ham.Never make known what you
have seen to-night.
Hor. and Mar.My lord, we will
not.
Ham.Nay, but swear't.
Hor.In faith,My lord, not I.
Mar.Nor I, my lord, in faith.
Ham.Upon my sword.
Mar.We have sworn, my lord, already.
Ham.Indeed, upon my sword, indeed.
Ghost.[Beneath.] Swear.
Ham.Ha, ha boy! say'st thou so?
art thou there, truepenny?--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,Swear by my sword.
Ghost.[Beneath.] Swear.
Ham.Hic et ubique? then we'll
shift our ground.--Come hither,
gentlemen,And lay your hands
again upon my sword:Never to
speak of this that you have
heard,Swear by my sword.
Ghost.[Beneath.] Swear.
Ham.Well said, old mole! canst
work i' the earth so fast?A
worthy pioner!--Once more remove,
good friends.
Hor.O day and night, but this
is wondrous strange!
Ham.And therefore as a stranger
give it welcome.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,How strange or odd soe'er
I bear myself,--As I, perchance,
hereafter shall think meetTo
put an antic disposition on,--That
you, at such times seeing me,
never shall,With arms encumber'd
thus, or this head-shake,Or
by pronouncing of some doubtful
phrase,As 'Well, well, we know';
or 'We could, an if we would';--Or
'If we list to speak'; or 'There
be, an if they might';--Or
such ambiguous giving out,
to noteThat you know aught
of me:--this is not to do,So
grace and mercy at your most
need help you,Swear.
Ghost.[Beneath.] Swear.
Ham.Rest, rest, perturbed spirit!--So,
gentlemen,With all my love
I do commend me to you:And
what so poor a man as Hamlet
isMay 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,That ever I was born
to set it right!--Nay, come,
let's go together.
[Exeunt.]
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