ACT I.

SCENE I.—Elsinore. A Platform beforethe Castle. Francisco on his post. Enter to him Bernardo, Ber. Who's there?

Fran. Nay, answer me: stand, and unfold

Yourself.
Ber. Long live the lung 1
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 1 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.

Enter Horatio and Marcellus.

Fran. I think I hear them.—Stand I Who is there?

Nor. Friends to this ground.

Mar. And liegemen to the Dane.

Fran. Give you good night.

Mar. O 1 farewell, honest soldier:

Who hath relieved you?

Fran. Bernardo has my place.

Give you good night [Exit.

Mar. Holla 1 Bernardo I

Ber. Say. What, is Horatio there?

Hot. A piece of him.

Ber. Welcome, Horatio: welcome, good Marcellus.

Mar, What has this thing appear'd again to-night 1

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:
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

Nor. 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.

Nor. Well, sit we down,

And let us hear Bernardo speak of this.

Ber. Last night of all. When yon 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,— [again

Mar. Peace 1 break tue« off; look, where it come

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.
Nor. Most like:—it harrows me with fear and
Ber. It would be spoke to. [wonder.
Mar. Question it, Horatio.

Nor. What art thou, that usurp'st this time of night.
Together with that fair and warlike form.
In which the majesty of buried Denmark
Did sometimes inarch? by heaven, I charge thee.
Mar. It is offended. [speak I

Ber. See, it stalks away.

Nor. Stay I speak, speak 1 1 charge thee, speak I \Exit Ghost

Mar. Tis gone, and will not answer.
Ber. How now, Horatio I you tremble, and look
pale:

Is not this something more than fantasy?
What think you onH?

Nor. Before my God, I might not this believe.
Without the sensible and true avouch
e own eyes.
Mar. Is it not like the king?

Nor. As thou art to thyself:
Such was the very armour he had on.
When he the ambitious Norway combated;
So frown'd he once, when, in an angry parte.
He smote the sledded Polacks on the ice.
'Tis strange I

Mar. Thus, twice before, and just at this dead hour. With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch.

Nor. In what particular thought to work, I know
But, in the gross and scope of my opinion, [not;
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;
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;
What might be toward, that this sweaty haste
Doth make the night joint labourer with the day:
Who is't that can inform me?

Nor. 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 scal'd c
Well ratified by law and heraldry.
Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands
Which he stood seiz'd of,

i of, to the ci

a moiety competent
,. r, _ . king; which had return'd
■.To the inheritance of Fortinbras,
Had he been vanquisher; as, by the same co-mart,
And carriage of the article design'd,
His fell to Hamlet. Now, sir, young Fortinbras,
Of unimproved metal hot and full.
Hath in the skirts of Norway, here and there,
Shark'd up a list of landless resoiutes
For food and diet, to some enterprise
Thiit 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 compulsative, those 'foresaid lands
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 in the land.

Ber. I think it be no other, but even so:
Well may it sort, that this portentous figure
Comes armed through our watch; so like the king
That was, and is, the question of these wars.

Hor. A mote it is to trouble the mind's eye.
iln the most high and palmy state of Rome,
A little ere the mightiest Julius fell.
The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead
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.
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 dem<
Unto our climatures and countrymen.-

Re-enter Ghost.
Bat, soft, behold I lo, where it comes again 1
1*11 cross it, though it blast me.—Stay, illusion t
Jf 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,
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 life
Extorted treasure in the womb of earth.
For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death,

1 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 I

Hor. Tis here 1 {Exit Ghost

Mar. 'Tis gone I
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 thing
Upon a fearful summons. I have heard
The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn.
Doth with his lofty and shnll-soundiug throat
Awake the god of day; and at his warning.
Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air,
Th' extravagant and erring st_ irit hies
To his confine: and of the truth herein
This present object made probation.

Mar. It faded on the crowing of the cock.
Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comes
Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated.
This bird of dawning singeth all night long;
And then, they say, no spirit can walk abroad:
The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike,
No fairy takes, nor witch ha h power to charm j
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 eastern hill.
Break we our watch up; ana, by my advice,
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,
As needfui in our loves, fitting oar duty I

Mar, Let's do't, I pray; and I this morning know /here we shall and him most conveniently.

fExeunt.

SCENE II.—A Room of State in the Castle. Enter the King, Queen, Hamlet, Polonius, Laertes,

Voltimand, Cornelius, 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;
Vet 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
Th' imperial jointress of this warlike state.
Have we, as 'twere with a defeated joy,—
With one 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'd
Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone
With this affair along :—for 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 death.
Our state to be disjoint and out of frame,
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 bands 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 writ
To Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras,
Who, impotent and bed-rid, scarcely hears
Of this his nephew's purpose, to suppress
His further gait herein: in that the levies.
The lists, and full proportions, are all made
Out of his subject: and we here despatch
You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltimand,
For bearers of this greeting to old Norway;
Giving to you no further personal power
To business with the king, more than the scope
Of these dilated articles allow.
Farewell; and let your haste commend your duty.
Cor., Vol. In that, and all things, will we show oui
duty.
We

King.

e doubt it nothing: heartily farewell.

{Exeunt Voltimand and Cornelius.

And now, Laertes, what's the news with your
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. My dread lord.

Your leave and favour to return to France;
From whence though willingly I came to Denmark,
To show iny 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 graciousleave and pardon.

King: Have you your father's leave? What says
Polonius?

Pol. He hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow By laboursonic petition; and, at last, [leave. Upon his will 1 seal'd my hard consent: I do beseech ynu, give him leave to go.

King. Take thy fair hour, Laertes; time be thine. And thy best graces spend it at thy will I But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son,— [kind.

Ham. [Aside. ] A little more than kin, and less than

King. How is it that the clouds still hang on you?

Ham. Not so, my lord; I am too much l the Bun.

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 lids Seek for thy noble father in the dust: Thou know'st 'tis common, all that live must die, Passing through nature to eternity.

Ham. Ay, madam, it is common.

Queen. If it be.

Why seems it so particular with the«?

Ham. Seems, madam I 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 "haviour of the visage, Together with all forms, modes, shows of grief. Thai can denote me truly: these, indeed, seem. For they arc actions that a man might play: But I have that within which pa^seth 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 term

To do obsequious sorrow: but to persever

In obstinate condolement, is a course

Of 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 common

As any the most vulgar thing to sense.

Why should we, in our peevish opposition,

Take it to heart T Fie I 'tis a fault to heaven,

A fault against the dead, a fault to nature,

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

This unprevailing woe; and think of us

As of n father: for let the world take note,

You are the most immediate to our throne i

And, with no less nobility of love

Than that which dearest father bears his son,

Do 1 impart toward you. For your intent

In going back to school in Wittenb.Tg,

It is most retrograde to our desire:

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: 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 unfore'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 toll;
And the king's rouse the heaven shall bruit again,
Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come away.

[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! 0 God! 0 God I
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable
Seems to me all the uses' of this world!
Fie on't I O fie I 'tis an unweeded garden.
That grows to seed; things rank and gross in na-
ture

Possess it merely. That it should come to this I
But two months dead I—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 heaven
Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth!
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 I—
A little month, or ere those shoes were old.
With which she follow'd my poor father's body,
Like Niobe, all tears ;—why she, even she,—
O God I a beast, that wants discourse of reason.
Would have mourn'd longer,—married with mine
uncle,

My father's brother I but no more like my father,

Than I to Hercules: within a month;

Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears

Had left the flushing in her galled eyes.

She married:—O, most wicked speed, to post

With such dexterity to incestuous sheets I

It 15 not, nor it cannot come to, good:

But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue I

Enter Horatio, Marcellus, and Bernardo.

/for. Hail to your lordship I

Ham. I am glad to see you well:

Horatio,—or I do forget myself. [ever.
Hor. The same, my lord, and your poor servant
Ham. Sir, my good friend; 111 change that name
with you:

And wh.it make you from Wittenberg, Horatio f—
Marcellus?
Mar. My good lord,—

Ham. I am very glad tosee 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 •
N'or 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?
Well teach you to drink deep ere you depart.

Hor. My lord, I came to see your father's funeral

Ham. \ pray thee, do not mock me. fellow-student; I think it was to see my mother's wedding.

Hor. Indeed, my lord, it foltow'd hard upon.

Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio 1 the funeral bak'd meats

Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.
Wou'd I had met my dearest foe in heaven
Ere 1 had ever seen that day, Horatio I—
My father,—methinks 1 see my father.

Hor. O, where, my lord?

Ham. In my mind's eye, Horatio.

Hor. I saw him once; he was a goodly king1.

Ham. He was a man, take him for all in alt [ shall not look upon his like again.

Hor. My lord. I think 1 saw him yesternight.

Ham. Saw who?

Hor. My lord, the king your father.

Ham. The king, myfatherl

Hor. Season your admiration for a while
With an attent tear; 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 ge" 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-a-pe\ 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, within his truncheon's length; whilst they, Almost to jel.y with the act of fear. Stand dumb, and speak not to him. This to me In 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 lather; Thape hands are not more like.

Ham. But where was thist

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, methought,
It lifted up its head, and did address
Itself 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 wnt 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 lori.

Ham. Arm'd, say you?

Afar., Ber. Arm'd, my lord.

Ham. From top to toe J

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 aort

In sorrow than in anger.

Ham. Pale, or red I

Hor, Nay, very pale.

Ham. And fix'd his eyes upon you?

Hor. Most constantly.

Ham. I would I had been there 1

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.
Hor. Not when I saw it.

Ham. His beard was grizzled,—no

Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his lite, A sable silver'd.

Ham. I will watch to-night;

Perchance 'twill walk again.

Hor. I warrant it will.

Ham. If it assume my noble father's person,
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 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 you well:
Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve
I'll visit you.

All. Our duty to your honour.

Ham. Your lov^s, as mine to you: farewell.

[ExeuntHot., Mar., andfier. My father's spirit Hi arms I all is not well; I doubt some foul play: would the night were come 1 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,
AnJ 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,
T lie perfume and suppliance of a minute;
No more.

Oph. Nomorebutso?

Laer. Think it no more:

For nature, crescent, does not grow alone
In thews and bulk; but, as this temple waxes,
The inward service of the mind and soul
Crows wide withal. Perhaps he loves you now;
And now no soil nor cautel doth besmirch
The 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 depends
The safety and the health of the whole state:
And therefore must his choice be circumscrib d
Unto the voice and yielding of that body,
Whereof he is the head: then, if he says he loves you.
It fits your wisdom so far to believe it.
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,
If with too credent ear you list his songs;
Or lose your heart; or your chaste treasure open
To 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 enough,
If she unmask her beauty to the moon:
Virtue herself'scapes not calumnious strokes:
The canker galls the infants of the spring.
Too oft before their buttons be disclos'd j
And in the morn and liquid dew of youth
Contagious 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 keep,
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 pufTd and reckless libertine.
Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads.
And recks not his own rede.

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 1
The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail.
And you are stay'd for. There,—my blessing with
you! [Laying his hand on LaertesThead.
And these few precepts in thy memory
Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue,
Nor any unproportional thought his act.
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.
The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel;
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
Of each new-hatch u, unfiedg'd comrade. Beware
Of entrance to a quarrel; but, being in.
Bear't, that th' 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 halilt as thy purse can buy,
But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy:
For the apparel oft proclaims the man j
And they in France, of the best rank and station,
Are 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 ownself 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 I

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 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.

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 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, 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 Of his affection to me.

Pol. (Affection 1 pooh I you speak like a green girl, Unsifted in such perilous circumstance. Do you believe his tenders, as you call them T

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 moredearlyj Or,—not to crack the wind of the poor phrase, Wronging it thus,—you'll tender ine a fool.

Oph. My lord, he hath importun'd me with love, In 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 knom 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,— You must not take for fire. From this time Be somewhat scanter of your maiden presence; Set your entreatments at a higher rate, Than a command to parley. For lord Hamlet, Believe so much in him, that he is young; And with a larger tether may he walk. Than may be given yon : in few, Ophelia, Do not believe his vows; for they are brokers,— p Not of that dye which their investments show. But mere implorators of unholy suits, Breathing like sanctified and pious bonds,

The better to beguile. This is for all,—
I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth,
Have you so slander any moment's leisure.
As to give words or talk with the lord Hamlet.
Look to t, I charge you: come your ways.
Ofh, 1 shall obey, my lord. {Exeunt.

SCENE W.— The Platform.
Enter Hamlet, Horatio, and Marceilus.
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. [the season,

■Hor. Indeed? 1 heard it not: then it draws near Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk.

[A Jtourish of trumpets, and ordnance shot
off", within.

"What does this mean, my lord? [rouse,
//am. The king doth wake to-night, and takes hi:
Keeps wassail, and the swaggering up-spring reels;
And, as he drains his draughts nf Rhenish down,
The kettlc-dmm and trumpet thus bray out
The 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 custom
More honour'd in the breach than the observance.
This heavy-headed revel, cast and west.
Makes us tradue'd and tax'd of other nations:
They clepe us drunkards, and with swinish phrase
Soil our addition; and, indeed, it takes
From our achievements, though perform'd at height,
The pith and marrow of our attribute.
So, oft it chances in particular men,
That, 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-leavens
The 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 corruption
From that particular fault: the dram of base
Doth all the noble substance often dout.
To his own scandal.

Enter Ghost.

Hor. Look, my lord I it comes.

Ham, Angels and ministers of grace, defend us I 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 coin'st in such a questionable shape. That I will speak to thee : I'll call thee, Hamlet, King, Father, Royal Dane: O, answer me 1 Let me nol burst m ignorance; but tell * Why 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 jaws. To cast thee up again I What may this mean. That thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel, Rcvtsit'st thus the glimpses of the moon, M iking 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?

[ The Ghost beckons Hamlet.

llor. It beckons you to go away with it, As if it some impartment did desire To you alone.

Mar. Look, with what courteous action

It waves you to 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 bethe fear?

I iTn not set my life at a pin's fee;

And, for my soul, what can it do to that,

Ueiug 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,
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:
The very place puts toys of desperation.
Without more motive, mto every brain
That looks so many fathoms to the sea,
And hears it roar beneath.
Ham. It waves me still.—Go on; I*H follow thee.
Mar. You shall not go, my lord
Ham. Hold off your hands.

Her. Be rul'd ; you shall not go.
Ham. My fate cries out.

And makes each petty artery in this body
As hardy as the Ne"mean lion's nerve.

[Ghost beckons. Still am I call'd:—unhand me, gentlemen

{Breakingfrom them. By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me :— I say, away I—Go on; III follow thee.

[Exeunt Ghost and Hamlet Hor. He waxes desperate with imagination. Afar. 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 Platform.
Enter Ghost and Hamlet.
Ham. Whither wilt thou lead me? speak; 111 go

no further.
Ghost. Marie me.
Ham. I wuL

Ghost. My hour is almost come

When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames
Must render up myself.
Ham Alas, poor ghost 1

Ghost. Pity me not; but lend thy serious hearing
To what I shall unfold.
Ham. Speak j 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 fast in fires. Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature. Are burnt and purg'd away. But that I am forbid To tell the secrets of my prison-house, 1 could a tale unfold, whose lightest word Would 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 end. Like quills upon the fretful porcupine: But this eternal blazon must not be To ears of flesh and blood.—List, list, O list I If thou didst ever thy dear father love,— Ham. O God I

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. [swift Ham Haste me to know it, that I, with wings as As meditation, or the thoughts of love, May sweep to my revenge.

Ghost. I find thee apt;

And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed
That rots itself in ease on Lethe wharf,
Wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear;
'Tis given out, that, sleeping in mine orchard,
A serpent stnng me: so the whole ear of Denmark
Is by a forged process of my death
Rankly abus'd: but know, thou noble youth.
The serpentthat did sting thy father's life
Now wears his crown.
Ham. O my prophetic soul 1 my uncle I
Ghost. Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate t
With withcraft 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 tnv most sccmin^-virtuous queen t
O Hamlet, what a fallmg-orTwas there 1
From me. whose love was of that dignity.