Cap. Ham. How purpos'd, sir, | There's tricks i' the world; and hems, and beats her heart; Against some part of Poland. Commands them, sir? Who Cap. The nephew to old Norway, Fortinbras. Ham. Goes it against the main of Poland, sir, Or for some frontier? Cap. Truly to speak, sir, and with no addition, We go to gain a little patch of ground, That hath in it no profit but the name. To pay five ducats, five, I would not farm it; Nor will it yield to Norway, or the Pole, A ranker rate, should it be sold in fee. Ham. Why, then the Polack never will defend it. Cap. Yes, 'tis already garrison'd. Ham. Two thousand souls, and twenty thousand ducats, Will not debate the question of this straw: before. How all occasions do inform against me, Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple Spurns enviously at straws: speaks things in doubt, Indeed would make one think, there might be thought, Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily. Queen. "Twere good she were spoken with; for she may strew Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds: To my sick soul, as sin's true nature is, Re-enter HORATIO, with OPHELIA. Oph. Where is the beauteous majesty of Denmark? Queen. How now, Ophelia ? Oph. How should I your true love know By his cockle hat and staff, And his sandle shoon.' [Singing. To fust in us unused. Now, whether it be Of thinking too precisely on the event, A thought, which quarter'd, hath but one part wisdom, O, ho! Queen. Nay, but Ophelia, Oph. [Sings. And, ever, three parts coward,-I do not know To all that fortune, death, and danger, dare, Go to their graves like beds; fight for a plot Queen. I will not speak with her. Queen. What would she have? Pray you, mark. [Sings. White his shroud as the mountain snow, Enter KING. Queen. Alas, look here, my lord. Oph. Larded all with sweet flowers; King. How do you, pretty lady? Oph. Well, God 'ield' you! They say the owl was a baker's daughter. Lord, we know what we are, but know not what we may be. God be at your table! King. Conceit upon her father. Oph. Pray, let us have no words of this; but when they ask you, what it means, say you this: Good morrow, 'tis Saint Valentine's day, All in the morning betime, And I a maid at your window, To be your Valentine. Then up he rose, and don'd his clothes, And dupp'd the chamber door; Let in the maid, that out a maid King. Pretty Ophelia! So would I ha' done, by yonder sun, An thou hadst not come to my bed.. King. How long hath she been thus? Oph. I hope, all will be well. We must be patient: but I cannot choose but weep, to think, they should lay him i' the cold ground: My brother shall know of it, and so I thank you for your good counsel. Come, my coach! Good night. ladies; good night, sweet ladies: good night, good night. [Exit. King. Follow her close; give her good watch, I pray you. [Exit HORATIO. O, this is the poison of deep grief; it springs All from her father's death: And now behold, O Gertrude, Gertrude, When sorrows come, they come not single spies, For good Polonius' death; and we have done but greenly, In hugger-mugger to inter him: Poor Ophelia King. Attend. Where are my Switzers? Let them guard the door: What is the matter? Gent. Save yourself, my lord; The ocean, overpeering of his list,' Eats not the flats with more impetuous haste, Than young Laertes, in a riotous head, O'erbears your officers! The rabble call him lord; And, as the world were now but to begin, Antiquity forgot, custom not known, The ratifiers and props of every word, They cry, Choose we; Laertes shall be king! Caps, hands, and tongues, applaud it to the clouds, Laertes shall be king, Laertes king! Queen. How cheerfully on the false trail they cry! O, this is counter,' you false Danish dogs. without. Calmly, good Laertes. Laer. That drop of blood, that's calm, proclaims me bastard; Cries, cuckold, to my father; brands the harlot Even here, between the chaste unsmirched" brow Of my true mother. King. What is the cause, Laertes, That thy rebellion looks so giant-like?— Laer. Where is my father? King. Queen. Dead. But not by him. arms; And, like the kind life-rend'ring pelican, King. Danes. [Within.] Let her come in. O heat, dry up my brains! tears seven times salt, O heavens! is't possible, a young maid's wits Oph. They bore him barefaced on the bier; Fare you well, my dove! Laer. Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade revenge, It could not move thus. Oph. You must sing, Down-a-down, an you call Clean, undefiled. • Artful. him a-down-a. O, how the wheel' becomes it! It is the false steward, that stole his master's daughter. Laer. This nothing's more than matter. Oph. There's rosemary, that's for remembrance; pray you, love, remember; and there is pansies, that's for thoughts. Laer. A document in madness; thoughts and remembrance fitted. Oph. There's fennel for you, and columbines:there's rue for you; and here's some for me:we may call it, herb of grace o' Sundays-you may wear your rue with a difference."-There's a daisy-I would give you some violets; but they withered all, when my father died :-They say, he made a good end, For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy,— Go to thy death-bed, His beard was as white as snow, All flaxen was his poll: He is gone, he is gone, Hor. [Reads.] Horatio, when thou shalt have overlooked this, give these fellows some means to the king; they have letters for him. Ere we were two days old at sea, a pirate of very warlike appointment gave us chase: finding ourselves too slow of sail, we put on a compelled valor; and in the grapple, I boarded them: on the instant they got clear of our ship; so I alone became their prisoner. They have dealt with me like thieves of mercy; but they knew what they did; I am to do a good turn for them. Let the king have the letters I have sent; and repair thou to me with as much haste as thou wouldst fly death. I have words to speak in thine ear will make thee dumb; yet are they much too light for the bore of the matter. These good fel lows will bring thee where I am. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern hold their course for England; of them I have much to tell thee. Farewell. He that thou knowest thine, Hamlet. [Sings. Come, I will give you way for these your letters; And do't the speedier, that you may direct me To him from whom you brought them. [Exeunt. And of all Christian souls! I pray God. God be They find us touch'd, we will our kingdom give, Be you content to lend your patience to us, Laer. Let this be so; His means of death, his obscure funeral,No trophy, sword, nor hatchment, o'er his bones, No noble rite, nor formal ostentation, Cry to be heard, as 'twere from heaven to earth, That I must call't in question. King. So you shall, Hor. What are they, that would speak with me? They say, they have letters for you. 1 Sail. God bless you, sir. 1 Sail. He shall, sir, an't please him. There's a letter for you, sir; it comes from the ambassador that was bound for England; if your name be Horatio, as I am let to know it is. 1 The burthen. i. e. By its Sunday name, "herb of grace," mine is merely rue, i. e. sorrow. SCENE VII.-Another Room in the same. Enter KING and LAERTES. King. Now must your conscience my acquittance seal, And you must put me in your heart for friend; Sith you have heard, and with a knowing ear, That he, which hath your noble father slain, Pursued my life. Laer. It well appears—but tell me, Why you proceeded not against these feats, So crimeful and so capital in nature, As by your safety, greatness, wisdom, all things else, You mainly were stirr'd up. King. O, for two special reasons: Which may to you, perhaps, seem much unsinew'd, But yet to me they are strong. The queen his mother, Lives almost by his looks; and for myself, Laer. And so have I a noble father lost; That we are made of stuff so flat and dull, Mess. Sailors, my lord, they say: I saw them not; | And for your rapier most especial, They were given me by Claudio, he receiv'd them That he cried out, 'twould be a sight indeed, Of him that brought them? If one could match you: the scrimers' of their nation, King. Leave us. Laertes, you shall hear them :[Exit Messenger. [Reads.] High and mighty, you shall know, I am set naked on your kingdom. To-morrow, shall I beg leave to see your kingly eyes; when I shall, first asking your pardon thereunto, recount the occasion of my sudden and more strange return. Hamlet. What should this mean? Are all the rest come back. Or is it some abuse, and no such thing? King. "Tis Hamlet's character. Naked,And, in a postscript here, he says, alone: Can you advise me? Laer. I am lost in it, my lord. But let him | And that I see, in passages of proof," So you will not o'er-rule me to a peace. As checking at his voyage, and that he means It falls right. King. You have been talk'd of since your travel much, And that in Hamlet's hearing, for a quality, Wherein, they say, you shine: your sum of parts Did not together pluck such envy from him, As did that one; and that, in my regard, Of the unworthiest siege." Laer. What part is that, my lord? King. A very riband in the cap of youth, Yet needful too; for youth no less becomes The light and careless livery that it wears, Than settled age his sables, and his weeds, Importing health and graveness.-Two months since, Here was a gentleman of Normandy,— I have seen myself, and serv'd against, the French, Time qualifies the spark and fire of it. A kind of wick, or snuff, that will abate it; Dies in his own too-much: That we would do, changes, And hath abatements and delays as many, Laer. Will you do this: keep close within your chamber! And wager o'er your heads: he, being remiss, Laer. We'll make a solemn wager on your cunnings,- When on your motion you are hot and dry, How now, sweet queen? Queen. One'woe doth tread upon another's heel, So fast they follow:-Your sister's drown'd, Laertes. Laer. Drown'd! O, where? Queen. There is a willow grows ascaunt the That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream; There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds SCENE I-A Church Yard. Enter two Clowns, with Spades, &c. When down her weedy trophies, and herself, And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up: Laer. Alas, then, she is drown'd? Laer. Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia, I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze, [Exit. ACT V. 1 Clo. Is she to be buried in Christian burial, that wilfully seeks her own salvation? 2 Clo. I tell thee, she is; therefore make her grave straight: the crowner hath set on her, and finds it Christian burial. 1 Clo. How can that be, unless she drowned herself in her own defence? 2 Clo. Why, 'tis found so. 1 Clo. It must be se offendendo; it cannot be else. For here lies the point: If I drown myself wittingly, it argues an act: and an act hath three branches; it is, to act, to do, and to perform: Argal, she drowned herself wittingly. 2 Clo. Nay, but hear you, goodman delver. 1 Clo. Give me leave. Here lies the water; good: here stands the man; good: If the man go to this water, and drown himself, it is, will he, nill he, he goes; mark you that: but if the water come to him, and drown him, he drowns not himself: Argal, he, that is not guilty of his own death, shortens not his own life. 2 Clo. But is this law? 1 Clo. Ay, marry is't; crowner's quest law. 2 Clo. Will you ha' the truth on't? If this had not been a gentlewoman, she should have been buried out of Christian burial. 1 Clo. Why, there thou say'st: And the more pity, that great folks shall have countenance in this world to drown or hang themselves, more than their even Christian, Come, my spade. There is no ancient gentlemen but gardeners, ditchers, and grave-makers; they hold up Adam's profession. 2 Clo. Was he a gentleman? 1 Clo. He was the first that ever bore arms. 2 Clo. Why, he had none. 1 Clo. What, art a heathen? How dost thou understand the Scripture? The Scripture says, Adam digged: Could he dig without arms? I'll put [Exeunt. another question to thee: if thou answerest me not to the purpose, confess thyself 2 Clo. Go to. 1 Clo. What is he, that builds stronger than either the mason, the shipwright, or the carpenter? 2 Clo. The gallows-maker; for that frame outlives a thousand tenants. 1 Clo. I like thy wit well, in good faith; the gallows does well: but how does it well? it does well to those that do ill: now thou dost ill, to say, the gallows is built stronger than the church; argal, the gallows may do well to thee. To't again; come. 2 Clo. Who builds stronger than a mason, a shipwright, or a carpenter? i Clo. Ay, tell me that, and unyoke.' 1 Clo. To't. 2 Clo. Mass, I cannot tell. Enter HAMLET and HORATIO, at a distance. 1 Clo. Cudgel thy brains no more about it; for 1 Clown digs, and sings. To contract, O, the time, for, ah, my behove Hor. Custom hath made it in him a property of easiness. Ham. 'Tis e'en so: the hand of little employment hath the daintier sense. 1 Clo. But age, with his stealing steps, • Insensible. |