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ACT III.

(1) SCENE II.-I could have such a fellow whipped for o'erdoing Termagant; it out-herods Herod.] In many of the early miracle plays, one of the most prominent characters was a roaring, hectoring tyrant, who made "all split," and was alike the terror and the admiration of the multitude; in some cases, this truculent monster represented Termagant, a supposed god of the Saracens ; but more frequently he was Herod of Jewry. An extract from the ancient Pageant, performed at Coventry by the Shearmen and Taylors, in 1534, but the composition of which is of much earlier date, well exemplifies the saying, when any one rants and tears a passion to tatters, that he outherods Herod. The entrance of Herod is announced in unintelligible French; after which the monarch proceeds in this wise :—

"Qui statis in Jude et Rex iseraell

And the myght tyst conquerowre that eyer walkid on grownd
For I am evyn he thatt made bothe hevin & hell
And of my mighté powar holdith vp the world rownd
Magog and madroke bothe thes did I confownde
And wt this bryght bronde there bonis I brak on sund'r
Thatt all the wyde worlde on those rappis did wond'r
I am the cawse of this grett lyght and thund'r

Ytt ys throgh my furé that they soche noyse dothe make
My feyrefull contenance the clowdis so doth incumbur
That oftymes for drede thereof the verre yerth doth quake
Loke when I wt males this bryght bronde doth schake
All the whole world from the north to the sowthe
I ma them dystroie wt won worde of my mow the
To reycownt vnto you myn innewmerabull substance
Thatt were to moche for any tong to tell

For all the whole orent ys vnd'r myn obbeydeance
And prynce am I of purgatorre & cheff capten of hell
And those tyraneos trayturs be force ma I compell
Myne eñmyis to vanquese & evyn to dust them dryve
And wt a twynke of myn iee not won to be lafte alyve
Behold my contenance and my colur

Bryghtur then the sun in the meddis of the dey
Where can you haue a more grettur succur

Then to behold my person that ys soo gaye

My fawcun and my fassion with my gorgis araye

He thatt had the grace all wey thereon to thynke
Lyve then myght all wey withowt othur meyte or drynke
And thys my tryomfande fame most hylist dothe a bownde
Throgh owt this world in all reygeons abrod
Reysemelyng the favour of thatt most myght Mahownd
From Jubytor be desent and cosyn to the grett god
And namyd the most reydowndid king eyrodde
Wyche thatt all pryncis hath vnder subjeccion
And all there whole powar under my proteccion
And therefore my hareode here callid calcas
Warne thou eyery porte that noo schyppis a ryve
Nor also aleond § stranger throg my realme pas
But they for thére truage do pay markis fyve
Now spede thé forth hastelé

For they thatt wyll the contraré
Apon a galowse hangid schalbe

And be Mahownde of me thé gett noo grace."

The above is copied verbatim from the Pageant, as it is given in Sharp's "Dissertation on the Pageants, &c. anciently performed at Coventry," with the exception of some contractions which render the original obscure.

(2) SCENE II.-And let those that play your clowns speak no more than is set down for them:a most pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it.] In the 1603 quarto there follows here a passage supposed to have been levelled at the famous clown, William Kemp:

"And then you have some agen, that keepes one sute Of jeasts, as a man is knowne by one sute of Apparell, and Gentlemen quotes his jeasts downe

In their tables, before they come to the play, as thus:

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Cannot you stay till I eate my porrige? and, you owe me
A quarters wages: and my coate wants a cullison:
And, youre beere is sowre: and, blabbering with his lips,
And thus keeping in his cinkapase of jeasts,

When, God knows, the warme Clowne cannot make a jest,
Unless by chance, as the blinde man catcheth a hare."

(3) SCENE II.-And never come mischance between us twain] In the quarto of 1603, the preceding dialogue between Gonzago and Baptista is a mere bald sketch of the subsequent version:

"Duke. Full fortie yeares are past, their date is gone, Since happy time joyn'd both our hearts as one: And now the blood that fill'd my youthful veines, Runnes weakely in their pipes, and all the straines, Of musicke, which whilome pleasde mine eare, Is now a burthen that age cannot beare: And therefore sweete Nature must pay his due, To heaven must 1, and leave the earth with you. Dutchesse. O say not so, lest that you kill my heart, When death takes you, let life from me depart.

Duke. Content thy selfe, when ended is my date, Thou maist (perchance) have a more noble mate, More wise, more youthfull, and one.

Dutchesse. O speake no more, for then I am accurst,
None weds the second, but she kils the first:

A second time I kill my Lord that's dead,
When second husband kisses me in bed.

Ham. O wormewood, wormewood!

Duke. I doe beleeve you sweete, what now you speake, But what we doe determine oft we breake,

For our demises stil are overthrowne,

Our thoughts are ours, their end's none of our owne:

So thinke you will no second husband wed,

But die thy thoughts, when thy first Lord is dead.

Dutchesse. Both here and there pursue me lasting strife,

If once a widdow, ever I be wife," &c.

(4) SCENE II.-O, the recorders.] The best, indeed the only reliable description of these instruments, is that furnished by Mr. W. Chappell in his delightful work, called Popular Music of the Olden Time:"

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"Old English musical instruments were commonly made of three or four different sizes, so that a player might take any of the four parts that were required to fill up the harmony. So Violins, Lutes, Recorders, Flutes, Shawms, &c. have been described by some writers in a manner which (to those unacquainted with this peculiarity) has appeared irreconcileable with other accounts. Shakespeare (in Hamlet) speaks of the Recorder as a little pipe, and says, in A Midsummer Night's Dream, he hath played on his prologue like a child on a recorder;' but in an engraving of the instrument, it reaches from the lip to the knee of the performer; and among those left by Henry VIII. were Recorders of box, oak, and ivory, great and small, two base recorders of walnut, and one great base recorder. Recorders and (English) Flutes are to outward appearance the same, although Lord Bacon, in his Natural History, cent. iii. sec. 221, says the Recorder hath a less bore, and a greater above and below. The number of holes for the fingers is the same, and the scale, the compass, and the manner of playing, the same. Salter describes the recorder, from which the instrument derives its name, as situate in the upper part of it, i.e. between the hole below the mouth and the highest hole for the finger. He says, 'Of the kinds of music, vocal has always had the preference in esteem, and in consequence, the Recorder, as approaching nearest to the sweet delightfulness of the voice, ought to have first place in opinion, as we see by the universal use of it confirmed.'"

See "The Genteel Companion for the Recorder," by Humphrey Salter, 1683.

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(5) SCENE IV.-POLONIUS hides behind the arras.] The incident of Polonius concealing himself to overhear the con versation between Hamlet and the Queen, was suggested by the "Hystorie of Hamblet."-"Meane time the counsell or entred secretly into the queenes chamber, and there hid himselfe behind the arras, not long before the queene and Hamblet came thither, who being craftie and pollitique, as soone as hee was within the chamber, doubting some treason, and fearing if he should speake severely and wisely to his mother touching his secret practices he should be un derstood, and by that means intercepted, used his or dinary manner of dissimulation, and began to come like a cocke beating with his armes (in such manner as cockes use to strike with their wings) upon the hangings of the chamber; whereby, feeling something stirring under them, he cried, A rat, a rat! and presently drawing his sworde, thrust it into the hangings; which done, pulled the counsellor (halfe dead) out by the heeles, made an end of killing him," &c.

(6) SCENE IV.-HAMLET dragging out the body of POLONIUS.] The earliest quarto has, "Exit Hamlet with the dead body;" the folio, "Exit Hamlet tugging in Polonius." It is remarkable that, while nearly every depart ment of our early literature has been ransacked to supply illustrations of Shakespeare's language and ideas, so little has been done towards their elucidation from the history of his own stage. When Hamlet, at the termination of the present scene, says, "I'll lug the guts into the neighbour room," the commentators very properly reply to the objections of those who, unacquainted with old language, complain of the grossness of expression, that the word guts was not by any means so offensive to delicacy formerly as it is considered now. It was commonly used, in fact, where we should employ entrails, and in this place really signifies no more than lack-brain or shallow-pate. But a little consideration of the exigences of the theatre in Shakespeare's time, which not only obliged an actor to play two or more parts in the same drama, but to perform such servile offices as are now done by attendants of the stage, would have enabled them to show that the line in question is a mere interpolation to afford the player an excuse for removing the body. We append a few examples where the same expedient is adopted for the same purpose. Among them the notable instance of Sir John Falstaff carrying off the body of Harry Percy on his back, an exploit as clumsy and unseemly as Hamlet's "tugging out Polonius, and, like that, perpetuated on the modern stage only from sheer ignorance of the circumstances which originated such a practice :

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"Plan. Well, I will lock his counsel in my breast;
And what I do imagine, let that rest.—
Keepers, convey him hence; and I myself
Will see his burial better than his life.-
Here lies the dusky torch of Mortimer,
Chok'd with ambition of the meaner sort:" &c.

"Henry VI." Part I. Act IV. Sc. 7. Death of Talbot and his son. Vol. II. p. 321 :

"Pucelle. For God's sake, let him have 'em; to keep them here, They would but stink and putrefy the air. Char. Go, take their bodies h-nce. Lucy.

I'll bear them hence," &c.

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(1) SCENE V.-They say, the owl was a baker's daughter.] This alludes to a tradition still current in some parts of England: "Our Saviour went into a baker's shop where they were baking, and asked for some bread to eat. The mistress of the shop immediately put a piece of dough into the oven to bake for him; but was reprimanded by her daughter, who, insisting that the piece of dough was too large, reduced it to a very small size. The dough, however, immediately afterwards began to swell, and presently became of a most enormous size. Whereupon the baker's daughter cried out, Heugh, heugh, heugh,' which owl-like noise probably induced our Saviour, for her wickedness, to transform her into that bird."

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"I pray what flowers are these?

The panzie this;

O, that's for lovers' thoughts."
All Fools, Act II. Sc. 1.

For the King she has "fennel," signifying flattery and lust; and columbines," which marked ingratitude; while for the Queen and for herself she reserves the herb of sorrow, "rue," which she reminds her Majesty may be worn by her "with a difference," i.e. not as an emblem of grief alone, but to indicate contrition ;—“ some of them smil'd and said, Rue was called Herbe grace, which though they scorned in their youth, they might wear in their age, and that it was never too late to say Miserere.” -GREENE'S Quip for an Upstart Courtier.

(3) SCENE VI.-Enter HORATIO and a Servant.] In the quarto, 1603, at this period of the action there is a scene between the Queen and Horatio, not a vestige of which is retained in the after copies. Like every other part of that curious edition, it is grievously deformed by misprints and mal-arrangement of the verse; but, as exhibiting the poet's earliest conception of the Queen's character, is much too precious to be lost.

"Enter HORATIO and the QUEENE.

Hor. Madame, your sonne is safe arriv'de in Denmarke, This letter I even now receiv'd of him. Whereas he writes how he escap't the danger, And subtle treason that the king had plotted, Being crossed by the contention of the windes, He found the Packet sent to the king of England, Wherein he saw himselfe betray'd to death, As at his next conversion with your grace, He will relate the circumstance at full.

Queene. Then I perceive there's treason in his lookes That seem'd to sugar o're his villanie:

But I will soothe and please him for a time,

For murderous mindes are alwayes jealous,

But know not you Horatio where he is?

Hor. Yes, Madame, and he hath appoynted me

To meete him on the east side of the Cittie

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ACT V.

(1) SCENE I.-Argal, he that is not guilty of his own death shortens not his own life.] Sir John Hawkins suggested that Shakespeare here designed a ridicule on the legal and logical subtleties enunciated in the case of Dame Hale, as reported in Plowden's Commentaries. The case was this: her husband, Sir James Hale, committed suicide by drowning himself in a river, and the point argued was whether by this act a lease which he died possessed of did not accrue to the Crown. It must be admitted that the clown's, "If I drown myself wittingly, it argues an act; and an act hath three branches;" reads amazingly like a satire on the following:-Serjeant Walsh said that "The act consists of three parts. The first is the imagination, which is a reflection or meditation of the mind, whether or no it is convenient for him to destroy himself, and what way it can be done. The second is the resolution, which is the determination of the mind to destroy himself, and to do it in this or that particular way. The third is the perfection, which is the execution of what the mind has resolved to do. And this perfection consists of two parts, viz. the beginning and the end. The beginning is the doing of the act which causes the death, and the end is the death, which is only a sequel to the act." &c. &c.

Nor would it be easy to find a better parallel for,-"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: " &c.-than what follows, in the argument of the judges, viz. Weston, Anthony Brown, and Lord Dyer, "Sir James Hale was dead, and how came he to his death? It may be answered By drowning. And who drowned him? Sir James Hale. And when did he drown him? In his lifetime. So that Sir James Hale being alive, caused Sir James Hale to die; and the act of the living man was the death of the dead man. And then for this offence it is reasonable to punish the living man who committed the offence, and not the dead man." &c.

(2) SCENE I.-In youth, when I did love, did love, &c.] The three stanzas sung by the grave-digger are a barbarous version of a sonnet said to have been written by Lord Vaux, one copy of which, with music, has been discovered by Dr. Rimbault, in MS. Sloane, No. 4900: another, unaccompanied by music, is in the Harleian MSS. No. 1703. The whole poem, too, may be seen in Tottel's Miscellany, 1557, and has been reprinted in Percy's Reliques, Vol. I. p. 190, Edition 1812, and in Bell's Edition, 1854, where the words are thus given :

"THE AGED LOVER RENOUNCETH LOVE.

"I loathe that I did love,

In youth that I thought sweet, As time requires for my behove, Methinks they are not meet.

"My lusts they do me leave,
My fancies all are fled,
And track of time begins to weave
Grey hairs upon my head.

"For Age with stealing steps

Hath clawed me with his crutch, And lusty Life away she leaps

As there had been none such.

"My Muse doth not delight

Me as she did before;

My hand and pen are not in plight, As they have been of yore.

"For Reason me denies

This youthly idle rhyme; And day by day to me she cries. 'Leave off these toys in time.' "The wrinkles in my brow,

The furrows in my face Say, limping Age will lodge him now Where Youth must give him place.

"The harbinger of Death

To me I see him ride,

The cough, the cold, the gasping breath Doth bid me to provide

"A pickaxe and a spade,

And eke a shrouding sheet, A house of clay for to be made For such a guest most meet.

"Methinks I hear the clerk,

That knolls the careful knell, And bids me leave my woeful work, Ere Nature me compel.

"My keepers knit the knot

That Youth did laugh to scorn,
Of me that clean shall be forgot,
As I had not been born.

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(3) SCENE I.-And must the inheritor himself have no more, ha] We have something very like these reflections in Thomas Randolph's comedy of "The Jealous Lovers," played before Charles the Second at Cambridge, and published at Oxford, 1668:

"Sexton. [Shewing a skull.] This was a poetical noddle. O the sweet lines, choice language, eloquent figures, besides the jests, half jests, quarter jests, and quibbles that have come out of these chaps that yawn so! He has not so much as a new-coined complement to procure him a supper. The best friend he has may walk by him now, and yet have ne'er a jeer put upon him. His mistris had a little dog, deceased the other day, and all the wit in his noddle could not pump out an elegie to bewail it. He has been my tenant this seven years, and in all that while I never heard him rail against the times, or complain of the neglect of learning. Melpomene and the rest of the Muses have a good turn on't that he's dead; for while he lived, he ne'er left calling upon 'em. He was buried (as most of the tribe) at the charge of the parish and is happier dead than alive; for he has now as much money as the best in the company,-and yet has left off the poetical way of begging, called borrowing."-Act IV. Sc. 3.

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Again, in the next scene:

"Sexton. Look here; this is a lawyer's skull. There was a tongue in 't once, a damnable eloquent tongue, that would almost have perswaded any man to the gallows. This was a turbulent busie fellow, till Death gave him his Quietus est; and yet I ventured to rob him of his gown, and the rest of his habiliments, to the very buckram bag, not leaving him so much as a poor halfpeny to pay for his waftage, and yet the good man nere repin'd at it.— Now a man may clap you o'th' coxcomb with his spade, and never stand in fear of an action of battery."

CRITICAL OPINIONS ON HAMLET.

"THE seeming inconsistencies in the conduct and character of Hamlet have long exercised the conjectural ingenuity of critics; and, as we are always loth to suppose that the cause of defective apprehension is in ourselves, the mystery has been too commonly explained by the very easy process of setting it down as in fact inexplicable, and by resolving the phenomenon into a misgrowth, or lusus, of the capricious and irregular genius of Shakspeare. The shallow and stupid arrogance of these vulgar and indolent decisions, I would fain do my best to expose. I believe the character of Hamlet may be traced to Shakspeare's deep and accurate science in mental philosophy. Indeed, that this character must have some connexion with the common fundamental laws of our nature, may be assumed from the fact, that Hamlet has been the darling of every country in which the literature of England has been fostered. In order to understand him, it is essential that we should reflect on the constitution of our own minds. Man is distinguished from the brute animals in proportion as thought prevails over sense; but in the healthy processes of the mind, a balance is constantly maintained between the impressions from outward objects and the inward operations of the intellect ;-for if there be an overbalance in the contemplative faculty, man thereby becomes the creature of mere meditation, and loses his natural power of action. Now, one of Shakspeare's modes of creating characters is, to conceive any one intellectual or moral faculty in morbid excess, and then to place himself, Shakspeare, thus mutilated or diseased, under given circumstances. In Hamlet, he seems to have wished to exemplify the moral necessity of a due balance between our attention to the objects of our senses, and our meditation on the workings of our minds,—an equilibrium between the real and the imaginary worlds. In Hamlet, this balance is disturbed; his thoughts and the images of his fancy are far more vivid than his actual perceptions; and his very perceptions, instantly passing through the medium of his contemplations, acquire, as they pass, a form and a colour not naturally their own. Hence we see a great, an almost enormous, intellectual activity, and a proportionate aversion to real action consequent upon it, with all its symptoms and accompanying qualities. This character Shakspeare places in circumstances under which it is obliged to act on the spur of the moment. Hamlet is brave and careless of death; but he vacillates from sensibility, and procrastinates from thought, and loses the power of action in the energy of resolve. Thus it is that this tragedy presents a direct contrast to that of Macbeth;' the one proceeds with the utmost slowness, the other with a crowded and breathless rapidity.

"The effect of this overbalance of the imaginative power is beautifully illustrated in the everlasting. broodings and superfluous activities of Hamlet's mind, which, unseated from its healthy relation, is constantly occupied with the world within, and abstracted from the world without,-giving substance to shadows, and throwing a mist over all common-place actualities. It is the nature of thought to be indefinite ;-definiteness belongs to external imagery alone. Hence it is that the sense of sublimity arises, not from the sight of an outward object, but from the beholder's reflection upon it;-not from the sensuous impression, but from the imaginative reflex. Few have seen a celebrated waterfall without feeling something akin to disappointment; it is only subsequently that the image comes back full into the mind, and brings with it a train of grand or beautiful associations. Hamlet feels this; his senses are in a state of trance, and he looks upon external things as hieroglyphics. His soliloquy,—

'O! that this too too solid flesh would melt,' &c.

springs from that craving after the indefinite-for that which is not-which most easily besets men of genius; and the self-delusion common to this temper of mind is finely exemplified in the character which Hamlet gives of himself,—

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