your water is a fore decayer of your whorefon dead body. Here's a fcull now has lain in the earth three and twenty years.

Ham. Whofe was it?

Clown. A whorefon mad fellow's it was; whofe do you think it was?

Ham. Nay, I know not.

Clown. A peftilence on him for a mad rogue! he pour'd a flaggon of Rhenish on my head once. This fame fcull, Sir, was Yorick's fcull, the King's jefter. Ham. This?

Clown. E'en that.

Ham. Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Haratio, a fellow of infinite jeft; of moft excellent fancy: he hath borne me on his back a thousand times: and now how abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rifes at it. Here hung thofe lips, that I have kifs'd I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now; your gambols? your fongs? yout flashes of merriment, that were wont to fet the table in a roar? not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chap fallen? now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come; make her laugh at that-Pr'ythee, Horatio, tell me one thing.

Hor. What's that, my Lord?

Ham. Doft thou think, Alexander look'd o' this fashion i' th' earth?

Hor. E'en fo.

Hàm. And fmelt fo, puh?
Hor. E'en fo, my lord.

[Smelling to the Scull.

Ham. To what base uses we may return, Horatio! why may not imagination trace the noble duft of Alexander, 'till he find it stopping a bung-hole?

Hor. 'Twere to confider too curioufly, to confi

der fo.

Ham. No, faith, not a jot: But to follow him thither with modefty enough, and likelihood to lead it;

as

as

thus: Alexander died, Alexander was buried, Alexander returneth to duft; the duft is earth; of earth we make loam; and why of that loam, whereto he was converted, might they not ftop a beer- barrel? Imperial Cafar, dead and turn'd to clay,

Might ftop a hole to keep the wind away:
Oh, that that earth, which kept the world in awe,
Should patch a wall t'expel the winter's flaw !
But foft but foft a while-here comes the King,

Enter King, Queen, Laertes, and a coffin, with Lords, and Priests, attendant.

The Queen, the Courtiers. What is that they follow,
And with fuch maimed rites? this doth betoken,
The coarse, they follow, did with desperate hand
Foredo its own life; 'twas of fome eftate.
Couch we a while, and mark.
Laer. What ceremony else?

Ham. That is Laertes, a most noble youth: mark-
Laer. What ceremony elfe?

Priest. Her obfequies have been fo far enlarg'd
As we have warranty; her death was doubtful;
And but that great Command o'er-fways the order,
She fhould in ground unfanctified have lodg'd
'Till the laft Trump. For charitable prayers,
Shards, flints, and pebbles, fhould be thrown on her;
Yet here he is allow'd her virgin chants,

Her maiden-ftrewments, and the bringing home
Of bell and burial.

Laer. Muft no more be done?

Prieft. No more be done!

We should profane the service of the dead,
To fing a Requiem, and fuch Reft to her

As to peace-parted fouls.

*

- allow'd her virgin rites,] The old Quarto reads Virgin Crants, evidently corrupted from Chants, which is the true Word.

P 3

Laer.

Laer. Lay her i'th' earth;

And from her fair and unpolluted flesh
May violets fpring! I tell thee churlish prieft.
A miniftring angel fhall my fifter be,
When thou lieft howling.

Ham. What, the fair Ophelia!

Queen. Sweets to the fweet, farewel!

I hop'd, thou fhould't have been my Hamlet's wife; I thought thy bride-bed to have deck'd, fweet maid. And not have firew'd thy Grave.

Låer. O treble woe

Fall ten times treble on that curfed head,"
Whofe wicked deed thy moft ingenious fenfe
Depriv'd thee of! Hold off the earth a while,
'Till I have caught her once more in my arms;

[Laertes leaps into the Grave.". Now pile your duft upon the quick and dead, 'Till of this flat a mountain you have made, T'o'er-top old Pelion, or the fkyish head Of blue Olympus.

Ham. [difcovering himfelf.] What is he, whofe griefs Bear fuch an emphafis? whofe phrase of forrow Conjures the wandring ftars, and makes them ftand Like wonder-wounded hearers? this is I,

Hamlet the Dane.

[Hamlet leaps into the Grave.

Laer. The Devil take thy foul! [Grappling with him.
Ham. Thou pray'ft not well.

I pr'ythee, take thy fingers from my throat-
For though I am not fplenitive and rash;

Yet have I in me fomething dangerous,

Which let thy wisdom fear. Hold off thy hand.
King. Pluck them afunder

Queen. Hamlet, Hamlet

Hor. Good my lord, be quiet.

[The attendants part them.

Ham. Why, I will fight with him upon this theme,

Until my eye-lids will no longer wag.

Queen.

Queen. Oh my fon! what theme?

Ham. I lov'd Ophelia; forty thoufand brothers
Could not with all their quantity of love

Make up my fum. What wilt thou do for her?
King. O, he is mad, Laertes.

Queen. For love of God, forbear him.
Ham. Come, fhew me what thou'lt do.

[felf?

Woo't weep? woo't fight? woo't fast? woo't tear thy

Woo't drink up * eifel, eat a crocodile ?

I'll do't-Doft thou come hither but to whine?
To out-face me with leaping in her Grave?
Be buried quick with her; and fo will I ;
And if thou prate of mountains, let them throw
Millions of acres on us, 'till our ground,
Singeing his pate † against the burning Sun,
Make Offa like a wart! nay, an thou'lt mouth,
I'll rant as well as thou.

Queen. This is mere madness ;

And thus a while the Fit will work on him :
Anon, as patient as the female dove.

E'er that her golden couplets are disclos'd
His filence will fit drooping.

Ham. Hear you, Sir

What is the reason that you ufe me thus ?
I lov'd you ever; but it is no matter-
Let Hercules himself do what he may,

The cat will mew, the dog will have his day. [Exit.
King. I pray you, good Horatio, wait upon him.

[Exit Hor. Strengthen your patience in your last night's speech. [To Laertes.

We'll put the matter to the prefent push.

Good Gertrude, fet fome watch over your fon :
This Grave fhall have a living Monument.
An hour of quiet fhortly fhall we fee;

'Till then, in patience our proceeding be. [Exeunt.

Eifel.] Vinegar.

-against the burning Zone,] We should read, Sun.

SCENE

Changes to a HALL, in the Palace.

Enter Hamlet and Horatio.

Ham. You do remember all the circumftance?

O much for this, now shall you fee the other

Hor. Remember it, my lord?

Ham. Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting,
That would not let me fleep; methought, I lay
Worfe than the mutines in the Bilboes; Rashness
(And prais'd be rafhnefs for it) lets us know;
Or indifcretion fometimes ferves us well,

When our deep plots do fail; and that should teach us,
There's a Divinity that fhapes our ends,
Rough-hew them how we will.

Hor. That is most certain.
Ham. Up from my cabin,

My fea-gown scarft about me, in the dark
Grop'd I to find out them; had my defire,
Finger'd their packet, and in fine withdrew
To mine own room again; making so bold
(my fears forgetting manners) to unfeal
Their grand Commiffion, where I found, Horatio,
A royal knavery; an exact Command,
Larded with many feveral forts of reasons,
Importing Denmark's health, and England's too,
With, ho! fuch buggs and goblins in my life;
That on the fupervize, no leifure bated,
No, not to ftay the grinding of the ax,
My head fhould be ftruck off.

Hor. Is't poffible?

Ham. Here's the commiffion, read it at more leisure; But wilt thou hear now how I did proceed? Hor. I befeech you.

Ham. Being thus benetted round with Villains, (Ere I could mark the prologue to my Bane They had begun the Play :) I fat me down,

Devis'd