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

Ham. Whose was it?

Clown. A whoreson mad fellow's it was; whose do you think it was?

Ham. Nay, I know not.

Clown. A pestilence on him for a mad rogue! he pour'd a flaggon of Rhenish on my head once. This same scull, Sir, was Yorick's scull, the King's jester.

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 rises at it. Here hung those lips, that I have kiss'd I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now; your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set 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 savour she must come; make her laugh at that–Pr’ythee, Horatio, tell me one thing.

Hor. What's that, my Lord ?

Ham. Dost thou think, Alexander look'do this fashion i' th' earth?

Hor. E'en so.
Hàn. And smelt so, puh? [Smelling to the Scull.
Hor. E'en so, my

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

Hor. 'Twere to consider too curiously, to consider so.

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

as

as thus : Alexander died, Alexander was buried, Alexander returneth to duft; the dust is earth; of earth we make loam ; and why of that loam, whereto he was converted, might they not stop a beer- barrel? Imperial Cafar, dead and turn'd to clay, Might stop 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 soft a while-here comes the King,

S CE N E II. Enter King, Queen, Laertes, and a coffin, with Lords,

and Priests, attendant. The Queen, the Courtiers. What is that they follow, And with such maimed rites ? this doth betoken, The coarse, they follow, did with desperate hand Foredo its own life; 'was of some estate. Couch we a while, and mark. Laer. What

ceremony

else? Ham. That is Laertes, a most noble youth: markLaer. What ceremony else ?

Prieft. Her obsequies have been so far enlarg'd As we have warranty; her death was doubtful; And but that great Command o'er-sways the order, She should in ground unsandified have lodg'd 'Till the laft Trump. For charitable prayers, Shards, flints, and pebbles, should be thrown on her; Yet here she is * allow'd her virgin chants, Her maiden-strewments, and the bringing home Of bell and burial.

Laer. Must no more be done ?

Priest. No more be done !
We should profane the service of the dead,
To fing a Requiem, and such 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.

Laer.

P 3

Laer. Lay her i'th' earth;
And from her fair and unpolluted flesh
May violets spring! I tell thee churlish priest.
A miniftring angel shall my fifter be,
When thou liest howling.

Ham. What, the fair Ophelia !

Queen. Sweets to the sweet, farewel!
I hop'd, thou should'st have been my Hamlet's wife;
I thought thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid.
And not have firew'd thy Grave.

Låer. O treble woe
Fall ten times treble on that cursed bead,"
Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious Tense
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 skyish head Of blue Olympus.

Ham. [discovering himself.] What is he,.whose griess Bear such an emphasis ? whose phrase of sorrow Conjures the wandring stars, and makes them stand Like wonder-wounded hearers ? this is I,

[Hamlet leaps into the Grave. Hamlet the Dane.

Laer. The Devil take thy soul! (Grappling with him.

Ham. Thou pray'st not well.
I pr’ythee, take thy fingers from my

throat-
For though I am not splenitive and rafh;
Yet have I in me fomething dangerous,
Which let thy wisdom fear. Hold off thy hand.

King. Pluck them asunder
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 son! what theme?

Ham. I lov'd' Ophelia ; forty thousand brothers
Could not with all their quantity of love
Make up my sum. What wilt thou do for her ?

King. O, he is mad, Laertes.
Queen. For love of God, forbear him.

Ham. Come, shew me what thou'lt do. (self? Woo't weep? woo't fight? woo't fast? woo't tear thyWoo't drink

up

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

Queen. This is mere madnefs ;
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 use 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 present push. Good Gertrude, set some watch over your son: This Grave shall have a living Monument. An hour of quiet shortly shall we fee ; Till then, in patience our proceeding be. (Exéunt. * Eifel.] Vinegar. against the burning Zone,] We should read, Sun.

SCENE

Hamo S You do remember all the circumstance ?

S CE N E III.
Changes to a H ALL, in the Palace.

Enter Hamlet and Horatio.
O much for this, now shall you see the other.

Hor. Remember it, my lord ?

Ham. Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting, That would not let me sleep; methought, I lay Worse than the mutines in the Bilboes ; Rashness (And prais'd be rashness for it) lets us know; Or indiscretion sometimes ferves us well, When our deep plots do fail; and that should teach us, There's a Divinity that shapes 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 delire,
Finger'd their packet, and in fine withdrew
To mine own room again; making so bold
(my fears forgetting manners) to unseal
Their grand Commission, where I found, Horatio,
A royal knavery; an exact Command,
Larded with many several sorts of reasons,
Importing Denmark's health, and England's too,
With, ho! such buggs and goblins in my life;
That on the supervize, no leisure bated,
No, not to stay the grinding of the ax,
My head should be struck off.

Hor. Is't possible ?

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

Hor. I beseech you.

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

Devis'd