Not of that dye which their investments fhew,
But mere implorers of unholy faits,
Breathing like fanctified and pious bawds,
The better to beguile. This is for all:

I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth,
Have you fo flander any moment leiture,
As to give words or talk with the Lord Hamlet.
Look to't, I charge you, come your way.
Oph. I fhall obey, my Lord.

[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to the Platform before the Palace.
Enter HAMLET, HORATIO, and MARCELLUS.
Ham. The air bites fhrewdly; 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 ftruck.

Hor. I heard it not : it then draws near the feason, Wherein the fpirit held his wont to walk.

[Noife of warlike mufic within.

What does this mean, my Lord?
[roufe,
Ham. The King doth wake to-night, and takes his
Keeps waffel, and the fwaggering up-fpring reels;
And as he drains his draughts of Rhenifh down,
The kettle-drum 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

prompters of unholy (that is, unchaste) suits; and so a change of the fame metaphor is continued to the end.

I made this emendation when I published my Shakespeare Reftored, and Mr Pope has thought fit to embrace it in his laft edition.

More honoured in the breach than the observance. This heavy-headed revel, eaft and weft, (15) Makes us traduced and taxed of other nations; They clepe us drunkards, and with fwinifh phrafe, Soil our addition; and, indeed, it takes

[height,

From our atchievements, though performed at
The pith and marrow of our attribute.
So, oft it chances in particular men,

That for fome vicious mole of nature in them,
As, in their birth, (wherein they are not guilty,
Since nature cannot chufe his origin)

By the o'ergrowth of fome complexion,

Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reafon;
Or by fome habit, that too much o'er-leavens
The form of plaufive manners; that thefe men
Carrying, I fay, the ftamp of one defect,
(Being nature's livery, or fortune's fcar)
Their virtues elfe, be they as pure as grace,
As infinite as man may undergo,

Shall in the general cenfure take corruption
From that particular fault.----The dram of Bafe (16)

(15) This heavy headed revel, east and weft,] This whole fpeech of Hamlet, to the entrance of the ghoft, I fet right in my shakespeare Reftored, fo fhall not trouble the readers again with a repetition of thofe corrections, or justification of them. Mr Pope admits, I have given the whole a glimmering of fenfe, but it is purely conjectural, and founded on no authority of copies. But is this any objection against conjecture in Shakespeare's cafe, where no original manufcript is fubfifting, and the printed copies have fucceffively blundered after one another? And is not even a glimmering of fenfe, fo it be not arbitrarily impofed, preferable to flat and glaring nonfenfe? If not, there is a total end at least to this branch of criticifm, and nonfenfe may plead title and prescription from time, because there is no direct authority for difpoffeffing it.

(16)

-The dram of eafe
Doth all the noble substance of a doubt

Doth all the noble fubftance of worth out,
To his own fcandal.

To his own feandal.] Mr Pope, who has degraded this whole fpeech, has entirely left out this concluding fentence of it. It looks, indeed, to be defperate, and for that reafon, I conceive, he chose to drop it. I do not remember a paffage, throughout all our Poet's works, more intricate and depraved in the text, of lefs meaning to outward appearance, or more likely to baffle the attempts of criticifm in its aid. It is certain, there is neither fente nor grammar as it now ftands; yet, with a flight alteration, I'll endeavour to cure those defects, and give a fentiment too, that shall make the Poet's thought clofe nobly. What can a dram of cafe mean? or what can it have to do with the context, fuppofing it were the allowed expreflion here? Or, in a word, what agreement in fenfe is there betwixt a dram of cafe and the fubftance of a doubt? It is a defperate corruption, and the nearest way to hope for a cure of it, is to confider nar rowly what the Poet must be fuppofed to have intended here. The whole tenour of this speech is, that let men have never fo many or fo eminent virtues. if they have one defect which accompanies them, that fingle blemish shall throw a ftain upon their whole character; and not only fo, (if I understand right) but shall deface the very effence of all their goodness, to its own fcandal; so that their virtues themselves will become their reproach. This is not only a continuation of his fentiment, but carries it up with a fine and proper climax. I have ventured to conjecture that the Author might write;

The dram of base

Doth all the noble fubftance of worth out

To his own scandal.

The dram of bafe, i. e. the least alloy of baseness or vice. It is very frequent with our Poet to use the adjective of quali ty instead of the fubftantive fignifying the thing. Besides, I have obferved, that elsewhere, fpeaking of worth, he delights to confider it as a quality that adds weight to a perfon, and connects the word with that idea:

1.et every word weigh heavy of her worth,
That he does weigh too light.

All's Well that ends Well.
From whofe fo many weights of bafenefs cannot
A dram of worth be drawn,

Cymbeline.

Enter Ghoft.

Hor. Look, my Lord, it comes !

Ham. Angels and minifters of grace defend us!] Be thou a fpirit of health, or goblin damned, Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from hell, Be thy intents wicked or charitable,

Thou comeft in fuch a questionable shape, (17)
That I will speak to thee.

I'll call thee Hamlet,

King, Father, Royal Dane: oh! answer me;
Let me not burft in ignorance; but tell
Why thy canonized bones, hearfed in death,
Have burft their cearments? why the fepulchre,
Wherein we faw thee quietly in-urned,
Hath oped his ponderous and marble jaws,
To caft thee up again? What may this mean?
That thou, dead corfe, again, in compleat fteel,
Revifiteft thus the glimpfes of the moon,
Making night hideous, and us fools of nature.
So horribly to shake our difpofition

With thoughts beyond the reaches of our fouls?
Say, why is this? wherefore? what fhould we do?
[Ghoft beckons Hamlet.
Hor. It beckons you to go away with it,

2

As if it fome impartment did defire

Το you alone.

Mar. Look, with what courteous action It waves you to a more removed ground: But do not go with

it.

Hor. No, by no means.

[Holding Hamlet.

Ham. It will not speak; then I will follow it.

(17) Thou comeft in fuch a questionable shape,] By questionable we now constantly understand difputable, doubtful; but our Author ufes it in a fenfe quite oppofite, not difputable, but to be converfea with, inviting question; as in Macbeth;

Live you, or are you aught that man may question ?

Hor. Do not, my Lord.

Ham. Why, what fhould be the fear?
I do not fet my life at a pin's fee;
And, for my foul, what can it do to that,
Being a thing immortal as ittelf?

It waves me forth again.----I'll follow it----

Hor. What if it tempt you tow'rd the flood, my Or to the dreadful fummit of the cliff,

That beetles o'er his base into the fea;

And there affume fome other horrible form,

[Lord,

Which might deprive your fovereignty of reafon,
And draw you into madness? think of it.
The very place puts toys of defperation,
Without more motive, into ev'ry brain,
That looks fo many fathoms to the fea;
And hears it roar beneath.

Ham. It waves me ftill: go on, I'll follow thee---
Mar. You shall not go, my Lord.

Ham. Hold off your hands.

Mar. Be ruled, you fhall not go.
Ham. My fate cries out,

And makes each petty artery in this body
As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve.
Still am I called: unhand me, gentlemen-

[Breaking from them. By Heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me--I fay, away--go on----I'll follow thee------[Exeunt Ghoft and Hamlet.

Hor. He waxes defperate with imagination.
Mar. Let's follow; 'tis not fit thus to obey him.
Hor. Have after.--------To what iffue will this

come?

Mar. Something is rotten in the ftate of Denmark.
Hor. Heaven will direct it.

Mar. Nay, let's follow him.

[Exeunt.