Imatges de pàgina
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What is't, but to be nothing else but mad?

But let that go----

Queen. More matter, with lefs art.

Pol. Madam, I fwear, I use no art at all. That he is mad, 'tis true; 'tis true, 'tis pity; And pity 'tis 'tis true; a foolifh figure,---But farewel it; for I will ufe no art. Mad let us grant him then; and now remains That we find out the cause of this effect; Or rather fay, the cause of this defect; For this effect, defective, comes by cause; Thus it remains, and the remainder thus.--Perpend.-I have a daughter; have, while fhe is mine; Who, in her duty and obedience, mark, Hath given me this; now gather, and furmise.

[He opens a Letter, and reads.]

"To the celeftial, and my foul's idol, the most beatified (29) Ophelia."-----That's an ill phrafe:

(29) To the celeflal, and my foul's idol, the mat beautified Ophelia.] I have ventured at an emendation here, against the authority of all the copies; but, I hope, upon examination, it will appear probable and reasonable. The word beautified may carry two diftinct ideas, either as applied to a woman made up of artificial beauties (which our Poet afterwards calls,

The harlot's cheek beautied with plaftring art) or as applied to a perfon rich in native charms.

As, in the Two Gentlemen of Verona;

And partly feeing you are beautified
With goodly fhape.

As Shakespeare has therefore chofe to use it in the latter acceptation, to exprefs natural comelinefs; I cannot imagine, that, here, he would have excepted to the phrafe, and called it a vile one. But a ftronger objection ftill, in my mind, lyes against it. As celeftial and foul's idol are the introductory characteristics of Ophelia, what a dreadful anticlimax is it to defcend to fuch an epithet as beautified! On the other

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beatified is a vile phrafe; but you fhall hear These to her excellent white bofom, these"--. Queen. Came this from Hamlet to her?

· Pol. Good Madam, stay a while, I will be faithful.

"Doubt thou the ftars are fire,
"Doubt that the fun doth move;
"Doubt truth to be a liar,

"But never doubt I love.

[Reading

"Oh, dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers; I
"have not art to reckon my groans; but that I
"love thee beft, oh most beft, believe it. Adieu.
"Thine evermore, most dear Lady, whilst
"this machine is to him, Hamlet."

This in obedience hath my daughter fhewn me;
And, more above, hath his folicitings,

As they fell out by time, by means, and place,
All given to mine ear.

hand, beatified, as I have conjectured, raifes the image; but
Polonius might very well, as a Roman catholic, call it a
vile phrafe, i e. favouring of prophanation; fince the epithet
is peculiarly made an adjunct to the Virgin Mary's honour,
and therefore ought not to be employed in the praife of a
mere mortal. Again, though beautified, perhaps, is no where
elfe applied to an earthly beauty, yet the fame rapturous
ideas are employed in terms purely fynonymous.
No Valentine indeed for facred Sylvia.

Two Gentlemen of Verona. Even fhe; and is fhe not a heavenly faint?

Call her divine.

Ibid.

Love's Labour's loft.

My vows were earthly, thou a heavenly love.

Celestial as thou art, O pardon, Love, this wrong;
That fings Heaven's praife with fuch an earthly tongue.

Ibid.

And Beaumont and Fletcher, I remember, in A Wife for a Month, make a lover subscribe his letter to his mistress, thus ; -To the bleft Evanthe.

King. But how has the received his love?
Pol. What do you think of me?

King. As of a man faithful and honourable.
Pol. I would fain prove fo. But what might you
think?

When I had feen this hot love on the wing,
(As I perceived it, I muft tell you that,

Before my daughter told ine:) what might you,
Or my dear Majelty your Queen here, think?
If I had played the deík or table-book,
Or given my heart a working, mute and dumb,
Or looked upon this love with idle fight;

What might you think? no, I went round to work,
And my young miflrefs thus I did befpeak;
Lord Hamlet is a prince out of thy fphere,
This must not be: and then I precepts gave her,
That the fhould lock herfelf from his refort,
Admit no meffengers, receive no tokens:
Which done, fhe took the fruits of my advice;
And he repulfed, a fhort tale to make,
Fell to a fadnefs, then into a fast,

Thence to a watching, thence into a weakness,
Thence to a lightnefs, and, by this declenfion,
Into the madness wherein now he raves,
And all we wail for.

King. Do you think this?.

Queen. It may be very likely.

Pol. Hath there been fuch a time, I'd fain know

That I have pofitively faid, 'tis fo,

When it proved otherwife?

King. Not that I know.

[that,

Pol. Take this from this, if this be otherwise.

[Pointing to his Head and Shoulder.

If circumstances lead me, I will find

Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed
Within the centre.

King. How may we try it further?

Pol. You know fometimes he walks four hours Here in the lobby.

Queen. So he does indeed.

[together

Pol. At fuch a time I'll loofe my daughter to him;

Be you and I behind an arras then,

Mark the encounter: if he love her not,

And be not from his reason fallen thereon,
Let me be no adiftant for a state,

But keep a farm and carters.

King. We will try it.

Enter HAMLET, reading.

Queen. But look where fadly the poor wretch comes reading.

Pol. Away, I do beseech you, both away.

I'll board him prefently. [Exeunt King and Queen. Oh, give me leave.----How does my good Lord Hamlet?

Ham. Well, God o' mercy.

Pol. Do you know me, my Lord?

Ham. Excellent well; you are a fishmonger.
Pol. Not I, my Lord.

Ham. Then I would you were fo honeft a man.
Pol. Honeft, my Lord?

Ham. Ay, Sir; to be honeft, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand. Pol. That's very true, my Lord.

Ham. For if the fun breed maggots in a dead dog, Being a good kiffing carrion---

Have you a daughter?

Pol. I have, my Lord.

Ham. Let her not walk i' th' fun; conception is a bleffing, but not as your daughter may conceive. Friend, look to't.

Pol. How fay you by that? still harping on my daughter!

Yet he knew me not at first; he faid, I was a fishmonger.

He is far gone; and truly, in my youth, [Afide.
I fuffered much extremity for love;

Very near this.---I'll speak to him again.
What do you read, my Lord?

Ham. Words, words, words.

Pol. What is the matter, my Lord?
Ham. Between whom?

you

read, my

Lord.

Pol. I mean the matter that Ham. Slanders, Sir: for the fatirical flave fays here, that old men have grey beards; that their faces are wrinkled; their eyes purging thick amber, and plumb-tree gum: and that they have a plentiful lack of wit; together with most weak hams. All which, Sir, tho' I moft powerfully and potently believe, yet I hold it not honefty to have it thus fet down; for yourself, Sir, fhall be as old as I am, if, like a crab, you could go backward.

Pel. Tho' this be madness, yet there's method in't. Will you walk out of the air, my Lord ? Ham. Into my grave.--

----

Pol. Indeed, that's out o' th' air :-
How pregnant (fometimes) his replies are!
A happiness that often madness hits on,
Which fanity and reafon could not be
So profproufly delivered of. I'll leave him,
And fuddenly contrive the means of meeting
Between him and my daughter.

My honourable Lord, I will muft humbly
Take my leave of you.

Ham. You cannot, Sir, take from me any thing that I will more willingly part withal, except my

life.

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