And my imaginations are as foul (37) And after we will both our judgments join Hor. Well, my Lord, If he fteal aught the whilft this play is playing, Enter King, Queen, POLONIUS, OPHELIA, ROSINCRANTZ, GUILDENSTERN, and other Lords attendant, with a Guard carrying Torches. Danish March. Sound a Flourish. Ham. They're coming to the play; I must be Get you a place. King. How fares our coufin Hamlet? [idle Ham. Excellent, i'faith, of the camelion's difh : I eat the air, promife-crammed: you cannot feed capons fo. King. I have nothing with this answer, Hamlet; thefe words are not mine. Ham. No, nor mine.--Now, my Lord; you played once i' th' univerfity, you fay? [To Polon. Pol. That I did, my Lord, and was accounted a good actor. Ham. And what did you enact? Pol. I did enact Julius Cæfar, I was killed i' th' Capitol Brutus killed me. Ham. It was a brute part of him to kill so capital a calf there. Be the players ready? Rof. Ay, my Lord, they stay upon your patience. (37) And my imaginations are as foul, I have As Vulcan's ftithy.] I have ventured, against the authority of all the copies, to fubftitute Smithy here. given my reafons in the fortieth note on Troilus, to which, for brevity's fake, I beg leave to refer the readers. Queen. Come hither, my dear Hamlet, fit by me. Ham. No, good mother, here's metal more at tractive. Pol. Oh, ho, do you mark that? Ham. Lady, fhall I ly in your lap? [Lying down at Ophelia's feet. Opb. No, my Lord. Ham. I mean, my head upon your lap? Oph. Ay, my Lord. Ham. Do you think I meant country matters? Oph. I think nothing, my Lord. Ham. That's a fair thought, to ly between a maid's legs? Oph. What is, my Lord! Ham. Nothing. Oph. You are merry, my Lord? Oph. Ay, my Lord. Ham. Oh God! your only jig-maker; what fhould a man do but be merry? For, look you how chearfully my mother looks, and my father died within these two hours. Oph. Nay, 'tis twice two months, my Lord. Ham. So long? nay, then let the devil wear black, for I'll have a fuit of fables. Oh heavens ! die two months ago, and not forgotten yet! then there's hope a great man's memory may outlive his life half a year:' but, by'r lady, he must build churches then; or elfe fhall he fuffer not thinking on with the hobby-horfe; whofe epitaph is, " For "oh, for oh, the hobby-horfe is forgot." Hautboys play. The Dumb-fhow enters. (38) Enter a Duke and Duchefs, with regal Coronets, very lovingly; the Duchefs embracing him, (38) Enter a King and Queen very lovingly; ] Thus has the and he her. She kneels; be takes her up, and declines his head upon her neck; he lays him down upon a bank of flowers; the feeing him asleep, leaves bim. Anon comes in a Fellow, takes off his crown, kiffes it, and pours poifon in the Duke's ears, and * exit. The Duchefs returns, finds the Duke dead, and makes paffionate action. The poifoner, with fome two or three mutes, comes in again, feeming to lament with her. The dead body is carried away. The poifoner wooes the Duchefs with gifts; the feems loth and unwilling a while, but in the end accepts his love. [Exeunt. Oph. What means this, my Lord? Ham. Marry, this is miching Malicho; it means mifchief. Oph. Belike this fhow imports the argument of the play? Enter Prologue. Ham. We fhall know by this fellow: the players cannot keep counfel; they'll tell all. Oph. Will he tell us what this fhow meant? Ham. Ay, or any fhow that you'll fhew him. Be not you afhamed to fhew, he'll not fhame to tell you what it means. blundering and inadvertent editors all along given us this ftage direction, though we are exprefsly told by Hamlet anon, that the ftory of this introduced interlude is the murder of Gonzago Duke of Vienna. The fource of this miftake is eafily to be accounted for, from the ftage's dreffing the characters. Regal coronets being at firft ordered by the Poet for the duke and duchefs, the fucceeding players, who did not ftrictly obferve the quality of the perfons or circumfances of the ftory, miftook 'em for a king and queen; and fo the error was deduced down from thence to the prefent times. Methinks Mr Pope might have indulged his private fenfe in fo obvious a mistake, without any fear of rafhnets being imputed to him for the arbitrary correction. Oph. You are naught, you are naught, I'll mark the play. Prol. For us, and for our tragedy, Here ftooping to your clemency, Ham. Is this a prologue, or the poesy of a ring? Ham. As woman's love. Enter Duke and Duchefs, Players. Duke. Full thirty times hath Phoebus' car gone round Neptune's falt wash, and Tellus' orbed ground; And thirty dozen moons with borrowed fheen About the world have twelve times thirties been, Since love our hearts, and Hymen did our hands Unite commutual in moft facred bands. Duch. So many journeys may the fun and moon Make us again count o'er, ere love be done. But woe is me, you are fo fick of late, So far from cheer and from your former ftate, That I diftruft you; yet though I diftruft, Difcomfort you, my Lord, it nothing muft: For women fear too much, even as they love. And womens' fear and love hold quantity; 'Tis either none, or in extremity. Now, what my love is, proof hath made you know; And as my love is fized, my fear is fo. (39) (39) And as my love is fixed, my fear is fo.] Mr Pope fays, I read sized, and, indeed, I do fo; because I obferve the Quarto of 1605 reads cized; that of 1611 ciz; the Folip in 1632 fiz; and that in 1623 fized; and becaufe, befides the whole tenour of the context demands this reading. For the lady evidently is talking here of the quantity and proportion of her love and fear, not of their continuance, duration, or fta Where love is great, the smallest doubts are fear; Where little fears grow great, great love there. grows Duke. 'Faith, I must leave thee, love, and short- My operant powers their functions leave to do, Duch. Oh confound the reft! Such love muft needs be treason in my breast: None wed the fecond but who kill the firft. Ham. Wormwood, wormwood!--- Duch. The inftances that fecond marriage move, Are bafe refpects of thrift, but none of love. A fecond time I kill my husband dead, When fecond husband kiffes me in bed. Duke. I do believe youthink what now you speak; But what we do determine oft we break; Purpofe is but the flave to memory, Of violent birth, but poor validity: Which now, like unripe fruits, fticks on the tree, Το pay Their own enactors with themselves destroy. bility. Cleopatra expreffes herself much in the fame man Proportioned to our caufe, must be as great |