Imatges de pÓgina
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. Of those effects for wbich I did the murther,

My crown, mine own ambition, and my Queen. May one be pardon'd, and retain th' offence ? ' In the corrupted currents of this world, • Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice; ' And oft 'tis seen, the wicked prize it felf

Buys out the law; but 'tis not fo above :
· There is no shuffling, there the action lies
' In his true nature, we our felves compellid
'Ev'n to the teeth and forehead of our faults,
' To give in evidence. What then? what rests ?
Try what repentance can.

What can it not?
Yet what can it, when one cannot repent ?
Oh wretched state! oh bosom, black as death!
Oh limed soul, that struggling to be free,
Art more engag'd! help angels, make assay!
Bow stubborn knees, and heart with strings of steel
Be soft as finews of the new-born babe!
All may be well.

[The King kneels. SCE N E X.

Enter Hamlet.

Ham. Now might I do it pat, now he is praying,
And now I'll do't---- and so he goes to heav'n,
And so am I reveng’d: that would be scana'd,-----
A villain kills my father, and for that
I, his sole son, do this same villain fend
To hear'n---- this is Phire and fallery, not revenge.
He took my father grofly, full of bread,
With all his crimes broad blown, as ? Alush as May;
And how his audit stands, who knows, save heav'n?
But in our circumstance and course of thought,

Ggg 2
P base and filly. Ed. prim. a fresh

Tis

'Tis heavy with him. Am I then reveng’d,
To take him in the purging of his soul,
When he is fit and season'd for his passage?
Up sword, and know thou a more horrid 'time:
When he is drunk, asleep, or in his rage,
Or in th’incestuous pleasure of his bed,
At gaming, swearing, or about some act
That has no relish of salvation in't,
Then trip him, that his heels may kick at heav'n,
And that his soul may be as damn’d and black
As hell, whereto it goes. My mother stays;
This phyfick but prolongs thy fickly days.

[Exit. King. My words fly up, my thoughts remain below; Words, without thoughts, never to heaven go. [Exit.

S CE N E XI.

H

The Queen's Apartment.

Enter Queen and Polonius. Pol. E will come straight; look you lay home to him,

Tell him his pranks have been too broad to bear with, And that your Grace hath screen'd, and stood between Much heat and him. I'll silence me e'en here; Pray you be round.

Queen. I'll warrant you, fear me not. Withdraw, I hear him coming.

[Polonius hides himself behind the Arras. Enter Hamlet.

Ham. Now, mother, what's the matter?
Queen. Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended.

Harn,

Ham. Mother, you have my father much offended.
Queen. Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue.
Ham. Go, go, you question with 'a wicked tongue.
Queen. Why how now, Hamlet ?
Ham. What's the matter now?
Queen. Have you forgot me?

Ham. No, by the rood, not so ;
You are the Queen, your husband's brother's wife,
And (would it were not so) you are my mother.

Queen. Nay, then I'll set those to you that can speak.

Ham. Come, come, and fit you down ; you shall not budge: You go not 'till i set you up a glass Where you may see the inmost part

of

you.
Queen. What wilt thou do? thou wilt not murther me ?
Help, ho.
Pol. What ho, help.

(Behind the Arras. Ham. How now, a rat? dead for a ducate, dead. Pol. Oh I am llain.

[Ham. kills Polonius. Queen. Oh me, what halt thou done? Ham. Nay I know not: is it the King? Queen. Oh, what a rash and bloody deed is this !

Ham. A bloody deed, almost as bad, good mother, As kill a King, and marry with his brother.

Queen. As kill a King ?

Ham. Ay lady, 'twas my word. Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewel, [To Polonius. I took thee for thy better ; take thy fortune ; Thou find'st, to be too busie, is some danger. Leave wringing of your hands, peace, sit you down, And let me wring your heart, for so I shall If it be made of penetrable stuff ; If damned custom have not braz'd it so, That it is proof and bulwark against sense.

Queen.

1 an idle

Queen. What have I done, that thou dar'st wag thy tongue
In noise so rude against me?

Ham. Such an act,
That blurs the grace and blush of modesty,
Calls virtue hypocrite, takes off the role
From the fair forehead of an innocent love,
And sets a blister there; makes marriage-vows
As false as dicers oaths. O such a deed,
As from the body of contraction plucks
The very foul, and sweet religion makes
A rhapsody of words. Heav'n's face doth glow
O'er this folidity and compound mass,
With tristful visage as against the doom.
'Tis thought-sick at the act.

Queen. Ay me, what act,
That roars so loud, and thunders in the index?

Ham. Look here upon this picture, and on this,
The counterfeit presentment of two brothers :
See what a grace was seated on this brow,
Hyperion's curles, the front of Jove himfelf,
An eye like Mars, to threaten or command,
A station like the herald Mercury
New-lighted on a heav'n-kisling hill;
A combination, and a form indeed,
Where every God did seem to set his seal,
To give the world assurance of a man.
This was your husband.---- Look you now what follows,
Here is your husband, like a mildew'd ear,
Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes :
Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed,
And batten on this moore? ha! have you eyes :
You cannot call it love ; for at your age,
The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble,

And

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And waits upon the judgment; and what judgment
Would step from this to this ? what devil was’t,
That thus hath cozen'd you at hoodman blind :
O shame! where is thy blush? rebellious hell,
If thou canst mutiny in a marron's bones,
To flaming youth let virtue be as wax,
And melt in her own fire. Proclaim no shame,
When the compulsive ardour gives the charge,
Since frost it self as actively doth burn,
And reason 'pardons will.

Queen. O Hamlet, speak no more.
Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul,
And there I see such black and grained spots
As will not leave their tinct.

Ham. Nay, but to live
In the rank sweat of an incestuous bed,
Stew'd in corruption, honying and making love
Over the nasty sty.

Queen. Oh speak no more,
These words like daggers enter in mine ears.
No more, sweet Hamlet.

Ham. A murderer, and a villain !
A slave, that is not twentieth part the tythe
Of
your precedent lord.

A vice of Kings,
A cutpurse of the empire and the rule,
That from a shelf the precious diadem stole
And put it in his pocket.

Enter Ghoft.
A King of shreds and patches---
Save me! and hover o'er me with your wings

(Starting up You heav'nly guards! what would your gracious figure?

Queen. Alas he's mad.
Ham. Do you not come your tardy fon to chide,

That 1 or, panders.

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