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"Of those effects for which 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,

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Offence's gilded hand may fhove by justice;
And oft 'tis feen, the wicked prize it felf

Buys out the law; but 'tis not fo above:
'There is no fhuffling, there the action lies
'In his true nature, we our felves compell'd
'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 foul, that struggling to be free,
Art more engag'd! help angels, make assay!
Bow stubborn knees, and heart with ftrings of steel
Be foft as finews of the new-born babe!

All may be well.

SCENE X.

Enter Hamlet.

[The King kneels.

Ham. Now might I do it pat, now he is praying,
And now I'll do't---- and fo he goes to heav'n,
And fo am I reveng'd? that would be scann'd,--
A villain kills my father, and for that

I, his fole fon, do this fame villain fend

To heav'n----O this is Phire and fallery, not revenge.
He took my father grofly, full of bread,

With all his crimes broad blown, as flush as May;
And how his audit ftands, who knows, fave heav'n?
But in our circumstance and course of thought,

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'Tis heavy with him.

Am I then reveng'd,
To take him in the purging of his foul,
When he is fit and feafon'd for his paffage?
Up fword, and know thou a more horrid 'time:
When he is drunk, afleep, or in his rage,
Or in th' incestuous pleasure of his bed,
At gaming, fwearing, or about some act
That has no relish of falvation 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.

Pol.

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SCENE XI.

The Queen's Apartment.

Enter Queen and Polonius.

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 fcreen'd, and stood between
Much heat and him. I'll filence 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 haft thy father much offended.

• bent

Ham.

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 fo;

You are the Queen, your husband's brother's wife,
And (would it were not fo) you are my mother.

Queen. Nay, then I'll fet 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 flain.

Queen. Oh me, what haft thou done?

[Ham. kills Polonius.

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 bufie, is some danger.

Leave wringing of your hands, peace, fit 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 fo,
That it is proof and bulwark against sense.

1 an idle

Queen,

Queen. What have I done, that thou dar'ft wag thy tongue In noife fo rude against me?

Ham. Such an act,

That blurs the grace and blush of modefty,
Calls virtue hypocrite, takes off the rose
From the fair forehead of an innocent love,
And fets a blifter there; makes marriage-vows
As falfe as dicers oaths. O fuch a deed,
As from the body of contraction plucks
The very foul, and fweet religion makes
A rhapsody of words. Heav'n's face doth glow
O'er this folidity and compound mass,

With triftful visage as against the doom.
'Tis thought-fick at the act.

Queen. Ay me, what act,

That roars fo loud, and thunders in the index?
Ham. Look here upon this picture, and on this,
The counterfeit prefentment of two brothers:
See what a grace was feated on this brow,
Hyperion's curles, the front of Jove himself,
An eye like Mars, to threaten or command,
A station like the herald Mercury
New-lighted on a heav'n-kiffing hill;
A combination, and a form indeed,
Where every God did seem to fet his feal,

To give the world affurance of a man.

This was your husband.---- Look you now what follows,
Here is your husband, like a mildew'd ear,

Blafting 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

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 fhame! where is thy blush? rebellious hell,
If thou canst mutiny in a matron's bones,
To flaming youth let virtue be as wax,

And melt in her own fire. Proclaim no fhame,
When the compulfive ardour gives the charge,
Since froft it self as actively doth burn,

And reafon pardons will.

Queen. O Hamlet, fpeak no more.

Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very foul,
And there I see such black and grained fpots
As will not leave their tinct.

Ham. Nay, but to live

In the rank fweat of an inceftuous 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, fweet Hamlet.

Ham. A murderer, and a villain!

A flave, 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 fhelf 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,

sor, panders.

That

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