I stand in pause where I shall first begin,
And both neglect. What if this cursed hand

-Pray, I cannot

Tho' inclination be as sharp as th'ill.

Were

Amidst this multitude of conjectures, I must own myself not fatisfied. 1 think by one flight addition we may greatly clear up the difficulty. The king, conscious of his own guilt, is defirous, yet afraid, to repent and pray: is it not natural that he should say;

A brother's murder-Pray, I would, yet] cannot

Now this flight addition will explain the next puzzling line: let us confider, what we may reasonably expect him to have faid after this: "I wou'd pray, but I cannot, tho' my inclination, [my great defire] to do fo is no less powerful and perfuafive with me, than the already determined resolution of my mind fo to do: that is, I am no less defirous to do what I would (namely, pray) and cannot, than I am refolv'd to do so:" the seeming want of difference between inclination and will, caufes all the obscurity: if the reader attends to that, and observes, that by inclination he means, a longing defire, a difpofition to do it with pleasure; and by will, the determination of the mind, the actual resolution, I think all will be clear: and the words I have added in the foregoing line, if not genuine, (tho' they seem to bid fair for it) at least add to the explaining the poet's thought. The latter fine lines,

Try what repentance can, what can it not?
Yet what can it, when one cannot repent?

throw fome light on these in question: he could not pray, for his guilt defeated his intent: here he would try the force of allpowerful repentance, yet again is check'd by his guilty confcience: for tho', fays he, repentance can do all things, yet what can it do when one cannot really and truly use it? when we are indeed defirous of repenting, but are by our guilt prevented from so doing: when we would fly to its aid, and be pardon'd for our offence, and yet retain the offence itself, and beg for forgiveness, while we still are guilty? the whole fpeech is a comment on it felf.

In Philafter, the king is praying to be forgiven, tho' still retaining his offence, as here:

But how can I

Look to be heard of gods, that must be just,
Praying upon the ground hold by wrong?

1

Were thicker than itself with brother's blood?
Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens
To wash it white as snow? Whereto serves mercy?
But to confront the vifage of offence?
And what's in prayer, but this twofold force,
To be forestalled ere we come to fall,
Or pardon'd being down? Then I'll look up;
My fault is past; but oh! what form of prayer
Can ferve my turn? Forgive me my foul murder!
That cannot be, since I am still poffefs'd
Of those effects for which I did the murder,
My crown, mine own ambition, and my queen.
May one be pardon'd, and retain th' offence?
In the corrupted currents of this wor'd,
Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice;
And oft 'tis seen the wicked prize itself,
Buys out the law: but 'tis not so above;
There is no shuffling, there the action lies
In its true nature, we ourselves compell'd
Even 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?
O, wretched state! O bosom black as death!
O, limed foul! that struggling to be free,
Art more engag'd! Help, angels, make assay,
Bow stubborn knees, and heart, with strings of steel,
Be foft as finews of the new-born babe;

All may be well.

Enter Hamlet.

[The King kucels.

Ham. (29) Now might I do it pat, now he is pray

ing;

And now I'll do't, and so he goes to heaven,

(29) It has been remarked, there is great want of refolution in Hamlet, for when he had fo good an opportunity to kill his uncle and revenge his father, as here, he shuffles it off with a paltry excuse, and is afraid to do what he so ardently longs for:

the

And fo am I reveng'd?-that would be scann'd-
A villain kills my father, and for that,
1, his fole son, do this same villain send

To heav'n! O! this is hire and falary, not revenge.
He took my father grosfly, full of bread,
With all his crimes broad blown, as flush as May;
And how his audit stands, who knows, save heaven?
But in our circumstance and course of thought,
'Tis heavy with him. Am I then reveng'd,
To take him in the purging of his foul,
When he is fit and season'd for his passage?
Up fword, and know thou a more horrid bent,
When he is drunk, afleep, or in his rage,
Or in th'incestuous pleasures of his bed;
At gaming, swearing, or about fome act
That has no relish of falvation in't:

Then trip him, that his heels may kick at heaven,
And that his foul may be as damn'd and black
As hell whereto it goes.

SCENE X. Part of the Scene between Hamlet and his Mother.

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 rose
From the fair forehead of an innocent love,
And fets a blister there; makes marriage-vows
As false as dicers' oaths: Oh, such a deed,
As from the body of contraction plucks

The

the observation may be confirmed from many other passages: in the next page, he himself observes, that all occafions do inform againß bim,and spur bis dull revenge: but 'tis not my design in this work, to enter into exact criticism on the characters.

The very foul, and sweet religion makes
A rhapsody of words.

Queen. Ah me, what act!

Ham. Look here, upon this picture, and on this; The counterfeit presentment of two brothers. See what a grace was feated on this brow; Hyperion's curls, the front of Jove himself, An eye like Mars, to threaten or command, (30) A station like the herald Mercury, New lighted on a heaven-kitling 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 (31) mildew'd ear, Blafting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes? Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed, And batten on this moor?

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

Enter

1

(30) A Station, &c.] The poet employs this word in a sense different from what it is generally used to fignify: for it means here, an attitude, a filent pofture, fixt demeanor of perfon, in oppofition to an active behaviour. Theobald. 'Tis very probable Milton took the first hint of the following fine lines from the prefent paffage :

Like Maia's son he stood,

And shook his plumes, that heavenly fragrance fill'd
The circuit wide.
Par. Loft, B. 5. 285.

(31) Mildew'd ear.] Probably he alludes to Pharaoh's dream, Gen. xli.

And he dreamed and behold feven ears of corn came up on one stalk rank and good: and behold seven thin ears and blafted with the east wind, sprang up after them: and the thin ears devoured the rank and full ears. See v. 22.

Enter Ghost.

Ham. Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings, You heavenly guards; what would your gracious figure?

Queen. Alas! he's mad.

Ham. Do you not come your tardy fon to chide

That, laps'd in time and paffion, lets go by
Th'important acting of your dread command?
O, fay

Ghoft. Do not forget; this vifitation
Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose.
But, look! amazement on thy mother fits:
O ftep between her and her fighting foul!
Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works:
Speak to her, Hamlet.

Ham. How is it with you, madam?
Queen. Alas! how is't with you?
That thus you bend your eye on vacancy,
And with th'incorporeal air doth hold discourse?
Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep;
And as the fleeping foldiers in th'alarm,

Your bedded hairs, like (32) life in excrements,