Imatges de pàgina
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Our fovereign procefs, which imports at full,
By letters congruing to that effect,

The prefent death of Hamlet. Do it, England:
For like the hectick in blood he rages,

my

And thou muft cure me; 'till I know 'tis done,
Howe'er my haps, my joys will ne'er begin.

[Exit

SCENE. A Camp, on the Frontiers of Denmark.

For.

Enter Fortinbras, with an Army.

Gi

O, Captain, from me, greet the Danish King,, Tell him, that, by his licence, Fortinbras Claims the conveyance of a promis'd march Over his realm. You know the rendezvous. If that his Majesty would aught with us, We fhall express our duty in his eye, And let him know fo.

Capt. I will do't, my Lord.

For. Go foftly on. [Exit Fortinbras, with the Army

Enter Hamlet, Rofincrantz, Guildenstern, &c.

Ham. Good Sir, whofe powers are these?

Capt. They are of Norway, Sir.

Ham. How purpos'd, Sir, I pray you?
Capt. Against fome part of Poland.
Ham. Who commands them, Sir?

Capt. The nephew of old Norway, Fortinbras.
Ham. Goes it against the main of Poland, Sir,
Or for fomé frontier?

Capt. Truly to speak it, and with no addition,

to him. But what then shall we do with our own home chronicles? -They are exprefs, that the Danes never fet footing on our coaft till the 8th century. They infefted us for fome time in a piratical way, then made a descent and conquer'd part of the country: and about the year 800, King Egbert is faid to have fubmitted to a tribute, call'd Dane-gelt: a tax of 12d, on every hide of land through the whole nation. But our Authors differ about this Dane-gelt: whether it was a tax paid, to obtain good terms of the Danes; or levied by our Kings towards the charge of defences, to repel the invafions of the Danes

I 6

We

4

We go to gain a little patch of ground,
That hath in it no profit but the name.
To pay five ducats.

five, I would not farm it;

Nor will it yield to Norway, or the Pole,

A ranker rate, fhould it be fold in fee.

Ham. Why, then the Polack never will defend it.
Capt. Yes, 'tis already garrifon'd.

[cats, Ham. Two thousand souls, and twenty thousand du Will not debate the queftion of this ftraw;

This is th' impofthume of much wealth and peace,
That inward breaks, and fhews no caufe without
Why the man dies. I humbly thank you, Sir.
Capt. God b'w'ye, Sir.

Rof. Wil't pleafe you go, my Lord?

Ham. I'll be with you ftrait, go a little before.

Manet Hamlet.

[Exeunt

How all occafions do inform against me,
And fpur my dull revenge? what is a man,
If his chief good and market of his time
Be but to fleep and feed? a beast, no more.
Sure, he that made us with fuch large difcourfe, (58)
Looking before and after, gave us not

That capability and god-like reason

To ruft in us unus'd. Now whether it be
Belial oblivion, or fome craven fcruple

Of thinking too precifely on th'event,

(A thought, which, quarter'd, hath but one part wifdom,

(58) Sure, be that made us with fuch large discourse,

oking before and after.] This is an expreffion purely Homeric;
*ος δ ̓ ὁ γέρων μετεῃσιν, ἅμα ΠΡΟΣΣΩ ΚΑΙ ΟΠΙΣΣΩ
Λεύσσει.

And again;

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Iliad. y. ver. 109.

Iliado. ver. 250.

· ὁ γὰρ δ ὅρα ΠΡΟΣΣΩ & ΟΠΙΣΣΩ. The fhort fcholiaft on the laft paffage gives us a comment, that very aptly explains our Author's phrafe. Συνετῷ γὰρ ἀνδρός ἐςι, τὰ μέλλοντα τοῖς γεγενημένοις αρμόζεσθαι, καὶ ἔτως ὁραν τα επόμενα. “ For it is the part of an understanding man to connect the reflection of events to "come with fuch as have pafs'd, and fo to foresee what fhall follow." This is, as our Author phrases it, looking BEFORE and AFTER.

And

And ever three parts coward :) I do not know
Why yet I live to fay this thing's to do;

Sith I have cause, and will, and strength, and means To do't. Examples, grofs as earth, exhort me ;

Witness this army of fuch mafs and charge,

Led by a delicate and tender Prince,
Whofe fpirit, with divine ambition puft,
Makes mouths at the invifible event;
Expofing what is mortal and unfure

To all that fortune, death, and danger dare,
Ev'n for an egg-fhell. "Tis not to be great,
Never to flir without great argument;
But greatly to find quarrel in a straw,
When honour's at the ftake. How ftand I then,
That have a father kill'd, a mother ftain'd,
(Excitements of my reafon and my blood)
And let all sleep? while to my fhame, I fee
The imminent death of twenty thousand men ;
That for a fantafy and trick of fame

Go to their graves like beds; fight for a plot,
Whereon the numbers cannot try the caufe,
Which is not tomb enough and continent

To hide the flain? O, then, from this time forth,
My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth. [Exit.

Queen.

SCENE changes to a Palace.

Enter Queen, Horatio, and a Gentleman.

I

Will not fpeak with her.

Gent. She is importunate,
Indeed, diftract; her mood will needs be pitied.
Queen, What would she have?

Gent. She speaks much of her father; fays, fhe hears,
There's tricks i'th' world; and hems, and beats her heart;
Spurns enviously at ftraws; fpeaks things in doubt,
That carry but half fenfe; her fpeech is nothing,
Yet the unfhaped use of it doth move

The hearers to collection; they aim at it,
And botch the words up fit to their own thoughts:

Which

Which as her winks, and nods, and gestures yield them,
Indeed, would make one think, there might be thought;
Tho' nothing fure, yet much unhappily. [frow
Hor. 'Twere good fhe were spoken with, for fhe may
Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds.
Let her come in.-

Queen. To my fick foul, as fin's true nature is,
Each toy feems prologue to fome great amifs ;
So full of artlefs jealoufy is guilt,

It fpills itself, in fearing to be fpilt.

Enter Ophelia diftracted.

Oph. Where is the beauteous Majefty of Denmark ? Queen. How now, Ophelia?

Oph. How should I your true love know from another one? By his cockle hat and staff, and his sandal shoon.

[Singing. Queen. Alas, fweet lady; what imports this fong Oph. Say you? nay, pray you, mark.

He's dead and gone, lady, he is dead and gone;
At his head a grass-green turf, at his heels a ftone.
Enter King.

Queen. Nay, but Ophelia

Oph. Pray you, mark.

White his froud as the mountain fnow.

Queen. Alas, look here, my Lord.

Oph. Larded all with fweet flowers:
Which bewept to the grave did go
With true love showers.

King. How do ye, pretty lady?

Oph. Well, God yield you! they fay, the owl was a baker's daughter. Lord, we know what we are, but know not what we may be. God be at your table! (59) King.

(59) Well, God dild you !] i. e. Heaven reward you. We meet with this expreffion a little otherwise writ in Macbeth.

Herein I teach you

How you fhould bid God cyld us for our pains,
And thank us for your trouble.

But,

King. Conceit upon her father.

Oph. Pray, let us have no words of this; but when they ask you what it means, say you this:

To-morrow is St. Valentine's day, all in the morn betime, And I a maid at your window, to be your Valentine. Then up he rofe, and don'd his cloaths, and dupt the chamber

door;

Let in the maid, that out a maid never departed more.

King. Pretty Ophelia !

Oph. Indeed, without an oath, I'll make an end on't.

By Gis, and by S. Charity,
Alack, and fy for fhame!

Young men will do't, if they come toʼt,
By cock, they are to blame.

Quoth fhe, before you tumble me,

You promis'd me to wed:

So would I ha' done, by yonder fun,
And thou hadst not come to my

King. How long has fhe been thus ?

bed.

Oph. I hope, all will be well. We must be patient; but I cannot chufe but weep, to think, they fhould lay him i'th' cold ground; my brother fhall know of it, and fo I thank you for your good counfel. Come, my coach; good night, ladies; good night, fweet ladies; good night, good night. [Exit. King. Follow her clofe, give her good watch, I pray [Exit Horatio. This is the poifon of deep grief; it fprings

you;

All from her father's death. O Gertrude, Gertrude! When forrows come, they come not single spies, But in battalions. Firft, her father flain;

But, in Antony, we have the phrafe in plain and genuine English, Tend me to-night two hours, I afk no more,

And the Gods yield you for't!

So, Sir John Grey, in a letter, in Afhmole's Appendix to his account of the Garter, Numb. 46. The King of his gracious Lordshipe, God yield. him, hafe chofen me to be owne of his brethrene of the Knights of the Gartier,

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