But, in our circumstance and course of thought, 'Tis heavy with him: And am I then reveng'd, To take him in the purging of his soul, When he is fit and season'd for his passage? No. Up, sword; and know thou a more horrid hent: Then trip him, that his heels may kick at heaven: [Exit. King. My words fly up, my thoughts remain below: Words, without thoughts, never to heaven go. [Exit. SCENE IV. Another Room in the same. Enter Queen and POLONIUS. Pol. He 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 with him. Queen. I'll warrant you; Fear me not:-withdraw, I hear him coming. [POLONIUS hides himself. Enter HAMLET. Ham. Now, mother; what's the matter? Queen. Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended. 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. VOL. VIII. S Queen. Why, how now, Hamlet? 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 mo. ther. Queen. Nay, then I'll set those to you that can speak. Ham. Come, come, and sit 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 murder me? Help, help, ho! Pol, [Behind.] What, ho! help! Ham. How now! a rat? [Draws. Dead, for a ducat, dead. [HAMLET makes a pass through the Arras. Pol. [Behind.] 0, I am slain. [Falls, and dies. Queen. O me, what hast thou done? Is it the king? Nay, I know not: [Lifts up the Arras, and draws forth POLONIUS. Queen. O, 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. Ham. And let me wring your heart: for so I shall, If damned custom have not braz'd it so, In noise so rude against me? Ham. Such an act, That blurs the grace and blush of modesty; Calls virtue, bypocrite; takes off the rose 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 soul; and sweet religion makes A rhapsody of words: Heaven's face doth glow; Yea, this solidity and compound mass, With tristful visage, as against the doom, Is thought-sick at the act. Queen. Ab 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 curls; the front of Jove himself; An eye like Mars, to threaten and command; A station like the herald Mercury, New-lighted on a heaven-kissing 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 moor? Ha! have you eyes? You cannot call it, love: for, at your age, The bey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble, And waits upon the judgment; And what judg ment Would step from this to this? Sense, sure you have, Else could you not have motion: But, sure, that sense Is apoplex'd: for madness would not err; Could not so mope. O shame! where is thy blush? Rebellious hell, If thou canst mutine in a matron'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 itself as actively doth burn, And reason panders 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 enseamed bed; Stew'd in corruption; honeying, and making love Over the nasty sty; Queen. O, speak to me 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 tithe Queen. Ham. No more. Enter Ghost. A king Of shreds and patches: 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 son to chide, That, laps'd in time and passion, let's go by The important acting of your dread command? O, say! Ghost. Do not forget: This visitation Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose. Ham. How is it with you, lady? Queen. Alas, how is't with you? That you do bend your eye on vacancy, And with the incorporal air do hold discourse? Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep; And, as the sleeping soldiers in the alarm, Your bedded hair, like life in excrements, Starts up, and stands on end. O gentle son, Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look? Ham. On him! on him!-Look you, how pale he glares! His form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to stones, Would make them capable.-Do not look upon me; Lest, with this piteous action, you convert Queen. To whom do you speak this? Ham. Do you see nothing there? Queen. Nothing at all; yet all, that is, I see. Ham. Nor did you nothing hear? Queen. My father, in his habit as he liv'd! Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal! Ham. Ecstasy! My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time, And makes as healthful musick: It is not madness, That I have utter'd: bring me to the test, |