What is't, but to be nothing else but mad? Queen. More matter, with lefs art. Pol. Madam, I fwear I ufe no art at all: Mad let us grant him then; and now remains I have a daughter; have, whilft she is mine, To the celestial, and my foul's idol, the most beautified Ophelia. That's an ill phrafe, a vile phrafe, beautified is a vile phrafe; but you fhall hear-Thefe to her excellent white bofom, these Queen. Came this from Hamlet to her? Pol. Good Madam, stay a while, I will be faithful. Doubt, that the fun doth move; But never doubt, I love. [Reading. Oh dear Ophelia, I am ill at thefe numbers; I have not art to reckon my groans; but that I love thee beft, ob most beft, believe it. Adieu. Thine evermore, moft dear Lady, whilst this As they fell out by time, by means, and place, King. But how hath fhe receiv'd his love? Ꮓ King. As of a man, faithful and honourable. (As I perceiv'd it, I must tell you that, Or given my heart a working, mute and dumb, Thence to a watching, thence into a weakness, King. Do you think this? Queen. It may be very likely. Pol. Hath there been fuch a time, I'd fain know that, That I have pofitively faid, 'tis fo, When it prov'd otherwife? King. Not that I know. Pol. Take this from this, if this be otherwife; [Pointing to bis bead and body. If circumftances lead me, I will find Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed Within the center. King. How may we try it further? Pol. You know fometimes he walks 7 'for hours together, Here in the lobby. Queen. So he does indeed. 7 four Pol. Pol. At fuch a time I'll loofe my daughter to him; Be you and I behind an arras then, Mark the encounter: if he love her not, King. We will try it. SCENE V. Enter Hamlet reading. Queen. But look where, fadly, the poor wretch comes reading. Pal. Away, I do befeech you, both away. I'll board him presently. [Exeunt King and Queen. O give me leave: how does my good Lord Hamlet? Ham. Well, God-a-mercy. Pol. Do you know me, my Lord? Ham. Excellent well; you are a fishmonger. Pol. Not I, my Lord. Ham. Then I would you were so honeft a man. Pol. Honeft, my Lord? Ham. Ay, Sir; to be honeft, as this world goes, is to be one pick'd out of ten thousand. Pol. That's very true, my Lord. Ham. For if the fun breed maggots in a dead dog, Being a 'God kiffing carrion 8 Have you a daughter? Pol. I have, my Lord. Ham. Let her not walk i'th' fun; conception is a bleffing, but not as your daughter may conceive. Friend, look to't. Pol. How fay you by that? ftill harping on my daughterYet he knew me not at firft; he faid I was a fifhmonger. He is far gone; and truly in my youth, I suffer'd much extremity for love; 8 good... Warb. emend. Z 2 [Afide. Very Very near this. I'll speak to him again. Ham. Words, words, words. Pol. What is the matter, my Lord? Pol. I mean the matter that you read, my Lord. Ham. Slanders, Sir: for the fatyrical flave fays here, that old men have grey beards; that their faces are wrinkled; their eyes purging thick amber, and plumbtree gum; and that they have a plentiful lack of wit, together with most weak hams. All which, Sir, though I most powerfully and potently believe, yet I hold it not honefty to have it thus fet down: for, your felf, Sir, fhall be but as old as I am, if like a crab if like a crab you could go backward. Pol. Though this be madness, yet there's method in't: Will you walk out of the air, my Lord? Ham. Into my grave? Pol. Indeed that is out o'th' air: So profp'roufly deliver'd of. I'll leave him, My honourable Lord, I will moft humbly Ham. You cannot, Sir, take from me any thing that I will more willingly part withal, except my life. Pol. Fare you well, my Lord. Ham. These tedious old fools! Pol. You go to feek Lord Hamlet; there he is. [Exit. Rof. My moft dear Lord! [denftern? Ham. My excellent good friends! how doft thou, GuilOh, Rofincroffe! good lads, how do ye both? Rof. As the indifferent children of the earth. Guil. Happy in that we are not over-happy; On fortune's cap we are not the very button. Ham. Nor the foals of her fhoe. Rof. Neither, my Lord. Ham. Then you live about her waste, or in the middle of her favours? Guil. 'Faith, in her privates we. Ham. In the fecret parts of fortune? oh, most true; fhe is a ftrumpet. What news? Rof. None, my Lord, but that the world's grown honest. Ham. Then is dooms-day near; but your news is not true. Let me queftion more in particular: what have you, my good friends, deserved at the hands of fortune, that the fends you to prifon hither? Guil. Prifon, my Lord! Ham. Denmark's a prison. Rof. Then is the world one. Ham. A goodly one, in which there are many confines, wards, and dungeons; Denmark being one o'th' worst. Rof. We think not fo, my Lord. Ham. Why then, 'tis none to you; for there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it fo: to me it is a prison. Rof. Why then your ambition makes it one: 'tis too narrow for your mind. Ham. Oh God, I could be bounded in a nut-fhell, and count my self a King of infinite space; were it not that I have bad dreams. Guil. Which dreams indeed are ambition; for the very fubftance of the ambitious is meerly the fhadow of a dream. Ham. A dream it felf is but a shadow. Rof. Truly, and I hold ambition of fo airy and light a quality, that it is but a fhadow's fhadow. Ham. Then are our beggars bodies, and our monarchs |