Imatges de pÓgina

With heraldry more dismal ; head to foot
Now is he total gules; horridly trickt
With blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, sons,
Bak'd and impafted with the parching fires,
That lend a tyrannous and damned light
To murthers vile. Roasted in wrath

and fire,
And thus o'er-sized with coagulate gore,
With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus
Old grandfire Priam seeks.

Pol. 'Fore God, my Lord, well spoken, with good accent, and good discretion.

i Play. Anon he finds him,
Striking, too short, at Greeks. His antique sword,
Rebellious to his arm, lyes where it falls
Repugnant to command ; unequal match'd,
Pyrrhus at Priam drives, in rage strikes wide ;
But with the whif and wind of his fell sword
Th' unnerved father falls. Then senseless Ilium,
Seeming to feel this blow, with Aaming cop
Stoops to his base, and with a hideous crash
Takes prisoner Pyrrbus' ear. For lo, his sword,
Which was declining on the milky head
Of rev'rend Priam, seem'd i'th' air to stick:
So as a painted tyrant Pyrrhus stood,
And like a neutral to his will and matter,
Did nothing.
But as we often see against some storm,
A silence in the heav'ns, the rack stand still,
The bold winds speechless, and the orb below
As hush as death; anon the dreadful thunder
Doth rend the region: so after Pyrrhus' pause,
A rowsed vengeance sets him new a-work,
And never did the Cyclops hammers fall
On Mars his armour, forg'd for proof eterne,
With less remorse than Pyrrhus' bleeding sword
Now falls on Priam.
Out, out, thou strumpet fortune ! all you Gods,
In general fynod take away her power!


Break all the spokes and fellies from her wheel,
And bowl the round nave down the hill of heav'n,
As low as to the fiends!

Pol. This is too long.

Ham. It shall to th' barber's with your beard. Pr’ythee say on; he's for a jigg, or á tale of bawdry, or he neeps. Say on, come to Hecuba.

í Play. But who, oh, who had seen the mobled Queen, —
Ham The mobled Queen?
Pol. That's good ; mobled Queen, is good.
i Play. Run bare-foot up and down, threatning the

With biffon rheum ; a clout upon that head,
Where late the diadem stood, and for a robe
About her lank and all o'er-teemed loyns,
A blanket in th’alarm of fear caught up:
Who this had seen, with tongue in venom steep'd,
'Gainst fortune's state would treafon have pronounc'd:
But if the Gods themselves did see her then,
When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious sport
In mincing with his sword her husband's Timbs ;
The instant burst of clamour that she made,
(Unless things mortal move them not at all)
Would have made melt the burning eyes of heav'n,
And s'passioned the Gods.

Pol. Look if he has not turn'd his colour, and has not tears in's eyes. Pr’ythee no more.

Ham.'Tis well, I'll have thee speak out the rest of this soon. Good my Lord, will you see the players well bestow'd ? Do ye hear, let them be well us’d; for they are the abstract, and brief chronicles of the time. After your death, you were better have a bad epitaph, than their ill report while

Pol. My Lord, I will use them according to their desert.

Ham. Gods bodikins, man, much better. Use every man after his defert, and who shall 'scape whipping ? use them after your own honour and dignity. The less ebey

de5 paffion in

you liv'd.


deserve, the more merit is in your bounty. Take them in. Pol. Come, Sirs,

[Exit Polonius. Ham. Follow him, friends : we'll hear a play to-mor

Dost thou hear me, old friend, can you play the murther of Gonzago?

Play. Ay, my Lord.

Ham. We'll ha't to-morrow night. You could for a need ftudy a speech of some dozen or sixteen lines, which I would let down, and insert in't ; could ye not?

Play. Ay, my Lord.
Ham. Very well. · Follow that Lord, and look

mock him not. My good friends, I'll leave you ’till night,
you are welcome to Ellinoor.
Ros. Good my Lord.


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Manet Hamlet.
Ham. Ay so, God b'w'ye: now I am alone.
Oh what a rogue and peasant Nave am I?
Is it not monstrous that this player here,
But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,
Could force his soul fo to his own conceit,
That from her working, all his visage warm'd;
Tears in his eyes, distraction in his aspect,
A broken voice, and his whole function suiting
With forms, to his conceit? and all for nothing:
For Hecuba :
What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,
That he should weep for her ? what would he do,
Had he the motive and the cue for passion
That I have? he would drown the stage with tears,
And cleave the gen’ral ear with horrid speech,
Make mad the guilty, and appall the free,
Confound the ign'rant, and amaze indeed
The very faculty of eyes and ears.-
Yet I say nothing; no, not for a King,
Upon whose property and most dear life


A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward ?
Who calls me villain, breaks my pate a-cross,
Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face?
Tweaks me by th' nose, gives me the lie i'ch' throat,
As deep as to the lungs? who does me this?
Yet I Thould take it for it cannot be
But I am pigeon-liver'd, and lack gall
To make oppression bitter ; or ere this,
I should have fatted all the region kites
With this save's offal. Bloody, bawdy villain !
Remorseless, treacherous, letcherous, kindless villain !
Why, what an ass am I? this is most brave,
That I, the son of a dear father murthered,
Prompted to my revenge by heav'n and hell,
Muft, like a whore, unpack my heart with words,
And fall a cursing like a very drab-
A blcullion ! fye upon't! about, my brain !
I've heard, that guilty creatures, at a play,
Have by the very cunning of the scene
Been struck so to the foul, that presently
They have proclaim'd their malefactions.
For murther, though it have no tongue, will speak
With most miraculous organ. I'll have these players
Play something like the murther of my father,
Before mine uncle. I'll observe his looks,
I'll tent him to the quick ; if he but blench,
I know my course. The spirit that I have seen
May be the devil, and the devil hath power
T'assume a pleasing shape, yea, and perhaps
Out of my weakness and my melancholy,
(As he is very potent with such spirits)
Abuses me to damn me. I'll have grounds
More relative than this: the play's the thing,
Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the King. {Exit.

6 stallion ...old edit, Theob. emend.



S C Ε Ν Ε Ι.


Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosincrofle,

Guildenftern, and Lords.


ND can you by no drift of conference


Grating so harshly all his days of quiet, With turbulent and dang'rous lunacy ?

Rof. He does confess he feels himself distracted';
But from what cause he will by no means speak.

Guil. Nor do we find him forward to be founded;
But with a crafty madness keeps aloof,
When we would bring him on to some confession
Of his true state.

Queen. Did he receive you well?
Rof. Most like a gentleman.
Gúil. But with much forcing of his disposition.

Rof. ? Most free of question, but to our demands
Niggard in his reply.'

Queen. Did you affay him 'unto any paftime?

Rof. Madam, it fo fell out, that certain players
We o'er-took on the way; of these we told him;
And there did seem in him a kind of joy
To hear of it: they are about the Court,
And (as I think) they have already order
This night to play before him.
Pol. 'Tis most true:

And 7 Niggard of question, but of our demands Most free in his reply . . . old edit. Warb. emend.

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