With heraldry more difmal; head to foot
Now is he total gules; horridly trickt
With blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, fons,
Bak'd and impafted with the parching fires,
That lend a tyrannous and damned light
To murthers vile. Roafted in wrath and fire,
And thus o'er-fized with coagulate gore,
With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus
Old grandfire Priam feeks.
Pol. 'Fore God, my Lord, well spoken, with good accent, and good discretion.
I Play. Anon he finds him,
Striking, too fhort, at Greeks. His antique fword,
Rebellious to his arm, lyes where it falls
Repugnant to command; unequal match'd,
Pyrrhus at Priam drives, in rage ftrikes wide;
But with the whif and wind of his fell fword
Th' unnerved father falls. Then fenfelefs Ilium,
Seeming to feel this blow, with flaming top
Stoops to his base, and with a hideous crash
Takes prifoner Pyrrhus' ear. For lo, his fword,
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 filence in the heav'ns, the rack stand still,
The bold winds fpeechlefs, and the orb below
As hufh as death; anon the dreadful thunder
Doth rend the region: fo after Pyrrhus pause,
A rowsed vengeance fets 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 fword
Now falls on Priam.
Out, out, thou ftrumpet fortune! all you Gods,
In general fynod take away her power!
Break all the fpokes and fellies from her wheel,
And bowl the round nave down the hill of heav'n,
As low as to the fiends!
Ham. It fhall to th' barber's with your beard. Pr'ythee fay on; he's for a jigg, or a tale of bawdry, or he fleeps. Say on, come to Hecuba.
1 Play. But who, oh, who had seen the mobled Queen,— Ham The mobled Queen?
Pol. That's good; mobled Queen, is good.
1 Play. Run bare-foot up and down, threatning the flames
With biffon rheum; a clout upon that head,
Where late the diadem ftood, 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 feen, with tongue in venom fteep'd,
'Gainst fortune's ftate would treafon have pronounc'd:
But if the Gods themselves did fee her then,
When fhe faw Pyrrhus make malicious sport
In mincing with his fword her husband's limbs;
The inftant burst of clamour that he made,
(Unless things mortal move them not at all)
Would have made melt the burning eyes of heav'n,
And paffioned 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 fpeak out the rest of this foon. Good my Lord, will you fee the players well beftow'd? Do ye hear, let them be well us'd; for they are the abftract, and brief chronicles of the time. After your death, you were better have a bad epitaph, than their ill report while you liv'd.
Pol. My Lord, I will ufe them according to their defert. Ham. Gods bodikins, man, much better. Ufe every man after his defert, and who fhall 'fcape whipping? use them after your own honour and dignity. The lefs they
deferve, 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-
row. Doft thou hear me, old friend, can you play the
murther of Gonzago?
Ham. We'll ha't to-morrow night. You could for
a need study a fpeech of fome dozen or fixteen lines, which
I would fet down, and infert in't; could ye not?
Play. Ay, my Lord.
Ham. Very well. Follow that Lord, and look you mock him not. My good friends, I'll leave you 'till night, you are welcome to Elfinoor.
Ham. Ay fo, God b' w' ye: now I am alone.
Oh what a rogue and peasant flave am I?
Is it not monftrous that this player here,
But in a fiction, in a dream of paffion,
Could force his foul fo to his own conceit,
That from her working, all his vifage warm'd;
Tears in his eyes, distraction in his afpect,
A broken voice, and his whole function fuiting
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 paffion
That I have? he would drown the ftage with tears,
And cleave the gen'ral ear with horrid fpeech,
Make mad the guilty, and appall the free,
Confound the ign'rant, and amaze indeed
The very faculty of eyes and ears.
Yet I fay nothing; no, not for a King,
Upon whofe property and moft 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' nofe, gives me the lie i'th' throat,
As deep as to the lungs? who does me this?
Yet I fhould take it for it cannot be
But I am pigeon-liver'd, and lack gall
To make oppreffion bitter; or ere this,
I fhould have fatted all the region kites
With this flave's offal. Bloody, bawdy villain!
Remorseless, treacherous, letcherous, kindlefs villain!
Why, what an afs am 1? this is moft 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 curfing like a very drab-
Acullion! -fye upon't! about, my brain!-
I've heard, that guilty creatures, at a play,
Have by the very cunning of the scene
Been ftruck fo 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 thefe players
Play fomething like the murther of my father,
Before mine uncle. I'll obferve his looks,
I'll tent him to the quick; if he but blench,
I know my courfe. The fpirit that I have seen
May be the devil, and the devil hath power
T' affume a pleafing fhape, yea, and perhaps
Out of my weakness and my melancholy,
(As he is very potent with fuch fpirits)
Abufes me to damn me. I'll have grounds
More relative than this: the play's the thing,
Wherein I'll catch the confcience of the King.
6 ftallion... old edit. Theob, emend.
Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rofincroffe,
Guildenftern, and Lords.
A Net from him why he puts on this confufion,
ND can you by no drift of conference
Grating fo harshly all his days of quiet,
With turbulent and dang'rous lunacy?
Rof. He does confefs he feels himself distracted'; But from what cause he will by no means fpeak.
Guil. Nor do we find him forward to be founded;
But with a crafty madness keeps aloof,
When we would bring him on to fome confeffion
Of his true ftate.
Queen. Did he receive you well?
Rof. Moft like a gentleman.
Guil. But with much forcing of his difpofition. Rof. Moft free of queftion, but to our demands Niggard in his reply.`
Queen. Did you affay him unto any pastime? Rof. Madam, it fo fell out, that certain players We o'er-took on the way; of these we told him; And there did feem 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:
7 Niggard of queftion, but of our demands Moft free in his reply. . . old edit. Warb. emend.
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