And he befeech'd me to intreat your Majesties
To hear and fee the matter.

King. With all my heart, and it doth much content me To hear him fo inclin'd.

Good gentlemen, give him a further edge,

And drive his purpose 9'on to these delights.
Rof. We fhall, my Lord.

King. Sweet Gertrude, leave us too;
For we have clofely fent for Hamlet hither,
That he, as 'twere by accident, may here
Affront Ophelia. Her father, and my felf,
Will fo bestow our felves, that feeing unfeen
We may of their encounter frankly judge,
And gather by him, as he is behaved,
If't be th' affliction of his love, or no,
That thus he suffers for.

Queen. I fhall obey you:

And for my part, Ophelia, I do wish
That your good beauties be the happy cause
Of Hamlet's wildnefs. So I hope your virtues
May bring him to his wonted way again,
To both your honours.

Oph. Madam, I wish it may.

[Exeunt.

[Exit Queen.

Pol. Ophelia, walk you here. Gracious, fo please ye,

We will bestow our felves:read on this book;

That fhew of fuch an exercise may colour

Your loneliness. We're oft to blame in this,

'Tis too much prov'd that with devotion's visage, And pious action, we do fugar o'er

The devil himself.

King. Oh it is but too true.

How Imart a lafh that speech doth give my confcience!

The harlot's cheek beautied with plaist'ring art
Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it,
Than is my deed to my moft painted word.
Oh heavy burthen!

[Afide.

Pol

Pol. I hear him coming; let's withdraw, my Lord. [Exeunt all but Ophelia

Ham. To be, or not to be: that is the queftion
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to fuffer
The flings and arrows of outragious fortune;
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, a
And by oppofing end them.To dieto fleep-
No more; and by a fleep to fay we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural fhocks
That flesh is heir to; 'tis a confummation
Devoutly to be wifh'd. To die-to fleep-
To fleep-perchance to dream; ay, there's the rub
For in that fleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have fhuffled off this mortal coil,
Muft give us paufe. There's the refpect
That makes calamity of fo long life.

For who would bear the whips and fcorns of time,
Th' oppreffor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of defpis'd love, the law's delay,
The infolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th' unworthy takes;
When he himself might his Quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardles bear,
To groan and fweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of fomething after death,
(That undiscover'd country, from whose borne
No traveller returns) puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear thofe ills we have,
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus confcience does make cowards of us all:

And thus the native hue of refolution

VOL. VI.

A a

Is

(a) Inflead of a fea of troubles perhaps Shakespear wrote affailing troubles, which would preferve a propriety in the metaphor.

Is ficklied o'er with the pale caft of thought;
And enterprizes of great pith and moment,
With this regard, their currents turn awry
And lofe the name of action.
Soft you now,

The fair Ophelia! nymph, in thy orifons
Be all my fins remembred!

Oph. Good my Lord,

[Seeing Ophelia.

How does your Honour for this many a day?
Ham. I humbly thank you, well.

Oph. My Lord, I have remembrances of yours,
That I have longed much to re-deliver.
I pray you, now receive them.

Ham. No, I never gave you aught.

Oph. My honour'd Lord, I know right well you did
And with them words of fo fweet breath compos'd,
As made the things more rich: that perfume loft,
Take thefe again; for to the noble mind.

Rich gifts wax poor, when givers prove unkind.
There, my Lord.

Ham, Ha, ha! are you honeft?
Oph My Lord-

Ham. Are you fair?

Oph. What means your Lordship?

Ham That if you be honest and fair, you should admit no difcourfe to your beauty.

Oph. Could beauty, my Lord, have better commerce than with honesty?

Ham. Ay truly; for the power of beauty will fooner transform honefty from what it is, to a bawd; than the force of honefty can tranflate beauty into its likenefs. This was fometime a paradox, but now the time gives it proof. I did love you once.

Oph. Indeed, my Lord, you made me believe fo.

Ham. You fhould not have believed me. For virtue cannot fo inoculate our old stock, but we fhall relish of it. I lov'd you not.

Oph. I was the more deceived.

Ham.

Ham. Get thee to a nunnery. Why wouldst thou be a breeder of finners? I am my felf indifferent honeft, but yet I could accuse me of fuch things, that it were better my mother had not born me. I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious, with more offences at my beck, than I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them shape, or time to act them in. What fhould fuch fellows as I do crawling between heav'n and earth? we are arrant knaves, believe none of us-Go thy ways to a nunnery- Where's your father?

Oph. At home, my Lord.

Ham. Let the doors be fhut upon him, that he may play the fool no where but in's own houfe. Oph. Oh help him, you fweet heav'ns!

Farewel.

Ham. If thou doft marry, I'll give thee this plague for thy dowry. Be thou as chafte as ice, as pure as fnow, thou shalt not escape calumny--Get thee to a nunnery-farewel-Or if thou wilt needs marry, marry a fool; for wife men know well enough, what monfters you make of them-To a nunnery, go-and quickly too, farewel. Oph. Heav'nly powers! reftore him.

Ham. I have heard of your painting too, well enough: God has given you one face, and you make your felf another. You jig, you amble, and you lifp, and nick-name God's creatures, and make your wantonnefs your ignorance. Go, I'll no more on't, it hath made me mad. I fay, we will have no more marriages. Thofe that are married already, all but one, fhall live, the reft fhall keep as they are. To a nunnery, go. [Exit Hamlet. Oph. Oh what a noble mind is here o'erthrown! The courtier's, fcholar's, foldier's, eye, tongue, fword, Th' expectancy and rofe of the fair ftate,

The glafs of fashion, and the mould of form,
Th' obferv'd of all obfervers, quite, quite down!
I am of ladies moft deject and wretched,
That fuck'd the hony of his musick vows,
Now fee that noble and most fovereign reason,
A a 2

3 foldier's, fcholar's,

Like

Like fweet bells jangled out of tune, and harsh;
That unmatch'd form and feature of blown youth,
Blafted with ecitafie. Oh woe is me,

T' have feen what I have feen, fee what I fee!

King. Love! his affections do not that way tend,
Nor what he fpake, tho' it lack'd form a little,
Was not like madness. Something's in his foul,
O'er which his melancholy fits on brood,
And I do doubt the hatch and the difclofe
Will be fome danger, which how to prevent,
I have in quick determination

Thus fet it down. He fhall with fpeed to England,
For the demand of our neglected tribute:
Haply the feas and countries different,
With variable objects, fhall expel

This fomething fettled matter in his heart;
Whereon his brains ftill beating, puts him thus
From fashion of himself. What think you on't?
Pol. It fhall do well. But yet do I believe.
The origin and commencement of this grief
Sprung from neglected love. How now, Ophelia ?
You need not tell us what Lord Hamlet said,
We heard it all. My Lord, do as you please;
But if you hold it fit, after the play
Let his Queen-mother all alone intreat him
To fhew his griefs; let her be round with him:
And I'll be plac'd, so please you, in the ear
Of all their conf'rence. If fhe find him not,
To England fend him; or confine him where
Your wifdom beft fhall think.

King. It fhall be fo:

Madness in great ones muft not unwatch'd go. [Exeunt.

SCENE