Imatges de pàgina
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Ham. Is this a prologue, or the posie of a ring?
Oph. 'Tis brief, my Lord.

Ham. As woman's love.

Enter Duke and Dutchefs, Players.

Duke. Full thirty times hath Pha bus car gone round
Neptune's falt wash, and Tellus' orbed ground;
And thirty dozen moons with borrowed fheen
About the world have times twelve thirty been,`
Since love our hearts, and Hymen did our hands
Unite commutual, in moft facred bands.

Dutch. So many journeys may the fun and moon
Make us again count o'er, ere love be done.
But woe is me, you are fo fick of late,

So far from cheer and from your former ftate,
That I diftrust you; yet though I distrust,
Difcomfort you, my Lord, it nothing must:
And womens fear and love hold quantity,
'Tis either none, or in extremity;

Now what my love is, proof hath made you know,
And as my love is fiz'd, my fear is so.

Duke. 'Faith, I must leave thee, love, and fhortly too: My operant powers their functions leave to do,

And thou fhalt live in this fair world behind,
Honour'd, belov'd, and haply one as kind
For husband fhalt thou

Dutch. Oh confound the rest!

Such love must needs be treafon in my breaft:
In fecond husband let me be accurft,

None wed the fecond, but who kill'd the firft.

Ham. Wormwood, wormwood!

Dutch. The inftances that fecond marriage move,

Are base refpects of thrift, but none of love.
A fecond time I kill my husband dead,

When fecond husband kiffes me in bed.

Duke. I do believe you think what now you speak; But what we do determine, oft we break:

time twelve thirties been,

Pur

Purpose is but the flave to memory,

Of violent birth, but poor validity:

Which now, like fruits unripe, fticks on the tree,
But fall unfhaken, when they mellow be.
Moft neceffary 'tis that we forget,

To pay our felves what to our felves is debt:
What to our felves in paffion we propose,
The paffion ending, doth the purpose lofe;
The violence of either grief or joy,

Their own enactors with themselves destroy :
Where joy moft revels, grief doth most lament;
Grief joys, joy grieves on flender accident.
This world is not for aye, and 'tis not strange
That ev'n our loves fhould with our fortunes change.
For 'tis a queftion left us yet to prove,

Whether love fortune lead, or fortune love.
The great man down, you mark his fav'rite flies;
The poor, advanc'd, makes friends of enemies :
And hitherto doth love on fortune tend,
For who not needs, fhall never lack a friend;
And who in want a hollow friend doth try,
Directly feafons him his enemy.

But orderly to end where I begun,
Our wills and fates do fo contrary run,

That our devices ftill are overthrown,

Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own.

So think thou wilt no fecond husband wed,

But die thy thoughts, when thy firft Lord is dead.

Dutch. Nor earth 9'oh! give me food, nor heaven

light!

Sport and repofe lock from me, day and night;

Each oppofite that blanks the face of joy,

Meet what I would have well, and it deftroy!
Both here, and hence, purfue me lafting ftrife,
If, once a widow, ever I be wife!

Ham. If the fhould break it now

Duke. 'Tis deeply fworn; fweet, leave me here a while,

9 to me give

My

My spirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile
The tedious day with sleep.

Dutch. Sleep rock thy brain,

And never come mifchance between us twain!
Ham Madam, how like you this play?

Queen. The Lady protefts too much, methinks.
Ham. Oh but fhe'll keep her word.

[Sleeps.

[Exit.

King. Have you heard the argument, is there no offence in't?

Ham. No, no, they do but jeft, poifon in jeft, no offence i'th' world.

King What do you call the play?

Ham. The Moufe-trap. Marry how? tropically. This play is the image of a murther done in Vienna; Gonzago is the Duke's name, his wife's Baptifta; you fhall fee anon, 'tis a knavifh piece of work; but what o' that? your Majefty, and we that have free fouls, it touches us not; let the gall'd jade winch, our withers are unwrung.

Enter Lucianus.

This is one Lucianus, nephew to the Duke.
Oph. You are as good as a chorus, my Lord.

Ham. I could interpret between you and your love; if I could fee the puppets dallying.

Oph. You are keen, my Lord, you are keen.

Ham. It would coft you a groaning, to take off my edge.

Opb. Still worfe and worse.

Ham. 'So most of you take husbands.

Begin, murtherer. Leave thy damnable faces, and begin. Come, the croaking raven doth bellow for revenge.

Luc. Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, and time agreeing:

Confederate feafon, and no creature seeing:

Thou mixture rank, of midnight-weeds collected,
With Hecate's bane thrice blafted, thrice infected,
Thou natural magick, and dire property,

So you must take

On

On wholfome life ufurp immediately.

[Pours the poifon in his ears. Ham. He poifons him i'th' garden for's eftate; his name's Gonzago; the ftory is extant, and writ in choice. Italian. You fhall fee anon how the murtherer gets the love of Gonzago's wife.

Oph. The King rifes.

Ham. What, frighted with false fire?
Queen. How fares my Lord?

Pol. Give o'er the play.

King. Give me fome light. Away!

All Lights, lights, lights!

S CE NE

A

[Exeunt.

VIII.

Manent Hamlet and Horatio.

21

Ham. Why, let the ftricken deer go weep,

The bart ungalled play:

For fome must watch, whilst some must sleep ;
So runs the world away.

Would not this, Sir, and a forest of feathers, (if the rest of my fortunes turn Turk with me) with two provincial rofes on my rayed fhoes, get me a fellowship in a cry of Players, Sir?

Hor. Half a fhare.

3

Ham. 'Ay, a whole one.`

For thou dost know, ob Damon dear,

This realm dismantled was

Of Jove bimself, and now reigns bere
A very very paddock.`

Hor. You might have rhym'd.

Ham. O good Horatio, I'll take the ghoft's word for a thousand pounds. Didft perceive?

Hor. Very well, my Lord.

Ham. Upon the talk of the poisoning?

Hor. I did very well note him.

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Enter Rofincroffe and Guildenstern.

Ham. Oh, ha! come, fome mufick. Come, the recorders. For if the King like not the comedy;

Why then belike he likes it not perdy.
Come, fome mufick.

Guil. Good my Lord, vouchfafe me a word with you.
Ham. Sir, a whole hiftory.

Guil. The King, Sir,

Ham. Ay, Sir, what of him?

Guil. Is in his retirement, marvellous diftemper'd
Ham. With drink, Sir?

Guil. No, my Lord, with choler.

Ham. Your wifdom fhould fhew it felf more rich to fignifie this to his doctor: for me to put him to his purgation, would perhaps plunge him into more choler. Guil. Good my Lord, put your difcourfe into fome frame, and start not fo wildly from my affair.

Ham. I am tame, Sir, pronounce.

Guil. The Queen your mother, in moft great affliction of fpirit, hath fent me to you."

Ham. You are welcome.

Guil. Nay, good my Lord, this courtefie is not of the right breed. If it fhall please you to make me a wholfome answer, I will do your mother's commandment; if not, your pardon, and my return fhall be the end of my business.

Ham. Sir, I cannot.

Guil. What, my Lord?

Ham. Make you a wholfome anfwer: my wit's difeas'd. But, Sir, fuch anfwers as I can make, you fhall command; or rather, as you fay, my mother: therefore no more but to the matter-my mother, you fay

Rof. Then thus fhe fays; your behaviour hath ftruck her into amazement, and admiration..

Ham. Oh wonderful fon, that can fo aftonish a mother! But is there no fequel at the heels of this mother's admiration?

Rof.

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