Imatges de pàgina
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Ham. 4 Buzze, buzze

Pol. Upon mine honour

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Ham. Then come each Actor on his afs—

Pol. The best Actors in the world, either for tragedy, comedy, hiftory, paftoral, paftoral-comical, hiftorical paftoral, fcene undividable, or Poem unlimited: Seneca cannot be too heavy, nor Plautus to light. For the law of writ, and the Liberty, these are the only men.

Ham, Oh, Jephtha, judge of Ifrael, what a treasure hadft thou!

Pol. What a treasure had he, my Lord? Ham. Why, one fair daughter, and no more, The which he loved paffing well.

Pal Still on my daughter.

Ham. Am I not i' th' right, old Jephtha? Pol. If you call me Jephtha, my Lord, I have a daughter that I love paffing well.

Ham. Nay, that follows not.

Pol. What follows then, my Lord?

Ham. Why, as by lot, God wot-and then you know, it came to pass, as moft like it was: 7 the first

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row of the rubrick will fhew you more. For, look,

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where my abridgments come.

Enter four or five Players.

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Y'are welcome, mafters, welcome all. I am glad to fee thee well; welcome, good friends. Oh! old friend! thy face is valanc'd, fince I faw thee laft: com'st thou to beard me in Denmark? What! my young lady and miftrefs? b'erlady, your ladyfhip is nearer heaven than when I faw you laft, by the altitude of a chioppine. Pray God, your voice, like a piece of uncurrent gold, be not crack'd within the ring.-Mafters, you are all welcome, we'll e'en to't like friendly faulconers, fly at any thing we fee; we'll have a speech straight. Come, give us a taste of your quality; come, a paffionate fpeech.

1 Play. What fpeech, my good I ord?

Ham. I heard thee fpeak me a fpeech once; but it was never acted or if it was, not above once; for the Play, I remember, pleas'd not the million; 'twas 2 Caviare to the general; but it was as I receiv'd it, and others whofe judgment in fuch matters 3 cried in the top of mine, an excellent Play; well digested in the fcenes, 4 fet down with as much modesty as cun

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ning. I remember, one faid, there was no falt in the lines, to make the matter favoury; nor no matter in the phrafe, s that might indite the author of affection; 6 but call'd it, an honeft method, as wholefome as fweet, and by very much more bandfome than fine. One fpeech in it I chiefly lov'd! 'twas Eneas's tale to Dido; and thereabout of it especially, where he speaks of Priam's flaughter. If it live in your memory, begin at this line, let me fee, let me fee-The rugged Pyrrhus, like th' Hyrcanian beaft,-It is not fo; it begins with Pyrrhus.

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The rugged Fyrrhus, he, whofe fable arms,
Black as his purpofe, did the Night resemble
When he lay couched in the ominous horfe;
Hath now his dread and black complexion fmear'd
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 murders 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 fpoken, with good accent and good discretion.

1 Play. Anon he finds him,

Striking, too fhort, at Greeks. His antique fword. Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls, Repugnant to Command; unequal match'd,

5 that might indite the author] -Indie, for convict.

WARB. 6 but all'd it an honeft metho.] Hamlet is telling how much his judgment differed from that of others. One faid, there was no

falt in the lines, &c. but call'd it
an honeft meth d.
The authour
probably gave it, But called it
an boneft method, &c.
an honest method]

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chatte.

Honeft, for WARBURTON.

Pyrrbus

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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 Bafe; and with a hideous crafh
Takes prifoner Pyrrhus' ear. For lo, his fword,
Which was declining on the milky head
Of rev'rend Priam, feem'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 fee, 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; So after Pyrrhus' paufe,
A roufed vengeance fets him new a work,
And never did the Cyclops' hammers fall
On Mars his armour, forg'd for proof eterne,
With less remorfe than Pyrrbus' bleeding fword
Now falls on Priam.

Out, out, thou ftrumpet Fortune! all you Gods,
In general fynod take away her power:

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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.

Pol. This is too long.

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Ham. It fhail 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.

I Play. But who, oh! who, had feen 7 the mobled Queen,

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-the mobled Queen,-] Molled or mabled, fignifies veiled. So Sandys, fpeaking of the Turki women, fays, their heads and faces are MABLED in fine linen,

that no more is to be seen of them than their eyes. Travels.

WARBURTON, Mobled fignifies, huddled, grossly

covered.

Ham.

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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 loins,
A blanket in th' alarm of fear caught up;
Who this had feen, with tongue in venom fteep'd,
'Gainst fortune's itate would treafon have pronounc'd;
But if the Gods themselves did fee her then,
When the faw Pyrrhus make malicious sport

In mincing with his sword her husband's limbs;

The inftant burft of clamour that fhe made,

Unless things mortal move them not at all,

Would have made milch the burning eyes of heav'n, And paffion in the Gods.

Pol. Look, whe're he has not turn'd his colour, and has 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 abstract, 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 ute them according to their defert.

Ham. Odd's bodikins, man, much better. Ufe every man after his defert, and who fhall 'fcape whipping? Ufe 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 tomorrow. Doft thou hear me, old friend, can you play the murder of Gonzaga?

Play. Ay, my Lord.

Ham.

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