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Were thicker than itself with brother's blood ?
Is there not rain enough in the sweet heav'ns
To wash it white as snow? whereto ferves Mercy,
But to confront the visage of offence ?
And what's in prayer, but this two-fold force,
To be fore-stalled ere we come to fall,
Or pardon'd being down ? then I'll look up;
My fault is paft.
But oh, what form of prayer
Can serve my turn? Forgive me my foul murder !
That cannot be, fince I am still possest
Of those effects for which I did the murder,
My Crown, mine own Ambition, and my Queen.
May one be pardon'd, and retain th’offence?
In the corrupted currents of this world,
Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice;
And oft 'tis feen, the wicked prize itself
Buys out the law; but 'tis not fo above :
There, is no shuffling; there, the action lies
In his true nature, and we ourselves compellid,
Ev'n to the teeth and forehead of our faalts,
To give in evidence. What then? what rests ?
Try, what repentance can: What can it not?
Yet what can it, when one cannot repent ?
Oh wretched state! oh bosom, black as death!
Oh limed soul, that, struggling to be free,
Art more engag'd! help, angels, ! make affay!
Bow, stubborn knees; and, heart, with strings of steel,
Be soft as finews of the new-born babe!
[The King retires and kneels
Ham. Now might I do it pat, now he is praying, And now I'll do't--and so he goes to heav'n. And so am I reveng'd ? that would be feann'di A villain kills my father, and for that I, his sole son, do this same villain send To heav'n-o, this is hire and salary, not revenge. He took my father grolly, full of bread,
With all his crimes broad' blown, as flush as May;
And how his audit stands, who knows, fave heav'n!
But in our circumstance and course of thought,
'Tis heavy with him. Am I then reveng'd,
To take him in the purging of his soul,
When he is fit and season'd for his passage ?
Up, sword, and know thou a more horrid bent; (23)
When he is drunk, asleep, or in his rage,,!
Or in th’inceituous pleasure of his bed ;
At gaming, swearing, or about some act
That has no relish of salvation in't;
Then trip him, that his heels may kick at heav'n;
And that his soul may be as damnd and black
As hell, whereto it goes. My mother stays;
This phyfick but prolongs thy fickly days. [Exit.
The King rises, and comes forward.
King. My words fly up, my thoughts remain below;
Words, without thoughts, never to heaven go. (Exit.
SCENE changes to the Queen's Apartment.
Enter Queen and Polonius. Pol "E will come straight; look, you lay home to himn;
Tell him, his pranks have been too broad to.
bear with; And that your Grace bath fereen’d, and stood between Much heat and him. I'll filence me e'en here; Pray you, be round with him.
(23) Up, Sword, and know lbou a more-barrid Time.} This is a fophifticated Reading, warranted by none of the Copies of any Aug, thority. Mr. Pope says, I read conjecturally;
a more horrid Bent. I do so; and why? the two oldest Quarto's, as well as the two el.: der Folio's, read; a more horrid Hent. But, as there is no fuch English Substantive, it seems very natural to conclude, that, with the Change of a Kingle Letter, our Author's geriuine Word was, Bent; i, e. Drift, Scopo, Inclination, Purpo é, &c.
Ham. [within.] Mother, Mother, Mother,
Queen. I'll warrant you, fear me not. Withdraw, I hear him coming.
[Polonius kides himself behind the Arras.
Ham. Now, mother, what's the matter ?
Queen. Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended.
Ham. Mother, you have my father much offendedr
Queen. Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue.
Ham. Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue.
Queen. Why, how now, Hamlet ?
Ham. What's the matter now?
Queen. Have you forgot me?
Ham. No, by the rood, not fo;
You are the Queen, your husband's brother's wife,
But, 'would you were not so ! - You are my mother.
Queen. Nay, then I'll set those to you that can speak. Ham. Come, come, and fit you down ; you shall not
budge: You go not, 'till I set you up a glass Where you may see the inmost
you. Queen. What wilt thou do? thou wilt not murder me? Help, ho. Pol. What ho, help.
(Behind the Arras. Ham. How now, a rat? dead for a ducat, dead.
[Hamlet kills Polonius. Pol. Oh, I am slain. Queen. Oh me, what haft thou done? Ham. Nay, I know not: is it the King? Queen. Oh, what a rash and bloody deed is this !
Ham. A bloody deed ; almost as bad, good mother, As kill a King, and marry with his brother.
Queen. As kill a King ?
Ham. Ay, lady, 'twas my word.
Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewel,
[To Polonius. I took thee for thy, betters; take thy fortune ; Thou find'ft, to be too busy, is some danger.
Leave wringing of your hands ; peace, fit you down,
And let me wring your heart, for so I fhall,
If it be made of penetrable stuff:
If damned custom have not braz'd it so,
That it is proof and bulwark against sense.
Queen. What have I done, that thou dar'it
In noise fo rude against me?'
Ham. Such an act,
That blurs the grace and blush of modesty ,
Calls vịrtue hypocrite; takes off the rose
From the fair forehead of an innocent love,
And fets a blister there ; makes marriage-vows-
As false as dicers' oaths. Oh, such a deed,
As from the body of Contraction plucks
The very foul, and sweet Religion makes
A rhapsody of words. Heav'n's face doth glow;
Yea, this folidity and compound mass,
With triftful vilage, as against the doom,
Is thought-fick at the act.
Queen. Ay me! what act,
That roars so loud, and thunders in the index?
Ham. Look here upon this picture, and on this,,
The counterfeit presentment of two brothers :
See, what a grace was seated on this brow;
Hyperion's curls; the front of yove himself;
An eye, like Mars, to threaten or commandi.
A ftation, like the herald Mercury
New-lighted on a heaven-kifling hill;
A combination, and a form indeed,
Where every God did seem to fet his feal,
'To give the world affurance of a man.
This was your husband,-Look you now, what follows:
Here is your husband, like a mildew'd ear,
Blafting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes? .
Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed,
And batten on this moor. ha! have you eyes?:
You cannot call it Love; for, at your age,
The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble,
And waits upon the judgment; and what judgment
Would step from this to this ? Senfe, fure, you have, (24)
Eke could you not have motion : but, sure, that sense
Is apoplex'd : for madness would not err;
Nor sense to ecstacy was ne'er so thrallid,
But it reserv'd some quantity of choice
To serve in such a diff'rence. What devil was't,'
That thus has cozen'd you at hoodman blind?
Eyes without feeling, feeling without fight,
Ears without hands or eyes, smelling fans all,
Or but a fickly part of one true sense
Could not so mope.-
O fame! where is thy blush? rebellious hell,
If thou canst mutiny in a matron's bones,
To flaming youth let virtue be as wax,
And melt in her own fire. Proclaim no shame,
When the compulfive ardour gives the charge;
Since frost itself as actively doth burn,
And Reason panders Will.
Queen. O Hamlet, speak no more.
Thou turn't mine
And there I see such black and grained spots,
As will not leave their tinct.
Ham. Nay, but to live
In the rank sweat of an incestuous bed,
Stew'd in corruption, honying and making love
Over the nafty fty ;-
Queen. Oh, speak no more;
These words like daggers enter in mine ears.
No more, sweet Hamlet.
Ham. A murderer, and a villain !-
A flave, that is not twentieth part the tythe
of your precedent Lord. A Vice of Kings;
A cutpurse of the Empire and the Rule,
(24) Senfe, fure, you have, &c.] Mr. Pope has left out thei Quantity of about eight Vesses here, which I have taken care to replace. They are not, indeed, to be found in the two elder Folio's, but they carry the Style, Expresfion, and Caft of Thought, peculiar to our Author; and that they were not an Interpolation from another Hand needs no better Proof, than that they are in all the oddeft Quarto’s.