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Capt. Truly to speak it, and with no addition,
We go to gain a little patch of ground,
That hath in it no profit but the naine.
To pay five decats-five, I would not farm it ;
Nor will it yield to Norway, or the Pole,
A ranker rate, should it be sold in fee.
Ham. Why, then the Polack never will defend it.
Capt. Yes, 'tis already garrison'd.
Ham. Two thousand fouls, and twenty thousand ducats,
Will not debate the question of this straw ;
This is th' imposthume of much wealth and peace,
That inward breaks, and shews no cause without
Why the man dies. I humbly thank you, Sir,
Capt. God b'w'ye, Sir.
Rof. Will't please you go, my Lord ?
Ham. I'll be with you strait, go a little before.
How all occafions do inform against me,
And spur my dull revenge? what is a man,
If his chief good and market of his time
Be but to sleep and feed ? a beast, no more.
Sure, he that made us with such large discourse,
Looking before and after, gave us not
That capability and god-like reason
To rust in us unus'd. Now whether it be
Beitial oblivion, or some craven scruple
Of thinking too precisely on th' event,
(A thought, which, quarter'd, hath but one part wisdom,
And ever three parts coward :) I do not know
Why yet I live to say this thing's to do;
Sith I have cause, and will, and strength, and means
To do’t. Examples, grofs as earth, exhort me;
Witness this army of such mafs and charge,
Led by a delicate and tender Prince,
Whose spirit, with divine ambition puft,
Makes mouths at the invisible event;
Exposing what is mortal and unfure
To all that fortune, death, and danger dare,
Ev’n for an egg-lhell. 'Tis not to be
Never to stir without great argument;
But greatly to find quarrel in a straw,
When honour's at the stake. How stand I then,
That have a father kill'd, a mother stain'd,
(Excitements of my reason and my blood)
And let all sleep?' while to my shame, I see
The imminent death of twenty thousand men; .
That for a fantasy and trick of fame
Go to their graves like beds; fight for a plot,
Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause,
Which is not tomb enough and continent
To hide the slain? O, then, from this time forth,
My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth. [Exit.
SCENE changes to a Palace.
Enter Queen, Horatio, and a Gentleman.
Will not speak with her.
Gent. She is importunate,
Indeed, diftract; her mood will needs be pitied.
Queen. What would she have?
Gent. She speaks much of her father ; says, she hears,
There's tricks i'th'world; and hems, and beats ber heart;
Spurns enviously at ftraws; speaks things in doubt,
That carry but half sense; her speech is nothing,
Yet the unshaped use of it doth move
The hearers to collection; they aim at it,
And botch the words up fit to their own thoughts ;
Which as her winks, and nods, and gestures yield them,
Indeed, would make one think, there might be thought;
Tho' nothing fure, yet much unhappily.
Ho.'Twere good she were spoken with, for she may strow
Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds.
Let her came in.
Queen. To my fick soul, as fin's true nature is,
Each toy-feems prologue to some great amiss ;
So full of artless jealousy is guilt,
It spills itself, in fearing to be spilt.
Enter Ophelia, distracted.
Oph. Where is the beauteous Majesty of Denmark ?
Queen. How now, Opbelia?
should I your true love know from another one? By his cockle hai and faff, and his fendal phoon.
[Singing Queen. Alas, sweet lady; what imports this song?
Opb. Say you ? nay, pray you, mark.
He's dead and gone, lady, be is dead and gone ;
A bis head a grass-green turf, at his heels a stone.
Queen. Nay, but Ophelia
Oph. Pray you, mark.
White bis føroud as the mountain snow.
Queen. Alas, look here, my Lord.
Oph. Larded all with sweet flowers :
Which bewept to the grave did go
With true love showers.
King. How do ye, pretty lady?
Oph. Well, God yield you! they fay, the owl was a baker's daughter. Lord, we know what we are, but know not what we may be. God be at your table !
King. Conceit upon her father,
Oph. Pray, let us have no words of this ; but when
they ask you what it means, say you this:
To-morrow is St. Valentine's day, all in the morn betime,
And I a maid at your window, to be your Valentine.
Then up he rose, and don'd his cloaths, and dupt the chamber door ;
Let in the maid, that out a maid never departed more.
King. Pretty Ophelia !
Oph. Indeed, without an oath, I'll make an end on't.
By Gis, and by S. Charity,
Alack, and fy for same!
Young men will do't, if they come to't,
By cock, they are to blame.
Quoth she, before you. tumbled me,
You promis'd me to wed:
So would I be done, by yonder fun,
And thou hadft not come to ту
King. How long has she been thus ?
Opb. I hope, all will be well. We muft be patient ; but I cannot chuse but weep, to think, they should lay him i'th' cold ground ; my brother hall know of it, and fo I thank you for your good counsel. Come, my coach good night, ladies; good night, sweet ladies; good night, good night.
[Exit. King. Follow her close, give her good watch, I pray you;
This is the poison of deep grief; it springs
All from her father's death. O Gertrudan Gertrude !
When sorrows come, they come not fingle spies,
But in battalions. First, her father slain ;
your Son gone, and he most violent author
Of his own just remove; the people muddied,
Thick and unwholesome in their thoughts and whispers,
For good Polonius' death; (We've done but greenly,
In private to interr him;) poor Opbelia,
Divided from herself, and her fair judgment;
(Without the which we're pictures, or mere beafts :)
Last, and as much containing as all these,
Her brother is in secret come from France :
Feeds on this wonder, keeps himself in clouds,
And wants not buzzers to infect his ear
With peftilent speeches of his father's death;
Wherein necessity, of matter beggar’d,
Will nothing stick our persons to arraign
In ear and ear. O my dear Gertrude, this,
Like to a murdering piece, in many places
Gives me superfluous death!
[A noise within, Queen. Alack! what noise is this ?
King. Where are my Switzers? let them guard the door,
What is the matter?
Mef. Save yourself, my Lord.
The ocean, over-peering of his lift,
Eats not the flats with more impetuous haste,
Than young Laertes, in a riotous head,
O'er-bears your officers ; the rabble call him Lord;
"And as the world were now but to begin,
Antiquity forgot, cuftom not known,
The ratifiers and props of every Ward; (27)
“ Chuse we Laertes for our King."
Caps, hands, and tongues, applaud it to the Clouds ;
* Laertes thall be King, Laertes King !"
Queen. How chearfully on the falfe trail they cry! Oh, this is counter, you false Danish dogs.
[Noise within, Enter Laertes, with a Party at the Door. King. The doors are broke. Laer. Where is this King ? Sirs ! ftand you all without. All. No, let's come in.
(27) The Ratifiers and Props of ev'ry Word ;] The whole Tenour of the Context is fufficient io shew, that this is a miltaken Reading. What can Antiquity and Custom, being the Props of Words, have to do with the Business in hand? Or what Idea is convey'd by it? Certainly, the Poet wrote;
The Raisers and Props of ev'ry Ward ; The Messenger is complaining, that the riotous Head had over-borne the King's Offices, and then subjoins, that Antiquity and Custom were forgot, which were the Ratifiers and Props of every Wardy. i. e. of every one of those Securities that Nature and Law place about the Person of a King. All this is rational and consequential.