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Ham. Has, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio, a fellow of infinite jeft; of most excellent fancy: he bath borne me on his back a thousand times : and now how abhorred in my imagination it is ! my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips, that I have kiss’d I know not how oft. Where be your gibęs now? your gambols ? your fongs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table in a roar? not one now, to mock your own grinning ? quite chap-fallen ? now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come; make her laugh at that Pr'ythee, Horatio, tell me one thing.
Hor. What's that, my Lord ?
Ham. Doft thou think, Alexander look'd o' this fashion i'th' earth?
Hor. E'en so. Ham. And smelt ro, puh?. [Smelling to the Scull. Hor. E'en so, my Lord, Ham. To what bafe uses we may return, Horatio ! why may not imagination trace the noble duft of Alexander, 'till he find it stopping a bung-hole ?
Hor. 'Twere to consider too curiouíly, to consider fo.
and Priesls, attendant.
Couch we awhile, and mark.
Loer. What ceremony else?
Priet. Her obsequies have been fo far enlarg'd
Laer. Muft no more be done?
Laer. Lay her i'th' earth ;
Ham. What, the fair Ophelia !
Laer. O treble woe
[Laertes leaps into the Grave Now pile your duft upon the quick and dead, 'Till of this flat a mountain you have made, T'o'er-top old Pelion, or the skyish head Of blue Olympus.
Ham. [discovering himself:] What is he, whose griefs, Bear such an emphasis whose phrase of forrow
Conjures the wandring stars, and makes them ftand
[Hamlet leaps into the Grave. Hamlet the Dane.
Laer. The devil take thy soul! [Grappling with him,
Ham. Thou pray'it not well.
I in me something dangerous,
King. Pluck them afunder
[The attendunts part ther. Ham. Why, I will fight with him upon this theme, Until my eye-lids will no longer wag.
Queen. Oh my son ! what theme?
Ham. I lov'd Ophelia ; forty thousand brothers
Kings O, he is mad, Laertes.
Ham. Come, thew me what thou'lt do.
(29) Woo't drink up Efill, eat a Crocodile?] This Word has thro' all the Editions been distinguished by Italick Characters, as if it were the proper Name of some River : and so, I dare say, all the Editors have from time to time understood it to be. But then this must be some River in Denmark; and there is none there sa called; nor is there any near it in Name, that I know of, but Ysel, from which the Province of Overyfel derives its Title in the German Flanders. · Besides, Hamlet is not proposing any Impossibilities to Laertes, as the drinking up a River would be: but he rather seems to mean, Wilt thou resolve to do things the most Mocking and diftasteful to human Nature ? and, behold, I am as resolute. persuaded, the Poet wrote;
Wilt drink up Eisel, eat a Crocodile ? # 4. Wilt thou swallow down large Draughts of Vinegar? The
I'll do't. -Do'st thou come hither but to whine ?
Queen. This is mere madness;
Ham. Hear you, Sir
[Exit Hor Strengthen your patience in our last night's speech.
[To Laertes. We'll put the matter to the present push. Good Gertrude, set some watch over your son: This grave
shall have a living monument. An hour of quiet shortly shall we fee; 'Till then, in patience our proceeding be. [Exeunt.
Propofition, indeed, is not very grand; but the doing it might be as distasteful and unfavoury, as eating the Flesh of a Crocodile. And now there is neither an Impoffibility, nor an Anticlimax; and the Lowness of the Idea is in some measure remov'd by the uncommon Term,
The anni s des weisses Kinder
SCENE changes to a HALL, in the Palace.
Enter Hamlet and Horatio.
Ham. O much for this, now shall you see the other.
You do remember all the circumstance?
Ham. Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting,
Hor. That is most certain,
Ham. Up from my cabin,
Hor. Is't poflible?
Ham. Here's the commission, read it at more leifure ; But wilt thou hear now how I did proceed ? Hor. I beseech
you. Ham. Being thus benetted round with villainy, (Ere I could make a prologue, to my Bane (30)
They (30) Being thus benetted round with villains,
E'er I could make a Prologue to my Brzins,