Imatges de pàgina
[ocr errors]

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.
Ham. No, 'faith, not a jot : bat to follow him thither
with modeity enough, and likelihood to lead it; as thus:
Alexander died, Alexander was buried, Alexander re-
turneth to dust ; the dust is earth; of earth we make
loam; and why of that loam, wherero he was converted,
might they not stop a beer-barrel ?
Imperial Cæfar, dead and turn’d to clay,
Might stop a hole to keep the wind away:
On, that that earth, which kept the world in awe,
Should patch a wall, t’expel the winter's flaw!
But soft! but soft, a-while--here comes the King..
Enter King, Queen, Laertes, and a coffin, with Lords,

and Priesls, attendant.
The Queen, the Courtiers. What is that they follow,
And with such maimed rites ? this doth betoken,
The coarse, they follow, did with desperate hand
Foredo its own life;, 'twas of some eftate.


Couch we awhile, and mark.

Loer. What ceremony else?
Ham. That is Laertes, a moft noble youth: mark-
Lar. What ceremony else?

Priet. Her obsequies have been fo far enlarg'd
As we have warranty ; her death was doubtful;
And but that great. Command o'er-fways the order,
She thould in ground unfanctified have lodg'd
'Till the last Trump. For charitable prayers,
Shards, flints, and pebbles, should be thrown on her;
Yet here she is allow'd her virgin rites,
Her maiden-strewments, and the bringing home
Of bell and burial.

Laer. Muft no more be done?
Prieft. No more be done!
We should profane the service of the dead,
To sing a Requiem, and fuch reft to her
As to peace-parted fouls.

Laer. Lay her i'th' earth ;
And from her fair and unpolluted flesh
May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest,
A miniftring angel fhall my fifter be,
When thou lieft howling.

Ham. What, the fair Ophelia !
Queen. Sweets to the sweet, farewel!
I hop'd, thou shouldst have been my Hamlet's wife ;
I thought thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid,
And not have strew'd thy grave.

Laer. O treble woe
Fall ten times treble on that cursed head,
Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense
Depriv'd thee of! Hold off the earth awhile,
'Till I have caught her once more in my arms;

[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
Like wonder-wounded hearers ! this is I,

[Hamlet leaps into the Grave. Hamlet the Dane.

Laer. The devil take thy soul! [Grappling with him,

Ham. Thou pray'it not well.
I pr'ythee, take thy fingers from my throat
For though I am not splenetive and rash;
Yet have

I in me something dangerous,
Which let thy wisdom fear. Hold off thy hand.

King. Pluck them afunder
Queen. Hamlet, Hamlet
Hor. Good my Lord, be quiet.

[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
Could not with all their quantity of love
Make up my sum. What wilt thou do for her ?

Kings O, he is mad, Laertes.
Queen. For love of God, forbear him.

Ham. Come, thew me what thou'lt do.
Woo't weep? woo't fight? woo't faft? woo't tear thyself
Woo't drink up Eifel, eat a crocodile ? (29)


(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 am

I'll do't. -Do'st thou come hither but to whine ?
To out-face me with leaping in her grave ?
Be buried quick with her; and so will I;
And if thou prate of mountains, let them throw
Millions of acres on us, 'till our ground,
Singeing his pate against the burning zone,
Make Ofa like a wart ! nay, an thou'lt mouth,
I'll rant as well as thou.

Queen. This is mere madness;
And thus a while the fit will work on him :
Anon, as patient as the female dove,
When that her golden couplets are disclos'd,
His filence will fit drooping.

Ham. Hear you, Sir
What is the reason that you use me thus ?
I lov'd you ever ; but it is no matter
Let Hercules himself do what he may,
The cat will mew, the dog will have his day. [Exit.
King. I pray you, good Horatio, wait upon him,

[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?
Hor. Remember it, my Lord ?

Ham. Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting,
That would not let me sleep; methought, I lay
Worse than the mutines in the bilboes ; Rashness
(And prais'd be rashness for it) lets us know,
Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well,
When our deep plots do fail; and that should teach us,
There's a Divinity that shapes our ends,
Rough-hew them how we will.

Hor. That is most certain,

Ham. Up from my cabin,
My sea-gown scarft about me, in the dark
Grop'd I to find out them; had my desire,
Finger'd their packet, and in fine withdrew
To mine own room again ; making so bold
(My fears forgetting manners) to unseal
Their grand commiffion, where I found, Horatio,
A royal knavery ; an exact command,
Larded with many several sorts of reasons,
Importing Denmark's health, and England's too,
(With, ho! such buggs and goblins in my life ;)
That on the supervize, no leisure bated,
No, not to stay the grinding of the ax,
My head should be ftruck off.

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,
They had begun tbe Play. I fare me duron, &c.]

« AnteriorContinua »