Ant. E. 'Tis true, my liege, this ring I had of her.

Duke. Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey here? Cour. As sure, my liege, as I do see your grace. Duke. Why, this is strange :-Go call the abbess hither.

I think you are all mated, or stark mad.

[Exit Attend. Ege. Most mighty duke, vouchsafe me speak a word;

Haply, I see a friend will save my life,
And pay the sum that may deliver me.

Duke. Speak freely, Syracusan, what thou wilt. Ege. Is not your name, sir, call'd Antipholus? And is not that your bondman Dromio? [sir; Dro. E. Within this hour I was his bondman, But he, I thank him, gnaw'd in two my cords: Now am I Dromio, and his man, unbound.

Ege. I am sure you both of you remember me. Dro. E. Ourselves we do remember, sir, by you; For lately we were bound, as you are now. You are not Pinch's patient, are you, sir?

Ege. Why look you strange on me? you know me well.

Ant. E. I never saw you in my life, till now. Ege. Oh! grief hath chang'd me, since you saw me last;

And careful hours, with Time's deformed hand, Have written strange defeatures in my face: But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice? Ant. E. Neither.

Dro. E. Ay, sir; but I am sure I do not; and whatsoever a man denies, you are now bound to believe him.

Ege. Not know my voice! O, time's extremity! Hast thou so crack'd and splitted my poor tongue, In seven short years, that here my only son Knows not my feeble key of untun'd cares? Though now this grained + face of mine be hid In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow, And all the conduits of my blood froze up, Yet hath my night of life some memory, My wasting lamps some fading glimmer left, My dull deaf ears a little use to hear: All these old witnesses (I cannot err) Tell me, thou art my son Antipholus.

Ant. E. I never saw my father in my life. Ege. But seven years since, in Syracusa, boy, Thou know'st we parted: but, perhaps, my son, Thou sham'st to acknowledge me in misery.

Ant. E. The duke, and all that know me in the city,

Can witness with me that it is not so;
I ne'er saw Syracusa in my life.

Duke. I tell thee, Syracusan, twenty years
Have I been patron to Antipholus,
During which time he ne'er saw Syracusa :
I see thy age and dangers make thee dote.
Enter the Abbess, with ANTIPHOLUS Syracusan,
and DROMIO Syracusan.

Abb. Most mighty duke, behold a man much wrong'd. [All gather to see him. Adr. I see two husbands, or mine eyes deceive

me.

Duke. One of these men is genius to the other; And so of these: Which is the natural man, And which the spirit? Who deciphers them? Dro. S. I, sir, am Dromio; command him away.

Alteration of features. + Furrowed, lined. The morning story is what Ægeon tells the Duke in the first scene of this play.

Dro. E. I, sir, am Dromio; pray, let me stay.
Ant. S. Egeon, art thou not? or else his
ghost?
[here?
Dro. S. O, my old master, who hath bound him
Abb. Whoever bound him, I will loose his
bonds,

And gain a husband by his liberty:
Speak, old Ægeon, if thou be'st the man
That hadst a wife once call'd Æmilia,
That bore thee at a burden two fair sons:
O, if thou be'st the same Ægeon, speak,
And speak unto the same Æmilia!

Ege. If I dream not, thou art Æmilia:
If thou art she, tell me, where is that son
That floated with thee on the fatal raft?

[right.

Abb. By men of Epidamnum, he, and I, And the twin Dromio, all were taken up: But, by and by, rude fishermen of Corinth By force took Dromio and my son from them, And me they left with those of Epidamnum: What then became of them I cannot tell; I, to this fortune that you see me in. Duke. Why, here begins his morning story These two Antipholus's, these two so like, And these two Dromios, one in semblance,Besides her urging of her wreck at sea,— These are the parents to these children, Which accidentally are met together. Antipholus, thou cam'st from Corinth first? Ant. S. No, sir, not I; I came from Syracuse. Duke. Stay, stand apart; I know not which is which. [lord. Ant. E. I came from Corinth, my most gracious Dro. E. And I with him.

Ant. E. Brought to this town by that most famous warrior,

Duke Menaphon, your most renowned uncle. Adr. Which of you two did dine with me today?

Ant. S. I, gentle mistress.
Adr.

And are not you my husband? Ant. E. No, I say nay to that.

Ant. S. And so do I, yet did she call me so; And this fair gentlewoman, her sister here, Did call me brother :-What I told you then I hope I shall have leisure to make good, If this be not a dream I see and hear. Ang. That is the chain, sir, which you had

of me.

[me.

Ant. S. I think it be, sir; I deny it not. Ant. E. And you, sir, for this chain arrested Ang. I think I did, sir; I deny it not. Adr. I sent you money, sir, to be your bail, By Dromio; but I think he brought it not. Dro. E. No, none by me.

[you,

Ant. S. This purse of ducats I receiv'd from And Dromio my man did bring them me : I see, we still did meet each other's man, And I was ta'en for him, and he for me; And thereupon these Errors are arose.

Ant. E. These ducats pawn I for my father here.

[life. Duke. It shall not need; thy father hath his Cour. Sir, I must have that diamond from you. [my good cheer. Ant. E. There, take it; and much thanks for Abb. Renowned duke, vouchsafe to take the pains

To go with us into the abbey here,
And hear at large discoursed all our fortunes :
And all that are assembled in this place,
That by this sympathized one day's error
Have suffer'd wrong, go, keep us company,
And we shall make full satisfaction.
Twenty-five years have I but gone in travail
Of you, my sons; nor till this present hour

Enter Ghost.

Ber. In the same figure, like the king that's dead.

Mar. Thou art a scholar, speak to it, Horatio. Ber. Looks it not like the king? mark it, Horatio. [wonder. Hor. Most like:-it harrows me with fear, and Ber. It would be spoke to. Mar. Speak to it, Horatio. Hor. What art thou, that usurp'st this time of Together with that fair and warlike form [night, In which the majesty of buried Denmark [speak. Did sometimes march? by heaven, I charge thee, Mar. It is offended.

Ber.

See! it stalks away. Hor. Stay; speak: speak I charge thee, speak. [Exit Ghost. Mar. 'Tis gone, and will not answer. [pale: Ber. How now, Horatio? you tremble, and look Is not this something more than fantasy? What think you of it?

Hor. Before my God, I might not this believe, Without the sensible and true avouch Of mine own eyes.

Mar.

Is it not like the king?

Hor. As thou art to thyself:

Such was the very armour he had on,
When he the ambitious Norway combated;
So frown'd he once, when, in an angry parle,*
He smote the sledded + Polack on the ice.
'Tis strange.

[hour, Mar. Thus, twice before, and jump at this dead With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch. Hor. In what particular thought to work, I know not;

But, in the gross and scope of mine opinion,
This bodes some strange eruption to our state.
Mar. Good now, sit down, and tell me, he that
knows,

Why this same strict and most observant watch
So nightly toils the subject of the land?

And why such daily cast of brazen cannon,
And foreign mart for implements of war; [task
Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore
Does not divide the Sunday from the week:
What might be toward, that this sweaty haste
Doth make the night joint-labourer with the day;
Who is 't, that can inform me?

Hor.

That can I; At least, the whisper goes so. Our last king, Whose image even but now appear'd to us, Was, as you know, by Fortinbras, of Norway, Thereto prick'd on by a most emulate pride, Dar'd to the combat; in which our valiant Hamlet (For so this side of our known world esteem'd him) Did slay this Fortinbras; who, by a seal'd comWell ratified by law and heraldry,

[páct,

Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands,
Which he stood seiz'd of to the conqueror :
Against the which, a moiety competent
Was gaged by our king; which had return'd
To the inheritance of Fortinbras,
[mart,
Had he been vanquisher; as, by the same co-
And carriage of the article design'd, ¶
His fell to Hamlet: Now, sir, young Fortinbras,
Of unimproved mettle hot and full,**
Hath in the skirts of Norway, here and there,
Shark'd ++ up a list of landless resolutes,
For food and diet, to some enterprise
That hath a stomach ‡‡ in 't: which is no other
* Dispute.
+ Sledged.
Polander, an inhabitant of Poland.
Joint bargain.
The covenant to confirm that bargain.
** Full of spirit, without experience.

? Just.

(As it doth well appear unto our state)
But to recover of us, by strong hand,
And terms compulsatory, those 'foresaid lands
So by his father lost: And this, I take it,
Is the main motive of our preparations;
The source of this our watch; and the chief head
Of this post-haste and romage in the land.
Ber. I think it be no other, but even so:
Well may it sort, that this portentous figure
Comes armed through our watch; so like the king
That was, and is, the question of these wars.

Hor. A mote it is, to trouble the mind's eye.
In the most high and palmy ¶¶ state of Rome,
A little ere the mightiest Julius fell,
The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead
Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets.
Stars shone with trains of fire; dews of blood fell;
Disasters veil'd the sun; and the moist star,***
Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands,
Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse.
And even the like precurse of fierce events,
As harbingers preceding still the fates,
And prologue to the omen +++ coming on,-
Have heaven and earth together démonstrated
Unto our climatures and countrymen.-

Re-enter Ghost. ;

But, soft; behold! lo, where it comes again!
I'll cross it, though it blast me.-Stay, illusion!
If thou hast any sound, or use of voice,
Speak to me:

If there be any good thing to be done,
That may to thee do ease, and grace to me,
Speak to me:

If thou art privy to thy country's fate,
Which, happily, foreknowing, may avoid,
O, speak!

Or, if thou hast uphoarded in thy life
Extorted treasure in the womb of earth,
For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death,
[Cock crows.

Speak of it:-stay, and speak.-Stop it, Marcellus.

Mar. Shall I strike at it with my partizan? ‡‡‡ Hor. Do, if it will not stand.

Ber. . Hor.

Mar. 'Tis gone!

'Tis here!

'Tis here! [Exit Ghost.

We do it wrong, being so majestical,
To offer it the show of violence;
For it is, as the air, invulnerable,
And our vain blows malicious mockery. [crew.
Ber. It was about to speak, when the cock
Hor. And then it started like a guilty thing
Upon a fearful summons. I have heard,
The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn,
Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat
Awake the god of day; and, at his warning,
Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air,
The extravagant and erring ??? spirit hies
To his confine and of the truth herein
This present object made probation.||||||

Mar. It faded on the crowing of the cock.
Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comes
Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,
This bird of dawning singeth all night long:
And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad;
The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike,
No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,
So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.

A Room of State in the same. Enter the KING, QUEEN, HAMLET, POLONIUS, LAERTES, VOLTIMAND, CORNELIUS, Lords, and Attendants.

King. Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death

The memory be green; and that it us befitted
To bear our hearts in grief, and our whole king-
To be contracted in one brow of woe; [dom
Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature,
That we with wisest sorrow think on him,
Together with remembrance of ourselves.
Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen,
The imperial jointress of this warlike state,
Have we, as 'twere, with a defeated joy,-
With one auspicious and one dropping eye;
With mirth in funeral, and with dirge in mar-
riage,

In equal scale weighing delight and dole,*-
Taken to wife: nor have we herein barr'd
Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone
With this affair along :-For all, our thanks.
Now follows, that you know, young Fortin-
bras,-

Holding a weak supposal of our worth;
Or thinking, by our late dear brother's death,
Our state to be disjoint and out of frame,
Colleagued with this dream of his advantage,
He hath not fail'd to pester us with message,
Importing the surrender of those lands
Lost by his father, with all bands + of law,
To our most valiant brother.-So much for him.
Now for ourself, and for this time of meeting.
Thus much the business is: We have here writ
To Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras,-
Who, impotent and bed-rid, scarcely hears
Of this his nephew's purpose,-to suppress
His further gait ‡ herein; in that the levies,
The lists, and full proportions, are all made
Out of his subject:-and we here despatch
You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltimand,
For bearers of this greeting to old Norway;
Giving to you no further personal power
To business with the king, more than the scope
Of these dilated articles allow.
Farewell; and let your haste commend your duty.
Cor., Vol. In that, and all things, will we show
our duty.

King. We doubt it nothing; heartily farewell.
[Exeunt VOL. and COR.
And now, Laertes, what's the news with you?
You told us of some suit; What is 't, Laertes?
You cannot speak of reason to the Dane,
And lose your voice: What would'st thou beg,
Laertes,

That shall not be my offer, not thy asking?
The head is not more native to the heart,
The hand more instrumental to the mouth,

To show my duty in your coronation;
Yet now, I must confess, that duty done,
My thoughts and wishes bend again toward
France,

And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon.
King. Have you your father's leave? What
says Polonius?
[slow leave,
Pol. He hath, my lord, wrung from me my
By laboursome petition; and, at last,
Upon his will I seal'd my hard consent:
I do beseech you, give him leave to go. [thine,
King. Take thy fair hour, Laertes; time be
And thy best graces: spend it at thy will.-
But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son,-
Ham. A little more than kin, and less than
kind.
[Aside.
King. How is it that the clouds still hang on
you?
[sun.
Ham. Not so, my lord, I am too much i' the
Queen. Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour

off,

[die,

And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark.
Do not, for ever, with thy vailed lids?
Seek for thy noble father in the dust:
Thou know'st, 'tis common; all, that live, must
Passing through nature to eternity.
Ham. Ay, madam, it is common.
Queen.
If it be,

Why seems it so particular with thee? [seems.
Ham. Seems, madam! nay, it is; I know not
'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,
Nor customary suits of solemn black,
Nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath,
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,
Nor the dejected haviour of the visage,
Together with all forms, modes, shows of grief,
That can denote me truly: These, indeed, seem,
For they are actions that a man might play:
But I have that within, which passeth show;
These, but the trappings and the suits of woe

King. 'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet,

To give these mourning duties to your father:
But, you must know, your father lost a father;
That father lost his; and the survivor bound
In filial obligation, for some term
To do obsequious sorrow: But to perséver
In obstinate condolement, is a course
Of impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief:
It shows a will most incorrect to heaven;
A heart unfortified, or mind impatient;
An understanding simple and unschool'd:
For what, we know, must be, and is as common
As any the most vulgar thing to sense,
Why should we, in our peevish opposition,
Take it to heart? Fie! 'tis a fault to heaven,
A fault against the dead, a fault to nature,
To reason most absurd; whose common theme
Is death of fathers, and who still hath cried,
From the first corse till he that died to-day,
"This must be so." We pray you, throw to earth
This unprevailing woe; and think of us
As of a father: for let the world take note,
You are the most immediate to our throne;
And, with no less nobility of love,

Than that which dearest father bears his son,
Do I impart toward you. For your intent
In going back to school in Wittenberg,
It is most retrograde to our desire :
And, we beseech you, bend you to remain