But, you must know, your father lost a father;
That father lost his; and the survivor bound
Iu filial obligation, for some term

To do obsequious sorrow: But to persever
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 com-

mon

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
Here, in the cheer and comfort of our eye,
Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son.
Queen. Let not thy mother lose her prayers,
Hamlet;

I pray thee, stay with us; go not to Wittenberg. Ham. I shall in all my best obey you, madam.

King. Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply; Be as ourself in Denmark.-Madam, come; This gentle and unforc'd accord of Hamlet Sits smiling to my heart: in grace whereof, No jocund health that Denmark drinks to-day, But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell, And the king's rouse + the heaven shall bruit again,

Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come away.

[Exeunt KING, QUEEN, Lords, &c. POLONIUS, and LAERTES.

God!

Ham. Oh! that this too too solid flesh would Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew! [melt, Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd His canon 'gainst self-slaughter!-O God! O How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable Seem to me all the uses of this world! Fie on't! O fie! 'tis an unweeded garden, That grows to seed; things rank and gross in

A little month or ere those shoes were old,
With which she follow'd my poor father's body,
Like Niobe, all tears;-why she, even she,-
O heaven! a beast, that wants discourse of rea-
son,

Would have mourn'd longer,-married with my uncle,

My father's brother; but no more like my father,

Than I to Hercules: Within a month,
Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears
Had left the flushing in her galled eyes,
She married :-O most wicked speed, to post
With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!

Sir.

But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg ↑
Hor. A truant disposition, good my lord.
Ham. I would not hear your enemy say so:
Nor shall you do mine ear that violence,
To make it truster of your own report
Against yourself: I know you are no truant.
But what is your affair in Elsinore ?
We'll teach you to drink deep ere you depart
Hor. My lord, I came to see your father's
funeral.

Ham. I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow student;

I think, it was to see my mother's wedding. Hor. Indeed, my lord, it follow'd hard upon. Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio! the funeral bak'd

My lord?

Ham. In my mind's eye, Horatio.

Hor. I saw him once, he was a goodly king. Ham. He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again.

Hor. My lord, I think I saw him yesternight.
Ham. Saw! who?

Hor. My lord, the king your father.
Ham. The king my father?

Hor. Season your admiration for a while
With an attent ear; till I may deliver,
Upon the witness of these gentlemen,
This marvel to you.

Ham. For God's love, let me hear.
Hor. Two nights together had these gentle-

men,

Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch,
In the dead waist and middle of the night,
Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your father,
Armed at point, exactly, cap-a-pé,
Appears before them, and, with solemn march,
Goes slow and stately by them: thrice he
walk'd

By their oppress'd and fear-surprized eyes,
Within his truncheon's length; whilst they,

distill'd

Almost to jelly with the act of fear,
Stand dumb, and speak not to him. This to me
In dreadful secrecy impart they did;
And 1 with them, the third night, kept the
watch;

Where, as they had deliver'd, both in time, Form of the thing, each word made true and good,

The apparition comes: I knew your father;

These hands are not more like.

Ham. But where was this?

Hor. My lord, upon the platform where we watch'd.

Ham. Did you not speak to it?

Hor. My lord, I did;

But answer made it none: yet once, methought, It lifted up its head, and did address

Itself to motion, like as it would speak;
But, even then, the morning cock crew loud,
And at the sound it shrunk in haste away,
And vanish'd from our sight.
Ham. 'Tis very strange.

Hor. As I do live, my honour'd lord,

true;

And we did think it writ down in our duty, To let you know of it.

'tis

And now no soil, nor cautel, doth besmirch ↑
The virtue of his will: but, you must fear,
His greatness weigh'd, his will is not his own;
For he himself is subject to his birth:
He may not, as unvalued persons do,
Carve for himself; for on his choice depends
The safety and the health of the whole state;
And therefore must his choice be circumscrib'd
Unto the voice and yielding of that body,

loves you,

It fits your wisdom so far to believe it,
As he in his particular act and place

May give his saying deed; which is no further,
Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal.
Then weigh what loss your honour may sus-
tain,

If with too credentear you list § his songs;

up.

Ham. What, look'd he frowningly?

Hor. A countenance more

In sorrow than in anger.

Ham. Pale, or red?
Hor. Nay, very pale.

Ham. And fix'd his eyes upon you?
Hor. Most constantly.

Ham. I would I had been there.

Her. It would have much amaz'd you. Ham. Very like,

Very like: Stay'd it long?

To his unmaster'd importunity.

Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister;
And keep you in the rear of your affection,
Out of the shot and danger of desire.
The chariest ¶ maid is prodigal enough,
If she unmask her beauty to the moon:
Virtue itself scapes not calumnious strokes :
The canker galls the infants of the spring,
Too oft before their buttons be disclos'd;
And in the morn and liquid dew of youth
Contagious blastments are most imminent.
Be wary then best safety lies in fear;

tell a hundred.

Mar. Ber. Longer, longer.

Hor. Not when I saw it.

Ham. His beard was grizzl'd? no?

Hor. It was, as 1 have seen it in his life,

A sable silver'd.

Hen. I will watch to-night : Perchance, 'twill walk again. Her. I warrant it will.

Ham. If it assume my noble father's person, I'll speak to it, though hell itself should gape, And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all, If you have hitherto conceal'd this sight, Let it be tenable in your silence still; And whatsoever else shall hap to-night, Give it an understanding, but no tongue : I will requite your loves: So, fare you well: Ipon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve, visit you.

All. Our duty to your honour.

Ham. Your loves, as mine to you: Farewell. [Exeunt HORATIO, MARCELLUS, and 'BER

NARDO.

My father's spirit in arms! all is not well; I doubt some foul play: 'would, the night were come!

Til then, sit still, my soul: Foul deeds will rise (Though all the earth o'erwhelm them) to men's eyes. [Exit. SCENE III-A Room in POLONIUS' House. Enter LAERTES and OPHELIA,

Larr. My necessaries are embark'd; farewell: And, mister, as the winds give benefit, And convoy is assistant, do not sleep, But let me bear from you.

Oph. I shall the effect of this good lesson

keep,

As watchman to my heart: But, good my brother,
Do not, as some ungracious pastors do,
Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven;
Whilst, like a puff'd and and reckless ** libertine,
Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads,
And recks not his own read. it

Laer. O fear me not.

I stay too long ;-But here my father comes.
Enter POLONIUS.

A double blessing is a double grace;
Occasion smiles upon a second leave.
Pol. Yet here, Laertes! aboard, aboard, for
shame ;

The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail,
And you are staid for: (n) There,-my blessing
with you;

[Laying his Hand on LAERTES' Head. And these few precepts in thy memory Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue,

Nor any unproportion'd thought his act.
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.
The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel;
But do not dull thy palm 65 with entertainment
Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Be-
Of entrance to a quarrel: but, being in,
Bear it that the opposer may beware of thee,
Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice:
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy

ware

This above all,-To thine ownself be true;
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
Farewell; my blessing season this in thee!
Laer. Most humble do I take my leave, my
lord.

Pol. The time invites you; go, your servants tend. +

Laer. Farewell, Ophelia; and remember well What I have said to you.

Laer, Farewell.

Oph. 'Tis in memory lock'd, And you yourself shall keep the key of it. [Exit LAERTES. Pol. What is't, Ophelia, he hath said to you? Oph. So please you, something touching the lord Hamlet.

Pol. Marry, well bethought:

'Tis told me, he hath very oft of late Given private time to you; and you yourself Have of your audience been most free and bounteous,

If it be so, (as so 'tis put on me,

And that in way of caution,) 1 must tell you,
You do not understand yourself so clearly,
As it behoves my daughter and your honour:
What is between yon? give me up the truth.
Oph. He hath, my lord, of late, made many
Of his affection to me.
[tenders
Pol. Affection? puh! you speak like a green
girl,

Unsifted in such perilous circumstance.

Do you believe his tenders, as you call them? Oph. I do not know, my lord, what I should think.

Pol. Marry, I'll teach you: think yourself a baby;

That you have ta'en these tenders for true pay, Which are not sterling. Tender yourself more dearly;

Or (not to crack the wind of the poor phrase,
Wronging it thus,) you'll tender me a fool.
Oph. My lord he hath impórtun'd me with love,
In honourable fashion. §

Pol. Ay, fashiou you may call it; go to, go

to.

Oph. Aud hath given countenance to his speech, my lord,

With almost all the holy vows of heaven.
Pol. Ay, springes to catch woodcocks. I do
know,

When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul
Lends the tongue vows: these blazes, daughter,
Giving more light than heat,-extinct in both,
Even in their promise, as it is a making,-
You must not take for fire. From this time,
Be somewhat scanter of your maiden presence;
Set your entreatments || at a higher rate,
Than a command to parley. For lord Hamlet,
Believe so much in him, That he is young;
And with a larger tether¶ may be walk,
Then may be given you: In few, Ophelia,
Do not believe his vows; for they are brokers, **
Not of that die which their investments show,
But mere implorators ++ of unholy suits,
Breathing like sanctified and pious bonds,
The better to beguile. This is for all,---

I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth,

Have you so slander any moment's leisure,
As to give words or talk with the lord Hamlet.
Look to't, I charge you; coine your ways.
Oph. I shall obey, my lord.

[Exeunt.

This heavy-headed revel, east and west,
Makes us traduc'd, and tax'd of other nations :
They clepe us, drunkards, and with swinish
phrase

Soil our addition; and, indeed it takes..
From our achievements, though perform'd at
height,

The pith and marrow of our attribute.
So, oft it chances in particular men,
That, for some vicious mode of nature in them,
As, in their birth, (wherein they are not guilty,
Since nature cannot choose his origin,)

By the o'ergrowth of some complexion,
Oft breaking down the pales and forts of rea-

shape,

Be thy intents wicked, or charitable,
Thou com'st in such a questionable
That I will speak to thee: I'll call thee, Hamlet,
King, father, royal Dane: O answer me :
Let me not burst in ignorance! but tell,
Why thy canoniz'd bones, hearsed in death,
Have burst their cerements! why the sepulchre,
Wherein we saw thee quietly in-urn'd,
Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws,
To cast thee up again! What may, this mean,
That thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel,
Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon,
Making night hideous; and we fools of nature
So horridly to shake our disposition, ++
With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls t
Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we

do?

Her. It beckons you to go away with it, As if it some impartment did desire To you alone.

Mar. Look, with what courteous action It waves you to a more removed ‡‡ ground: But do not go with it.

Hor. No, by no means.

Ham. It will not speak; then I will follow it. Hor. Do not, my lord.

Ham. Why, what should be the fear?

I do not set my life at a pin's fee ; 99

Jovial draught. Call. • Conversable.