Buys out the law: But 'tis not so above;
There, is no shuffling; there, the action lies
In his true nature; and we ourselves compellid,
Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults,
To give in evidence. What then? what rests?
Try what repentance can; What can it not?
Yet what can it, when one cannot repent!
O wretched state! O bosom black as death!
O limed* soul; that, struggling to be free,
Art more engag'd! Help, angels, make assay!
Bow, stubborn knees! and, heart with strings of
Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe; steel;
All may be well!

[Retires and kneels.
Enter HAMLET.
Ham. Now might I do it, pat, now he is praying,
And now I'll do't; and so he goes to heaven:
And so am I reveng'd? That would be scann'dt:
A villain kills my father; and, for that,
I his sole son, do this same villain send
To heaven.
Why, this is hire and salary $, not revenge.
He took

my

father grossly, full of bread; With all his crimes broad blown, às flush as May; And how his audit stands, who knows, save heaven? But, in our circumstance and course of thought, 'Tis heavy with him: And am I then reveng'd, To take him in the purging of his soul, When he is fit and season'd for his passage? No. Up, sword; and know thou a more horrid hent||: When he is drunk, asleep, or in his rage;

Or in the incestuous pleasures of his bed;
At gaming, swearing; or about some act :
That has no relish of salvation in't:
Then trip him, that his heels may kick at heaven:
And that his soul may be as damn'd, and black,
As hell, whereto it goes.

HAMLET AND HIS MOTHER.

Queen. What have I done, that thou dar'st wag In noise so rude against me? [thy tongue Нат.

Such an act, That blurs the grace and blush of modesty; Calls virtue, hypocrite; takes off the rose From the fair forehead of an innocent love, And sets a blister there; makes marriage vows. As false as dicers' oaths: 0, such a deed As from the body of contraction* plucks The very soul; and sweet religion makes A rhapsody of words: Heaven's face doth glow; Yea, this solidity and compound mass, With tristfult visage, as against the doom, Is thought-sick at the act. Queen.

Ah me, what act, That roars so loud, and thunders in the index?

Ham. Look here, upon this picture, and on this; The counterfeit presentment of two brothers. See, what a grace was seated on this brow: Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself; An eye like Mars, to threaten and command; A station|l, like the herald Mercury New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill; * Marriage contract.

+ Sorrowful. # Index of contents prefixed to a book. § Apollo's.

11 The act of standing.

Z

A combination, and a form, indeed,
Where every god did seem to set his seal,
To give the world assurance of a man:
This was your husband.--Look you now, what

follows:
Here is your husband; like a mildew'd ear,
Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes?
Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed,
And batten* on this moor? Ha! have you eyes?
You cannot call it, love; for, at your age,
The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble,
And waits upon the judgment: And what judgment
Would step from this to this? Senset, sure you have,
Else, could you not have motion: But, sure, that
Is apoplex'd; for madness would not err; [sense
Nor sense to ecstasy# was ne'er so thralld,
But it reserv'd some quantity of choice,
To serve in such a difference. What devil was't,
That thus hath cozen'd you at hoodman blind?
Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight,
Ears without hands or eyes, smelling sans|| all,
Or but a sickly part of one true sense
Could not so mope T.
O shame! where is thy blush? Rebellious hell,
If thou canst mutine in a matron's bones,
To flaming youth let virtue be as wax,
And melt in her own fire: Proclaim no shame,
When the compulsive ardour gives the charge;
Since frost itself as actively doth burn,
And reason panders will.
Queen.

O Hamlet, speak no more: Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very * To grow fat.

+ Sensation Frenzy. & Blindman's-buff. # Without Be so stupid.

soul;

And there I see such black and grained spots,
As will not leave their tinct*.

B

Enter GHOST.
Ham. Save me, and hover o'er me with your

wings, You heavenly guards! What would your gracious Queen. Alas, he's mad.

(figure?
Ham. Do you not come your tardy son to chide,
That, laps'd in time and passion, lets go by
The important acting of your dread command?
O, say!

Ghost. Do not forget: This visítation
Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose.
But, look! amazement on thy mother sits:
O, step between her and her fighting soul;
Conceitt in weakest bodies strongest works ;
Speak to her, Hamlet.
Ham.

How is it with you, lady?
Queen. Alas, how is't with you?
That you do bend your eye on vacancy,
And with the incorporal air do hold discourse?
Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep;
And, as the sleeping soldiers in the alarm,
Your bedded hair, like life in excrements,
Starts

up,

and stands on end. O gentle son, Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look? Ham. On him! On him!-Look you, how pale

he glares! His form and cause conjoin’d, preaching to stones, Would make them capableg. Do not look upon me; * Colour.

Lest, with this piteous action, you convert
My stern effects*: then what I have to do
Will want true colour; tears, perchancet, for blood.

Queen. To whom do you speak this?
Ham.

Do you see nothing there?
Queen. Nothing at all: yet all, that is, I see.
Ham. Nor did you nothing hear?
Queen.

No, nothing, but ourselves. Ham. Why, look you there! look, how it steals My father, in his habit as he liv'd! [away! Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal!

[Exit Ghost. Queen. This is the very coinage of your brain: This bodiless creation ecstasyt Is very cunning in. Ham.

Ecstasy! My pulse, as your's, doth temperately keep time, And makes as healthful music: It is not madness, That I have utter'd: bring me to the test, And I the matter will re-word: which madness Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace, Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, That not your trespass, but my madness speaks: It will but skin and film the ulcerous place; Whiles rank corruption, mining all within, Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven; Repent what's past; avoid what is to come; And do not spread the composts on the weeds, To make them ranker. Forgive me this

my

virtue: For in the fatness of these pursy times, Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg; Yea, curb|| and woo, for leave to do him good.