P. QUEEN.

So many journeys may the sun and moon
Make us again count o'er, ere love be done!
But, woe is me, you are so sick of late,

So far from cheer, and from your former state,
That I distrust you. Yet, though I distrust,
Discomfort you, my lord, it nothing must:
For women's fear and love hold quantity;
In neither aught, or in extremity.

Now, what my love is, proof hath made you know;
And as my love is sized, my fear is so.

Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear; Where little fears grow great, great love grows there.

To pay ourselves what to ourselves is debt:
What to ourselves in passion we propose,
The passion ending, doth the purpose lose.
The violence of either grief or joy
Their own enactures with themselves destroy:
Where joy most revels, grief doth most lament;
Grief joys, joy grieves, on slender accident.
This world is not for aye; nor 'tis not strange
That even our loves should with our fortunes change;
For, 'tis a question left us yet to prove,
Whether love lead fortune, or else fortune love.
The great man down, you mark, his favourite flies;
The poor advanced makes friends of enemies.
And hitherto doth love on fortune tend;
For who not needs, shall never lack a friend;
And who in want a hollow friend doth try,
Directly seasons him his enemy.
But, orderly to end where I begun,—
Our wills and fates do so contrary run,

And never come mischance between us twain! [Exit.
Ham. Madam, how like you this play?
Queen. The lady doth protest too much, me-
thinks.

Ham. O, but she'll keep her word.

King. Have you heard the argument? Is there no offence in 't?

Ham. No, no, they do but jest, poison in jest? no offence i' the world.

King. What do you call the play?

Ham. The mousetrap. Marry, how?—tropically. This play is the image of a murder done in Vienna: Gonzago is the duke's name; his wife, Baptista; you shall see anon; 'tis a knavish piece of work but what of that? Your majesty, and we that have free souls, it touches us not: let the galled jade wince; our withers are unwrung.

Pol. Give o'er the play.
King. Give me some light: away!
Pol. Lights, lights, lights!

[Exeunt all but HAMLET and HORATIO. Ham. Why, let the strucken deer go weep, The hart ungalléd play:

For some must watch, while some must sleep; Thus runs the world away.

Would not this, sir, and a forest of feathers (if the rest of my fortunes turn Turk with me), with two Provencial roses on my razed shoes, get me a fellowship in a cry of players, sir?

Hor. Half a share.

Ham. A whole one, I.

For thou dost know, O Damon dear,
This realm dismantled was

Of Jove himself; and now reigns here
A very very-peacock.

Hor. You might have rhymed.

Ham. O, good Horatio, I'll take the ghost's word for a thousand pound. Didst perceive? Hor. Very well, my lord.

Ham. Upon the talk of the poisoning,-
Hor. I did very well note him.

Ham. Ah, ha!-Come, some music; come, the recorders.

For if the king like not the comedy, Why then, belike, he likes it not, perdy. Enter ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN. Come, some music.

Guil. Good my lord, vouchsafe me a word with you.

Ham. Sir, a whole history.

Guil. The king, sir,—

Ham. Ay, sir, what of him?

Guil. Is, in his retirement, marvellous distempered.

Ham. With drink, sir?

Guil. No, my lord, with choler.

Ham. Your wisdom should shew itself more richer, to signify this to the doctor; for, for me to put him to his purgation, would perhaps plunge him into more choler.

Guil. Good my lord, put your discourse into some frame, and start not so wildly from my affair.

Ham. I am tame, sir: pronounce.

Guil. The queen, your mother, in most great affliction of spirit, hath sent me to you.

Ham. You are welcome.

Guil. Nay, good my lord, this courtesy is not of the right breed. If it shall please you to make me a wholesome answer, I will do your mother's commandment: if not, your pardon, and my return, shall be the end of my business.

Ham. Sir, I cannot.

Guil. What, my lord?

Ham. Make you a wholesome answer; my wit's diseased: but, sir, such answer as I can make, you shall command; or rather, as you say, my mother: therefore, no more, but to the matter: My mother, you say.—

Ros. Then thus she says: your behaviour hath struck her into amazement and admiration.

Ham. O, wonderful son, that can so astonish a mother!-But is there no sequel at the heels of this mother's admiration ?-impart.

Ros. She desires to speak with you in her closet, ere you go to bed.

Ham. We shall obey, were she ten times our mother. Have you any further trade with us?

Ros. My lord, you once did love me. Ham. And do still, by these pickers and stealers. Ros. Good my lord, what is your cause of distemper?-you do freely bar the door of your own liberty, if you deny your griefs to your friend. Ham. Sir, I lack advancement.

Ros. How can that be, when you have the voice of the king himself for your succession in Denmark?

Ham. Ay, sir, but "While the grass grows," -the proverb is something musty.

Enter the Players, with recorders.

O, the recorders: let me see one.-To withdraw with you :—why do you go about to recover the wind of me, as if you would drive me into a toil? Guil. O, my lord, if my duty be too bold, my love is too unmannerly.

Ham. I do not well understand that. Will you play upon this pipe?

Guil. My lord, I cannot.

Ham. pray you.

Guil. Believe me, I cannot.
Ham. I do beseech you.

Guil. I know no touch of it, my lord.

Ham. 'Tis as easy as lying: govern these ventages with your fingers and thumb, give it breath with your mouth, and it will discourse most eloquent music. Look you, these are the stops.

Guil. But these cannot I command to any utterance of harmony; I have not the skill.

Ham. Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me. You would play upon me; you would seem to know my stops; you would pluck out the heart of my mystery; you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass and there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ; yet cannot you make it speak. S'blood, do you think I am easier to be played on than a pipe? Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me.

:

Enter POLONIUS.

God bless you, sir!

Pol. My lord, the queen would speak with you, and presently.

Ham. Do you see yonder cloud, that's almost in shape of a camel?

Pol. By the mass, and 't is like a camel, indeed. Ham. Methinks it is like a weasel.

Pol. It is backed like a weasel.

Ham. Or like a whale?

Pol. Very like a whale.

Ham. Then will I come to my mother by-andby. They fool me to the top of my bent.-I will come by-and-by.

Contagion to this world: now could I drink hot blood,

And do such bitter business as the day

Would quake to look on. Soft; now to my mother.

O heart, lose not thy nature: let not ever
The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom:
Let me be cruel, not unnatural:

I will speak daggers to her, but use none;
My tongue and soul in this be hypocrites:
How in my words soever she be shent,
To give them seals, never, my soul, consent!

SCENE III-A Room in the same.

[Exit.

Enter KING, Rosencrantz, and GUILDENSTERN.
King. I like him not; nor stands it safe with us
To let his madness range. Therefore, prepare you;
I your commission will forthwith despatch,
And he to England shall along with you:
The terms of our estate may not endure
Hazard so near us, as doth hourly grow
Out of his lunacies.

Guil. We will ourselves provide:
Most holy and religious fear it is,
To keep those many many bodies safe
That live and feed upon your majesty.

Ros. The single and peculiar life is bound,
With all the strength and armour of the mind,
To keep itself from 'noyance; but much more
That spirit upon whose weal depend and rest
The lives of many. The cease of majesty
Dies not alone; but, like a gulph, doth draw
What's near it with it: it is a massy wheel,
Fixed on the summit of the highest mount,
To whose huge spokes ten thousand lesser things
Are mortised and adjoined; which, when it falls,
Each small annexment, petty consequence,
Attends the boisterous ruin. Never alone
Did the king sigh, but with a general groan.
King. Arm you, I pray you, to this speedy

Enter POLONIUS.

Pol. My lord, he's going to his mother's closet: Behind the arras I'll convey myself,

To hear the process; I'll warrant she'll tax him home:

And, as you said, and wisely was it said, 'Tis meet that some more audience than a mo

ther,

Since nature makes them partial, should o'erhear
The speech of vantage. Fare you well, my liege:
I'll call upon you ere you go to bed,
And tell you what I know.

King.

Thanks, dear my lord.

[Exit POLONIUS. O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven; It hath the primal eldest curse upon 't, A brother's murder!-Pray can I not, Though inclination be as sharp as will; My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent; And, like a man to double business bound, I stand in pause where I shall first begin; And both neglect. What if this cursed hand Were thicker than itself with brother's blood? Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens To wash it white as snow? Whereto serves mercy But to confront the visage of offence? And what's in prayer but this twofold force,— To be forestalléd ere we come to fall, Or pardoned, being down? Then I'll look up; My fault is past. But O, what form of prayer Can serve my turn? Forgive me my foul mur

der!

That cannot be; since I am still possessed
Of those effects for which I did the murder?
My crown, mine own ambition, and my queen.
May one be pardoned and retain the offence?
In the corrupted currents of this world,
Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice;
And oft 'tis seen, the wicked prize itself
Buys out the law: but 't is not so above:
There is no shuffling, there the action lies
In his true nature; and we ourselves compelled,
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 liméd soul, that, struggling to be free,
Art more engaged! Help, angels, make assay!
Bow, stubborn knees! and heart, with strings of

And so am I revenged? That would be scanned;
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, as 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 revenged,
To take him in the purging of his soul,
When he is fit and seasoned 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 damned and black
As hell, whereto it goes. My mother stays :-
This physic but prolongs thy sickly days. [Exit.

The KING rises, and advances.

King. My words fly up, my thoughts remain below:

Words without thoughts, never to heaven go. [Exit.

Ham.

What's the matter now ?

Queen. Have you forgot me?
Ham.

No, by the rood, not so:
You are the queen, your husband's brother's wife;
And 'would it were not so-you are my mother.
Queen. Nay, then I'll set those to you that can
speak.

Ham. Come, come, and sit you down; you shall not budge;

You go not, till I set you up a glass,
Where you may see the inmost part of you.
Queen. What wilt thou do? thou wilt not mur-
der me?

Is it the king?

[Lifts up the arras, and draws forth POLONIUS. Queen. O, what a rash and bloody deed in this! Ham. A bloody deed;-almost as bad, good mother,

As kill a king, and marry with his brother.
Queen. As kill a king!

Ham. Ay, lady, 't was my word.— Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell! [TO POLONIUS.

I took thee for thy better; take thy fortune:
Thou find'st, to be too busy is some danger.-
Leave wringing of your hands: peace; sit you
down,

And let me wring your heart: for so I shall,
If it be made of penetrable stuff;

If damnéd custom hath not brazed it so,
That it is proof and bulwark against sense.
Queen. What have I done, that thou darest wag
thy tongue

In noise so rude against me?
Ham.
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: O, 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 tristful visage, as against the doom,
Is thought-sick at the act,