Is, the great love the general gender1 bear him:
Who, dipping all his faults in their affection,
Work like the spring2 that turneth wood to stone,
Convert his gyves to graces; so that my arrows,
Too slightly timber'd for so loud a wind,
Would have reverted to my bow again,
And not where I had aim'd them.

Laer. And so have I a noble father lost;
A sister driven into desperate terms;
Whose worth, if praises may go back again,
Stood challenger on mount of all the age

For her perfections:-But my revenge will come.
King. Break not your sleeps for that: you must
not think,

That we are made of stuff so flat and dull,
That we can let our beard be shook with danger,
And think it pastime. You shortly shall hear more:
I lov'd your father, and we love ourself;
And that, I hope, will teach you to imagine,-
How now? what news?

Mess.

Enter a Messenger.

Letters, my lord, from Hamlet:
This to your majesty; this to the queen.
King. From Hamlet! who brought them?
Mess. Sailors, my lord, they say: I saw them not:
They were given me by Claudio; he receiv'd them
Of him that brought them.
King.
Leave us.

Laertes, you shall hear them :-
[Exit Messenger.

As did that one; and that, in my regard,
Of the unworthiest siege.4

Laer.

What part is that, my lord?
King. A very ribband in the cap of youth,
Yet needful too; for youth no less becomes
The light and careless livery that it wears,
Than settled age his sables, and his weeds,
Importing health and graveness.-Two months
since,

Here was a gentleman of Normandy,

I have seen myself, and serv'd against, the French,
And they can well on horseback: but this gallant
Had witchcraft in't; he grew unto his seat;
And to such wond'rous doing brought his horse,
As he had been incorps'd and demi-natur'd
With the brave beast: so far he topp'd my thought,
That I, in forgery of shapes and tricks,
Come short of what he did.

Laer. I know him well: he is the brooch, indeed, And gem of all the nation.

King. He made confession of you; And gave you such a masterly report, For art and exercise in your defence. And for your rapier most especial, That he cried out, 'twould be a sight indeed, If one could match you: the scrimers of their ns[Reads.] High and mighty, you shall know, I am He swore, had neither motion, guard, nor eye, tion, set naked on your kingdom. To-morrow shall I beg If you oppos'd them: Sir, this report of his leave to see your kingly eyes; when I shall, first ask- Did Hamlet so envenom with his envy,, ing your pardon thereunto, recount the occasion That he could nothing do, but wish and beg of my sudden and more strange return. Your sudden coming o'er, to play with you. Now, out of this,—

Hamlet.

What should this mean? Are all the rest come back?
Or is it some abuse, and no such thing?
Laer. Know you the hand?
King. 'Tis Hamlet's character. Naked,-
And, in a postscript here, he says, alone:
Can you advise me?

Laer. I am lost in it, my lord. But let him come;
It warms the very sickness in my heart,

That I shall live and tell him to his teeth,
Thus diddest thou.

So you will not o'er-rule me to a peace.
King. To thine own peace. If he be now
turn'd,-

re

As checking at his voyage, and that he means
No more to undertake it,-I will work him
To an exploit, now ripe in my device,
Under the which he shall not choose but fall:
And for his death no wind of blame shall breathe;
But even his mother shall uncharge the practice,
And call it, accident.
Laer.

My lord, I will be rul'd;
The rather, if you could devise it so,
That I might be the organ.

King.
It falls right.
You have been talk'd of since your travel much,
And that in Hamlet's hearing, for a quality,
Wherein, they say, you shine: your sum of parts
Did not together pluck such envy from him,

Laer.
What out of this, my lord?
King. Laertes, was your father dear to you?
Or are you like the painting of a sorrow,
A face without a heart?

Laer.
Why ask you this?
King. Not that I think, you did not love your

father;

But that I know, love is begun by time;
And that I see, in passages of proof,
Time qualifies the spark and fire of it.
There lives within the very flame of love

A kind of wick, or snuff, that will abate it;

And nothing is at a like goodness still;

For goodness, growing to a pleurisy,

Dies in his own too-much: That we would do,
We should do when we would; for this would

The Frenchman gave you; bring you, in fine, to-
gether,

And wager o'er your heads: he, being remiss,
Most generous, and free from all contriving,
Will not peruse the foils; so that, with ease,
Or with a little shuffling, you may choose
A sword unbated, and, in a pass of practice,
Requite him for your father.

Laer.
I will do't:
And, for the purpose, I'll anoint my sword.
I bought an unction of a mountebank,

So mortal, that but dip a knife in it,
Where it draws blood no cataplasm so rare,
Collected from all simples that have virtue
Under the moon, can save the thing from death,
That is but scratch'd withal: I'll touch my point
With this contagion; that, if I gall him slightly,
It may be death.

King.
Weigh, what convenience, both of time and means,
May fit us to our shape: if this should fail,
And that our drift look through our bad perform-

Let's further think of this;

I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze,
But that this folly drowns it.
Let's follow, Gertrude.
King,
How much I had to do to calm his rage!
Now fear I, this will give it start again;
Therefore, let's follow.

SCENE I-A churchyard. Enter two Clowns, with spades, &c.

1 Clo. Is she to be buried in Christian burial, that wilfully seeks her own salvation?

2 Clo. I tell thee, she is; therefore make her grave straight: 12 the crowner hath set on her, and finds it Christian burial.

1 Clo. How can that be, unless she drowned herself in her own defence?

2 Clo. Why, 'tis found so.

1 Clo. It must be se offendendo; it cannot be else. For here lies the point: If I drown myself wittingly, argues an act; and an act hath three branches; it is, to act, to do, and to perform: Ar

"Twere better not assay'd: therefore this project
Should have a back, or second, that might hold,
If this should blast in proof. Soft,-let me see:-
We'll make a solemn wager on your cunnings, 4-gal, she drowned herself wittingly.
I ha't:

When in your motion you are hot and dry,
(As make your bouts more violent to that end,)
And that he calls for drink, I'll have preferr'd him
A chalice for the nonce; whereon but sipping,
If he by chance escap'd your venom'd stuck,7
Our purpose may hold there. But stay, what noise?
Enter Queen.

2 Clo. But is this law?

1 Clo. Ay, marry is't; crowner's-quest law,

2 Clo. Will you ha' the truth on't? If this had not been a gentlewoman, she should have been buried out of Christian burial.

1 Clo. Why, there thou say'st: and the more pity; that great folks shall have countenance in this world to drown or hang themselves, more than their even13 Christian. Come, my spade. There is no ancient gentlemen but gardeners, ditchers, and grave-makers; they hold up Adam's profession. 2 Clo. Was he a gentleman?

1 Clo. He was the first that ever bore arms.
2 Clo. Why, he had none.

1 Clo. What, art a heathen? How dost thou understand the scripture? The scripture says, Adam digged; Could he dig without arms? I'll put another question to thee: if thou answerest me not to the purpose, confess thyself

1 Clo. What is he, that builds stronger than either the mason, the shipwright, or the carpenter? 2 Clo. The gallows-maker; for that frame outlives a thousand tenants.

1 Clo. I like thy wit well, in good faith; the gallows does well: But how does it well? it does well to those that do ill: now thou dost ill, to say, the gallows is built stronger than the church; argal, the gallows may do well to thee. To't again; come. 2 Clo. Who builds stronger than a mason, a ship. wright, or a carpenter?

1 Clo. Ay, tell me that, and unyoke.14
2 Clo. Marry, now I can tell.
1 Clo. To't.

1 Clown digs, and sings.

In youth, when I did love, did love,'

Methought, it was very sweet,

To contract, O, the time, for, ah, my behove,
O, methought, there was nothing meet.
Ham. Has this fellow no feeling of his business?
he sings at grave-making.
Hor. Custom hath made it in him a property of

easiness.
Ham. 'Tis e'en so: the hand of little employ-
ment hath the daintier sense.

1 Clo. But age, with his stealing steps,

Hath claw'd me in his clutch,

And hath shipped me into the land, As if I had never been such. [Throws up a scull. Ham. That scull had a tongue in it, and could sing once: How the knave jowls it to the ground, as if it were Cain's jaw-bone, that did the first murder! This might be the pate of a politician, which this ass now o'er-reaches; one that would circumvent God, might it not?

Hor. It might, my Lord.

1 Clo. 'Tis a quick lie, sir; 'twill away again, from me to you.

Ham. What man dost thou dig it for?

1 Clo. For no man, sir.

Ham. What woman then?

1 Clo. For none either.

Ham. Who is to be buried in't?

1 Clo. One, that was a woman, sir; but, rest her soul, she's dead.

Ham. How absolute the knave is! we must speak by the card, or equivocation will undo us. By the lord, Horatio, these three years I have taken note of it; the age has grown so picked, that the toe of the peasant comes so near the heel of the courtier, he galls his kibe.-How long hast thou been a

1 Clo. Of all the days i' the year, I came to't that day that our last king Hamlet overcame Fortinbras. Ham. How long's that since?

Ham. Or of a courtier; which would say, Good-grave-maker? morrow, sweet lord! How dost thou, good lord? This might be my lord such-a-one, that praised my lord such-a-one's horse, when he meant to beg it; might it not?

Hor. Ay, my lord.

Ham. Why, e'en so: and now my lady Worms; chapless, and knocked about the mazzard with a sexton's spade: Here's fine revolution, an we had the trick to see't. Did these bones cost no more the breeding, but to play at loggats with them? mine ache to think on't.

1 Clo. Cannot you tell that? every fool can tell that: It was that very day that young Hamlet was born: he that is mad, and sent into England.

Ham. Ay, marry, why was he sent into England? 1 Clo. Why, because he was mad: he shall recover his wits there; or, if he do not, 'tis no great matter there.

Ham. Why?

1 Clo. 'Twill not be seen in him there; there the 1 Clo. A pick-axe, and a spade, a spade, [Sings. men are as mad as he. For-and a shrouding sheet:

O, a pit of clay for to be made
For such a guest is meet.

[Throws up a scull.

Ham. How came he mad?

1 Clo. Very strangely, they say.
Ham. How strangely?

1 Clo. Faith, e'en with losing his wits.
Ham. Upon what ground?

1 Clo. Why, here in Denmark; I have been sexton here, man and boy, thirty years.

Ham. How long will a man lie i'the earth ere

Ham. There's another: Why may not that be the scull of a lawyer? Where be his quiddits' now, his quillets, his cases, his tenures, and his tricks? why does he suffer this rude knave now to knock him about the sconce with a dirty shovel, and will he rot? not tell him of his action of battery? Humph! This 1 Clo. 'Faith, if he be not rotten before he die (as fellow might be in's time a great buyer of land, we have many pocky corses now-a-days, that will with his statutes, his recognizances, his fines, his scarce hold the laying in,) he will last you some double vouchers, his recoveries: Is this the fine of eight year, or nine year: a tanner will last you his fines, and the recovery of his recoveries, to have nine year. his fine pate full of fine dirt? will his vouchers vouch him no more of his purchases, and double ones too, than the length and breadth of a pair of indentures? The very conveyances of his lands will hardly lie in this box; and must the inheritor himself have no more? ha?

(1) The song entire is printed in Percy's Reliques of ancient English Poetry, vol. i. It was written by Lord Vaux.

(2) An ancient game, played as quoits are at present.

Ham. Why he more than another?

1 Clo. Why, sir, his hide is so tanned with his trade, that he will keep out water a great while; and your water is a sore decayer of your whoreson dead body. Here's a scull now hath lain you i'the earth three-and-twenty years. Ham. Whose was it?

1 Clo. A whoreson mad fellow's it was; Whose | Yet here she is allowed her virgin crants, do you think it was?

Ham. Nay, I know not.

1 Clo. A pestilence on him for a mad rogue ! he poured a flagon of Rhenish on my head once. This same scull, sir, was Yorick's scull, the king's jester. Ham. This?

1 Clo. E'en that.

[Takes the scull.

Her maiden strewments, and the bringing home
Of bell and burial.

Laer. Must there no more be done?
No more be done!
1 Priest.
We should profane the service of the dead,
To sing a requiem, and such rest to her
As to peace-parted souls.

Laer.

Ham.

9

Lay her i'the earth :Ham. Alas! poor Yorick!-I knew him, Hora- And from her fair and unpolluted flesh, tio; a fellow of infinite jest; of most excellent May violets spring!-I tell thee, churlish priest, fancy he hath borne me on his back a thousand A minist'ring angel shall my sister be, times; and now, how abhorred in my imagination When thou liest howling. it is! my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips, Where be that I have kissed I know not how oft. your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grin-I ning? 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?

I

What, the fair Ophelia. Queen. Sweets to the sweet: Farewell! [Scattering flowers. hop'd, thou should'st have been my Hamlet's wife; thought, thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid, O, treble wo And not have strew'd thy grave. Laer. Fall ten times treble on that cursed head, Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense Depriv'd thee of!-Hold off the earth a while,

Ham. Dost thou think, Alexander looked o'this Till I have caught her once more in mine arms: fashion i'the earth?

Hor. E'en so.

Ham. And smelt so? pah!

[Throws down the scull.

Hor. E'en so, my lord. Ham. To what base uses we may return, Horatio! Why may not imagination trace the noble dust of Alexander, till he find it stopping a bung-hole? Hor. 'Twere to consider too curiously, to consider so.

Ham. No, faith, not a jot; but to follow him thither with modesty enough, and likelihood to lead it: As thus; Alexander died, Alexander was buried, Alexander returneth to dust; the dust is earth; of earth we make loam: And why of that loam, whereto he was converted, might they not stop a beer-barrel?

Imperious Cæsar, dead, and turn'd to clay,
Might stop a hole to keep the wind away;
O, that the earth, which kept the world in awe,
Should patch a wall to expel the winter's flaw!3
But soft! but soft! aside:-Here comes the king.
Enter Priest, &c. in procession; the corpse of
Ophelia, Laertes and Mourners following; King,
Queen, their trains, &c.

The queen, the courtiers: Who is this they follow?
And with such maimed rites! This doth betoken,
The corse, they follow, did with desperate hand
Fordo' its own life. 'Twas of some estate:
Couch we a while, and mark.

[Retiring with Horatio.

Laer. What ceremony else?
Ham.
A very noble youth: Mark.
Laer. What ceremony else?

That is Laertes,

1 Priest. Her obsequies have been as far enlarg'd
As we have warranty: Her death was doubtful;
And, but that great cominand o'ersways the order,
She should in ground unsanctified have lodg'd,
Till the last trumpet; for charitable prayers,
Shards, flints, and pebbles, should be thrown on

7

her;

[Leaps into the grave.
Now pile your dust upon the quick 10 and dead;
Till of this flat a mountain you have made
To o'er-top old Pelion, or the skyish head
Of blue Olympus.

Ham. [Advancing.] What is he, whose grief
Bears such an emphasis? whose phrase of sorrow
Conjures the wand'ring stars, and makes them
stand

Like wonder-wounded hearers? this is I,
Hamlet the Dane.
Laer.

[Leaps into the grave.
The devil take thy soul!
[Grappling with him

Ham. Thou pray'st 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 asunder.
Queen.
All. Gentlemen,-
Hor.

Hamlet, Hamlet!

Good my lord, be quiet. [The Attendants part them, and they come out of the grave.

Ham. Why, I will fight with him upon this theme, Until my eyelids will no longer wag.

Queen. O 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?
King. O, he is mad, Laertes.

Queen. For love of God, forbear him.
Ham. Zounds, show me what thou'lt do:
Woul't weep? woul't fight? woul't fast? woul't
tear thyself?

Woul't drink up Esil ?11 eat a crocodile ?
I'll do't.-Dost thou come here to whine?
To outface 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 Ossa like a wart! Nay, an thou'lt mouth,
I'll rant as well as thou.
Queen.

They are not near my conscience; their defeat Ham. So much for this, sir: now shall you see Does by their own insinuation grow:

Ham Thy state is the more gracious; for 'tis a vice to know him: He hath much land, and fertile: let a beast be lord of beasts, and his crib shall stand at the king's mess: 'Tis a chough; but, as I say, spacious in the possession of dirt.

Osr. Sweet lord, if your lordship were at leisure, I should impart a thing to you from his majesty. Ham. I will receive it, sir, with all diligence of spirit: Your bonnet to his right use; 'tis for the head. Osr. I thank your lordship, 'tis very hot. Ham. No, believe me, 'tis very cold; the wind is northerly.