Hamlet

Enter Barnardo and Francisco , two sentinels .

Who’s there ?

Nay , answer me . Stand and unfold yourself .

Long live the King !

Barnardo .

He .

You come most carefully upon your hour .

’Tis now struck twelve . Get thee to bed , Francisco .

For this relief much thanks . ’Tis bitter cold ,
And I am sick at heart .

Have you had quiet guard ?

Not a mouse stirring .

Well , good night .
If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus ,
The rivals of my watch , bid them make haste .

Enter Horatio and Marcellus .

I think I hear them . — Stand ho ! Who is there ?

Friends to this ground .

And liegemen to the Dane .

Give you good night .

O farewell , honest soldier . Who hath relieved you ?

Barnardo hath my place . Give you good night .

Francisco exits .

Holla , Barnardo .

Say , what , is Horatio there ?

A piece of him .

Welcome , Horatio . — Welcome , good Marcellus .

What , has this thing appeared again tonight ?

I have seen nothing .

Horatio says ’tis but our fantasy
And will not let belief take hold of him
Touching this dreaded sight twice seen of us .
Therefore I have entreated him along
With us to watch the minutes of this night ,
That , if again this apparition come ,
He may approve our eyes and speak to it .

Tush , tush , ’twill not appear .

Sit down awhile ,
And let us once again assail your ears ,
That are so fortified against our story ,
What we have two nights seen .

Well , sit we down ,
And let us hear Barnardo speak of this .

Last night of all ,
When yond same star that’s westward from the pole
Had made his course t’ illume that part of heaven
Where now it burns , Marcellus and myself ,
The bell then beating one —

Enter Ghost .

Peace , break thee off ! Look where it comes again .

In the same figure like the King that’s dead .

Thou art a scholar . Speak to it , Horatio .

, to Horatio

Looks he not like the King ? Mark it , Horatio .

Most like . It harrows me with fear and wonder .

It would be spoke to .

Speak to it , Horatio .

What art thou that usurp’st this time of night ,
Together with that fair and warlike form
In which the majesty of buried Denmark
Did sometimes march ? By heaven , I charge thee , speak .

It is offended .

See , it stalks away .

Stay ! speak ! speak ! I charge thee , speak !

Ghost exits .

’Tis gone and will not answer .

How now , Horatio , you tremble and look pale .
Is not this something more than fantasy ?
What think you on ’t ?

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

Is it not like the King ?

As thou art to thyself .
Such was the very armor he had on
When he the ambitious Norway combated .
So frowned he once when , in an angry parle ,
He smote the sledded Polacks on the ice .
’Tis strange .

Thus twice before , and jump at this dead hour ,
With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch .

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 .

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 ,
Why such impress of shipwrights , whose sore task
Does not divide the Sunday from the week .
What might be toward that this sweaty haste
Doth make the night joint laborer with the day ?
Who is ’t that can inform me ?

That can I .
At least the whisper goes so : our last king ,
Whose image even but now appeared to us ,
Was , as you know , by Fortinbras of Norway ,
Thereto pricked on by a most emulate pride ,
Dared to the combat ; in which our valiant Hamlet
( For so this side of our known world esteemed him )
Did slay this Fortinbras , who by a sealed compact ,
Well ratified by law and heraldry ,
Did forfeit , with his life , all those his lands
Which he stood seized of , to the conqueror .
Against the which a moiety competent
Was gagèd by our king , which had returned
To the inheritance of Fortinbras
Had he been vanquisher , as , by the same comart
And carriage of the article designed ,
His fell to Hamlet . Now , sir , young Fortinbras ,
Of unimprovèd mettle hot and full ,
Hath in the skirts of Norway here and there
Sharked up a list of lawless resolutes
For food and diet to some enterprise
That hath a stomach in ’t ; which is no other
( 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 posthaste and rummage in the land .

I think it be no other but e’en so .
Well may it sort that this portentous figure
Comes armèd through our watch so like the king
That was and is the question of these wars .

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 ;
As stars with trains of fire and dews of blood ,
Disasters in 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 feared events ,
As harbingers preceding still the fates
And prologue to the omen coming on ,
Have heaven and Earth together demonstrated
Unto our climatures and countrymen .
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 ,
Speak of it .
Stay and speak ! — Stop it , Marcellus .

Enter Ghost .

It spreads his arms .

The cock crows .

Shall I strike it with my partisan ?

Do , if it will not stand .

’Tis here .

’Tis here .

Ghost exits .

’Tis gone .
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 .

It was about to speak when the cock crew .

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 ,
Th’ extravagant and erring spirit hies
To his confine , and of the truth herein
This present object made probation .

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

So have I heard and do in part believe it .
But look , the morn in russet mantle clad
Walks o’er the dew of yon high eastward hill .
Break we our watch up , and by my advice
Let us impart what we have seen tonight
Unto young Hamlet ; for , upon my life ,
This spirit , dumb to us , will speak to him .
Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it
As needful in our loves , fitting our duty ?

Let’s do ’t , I pray , and I this morning know
Where we shall find him most convenient .

They exit .

Flourish . Enter Claudius , King of Denmark , Gertrude the Queen , the Council , as Polonius , and his son Laertes , Hamlet , with others , among them Voltemand and Cornelius .

Flourish .

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 kingdom
To be contracted in one brow of woe ,
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 ,
Th’ imperial jointress to this warlike state ,
Have we ( as ’twere with a defeated joy ,
With an auspicious and a dropping eye ,
With mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage ,
In equal scale weighing delight and dole )
Taken to wife . Nor have we herein barred
Your better wisdoms , which have freely gone
With this affair along . For all , our thanks .
Now follows that you know . Young Fortinbras ,
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 ,
Colleaguèd with this dream of his advantage ,
He hath not failed to pester us with message
Importing the surrender of those lands
Lost by his father , with all bonds 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 bedrid , 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 dispatch
You , good Cornelius , and you , Voltemand ,
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 .

Giving them a paper .

In that and all things will we show our duty .

We doubt it nothing . Heartily farewell .
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 wouldst 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 ,
Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father .
What wouldst thou have , Laertes ?

Voltemand and Cornelius exit .

My dread lord ,
Your leave and favor to return to France ,
From whence though willingly I came to Denmark
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 .

Have you your father’s leave ? What says Polonius ?

Hath , my lord , wrung from me my slow leave
By laborsome petition , and at last
Upon his will I sealed my hard consent .
I do beseech you give him leave to go .

Take thy fair hour , Laertes . Time be thine ,
And thy best graces spend it at thy will . —
But now , my cousin Hamlet and my son —

A little more than kin and less than kind .

, aside

How is it that the clouds still hang on you ?

Not so , my lord ; I am too much in the sun .

Good Hamlet , cast thy nighted color off ,
And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark .
Do not forever with thy vailèd lids
Seek for thy noble father in the dust .
Thou know’st ’tis common ; all that lives must die ,
Passing through nature to eternity .

Ay , madam , it is common .

If it be ,
Why seems it so particular with thee ?

“ Seems , ” madam ? Nay , it is . I know not “ seems . ”
’Tis not alone my inky cloak , good mother ,
Nor customary suits of solemn black ,
Nor windy suspiration of forced breath ,
No , nor the fruitful river in the eye ,
Nor the dejected havior of the visage ,
Together with all forms , moods , shapes 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 passes show ,
These but the trappings and the suits of woe .

’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 , lost his , and the survivor bound
In 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 , a mind impatient ,
An understanding simple and unschooled .
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 today ,
“ 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 .

Let not thy mother lose her prayers , Hamlet .
I pray thee , stay with us . Go not to Wittenberg .

I shall in all my best obey you , madam .

Why , ’tis a loving and a fair reply .
Be as ourself in Denmark . — Madam , come .
This gentle and unforced accord of Hamlet
Sits smiling to my heart , in grace whereof
No jocund health that Denmark drinks today
But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell ,
And the King’s rouse the heaven shall bruit again ,
Respeaking earthly thunder . Come away .

Flourish . All but Hamlet exit .

Flourish .

O , that this too , too sullied flesh would melt ,
Thaw , and resolve itself into a dew ,
Or that the Everlasting had not fixed
His canon ’gainst self-slaughter ! O God , God ,
How weary , stale , flat , and unprofitable
Seem to me all the uses of this world !
Fie on ’t , ah fie ! ’Tis an unweeded garden
That grows to seed . Things rank and gross in nature
Possess it merely . That it should come to this :
But two months dead — nay , not so much , not two .
So excellent a king , that was to this
Hyperion to a satyr ; so loving to my mother
That he might not beteem the winds of heaven
Visit her face too roughly . Heaven and Earth ,
Must I remember ? Why , she would hang on him
As if increase of appetite had grown
By what it fed on . And yet , within a month
( Let me not think on ’t ; frailty , thy name is woman ! ) ,
A little month , or ere those shoes were old
With which she followed my poor father’s body ,
Like Niobe , all tears — why she , even she
( O God , a beast that wants discourse of reason
Would have mourned 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 gallèd eyes ,
She married . O , most wicked speed , to post
With such dexterity to incestuous sheets !
It is not , nor it cannot come to good .
But break , my heart , for I must hold my tongue .

Enter Horatio , Marcellus , and Barnardo .

Hail to your Lordship .

I am glad to see you well .
Horatio — or I do forget myself !

The same , my lord , and your poor servant ever .

Sir , my good friend . I’ll change that name with you .
And what make you from Wittenberg , Horatio ? —
Marcellus ?

My good lord .

I am very glad to see you . To Barnardo . Good even , sir . —
But what , in faith , make you from Wittenberg ?

To Barnardo .

A truant disposition , good my lord .

I would not hear your enemy say so ,
Nor shall you do my 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 .

My lord , I came to see your father’s funeral .

I prithee , do not mock me , fellow student .
I think it was to see my mother’s wedding .

Indeed , my lord , it followed hard upon .

Thrift , thrift , Horatio . The funeral baked meats
Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables .
Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven
Or ever I had seen that day , Horatio !
My father — methinks I see my father .

Where , my lord ?

In my mind’s eye , Horatio .

I saw him once . He was a goodly king .

He was a man . Take him for all in all ,
I shall not look upon his like again .

My lord , I think I saw him yesternight .

Saw who ?

My lord , the King your father .

The King my father ?

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

For God’s love , let me hear !

Two nights together had these gentlemen ,
Marcellus and Barnardo , on their watch ,
In the dead waste and middle of the night ,
Been thus encountered : a figure like your father ,
Armed at point exactly , cap-à-pie ,
Appears before them and with solemn march
Goes slow and stately by them . Thrice he walked
By their oppressed and fear-surprisèd eyes
Within his truncheon’s length , whilst they , distilled
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 I with them the third night kept the watch ,
Where , as they had delivered , 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 .

But where was this ?

My lord , upon the platform where we watch .

Did you not speak to it ?

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 vanished from our sight .

’Tis very strange .

As I do live , my honored lord , ’tis true .
And we did think it writ down in our duty
To let you know of it .

Indeed , sirs , but this troubles me .
Hold you the watch tonight ?

We do , my lord .

Armed , say you ?

Armed , my lord .

From top to toe ?

My lord , from head to foot .

Then saw you not his face ?

O , yes , my lord , he wore his beaver up .

What , looked he frowningly ?

A countenance more in sorrow than in anger .

Pale or red ?

Nay , very pale .

And fixed his eyes upon you ?

Most constantly .

I would I had been there .

It would have much amazed you .

Very like . Stayed it long ?

While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred .

Longer , longer .

Not when I saw ’t .

His beard was grizzled , no ?

It was as I have seen it in his life ,
A sable silvered .

I will watch tonight .
Perchance ’twill walk again .

I warrant it will .

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 concealed this sight ,
Let it be tenable in your silence still ;
And whatsomever else shall hap tonight ,
Give it an understanding but no tongue .
I will requite your loves . So fare you well .
Upon the platform , ’twixt eleven and twelve ,
I’ll visit you .

Our duty to your Honor .

Your loves , as mine to you . Farewell .
My father’s spirit — in arms ! All is not well .
I doubt some foul play . Would the night were come !
Till then , sit still , my soul . Foul deeds will rise ,
Though all the earth o’erwhelm them , to men’s eyes .

All but Hamlet exit .

He exits .

Enter Laertes and Ophelia , his sister .

My necessaries are embarked . Farewell .
And , sister , as the winds give benefit
And convey is assistant , do not sleep ,
But let me hear from you .

Do you doubt that ?

For Hamlet , and the trifling of his favor ,
Hold it a fashion and a toy in blood ,
A violet in the youth of primy nature ,
Forward , not permanent , sweet , not lasting ,
The perfume and suppliance of a minute ,
No more .

No more but so ?

Think it no more .
For nature , crescent , does not grow alone
In thews and bulk , but , as this temple waxes ,
The inward service of the mind and soul
Grows wide withal . Perhaps he loves you now ,
And now no soil nor cautel doth besmirch
The virtue of his will ; but you must fear ,
His greatness weighed , 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 this whole state .
And therefore must his choice be circumscribed
Unto the voice and yielding of that body
Whereof he is the head . Then , if he says he 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 honor may sustain
If with too credent ear you list his songs
Or lose your heart or your chaste treasure open
To his unmastered 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 disclosed ,
And , in the morn and liquid dew of youth ,
Contagious blastments are most imminent .
Be wary , then ; best safety lies in fear .
Youth to itself rebels , though none else near .

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 ,
Whiles , like a puffed and reckless libertine ,
Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads
And recks not his own rede .

O , fear me not .
I stay too long . But here my father comes .
A double blessing is a double grace .
Occasion smiles upon a second leave .

Enter Polonius .

Yet here , Laertes ? Aboard , aboard , for shame !
The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail ,
And you are stayed for . There , my blessing with thee .
And these few precepts in thy memory
Look thou character . Give thy thoughts no tongue ,
Nor any unproportioned thought his act .
Be thou familiar , but by no means vulgar .
Those friends thou hast , and their adoption tried ,
Grapple them unto thy soul with hoops of steel ,
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
Of each new-hatched , unfledged courage . Beware
Of entrance to a quarrel , but , being in ,
Bear ’t that th’ opposèd may beware of thee .
Give every man thy ear , but few thy voice .
Take each man’s censure , but reserve thy judgment .
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy ,
But not expressed in fancy ( rich , not gaudy ) ,
For the apparel oft proclaims the man ,
And they in France of the best rank and station
Are of a most select and generous chief in that .
Neither a borrower nor a lender be ,
For loan oft loses both itself and friend ,
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry .
This above all : to thine own self 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 .

Most humbly do I take my leave , my lord .

The time invests you . Go , your servants tend .

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

’Tis in my memory locked ,
And you yourself shall keep the key of it .

Farewell .

Laertes exits .

What is ’t , Ophelia , he hath said to you ?

So please you , something touching the Lord Hamlet .

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 ) , I must tell you
You do not understand yourself so clearly
As it behooves my daughter and your honor .
What is between you ? Give me up the truth .

He hath , my lord , of late made many tenders
Of his affection to me .

Affection , puh ! You speak like a green girl
Unsifted in such perilous circumstance .
Do you believe his “ tenders , ” as you call them ?

I do not know , my lord , what I should think .

Marry , I will 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 ,
Running it thus ) you’ll tender me a fool .

My lord , he hath importuned me with love
In honorable fashion —

Ay , “ fashion ” you may call it . Go to , go to !

And hath given countenance to his speech , my lord ,
With almost all the holy vows of heaven .

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 something scanter of your maiden presence .
Set your entreatments at a higher rate
Than a command to parle . For Lord Hamlet ,
Believe so much in him that he is young ,
And with a larger tether may he walk
Than may be given you . In few , Ophelia ,
Do not believe his vows , for they are brokers ,
Not of that dye which their investments show ,
But mere implorators of unholy suits ,
Breathing like sanctified and pious bawds
The better to beguile . This is for all :
I would not , in plain terms , from this time forth
Have you so slander any moment leisure
As to give words or talk with the Lord Hamlet .
Look to ’t , I charge you . Come your ways .

I shall obey , my lord .

They exit .

Enter Hamlet , Horatio , and Marcellus .

The air bites shrewdly ; it is very cold .

It is a nipping and an eager air .

What hour now ?

I think it lacks of twelve .

No , it is struck .

Indeed , I heard it not . It then draws near the season
Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk .
What does this mean , my lord ?

A flourish of trumpets and two pieces goes off .

A flourish of trumpets and two pieces goes off .

The King doth wake tonight and takes his rouse ,
Keeps wassail , and the swagg’ring upspring reels ;
And , as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down ,
The kettledrum and trumpet thus bray out
The triumph of his pledge .

Is it a custom ?

Ay , marry , is ’t ,
But , to my mind , though I am native here
And to the manner born , it is a custom
More honored in the breach than the observance .
This heavy-headed revel east and west
Makes us traduced and taxed of other nations .
They clepe us drunkards and with swinish phrase
Soil our addition . And , indeed , it takes
From our achievements , though performed at height ,
The pith and marrow of our attribute .
So oft it chances in particular men
That for some vicious mole 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 reason ) ,
Or by some habit that too much o’erleavens
The form of plausive manners — that these men ,
Carrying , I say , the stamp of one defect ,
Being nature’s livery or fortune’s star ,
His virtues else , be they as pure as grace ,
As infinite as man may undergo ,
Shall in the general censure take corruption
From that particular fault . The dram of evil
Doth all the noble substance of a doubt
To his own scandal .

Enter Ghost .

Look , my lord , it comes .

Angels and ministers of grace , defend us !
Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damned ,
Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell ,
Be thy intents wicked or charitable ,
Thou com’st in such a questionable shape
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 canonized bones , hearsèd in death ,
Have burst their cerements ; why the sepulcher ,
Wherein we saw thee quietly interred ,
Hath oped his ponderous and marble jaws
To cast thee up again . What may this mean
That thou , dead corse , again in complete steel ,
Revisits 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 ?
Say , why is this ? Wherefore ? What should we do ?

Ghost beckons .

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

Look with what courteous action
It waves you to a more removèd ground .
But do not go with it .

No , by no means .

It will not speak . Then I will follow it .

Do not , my lord .

Why , what should be the fear ?
I do not set my life at a pin’s fee .
And for my soul , what can it do to that ,
Being a thing immortal as itself ?
It waves me forth again . I’ll follow it .

What if it tempt you toward the flood , my lord ?
Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff
That beetles o’er his base into the sea ,
And there assume some other horrible form
Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason
And draw you into madness ? Think of it .
The very place puts toys of desperation ,
Without more motive , into every brain
That looks so many fathoms to the sea
And hears it roar beneath .

It waves me still . — Go on , I’ll follow thee .

You shall not go , my lord .

They hold back Hamlet .

Hold off your hands .

Be ruled . You shall not go .

My fate cries out
And makes each petty arture in this body
As hardy as the Nemean lion’s nerve .
Still am I called . Unhand me , gentlemen .
By heaven , I’ll make a ghost of him that lets me !
I say , away ! — Go on . I’ll follow thee .

Ghost and Hamlet exit .

He waxes desperate with imagination .

Let’s follow . ’Tis not fit thus to obey him .

Have after . To what issue will this come ?

Something is rotten in the state of Denmark .

Heaven will direct it .

Nay , let’s follow him .

They exit .

Enter Ghost and Hamlet .

Whither wilt thou lead me ? Speak . I’ll go no further .

Mark me .

I will .

My hour is almost come
When I to sulf’rous and tormenting flames
Must render up myself .

Alas , poor ghost !

Pity me not , but lend thy serious hearing
To what I shall unfold .

Speak . I am bound to hear .

So art thou to revenge , when thou shalt hear .

What ?

I am thy father’s spirit ,
Doomed for a certain term to walk the night
And for the day confined to fast in fires
Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature
Are burnt and purged away . But that I am forbid
To tell the secrets of my prison house ,
I could a tale unfold whose lightest word
Would harrow up thy soul , freeze thy young blood ,
Make thy two eyes , like stars , start from their spheres ,
Thy knotted and combinèd locks to part ,
And each particular hair to stand an end ,
Like quills upon the fearful porpentine .
But this eternal blazon must not be
To ears of flesh and blood . List , list , O list !
If thou didst ever thy dear father love —

O God !

Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder .

Murder ?

Murder most foul , as in the best it is ,
But this most foul , strange , and unnatural .

Haste me to know ’t , that I , with wings as swift
As meditation or the thoughts of love ,
May sweep to my revenge .

I find thee apt ;
And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed
That roots itself in ease on Lethe wharf ,
Wouldst thou not stir in this . Now , Hamlet , hear .
’Tis given out that , sleeping in my orchard ,
A serpent stung me . So the whole ear of Denmark
Is by a forgèd process of my death
Rankly abused . But know , thou noble youth ,
The serpent that did sting thy father’s life
Now wears his crown .

O , my prophetic soul ! My uncle !

Ay , that incestuous , that adulterate beast ,
With witchcraft of his wits , with traitorous gifts —
O wicked wit and gifts , that have the power
So to seduce ! — won to his shameful lust
The will of my most seeming-virtuous queen .
O Hamlet , what a falling off was there !
From me , whose love was of that dignity
That it went hand in hand even with the vow
I made to her in marriage , and to decline
Upon a wretch whose natural gifts were poor
To those of mine .
But virtue , as it never will be moved ,
Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven ,
So , lust , though to a radiant angel linked ,
Will sate itself in a celestial bed
And prey on garbage .
But soft , methinks I scent the morning air .
Brief let me be . Sleeping within my orchard ,
My custom always of the afternoon ,
Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole ,
With juice of cursèd hebona in a vial
And in the porches of my ears did pour
The leprous distilment , whose effect
Holds such an enmity with blood of man
That swift as quicksilver it courses through
The natural gates and alleys of the body ,
And with a sudden vigor it doth posset
And curd , like eager droppings into milk ,
The thin and wholesome blood . So did it mine ,
And a most instant tetter barked about ,
Most lazar-like , with vile and loathsome crust
All my smooth body .
Thus was I , sleeping , by a brother’s hand
Of life , of crown , of queen at once dispatched ,
Cut off , even in the blossoms of my sin ,
Unhouseled , disappointed , unaneled ,
No reck’ning made , but sent to my account
With all my imperfections on my head .
O horrible , O horrible , most horrible !
If thou hast nature in thee , bear it not .
Let not the royal bed of Denmark be
A couch for luxury and damnèd incest .
But , howsomever thou pursues this act ,
Taint not thy mind , nor let thy soul contrive
Against thy mother aught . Leave her to heaven
And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge
To prick and sting her . Fare thee well at once .
The glowworm shows the matin to be near
And ’gins to pale his uneffectual fire .
Adieu , adieu , adieu . Remember me .

He exits .

O all you host of heaven ! O Earth ! What else ?
And shall I couple hell ? O fie ! Hold , hold , my heart ,
And you , my sinews , grow not instant old ,
But bear me stiffly up . Remember thee ?
Ay , thou poor ghost , whiles memory holds a seat
In this distracted globe . Remember thee ?
Yea , from the table of my memory
I’ll wipe away all trivial , fond records ,
All saws of books , all forms , all pressures past ,
That youth and observation copied there ,
And thy commandment all alone shall live
Within the book and volume of my brain ,
Unmixed with baser matter . Yes , by heaven !
O most pernicious woman !
O villain , villain , smiling , damnèd villain !
My tables — meet it is I set it down
That one may smile and smile and be a villain .
At least I am sure it may be so in Denmark .
So , uncle , there you are . Now to my word .
It is “ adieu , adieu , remember me . ”
I have sworn ’t .

He writes .

Enter Horatio and Marcellus .

My lord , my lord !

Lord Hamlet .

Heavens secure him !

So be it .

Illo , ho , ho , my lord !

Hillo , ho , ho , boy ! Come , bird , come !

How is ’t , my noble lord ?

What news , my lord ?

O , wonderful !

Good my lord , tell it .

No , you will reveal it .

Not I , my lord , by heaven .

Nor I , my lord .

How say you , then ? Would heart of man once think it ?
But you’ll be secret ?

Ay , by heaven , my lord .

There’s never a villain dwelling in all Denmark
But he’s an arrant knave .

There needs no ghost , my lord , come from the grave
To tell us this .

Why , right , you are in the right .
And so , without more circumstance at all ,
I hold it fit that we shake hands and part ,
You , as your business and desire shall point you
( For every man hath business and desire ,
Such as it is ) , and for my own poor part ,
I will go pray .

These are but wild and whirling words , my lord .

I am sorry they offend you , heartily ;
Yes , faith , heartily .

There’s no offense , my lord .

Yes , by Saint Patrick , but there is , Horatio ,
And much offense , too . Touching this vision here ,
It is an honest ghost — that let me tell you .
For your desire to know what is between us ,
O’ermaster ’t as you may . And now , good friends ,
As you are friends , scholars , and soldiers ,
Give me one poor request .

What is ’t , my lord ? We will .

Never make known what you have seen tonight .

My lord , we will not .

Nay , but swear ’t .

In faith , my lord , not I .

Nor I , my lord , in faith .

Upon my sword .

We have sworn , my lord , already .

Indeed , upon my sword , indeed .

Swear .

cries under the stage

Ha , ha , boy , sayst thou so ? Art thou there , truepenny ?
Come on , you hear this fellow in the cellarage .
Consent to swear .

Propose the oath , my lord .

Never to speak of this that you have seen ,
Swear by my sword .

Swear .

, beneath

Hic et ubique ? Then we’ll shift our ground .
Come hither , gentlemen ,
And lay your hands again upon my sword .
Swear by my sword
Never to speak of this that you have heard .

Swear by his sword .

, beneath

Well said , old mole . Canst work i’ th’ earth so fast ? —
A worthy pioner ! Once more remove , good friends .

O day and night , but this is wondrous strange .

And therefore as a stranger give it welcome .
There are more things in heaven and earth , Horatio ,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy . But come .
Here , as before , never , so help you mercy ,
How strange or odd some’er I bear myself
( As I perchance hereafter shall think meet
To put an antic disposition on )
That you , at such times seeing me , never shall ,
With arms encumbered thus , or this headshake ,
Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase ,
As “ Well , well , we know , ” or “ We could an if we would , ”
Or “ If we list to speak , ” or “ There be an if they might , ”
Or such ambiguous giving-out , to note
That you know aught of me — this do swear ,
So grace and mercy at your most need help you .

Swear .

, beneath

Rest , rest , perturbèd spirit . — So , gentlemen ,
With all my love I do commend me to you ,
And what so poor a man as Hamlet is
May do t’ express his love and friending to you ,
God willing , shall not lack . Let us go in together ,
And still your fingers on your lips , I pray .
The time is out of joint . O cursèd spite
That ever I was born to set it right !
Nay , come , let’s go together .

They exit .

Enter old Polonius with his man Reynaldo .

Give him this money and these notes , Reynaldo .

I will , my lord .

You shall do marvelous wisely , good Reynaldo ,
Before you visit him , to make inquire
Of his behavior .

My lord , I did intend it .

Marry , well said , very well said . Look you , sir ,
Inquire me first what Danskers are in Paris ;
And how , and who , what means , and where they keep ,
What company , at what expense ; and finding
By this encompassment and drift of question
That they do know my son , come you more nearer
Than your particular demands will touch it .
Take you , as ’twere , some distant knowledge of him ,
As thus : “ I know his father and his friends
And , in part , him . ” Do you mark this , Reynaldo ?

Ay , very well , my lord .

“ And , in part , him , but , ” you may say , “ not well .
But if ’t be he I mean , he’s very wild ,
Addicted so and so . ” And there put on him
What forgeries you please — marry , none so rank
As may dishonor him , take heed of that ,
But , sir , such wanton , wild , and usual slips
As are companions noted and most known
To youth and liberty .

As gaming , my lord .

Ay , or drinking , fencing , swearing ,
Quarreling , drabbing — you may go so far .

My lord , that would dishonor him .

Faith , no , as you may season it in the charge .
You must not put another scandal on him
That he is open to incontinency ;
That’s not my meaning . But breathe his faults so quaintly
That they may seem the taints of liberty ,
The flash and outbreak of a fiery mind ,
A savageness in unreclaimèd blood ,
Of general assault .

But , my good lord —

Wherefore should you do this ?

Ay , my lord , I would know that .

Marry , sir , here’s my drift ,
And I believe it is a fetch of wit .
You , laying these slight sullies on my son ,
As ’twere a thing a little soiled i’ th’ working ,
Mark you , your party in converse , him you would sound ,
Having ever seen in the prenominate crimes
The youth you breathe of guilty , be assured
He closes with you in this consequence :
“ Good sir , ” or so , or “ friend , ” or “ gentleman , ”
According to the phrase or the addition
Of man and country —

Very good , my lord .

And then , sir , does he this , he does — what
was I about to say ? By the Mass , I was about to say
something . Where did I leave ?

At “ closes in the consequence , ” at “ friend ,
or so , ” and “ gentleman . ”

At “ closes in the consequence ” — ay , marry —
He closes thus : “ I know the gentleman .
I saw him yesterday , ” or “ th’ other day ”
( Or then , or then , with such or such ) , “ and as you say ,
There was he gaming , there o’ertook in ’s rouse ,
There falling out at tennis ” ; or perchance
“ I saw him enter such a house of sale ” —
Videlicet , a brothel — or so forth . See you now
Your bait of falsehood take this carp of truth ;
And thus do we of wisdom and of reach ,
With windlasses and with assays of bias ,
By indirections find directions out .
So by my former lecture and advice
Shall you my son . You have me , have you not ?

My lord , I have .

God be wi’ you . Fare you well .

Good my lord .

Observe his inclination in yourself .

I shall , my lord .

And let him ply his music .

Well , my lord .

Farewell .
How now , Ophelia , what’s the matter ?

Reynaldo exits .

Enter Ophelia .

O , my lord , my lord , I have been so affrighted !

With what , i’ th’ name of God ?

My lord , as I was sewing in my closet ,
Lord Hamlet , with his doublet all unbraced ,
No hat upon his head , his stockings fouled ,
Ungartered , and down-gyvèd to his ankle ,
Pale as his shirt , his knees knocking each other ,
And with a look so piteous in purport
As if he had been loosèd out of hell
To speak of horrors — he comes before me .

Mad for thy love ?

My lord , I do not know ,
But truly I do fear it .

What said he ?

He took me by the wrist and held me hard .
Then goes he to the length of all his arm ,
And , with his other hand thus o’er his brow ,
He falls to such perusal of my face
As he would draw it . Long stayed he so .
At last , a little shaking of mine arm ,
And thrice his head thus waving up and down ,
He raised a sigh so piteous and profound
As it did seem to shatter all his bulk
And end his being . That done , he lets me go ,
And , with his head over his shoulder turned ,
He seemed to find his way without his eyes ,
For out o’ doors he went without their helps
And to the last bended their light on me .

Come , go with me . I will go seek the King .
This is the very ecstasy of love ,
Whose violent property fordoes itself
And leads the will to desperate undertakings
As oft as any passions under heaven
That does afflict our natures . I am sorry .
What , have you given him any hard words of late ?

No , my good lord , but as you did command
I did repel his letters and denied
His access to me .

That hath made him mad .
I am sorry that with better heed and judgment
I had not coted him . I feared he did but trifle
And meant to wrack thee . But beshrew my jealousy !
By heaven , it is as proper to our age
To cast beyond ourselves in our opinions
As it is common for the younger sort
To lack discretion . Come , go we to the King .
This must be known , which , being kept close , might move
More grief to hide than hate to utter love .
Come .

They exit .

Flourish . Enter King and Queen , Rosencrantz and Guildenstern and Attendants .

Flourish .

Welcome , dear Rosencrantz and Guildenstern .
Moreover that we much did long to see you ,
The need we have to use you did provoke
Our hasty sending . Something have you heard
Of Hamlet’s transformation , so call it ,
Sith nor th’ exterior nor the inward man
Resembles that it was . What it should be ,
More than his father’s death , that thus hath put him
So much from th’ understanding of himself
I cannot dream of . I entreat you both
That , being of so young days brought up with him
And sith so neighbored to his youth and havior ,
That you vouchsafe your rest here in our court
Some little time , so by your companies
To draw him on to pleasures , and to gather
So much as from occasion you may glean ,
Whether aught to us unknown afflicts him thus
That , opened , lies within our remedy .

Good gentlemen , he hath much talked of you ,
And sure I am two men there is not living
To whom he more adheres . If it will please you
To show us so much gentry and goodwill
As to expend your time with us awhile
For the supply and profit of our hope ,
Your visitation shall receive such thanks
As fits a king’s remembrance .

Both your Majesties
Might , by the sovereign power you have of us ,
Put your dread pleasures more into command
Than to entreaty .

But we both obey ,
And here give up ourselves in the full bent
To lay our service freely at your feet ,
To be commanded .

Thanks , Rosencrantz and gentle Guildenstern .

Thanks , Guildenstern and gentle Rosencrantz .
And I beseech you instantly to visit
My too much changèd son . — Go , some of you ,
And bring these gentlemen where Hamlet is .

Heavens make our presence and our practices
Pleasant and helpful to him !

Ay , amen !

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern exit with some Attendants .

Enter Polonius .

Th’ ambassadors from Norway , my good lord ,
Are joyfully returned .

Thou still hast been the father of good news .

Have I , my lord ? I assure my good liege
I hold my duty as I hold my soul ,
Both to my God and to my gracious king ,
And I do think , or else this brain of mine
Hunts not the trail of policy so sure
As it hath used to do , that I have found
The very cause of Hamlet’s lunacy .

O , speak of that ! That do I long to hear .

Give first admittance to th’ ambassadors .
My news shall be the fruit to that great feast .

Thyself do grace to them and bring them in .
He tells me , my dear Gertrude , he hath found
The head and source of all your son’s distemper .

Polonius exits .

I doubt it is no other but the main —
His father’s death and our o’erhasty marriage .

Well , we shall sift him .
Welcome , my good friends .
Say , Voltemand , what from our brother Norway ?

Enter Ambassadors Voltemand and Cornelius with Polonius .

Most fair return of greetings and desires .
Upon our first , he sent out to suppress
His nephew’s levies , which to him appeared
To be a preparation ’gainst the Polack ,
But , better looked into , he truly found
It was against your Highness . Whereat , grieved
That so his sickness , age , and impotence
Was falsely borne in hand , sends out arrests
On Fortinbras , which he , in brief , obeys ,
Receives rebuke from Norway , and , in fine ,
Makes vow before his uncle never more
To give th’ assay of arms against your Majesty .
Whereon old Norway , overcome with joy ,
Gives him three-score thousand crowns in annual fee
And his commission to employ those soldiers ,
So levied as before , against the Polack ,
With an entreaty , herein further shown ,
That it might please you to give quiet pass
Through your dominions for this enterprise ,
On such regards of safety and allowance
As therein are set down .

He gives a paper .

It likes us well ,
And , at our more considered time , we’ll read ,
Answer , and think upon this business .
Meantime , we thank you for your well-took labor .
Go to your rest . At night we’ll feast together .
Most welcome home !

Voltemand and Cornelius exit .

This business is well ended .
My liege , and madam , to expostulate
What majesty should be , what duty is ,
Why day is day , night night , and time is time
Were nothing but to waste night , day , and time .
Therefore , since brevity is the soul of wit ,
And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes ,
I will be brief . Your noble son is mad .
“ Mad ” call I it , for , to define true madness ,
What is ’t but to be nothing else but mad ?
But let that go .

More matter with less art .

Madam , I swear I use no art at all .
That he’s mad , ’tis true ; ’tis true ’tis pity ,
And pity ’tis ’tis true — a foolish figure ,
But farewell it , for I will use no art .
Mad let us grant him then , and now remains
That we find out the cause of this effect ,
Or , rather say , the cause of this defect ,
For this effect defective comes by cause .
Thus it remains , and the remainder thus .
Perpend .
I have a daughter ( have while she is mine )
Who , in her duty and obedience , mark ,
Hath given me this . Now gather and surmise .
To the celestial , and my soul’s idol , the
most beautified Ophelia —
That’s an ill phrase , a vile phrase ; “ beautified ” is a
vile phrase . But you shall hear . Thus :

He reads .

He reads .

Came this from Hamlet to her ?

Good madam , stay awhile . I will be faithful .
Doubt thou the stars are fire ,
Doubt that the sun doth move ,
Doubt truth to be a liar ,
But never doubt I love .
This , in obedience , hath my daughter shown me ,
And more above , hath his solicitings ,
As they fell out by time , by means , and place ,
All given to mine ear .
O dear Ophelia , I am ill at these numbers . I have not
art to reckon my groans , but that I love thee best , O
most best , believe it . Adieu .
Thine evermore , most dear lady , whilst
this machine is to him , Hamlet .

He reads the letter .

But how hath she received his love ?

What do you think of me ?

As of a man faithful and honorable .

I would fain prove so . But what might you think ,
When I had seen this hot love on the wing
( As I perceived it , I must tell you that ,
Before my daughter told me ) , what might you ,
Or my dear Majesty your queen here , think ,
If I had played the desk or table-book
Or given my heart a winking , mute and dumb ,
Or looked upon this love with idle sight ?
What might you think ? No , I went round to work ,
And my young mistress thus I did bespeak :
“ Lord Hamlet is a prince , out of thy star .
This must not be . ” And then I prescripts gave her ,
That she should lock herself from his resort ,
Admit no messengers , receive no tokens ;
Which done , she took the fruits of my advice ,
And he , repelled ( a short tale to make ) ,
Fell into a sadness , then into a fast ,
Thence to a watch , thence into a weakness ,
Thence to a lightness , and , by this declension ,
Into the madness wherein now he raves
And all we mourn for .

Do you think ’tis this ?

, to Queen

It may be , very like .

Hath there been such a time ( I would fain know that )
That I have positively said “ ’Tis so , ”
When it proved otherwise ?

Not that I know .

Take this from this , if this be otherwise .
If circumstances lead me , I will find
Where truth is hid , though it were hid , indeed ,
Within the center .

How may we try it further ?

You know sometimes he walks four hours together
Here in the lobby .

So he does indeed .

At such a time I’ll loose my daughter to him .
To the King . Be you and I behind an arras then .
Mark the encounter . If he love her not ,
And be not from his reason fall’n thereon ,
Let me be no assistant for a state ,
But keep a farm and carters .

To the King .

We will try it .

Enter Hamlet reading on a book .

But look where sadly the poor wretch comes reading .

Away , I do beseech you both , away .
I’ll board him presently . O , give me leave .
How does my good Lord Hamlet ?

King and Queen exit with Attendants .

Well , God-a-mercy .

Do you know me , my lord ?

Excellent well . You are a fishmonger .

Not I , my lord .

Then I would you were so honest a man .

Honest , my lord ?

Ay , sir . To be honest , as this world goes , is to
be one man picked out of ten thousand .

That’s very true , my lord .

For if the sun breed maggots in a dead
dog , being a good kissing carrion — Have you a
daughter ?

I have , my lord .

Let her not walk i’ th’ sun . Conception is a
blessing , but , as your daughter may conceive ,
friend , look to ’t .

How say you by that ? Still harping on
my daughter . Yet he knew me not at first ; he said I
was a fishmonger . He is far gone . And truly , in my
youth , I suffered much extremity for love , very near
this . I’ll speak to him again . — What do you read , my
lord ?

, aside

Words , words , words .

What is the matter , my lord ?

Between who ?

I mean the matter that you read , my lord .

Slanders , sir ; for the satirical rogue says here
that old men have gray beards , that their faces are
wrinkled , their eyes purging thick amber and
plum-tree gum , and that they have a plentiful lack of
wit , together with most weak hams ; all which , sir ,
though I most powerfully and potently believe , yet I
hold it not honesty to have it thus set down ; for
yourself , sir , shall grow old as I am , if , like a crab ,
you could go backward .

Though this be madness , yet there is
method in ’t . — Will you walk out of the air , my lord ?

, aside

Into my grave ?

Indeed , that’s out of the air . Aside . How
pregnant sometimes his replies are ! A happiness
that often madness hits on , which reason and
sanity could not so prosperously be delivered of . I
will leave him and suddenly contrive the means of
meeting between him and my daughter . — My lord ,
I will take my leave of you .

Aside .

You cannot , sir , take from me anything that I
will more willingly part withal — except my life ,
except my life , except my life .

Fare you well , my lord .

These tedious old fools .

, aside

Enter Guildenstern and Rosencrantz .

You go to seek the Lord Hamlet . There he is .

God save you , sir .

, to Polonius

Polonius exits .

My honored lord .

My most dear lord .

My excellent good friends ! How dost thou ,
Guildenstern ? Ah , Rosencrantz ! Good lads , how do
you both ?

As the indifferent children of the earth .

Happy in that we are not overhappy .
On Fortune’s cap , we are not the very button .

Nor the soles of her shoe ?

Neither , my lord .

Then you live about her waist , or in the
middle of her favors ?

Faith , her privates we .

In the secret parts of Fortune ? O , most true !
She is a strumpet . What news ?

None , my lord , but that the world’s
grown honest .

Then is doomsday near . But your news is not
true . Let me question more in particular . What
have you , my good friends , deserved at the hands of
Fortune that she sends you to prison hither ?

Prison , my lord ?

Denmark’s a prison .

Then is the world one .

A goodly one , in which there are many confines ,
wards , and dungeons , Denmark being one o’
th’ worst .

We think not so , my lord .

Why , then , ’tis none to you , for there is
nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it
so . To me , it is a prison .

Why , then , your ambition makes it one .
’Tis too narrow for your mind .

O God , I could be bounded in a nutshell and
count myself a king of infinite space , were it not
that I have bad dreams .

Which dreams , indeed , are ambition ,
for the very substance of the ambitious is merely
the shadow of a dream .

A dream itself is but a shadow .

Truly , and I hold ambition of so airy
and light a quality that it is but a shadow’s shadow .

Then are our beggars bodies , and our monarchs
and outstretched heroes the beggars’ shadows .
Shall we to th’ court ? For , by my fay , I cannot
reason .

We’ll wait upon you .

No such matter . I will not sort you with the
rest of my servants , for , to speak to you like an
honest man , I am most dreadfully attended . But ,
in the beaten way of friendship , what make you at
Elsinore ?

To visit you , my lord , no other occasion .

Beggar that I am , I am even poor in thanks ;
but I thank you , and sure , dear friends , my thanks
are too dear a halfpenny . Were you not sent for ?
Is it your own inclining ? Is it a free visitation ?
Come , come , deal justly with me . Come , come ; nay ,
speak .

What should we say , my lord ?

Anything but to th’ purpose . You were sent
for , and there is a kind of confession in your looks
which your modesties have not craft enough to
color . I know the good king and queen have sent for
you .

To what end , my lord ?

That you must teach me . But let me conjure
you by the rights of our fellowship , by the consonancy
of our youth , by the obligation of our ever-preserved
love , and by what more dear a better
proposer can charge you withal : be even and direct
with me whether you were sent for or no .

What say you ?

, to Guildenstern

Nay , then , I have an eye of you . — If
you love me , hold not off .

, aside

My lord , we were sent for .

I will tell you why ; so shall my anticipation
prevent your discovery , and your secrecy to the
King and Queen molt no feather . I have of late , but
wherefore I know not , lost all my mirth , forgone all
custom of exercises , and , indeed , it goes so heavily
with my disposition that this goodly frame , the
Earth , seems to me a sterile promontory ; this most
excellent canopy , the air , look you , this brave o’erhanging
firmament , this majestical roof , fretted
with golden fire — why , it appeareth nothing to me
but a foul and pestilent congregation of vapors .
What a piece of work is a man , how noble in
reason , how infinite in faculties , in form and moving
how express and admirable ; in action how like
an angel , in apprehension how like a god : the
beauty of the world , the paragon of animals — and
yet , to me , what is this quintessence of dust ? Man
delights not me , no , nor women neither , though by
your smiling you seem to say so .

My lord , there was no such stuff in my
thoughts .

Why did you laugh , then , when I said “ man
delights not me ” ?

To think , my lord , if you delight not in
man , what Lenten entertainment the players shall
receive from you . We coted them on the way , and
hither are they coming to offer you service .

He that plays the king shall be welcome — his
Majesty shall have tribute on me . The adventurous
knight shall use his foil and target , the lover shall
not sigh gratis , the humorous man shall end his
part in peace , the clown shall make those laugh
whose lungs are tickle o’ th’ sear , and the lady
shall say her mind freely , or the blank verse shall
halt for ’t . What players are they ?

Even those you were wont to take such
delight in , the tragedians of the city .

How chances it they travel ? Their residence ,
both in reputation and profit , was better both ways .

I think their inhibition comes by the
means of the late innovation .

Do they hold the same estimation they did
when I was in the city ? Are they so followed ?

No , indeed are they not .

How comes it ? Do they grow rusty ?

Nay , their endeavor keeps in the wonted
pace . But there is , sir , an aerie of children , little
eyases , that cry out on the top of question and are
most tyrannically clapped for ’t . These are now the
fashion and so berattle the common stages ( so
they call them ) that many wearing rapiers are afraid
of goose quills and dare scarce come thither .

What , are they children ? Who maintains ’em ?
How are they escoted ? Will they pursue the quality
no longer than they can sing ? Will they not say
afterwards , if they should grow themselves to common
players ( as it is most like , if their means are
no better ) , their writers do them wrong to make
them exclaim against their own succession ?

Faith , there has been much to-do on
both sides , and the nation holds it no sin to tar
them to controversy . There was for a while no
money bid for argument unless the poet and the
player went to cuffs in the question .

Is ’t possible ?

O , there has been much throwing
about of brains .

Do the boys carry it away ?

Ay , that they do , my lord — Hercules
and his load too .

It is not very strange ; for my uncle is King of
Denmark , and those that would make mouths at
him while my father lived give twenty , forty , fifty ,
a hundred ducats apiece for his picture in little .
’Sblood , there is something in this more than natural ,
if philosophy could find it out .

A flourish for the Players .

A flourish for the Players .

There are the players .

Gentlemen , you are welcome to Elsinore .
Your hands , come then . Th’ appurtenance of welcome
is fashion and ceremony . Let me comply
with you in this garb , lest my extent to the players ,
which , I tell you , must show fairly outwards , should
more appear like entertainment than yours . You are
welcome . But my uncle-father and aunt-mother are
deceived .

In what , my dear lord ?

I am but mad north-north-west . When the
wind is southerly , I know a hawk from a handsaw .

Enter Polonius .

Well be with you , gentlemen .

Hark you , Guildenstern , and you too — at
each ear a hearer ! That great baby you see there is
not yet out of his swaddling clouts .

Haply he is the second time come to
them , for they say an old man is twice a child .

I will prophesy he comes to tell me of the
players ; mark it . — You say right , sir , a Monday
morning , ’twas then indeed .

My lord , I have news to tell you .

My lord , I have news to tell you : when Roscius
was an actor in Rome —

The actors are come hither , my lord .

Buzz , buzz .

Upon my honor —

Then came each actor on his ass .

The best actors in the world , either for
tragedy , comedy , history , pastoral , pastoral-comical ,
historical-pastoral , tragical-historical ,
tragical-comical-historical-pastoral , scene individable , or
poem unlimited . Seneca cannot be too heavy , nor
Plautus too light . For the law of writ and the liberty ,
these are the only men .

O Jephthah , judge of Israel , what a treasure
hadst thou !

What a treasure had he , my lord ?

One fair daughter , and no more ,
The which he lovèd passing well .
Why ,

Still on my daughter .

, aside

Am I not i’ th’ right , old Jephthah ?

If you call me “ Jephthah , ” my lord : I have a
daughter that I love passing well .

Nay , that follows not .

What follows then , my lord ?

As by lot , God wot
It came to pass , as most like it was —
Why ,
and then , you know ,
the first row of the pious chanson will show you
more , for look where my abridgment comes .
You are welcome , masters ; welcome all . — I am glad
to see thee well . — Welcome , good friends . — O my
old friend ! Why , thy face is valanced since I saw thee
last . Com’st thou to beard me in Denmark ? — What ,
my young lady and mistress ! By ’r Lady , your Ladyship
is nearer to heaven than when I saw you last , by
the altitude of a chopine . Pray God your voice , like a
piece of uncurrent gold , be not cracked within the
ring . Masters , you are all welcome . We’ll e’en to ’t
like French falconers , fly at anything we see . We’ll
have a speech straight . Come , give us a taste of your
quality . Come , a passionate speech .

Enter the Players .

What speech , my good lord ?

The rugged Pyrrhus , like th’ Hyrcanian beast —
The rugged Pyrrhus , he whose sable arms ,
Black as his purpose , did the night resemble
When he lay couchèd in th’ ominous horse ,
Hath now this dread and black complexion smeared
With heraldry more dismal . Head to foot ,
Now is he total gules , horridly tricked
With blood of fathers , mothers , daughters , sons ,
Baked and impasted with the parching streets ,
That lend a tyrannous and a damnèd light
To their lord’s murder . Roasted in wrath and fire ,
And thus o’ersizèd with coagulate gore ,
With eyes like carbuncles , the hellish Pyrrhus
Old grandsire Priam seeks .
I heard thee speak me a speech once , but it
was never acted , or , if it was , not above once ; for
the play , I remember , pleased not the million :
’twas caviary to the general . But it was ( as I
received it , and others whose judgments in such
matters cried in the top of mine ) an excellent play ,
well digested in the scenes , set down with as much
modesty as cunning . I remember one said there
were no sallets in the lines to make the matter
savory , nor no matter in the phrase that might indict
the author of affection , but called it an honest
method , as wholesome as sweet and , by very much ,
more handsome than fine . One speech in ’t I
chiefly loved . ’Twas Aeneas’ tale to Dido , and
thereabout of it especially when he speaks of
Priam’s slaughter . If it live in your memory , begin at
this line — let me see , let me see :
’tis not so ; it begins with Pyrrhus :
So , proceed you .

’Fore God , my lord , well spoken , with good
accent and good discretion .

Anon he finds him
Striking too short at Greeks . His antique sword ,
Rebellious to his arm , lies where it falls ,
Repugnant to command . Unequal matched ,
Pyrrhus at Priam drives , in rage strikes wide ;
But with the whiff and wind of his fell sword
Th’ unnervèd father falls . Then senseless Ilium ,
Seeming to feel this blow , with flaming top
Stoops to his base , and with a hideous crash
Takes prisoner Pyrrhus’ ear . For lo , his sword ,
Which was declining on the milky head
Of reverend Priam , seemed i’ th’ air to stick .
So as a painted tyrant Pyrrhus stood
And , like a neutral to his will and matter ,
Did nothing .
But as we often see against some storm
A silence in the heavens , the rack stand still ,
The bold winds speechless , and the orb below
As hush as death , anon the dreadful thunder
Doth rend the region ; so , after Pyrrhus’ pause ,
Arousèd vengeance sets him new a-work ,
And never did the Cyclops’ hammers fall
On Mars’s armor , forged for proof eterne ,
With less remorse than Pyrrhus’ bleeding sword
Now falls on Priam .
Out , out , thou strumpet Fortune ! All you gods
In general synod take away her power ,
Break all the spokes and fellies from her wheel ,
And bowl the round nave down the hill of heaven
As low as to the fiends !

This is too long .

It shall to the barber’s with your beard . —
Prithee say on . He’s for a jig or a tale of bawdry , or
he sleeps . Say on ; come to Hecuba .

But who , ah woe , had seen the moblèd queen —

“ The moblèd queen ” ?

That’s good . “ Moblèd queen ” is good .

Run barefoot up and down , threat’ning the flames
With bisson rheum , a clout upon that head
Where late the diadem stood , and for a robe ,
About her lank and all o’erteemèd loins
A blanket , in the alarm of fear caught up —
Who this had seen , with tongue in venom steeped ,
’Gainst Fortune’s state would treason have pronounced .
But if the gods themselves did see her then
When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious sport
In mincing with his sword her husband’s limbs ,
The instant burst of clamor that she made
( Unless things mortal move them not at all )
Would have made milch the burning eyes of heaven
And passion in the gods .

Look whe’er he has not turned his color and
has tears in ’s eyes . Prithee , no more .

’Tis well . I’ll have thee speak out the rest of
this soon . — Good my lord , will you see the players
well bestowed ? Do you hear , let them be well used ,
for they are the abstract and brief chronicles of the
time . After your death you were better have a bad
epitaph than their ill report while you live .

My lord , I will use them according to their
desert .

God’s bodykins , man , much better ! Use every
man after his desert and who shall ’scape
whipping ? Use them after your own honor and
dignity . The less they deserve , the more merit is in
your bounty . Take them in .

Come , sirs .

Follow him , friends . We’ll hear a play
tomorrow .
Dost thou hear me , old friend ? Can
you play “ The Murder of Gonzago ” ?

As Polonius and Players exit , Hamlet speaks to the First Player .

As Polonius and Players exit ,

Hamlet speaks to the First Player .

Ay , my lord .

We’ll ha ’t tomorrow night . You could , for a
need , study a speech of some dozen or sixteen
lines , which I would set down and insert in ’t ,
could you not ?

Ay , my lord .

Very well . Follow that lord — and look you
mock him not . First Player exits . My good friends ,
I’ll leave you till night . You are welcome to Elsinore .

First Player exits .

Good my lord .

Ay , so , good-bye to you .
Now I am alone .
O , what a rogue and peasant slave am I !
Is it not monstrous that this player here ,
But in a fiction , in a dream of passion ,
Could force his soul so to his own conceit
That from her working all his visage wanned ,
Tears in his eyes , distraction in his aspect ,
A broken voice , and his whole function suiting
With forms to his conceit — and all for nothing !
For Hecuba !
What’s Hecuba to him , or he to Hecuba ,
That he should weep for her ? What would he do
Had he the motive and the cue for passion
That I have ? He would drown the stage with tears
And cleave the general ear with horrid speech ,
Make mad the guilty and appall the free ,
Confound the ignorant and amaze indeed
The very faculties of eyes and ears . Yet I ,
A dull and muddy-mettled rascal , peak
Like John-a-dreams , unpregnant of my cause ,
And can say nothing — no , not for a king
Upon whose property and most dear life
A damned defeat was made . Am I a coward ?
Who calls me “ villain ” ? breaks my pate across ?
Plucks off my beard and blows it in my face ?
Tweaks me by the nose ? gives me the lie i’ th’ throat
As deep as to the lungs ? Who does me this ?
Ha ! ’Swounds , I should take it ! For it cannot be
But I am pigeon-livered and lack gall
To make oppression bitter , or ere this
I should have fatted all the region kites
With this slave’s offal . Bloody , bawdy villain !
Remorseless , treacherous , lecherous , kindless villain !
O vengeance !
Why , what an ass am I ! This is most brave ,
That I , the son of a dear father murdered ,
Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell ,
Must , like a whore , unpack my heart with words
And fall a-cursing like a very drab ,
A stallion ! Fie upon ’t ! Foh !
About , my brains ! — Hum , I have heard
That guilty creatures sitting at a play
Have , by the very cunning of the scene ,
Been struck so to the soul that presently
They have proclaimed their malefactions ;
For murder , though it have no tongue , will speak
With most miraculous organ . I’ll have these players
Play something like the murder of my father
Before mine uncle . I’ll observe his looks ;
I’ll tent him to the quick . If he do blench ,
I know my course . The spirit that I have seen
May be a devil , and the devil hath power
T’ assume a pleasing shape ; yea , and perhaps ,
Out of my weakness and my melancholy ,
As he is very potent with such spirits ,
Abuses me to damn me . I’ll have grounds
More relative than this . The play’s the thing
Wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the King .

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern exit .

He exits .

Enter King , Queen , Polonius , Ophelia , Rosencrantz , Guildenstern , and Lords .

And can you by no drift of conference
Get from him why he puts on this confusion ,
Grating so harshly all his days of quiet
With turbulent and dangerous lunacy ?

He does confess he feels himself distracted ,
But from what cause he will by no means speak .

Nor do we find him forward to be sounded ,
But with a crafty madness keeps aloof
When we would bring him on to some confession
Of his true state .

Did he receive you well ?

Most like a gentleman .

But with much forcing of his disposition .

Niggard of question , but of our demands
Most free in his reply .

Did you assay him to any pastime ?

Madam , it so fell out that certain players
We o’erraught on the way . Of these we told him ,
And there did seem in him a kind of joy
To hear of it . They are here about the court ,
And , as I think , they have already order
This night to play before him .

’Tis most true ,
And he beseeched me to entreat your Majesties
To hear and see the matter .

With all my heart , and it doth much content me
To hear him so inclined .
Good gentlemen , give him a further edge
And drive his purpose into these delights .

We shall , my lord .

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern and Lords exit .

Sweet Gertrude , leave us too ,
For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither ,
That he , as ’twere by accident , may here
Affront Ophelia .
Her father and myself , lawful espials ,
Will so bestow ourselves that , seeing unseen ,
We may of their encounter frankly judge
And gather by him , as he is behaved ,
If ’t be th’ affliction of his love or no
That thus he suffers for .

I shall obey you .
And for your part , Ophelia , I do wish
That your good beauties be the happy cause
Of Hamlet’s wildness . So shall I hope your virtues
Will bring him to his wonted way again ,
To both your honors .

Madam , I wish it may .

Queen exits .

Ophelia , walk you here . — Gracious , so please you ,
We will bestow ourselves . To Ophelia . Read on this book ,
That show of such an exercise may color
Your loneliness . — We are oft to blame in this
( ’Tis too much proved ) , that with devotion’s visage
And pious action we do sugar o’er
The devil himself .

To Ophelia .

O , ’tis too true !
How smart a lash that speech doth give my conscience .
The harlot’s cheek beautied with plast’ring art
Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it
Than is my deed to my most painted word .
O heavy burden !

, aside

I hear him coming . Let’s withdraw , my lord .

They withdraw .

Enter Hamlet .

To be or not to be — that is the question :
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune ,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles
And , by opposing , end them . To die , to sleep —
No more — and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to — ’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished . To die , to sleep —
To sleep , perchance to dream . Ay , there’s the rub ,
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come ,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil ,
Must give us pause . There’s the respect
That makes calamity of so long life .
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time ,
Th’ oppressor’s wrong , the proud man’s contumely ,
The pangs of despised love , the law’s delay ,
The insolence of office , and the spurns
That patient merit of th’ unworthy takes ,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin ? Who would fardels bear ,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life ,
But that the dread of something after death ,
The undiscovered country from whose bourn
No traveler returns , puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of ?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all ,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought ,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry
And lose the name of action . — Soft you now ,
The fair Ophelia . — Nymph , in thy orisons
Be all my sins remembered .

Good my lord ,
How does your Honor for this many a day ?

I humbly thank you , well .

My lord , I have remembrances of yours
That I have longèd long to redeliver .
I pray you now receive them .

No , not I . I never gave you aught .

My honored lord , you know right well you did ,
And with them words of so sweet breath composed
As made the things more rich . Their perfume lost ,
Take these again , for to the noble mind
Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind .
There , my lord .

Ha , ha , are you honest ?

My lord ?

Are you fair ?

What means your Lordship ?

That if you be honest and fair , your honesty
should admit no discourse to your beauty .

Could beauty , my lord , have better commerce
than with honesty ?

Ay , truly , for the power of beauty will sooner
transform honesty from what it is to a bawd than
the force of honesty can translate beauty into his
likeness . This was sometime a paradox , but now
the time gives it proof . I did love you once .

Indeed , my lord , you made me believe so .

You should not have believed me , for virtue
cannot so inoculate our old stock but we shall
relish of it . I loved you not .

I was the more deceived .

Get thee to a nunnery . Why wouldst thou be
a breeder of sinners ? I am myself indifferent honest ,
but yet I could accuse me of such things that it
were better my mother had not borne me : I am
very proud , revengeful , ambitious , with more offenses
at my beck than I have thoughts to put them
in , imagination to give them shape , or time to act
them in . What should such fellows as I do crawling
between earth and heaven ? We are arrant knaves
all ; believe none of us . Go thy ways to a nunnery .
Where’s your father ?

At home , my lord .

Let the doors be shut upon him that he may
play the fool nowhere but in ’s own house . Farewell .

O , help him , you sweet heavens !

If thou dost marry , I’ll give thee this plague
for thy dowry : be thou as chaste as ice , as pure as
snow , thou shalt not escape calumny . Get thee to a
nunnery , farewell . Or if thou wilt needs marry ,
marry a fool , for wise men know well enough what
monsters you make of them . To a nunnery , go , and
quickly too . Farewell .

Heavenly powers , restore him !

I have heard of your paintings too , well
enough . God hath given you one face , and you
make yourselves another . You jig and amble , and
you lisp ; you nickname God’s creatures and make
your wantonness your ignorance . Go to , I’ll no
more on ’t . It hath made me mad . I say we will have
no more marriage . Those that are married already ,
all but one , shall live . The rest shall keep as they are .
To a nunnery , go .

He exits .

O , what a noble mind is here o’erthrown !
The courtier’s , soldier’s , scholar’s , eye , tongue , sword ,
Th’ expectancy and rose of the fair state ,
The glass of fashion and the mold of form ,
Th’ observed of all observers , quite , quite down !
And I , of ladies most deject and wretched ,
That sucked the honey of his musicked vows ,
Now see that noble and most sovereign reason ,
Like sweet bells jangled , out of time and harsh ;
That unmatched form and stature of blown youth
Blasted with ecstasy . O , woe is me
T’ have seen what I have seen , see what I see !

Love ? His affections do not that way tend ;
Nor what he spake , though it lacked form a little ,
Was not like madness . There’s something in his soul
O’er which his melancholy sits on brood ,
And I do doubt the hatch and the disclose
Will be some danger ; which for to prevent ,
I have in quick determination
Thus set it down : he shall with speed to England
For the demand of our neglected tribute .
Haply the seas , and countries different ,
With variable objects , shall expel
This something-settled matter in his heart ,
Whereon his brains still beating puts him thus
From fashion of himself . What think you on ’t ?

, advancing with Polonius

It shall do well . But yet do I believe
The origin and commencement of his grief
Sprung from neglected love . — How now , Ophelia ?
You need not tell us what Lord Hamlet said ;
We heard it all . — My lord , do as you please ,
But , if you hold it fit , after the play
Let his queen-mother all alone entreat him
To show his grief . Let her be round with him ;
And I’ll be placed , so please you , in the ear
Of all their conference . If she find him not ,
To England send him , or confine him where
Your wisdom best shall think .

It shall be so .
Madness in great ones must not unwatched go .

They exit .

Enter Hamlet and three of the Players .

Speak the speech , I pray you , as I pronounced
it to you , trippingly on the tongue ; but if you mouth
it , as many of our players do , I had as lief the
town-crier spoke my lines . Nor do not saw the air
too much with your hand , thus , but use all gently ;
for in the very torrent , tempest , and , as I may say ,
whirlwind of your passion , you must acquire and
beget a temperance that may give it smoothness . O ,
it offends me to the soul to hear a robustious ,
periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters , to very
rags , to split the ears of the groundlings , who for the
most part are capable of nothing but inexplicable
dumb shows and noise . I would have such a fellow
whipped for o’erdoing Termagant . It out-Herods
Herod . Pray you , avoid it .

I warrant your Honor .

Be not too tame neither , but let your own
discretion be your tutor . Suit the action to the
word , the word to the action , with this special
observance , that you o’erstep not the modesty of
nature . For anything so o’erdone is from the purpose
of playing , whose end , both at the first and
now , was and is to hold , as ’twere , the mirror up to
nature , to show virtue her own feature , scorn her
own image , and the very age and body of the time
his form and pressure . Now this overdone or come
tardy off , though it makes the unskillful laugh ,
cannot but make the judicious grieve , the censure
of the which one must in your allowance o’erweigh
a whole theater of others . O , there be players that I
have seen play and heard others praise ( and that
highly ) , not to speak it profanely , that , neither
having th’ accent of Christians nor the gait of
Christian , pagan , nor man , have so strutted and
bellowed that I have thought some of nature’s
journeymen had made men , and not made them
well , they imitated humanity so abominably .

I hope we have reformed that indifferently
with us , sir .

O , reform it altogether . And let those that play
your clowns speak no more than is set down for
them , for there be of them that will themselves
laugh , to set on some quantity of barren spectators
to laugh too , though in the meantime some necessary
question of the play be then to be considered .
That’s villainous and shows a most pitiful ambition
in the fool that uses it . Go make you ready .
How now , my lord , will the King hear this piece of
work ?

Players exit .

Enter Polonius , Guildenstern , and Rosencrantz .

And the Queen too , and that presently .

Bid the players make haste .
Will you two help to hasten them ?

Polonius exits .

Ay , my lord .

They exit .

What ho , Horatio !

Enter Horatio .

Here , sweet lord , at your service .

Horatio , thou art e’en as just a man
As e’er my conversation coped withal .

O , my dear lord —

Nay , do not think I flatter ,
For what advancement may I hope from thee
That no revenue hast but thy good spirits
To feed and clothe thee ? Why should the poor be flattered ?
No , let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp
And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee
Where thrift may follow fawning . Dost thou hear ?
Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice
And could of men distinguish , her election
Hath sealed thee for herself . For thou hast been
As one in suffering all that suffers nothing ,
A man that Fortune’s buffets and rewards
Hast ta’en with equal thanks ; and blessed are those
Whose blood and judgment are so well commeddled
That they are not a pipe for Fortune’s finger
To sound what stop she please . Give me that man
That is not passion’s slave , and I will wear him
In my heart’s core , ay , in my heart of heart ,
As I do thee . — Something too much of this . —
There is a play tonight before the King .
One scene of it comes near the circumstance
Which I have told thee of my father’s death .
I prithee , when thou seest that act afoot ,
Even with the very comment of thy soul
Observe my uncle . If his occulted guilt
Do not itself unkennel in one speech ,
It is a damnèd ghost that we have seen ,
And my imaginations are as foul
As Vulcan’s stithy . Give him heedful note ,
For I mine eyes will rivet to his face ,
And , after , we will both our judgments join
In censure of his seeming .

Well , my lord .
If he steal aught the whilst this play is playing
And ’scape detecting , I will pay the theft .

Sound a flourish .

Sound a flourish .

They are coming to the play . I must be idle .
Get you a place .

Enter Trumpets and Kettle Drums . Enter King , Queen , Polonius , Ophelia , Rosencrantz , Guildenstern , and other Lords attendant with the King’s guard carrying torches .

Enter Trumpets and Kettle Drums .

How fares our cousin Hamlet ?

Excellent , i’ faith , of the chameleon’s dish . I
eat the air , promise-crammed . You cannot feed
capons so .

I have nothing with this answer , Hamlet . These
words are not mine .

No , nor mine now . To Polonius . My lord , you
played once i’ th’ university , you say ?

To Polonius .

That did I , my lord , and was accounted a
good actor .

What did you enact ?

I did enact Julius Caesar . I was killed i’ th’
Capitol . Brutus killed me .

It was a brute part of him to kill so capital a
calf there . — Be the players ready ?

Ay , my lord . They stay upon your
patience .

Come hither , my dear Hamlet , sit by me .

No , good mother . Here’s metal more
attractive .

Hamlet takes a place near Ophelia .

Oh , ho ! Do you mark that ?

, to the King

Lady , shall I lie in your lap ?

No , my lord .

I mean , my head upon your lap ?

Ay , my lord .

Do you think I meant country matters ?

I think nothing , my lord .

That’s a fair thought to lie between maids’
legs .

What is , my lord ?

Nothing .

You are merry , my lord .

Who , I ?

Ay , my lord .

O God , your only jig-maker . What should a
man do but be merry ? For look you how cheerfully
my mother looks , and my father died within ’s two
hours .

Nay , ’tis twice two months , my lord .

So long ? Nay , then , let the devil wear black ,
for I’ll have a suit of sables . O heavens , die two
months ago , and not forgotten yet ? Then there’s
hope a great man’s memory may outlive his life half
a year . But , by ’r Lady , he must build churches , then ,
or else shall he suffer not thinking on , with the
hobby-horse , whose epitaph is “ For oh , for oh , the
hobby-horse is forgot . ”

The trumpets sounds . Dumb show follows .

The trumpets sounds .

Enter a King and a Queen , very lovingly , the Queen embracing him and he her . She kneels and makes show of protestation unto him . He takes her up and declines his head upon her neck . He lies him down upon a bank of flowers . She , seeing him asleep , leaves him . Anon comes in another man , takes off his crown , kisses it , pours poison in the sleeper’s ears , and leaves him . The Queen returns , finds the King dead , makes passionate action . The poisoner with some three or four come in again , seem to condole with her . The dead body is carried away . The poisoner woos the Queen with gifts . She seems harsh awhile but in the end accepts his love .

Players exit .

What means this , my lord ?

Marry , this is miching mallecho . It means
mischief .

Belike this show imports the argument of the
play .

Enter Prologue .

We shall know by this fellow . The players
cannot keep counsel ; they’ll tell all .

Will he tell us what this show meant ?

Ay , or any show that you will show him . Be
not you ashamed to show , he’ll not shame to tell you
what it means .

You are naught , you are naught . I’ll mark the
play .

For us and for our tragedy ,
Here stooping to your clemency ,
We beg your hearing patiently .

He exits .

Is this a prologue or the posy of a ring ?

’Tis brief , my lord .

As woman’s love .

Enter the Player King and Queen .

Full thirty times hath Phoebus’ cart gone round
Neptune’s salt wash and Tellus’ orbèd ground ,
And thirty dozen moons with borrowed sheen
About the world have times twelve thirties been
Since love our hearts and Hymen did our hands
Unite commutual in most sacred bands .

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 fear too much , even as they love ,
And 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 .

Faith , I must leave thee , love , and shortly too .
My operant powers their functions leave to do .
And thou shall live in this fair world behind ,
Honored , beloved ; and haply one as kind
For husband shalt thou —

O , confound the rest !
Such love must needs be treason in my breast .
In second husband let me be accurst .
None wed the second but who killed the first .

That’s wormwood !

The instances that second marriage move
Are base respects of thrift , but none of love .
A second time I kill my husband dead
When second husband kisses me in bed .

I do believe you think what now you speak ,
But what we do determine oft we break .
Purpose is but the slave to memory ,
Of violent birth , but poor validity ,
Which now , the fruit unripe , sticks on the tree
But fall unshaken when they mellow be .
Most necessary ’tis that we forget
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 favorite 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
That our devices still are overthrown ;
Our thoughts are ours , their ends none of our own .
So think thou wilt no second husband wed ,
But die thy thoughts when thy first lord is dead .

Nor Earth to me give food , nor heaven light ,
Sport and repose lock from me day and night ,
To desperation turn my trust and hope ,
An anchor’s cheer in prison be my scope .
Each opposite that blanks the face of joy
Meet what I would have well and it destroy .
Both here and hence pursue me lasting strife ,
If , once a widow , ever I be wife .

If she should break it now !

’Tis deeply sworn . Sweet , leave me here awhile .
My spirits grow dull , and fain I would beguile
The tedious day with sleep .

Sleeps .

Sleep rock thy brain ,
And never come mischance between us twain .

Player Queen exits .

Madam , how like you this play ?

The lady doth protest too much , methinks .

O , but she’ll keep her word .

Have you heard the argument ? Is there no
offense in ’t ?

No , no , they do but jest , poison in jest . No
offense i’ th’ world .

What do you call the play ?

“ 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 .
This is one Lucianus , nephew to the king .

Enter Lucianus .

You are as good as a chorus , my lord .

I could interpret between you and your love ,
if I could see the puppets dallying .

You are keen , my lord , you are keen .

It would cost you a groaning to take off mine
edge .

Still better and worse .

So you mis-take your husbands . — Begin ,
murderer . Pox , leave thy damnable faces and
begin . Come , the croaking raven doth bellow for
revenge .

Thoughts black , hands apt , drugs fit , and time agreeing ,
Confederate season , else no creature seeing ,
Thou mixture rank , of midnight weeds collected ,
With Hecate’s ban thrice blasted , thrice infected ,
Thy natural magic and dire property
On wholesome life usurp immediately .

Pours the poison in his ears .

He poisons him i’ th’ garden for his estate . His
name’s Gonzago . The story is extant and written in
very choice Italian . You shall see anon how the
murderer gets the love of Gonzago’s wife .

Claudius rises .

The King rises .

What , frighted with false fire ?

How fares my lord ?

Give o’er the play .

Give me some light . Away !

Lights , lights , lights !

All but Hamlet and Horatio exit .

Why , let the strucken deer go weep ,
The hart ungallèd 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
Provincial roses on my razed shoes , get me a
fellowship in a cry of players ?

Half a share .

For thou dost know , O Damon dear ,
This realm dismantled was
Of Jove himself , and now reigns here
A very very — pajock .
A whole one , I .

You might have rhymed .

O good Horatio , I’ll take the ghost’s word for
a thousand pound . Didst perceive ?

Very well , my lord .

Upon the talk of the poisoning ?

I did very well note him .

For if the King like not the comedy ,
Why , then , belike he likes it not , perdy .
Ah ha ! Come , some music ! Come , the
recorders !
Come , some music !

Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern .

Good my lord , vouchsafe me a word
with you .

Sir , a whole history .

The King , sir —

Ay , sir , what of him ?

Is in his retirement marvelous
distempered .

With drink , sir ?

No , my lord , with choler .

Your wisdom should show 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 .

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

I am tame , sir . Pronounce .

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

You are welcome .

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 .

Sir , I cannot .

What , my lord ?

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 —

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

O wonderful son that can so ’stonish a mother !
But is there no sequel at the heels of this
mother’s admiration ? Impart .

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

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

My lord , you once did love me .

And do still , by these pickers and stealers .

Good my lord , what is your cause of
distemper ? You do surely bar the door upon your
own liberty if you deny your griefs to your friend .

Sir , I lack advancement .

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

Ay , sir , but “ While the grass grows ” — the
proverb is something musty .
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 ?

Enter the Players with recorders .

He takes a recorder and turns to Guildenstern .

O , my lord , if my duty be too bold , my
love is too unmannerly .

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

My lord , I cannot .

I pray you .

Believe me , I cannot .

I do beseech you .

I know no touch of it , my lord .

It is 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 .

But these cannot I command to any
utt’rance of harmony . I have not the skill .

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 . ’Sblood ,
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 .
God bless you , sir .

Enter Polonius .

My lord , the Queen would speak with you ,
and presently .

Do you see yonder cloud that’s almost in
shape of a camel ?

By th’ Mass , and ’tis like a camel indeed .

Methinks it is like a weasel .

It is backed like a weasel .

Or like a whale .

Very like a whale .

Then I will come to my mother by and by .
Aside . They fool me to the top of my bent . — I will
come by and by .

Aside .

I will say so .

’Tis now the very witching time of night ,
When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out
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 somever she be shent ,
To give them seals never , my soul , consent .
“ By and by ” is easily said . Leave me ,
friends .

All but Hamlet exit .

He exits .

Enter King , Rosencrantz , and Guildenstern .

I like him not , nor stands it safe with us
To let his madness range . Therefore prepare you .
I your commission will forthwith dispatch ,
And he to England shall along with you .
The terms of our estate may not endure
Hazard so near ’s as doth hourly grow
Out of his brows .

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 .

The single and peculiar life is bound
With all the strength and armor of the mind
To keep itself from noyance , but much more
That spirit upon whose weal depends and rests
The lives of many . The cess of majesty
Dies not alone , but like a gulf doth draw
What’s near it with it ; or 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 boist’rous ruin . Never alone
Did the king sigh , but with a general groan .

Arm you , I pray you , to this speedy voyage ,
For we will fetters put about this fear ,
Which now goes too free-footed .

We will haste us .

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern exit .

Enter Polonius .

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 mother ,
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 .

Thanks , dear my lord .
O , my offense 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 cursèd 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 offense ?
And what’s in prayer but this twofold force ,
To be forestallèd 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 murder ” ?
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 th’ offense ?
In the corrupted currents of this world ,
Offense’s gilded hand may shove by justice ,
And oft ’tis seen the wicked prize itself
Buys out the law . But ’tis 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 limèd soul , that , struggling to be free ,
Art more engaged ! Help , angels ! Make assay .
Bow , stubborn knees , and heart with strings of steel
Be soft as sinews of the newborn babe .
All may be well .

Polonius exits .

He kneels .

Enter Hamlet .

Now might I do it pat , now he is a-praying ,
And now I’ll do ’t .
And so he goes to heaven ,
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 th’ incestuous pleasure of his bed ,
At game , a-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 .

He draws his sword .

He sheathes his sword .

Hamlet exits .

My words fly up , my thoughts remain below ;
Words without thoughts never to heaven go .

, rising

He exits .

Enter Queen and Polonius .

He will come straight . Look you lay home to him .
Tell him his pranks have been too broad to bear with
And that your Grace hath screened and stood between
Much heat and him . I’ll silence me even here .
Pray you , be round with him .

Mother , mother , mother !

, within

I’ll warrant you . Fear me not . Withdraw ,
I hear him coming .

Polonius hides behind the arras .

Enter Hamlet .

Now , mother , what’s the matter ?

Hamlet , thou hast thy father much offended .

Mother , you have my father much offended .

Come , come , you answer with an idle tongue .

Go , go , you question with a wicked tongue .

Why , how now , Hamlet ?

What’s the matter now ?

Have you forgot me ?

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 .

Nay , then I’ll set those to you that can speak .

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 .

What wilt thou do ? Thou wilt not murder me ?
Help , ho !

What ho ! Help !

, behind the arras

How now , a rat ? Dead for a ducat , dead .

He kills Polonius by thrusting a rapier through the arras .

O , I am slain !

, behind the arras

O me , what hast thou done ?

Nay , I know not . Is it the King ?

O , what a rash and bloody deed is this !

A bloody deed — almost as bad , good mother ,
As kill a king and marry with his brother .

As kill a king ?

Ay , lady , it was my word .
Thou wretched , rash , intruding fool , farewell .
I took thee for thy better . Take thy fortune .
Thou find’st to be too busy is some danger .
To Queen . 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 damnèd custom have not brazed it so
That it be proof and bulwark against sense .

He pulls Polonius’ body from behind the arras .

To Queen .

What have I done , that thou dar’st wag thy tongue
In noise so rude against me ?

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 does glow
O’er this solidity and compound mass
With heated visage , as against the doom ,
Is thought-sick at the act .

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

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 like the herald Mercury
New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill ,
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 mildewed 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 heyday in the blood is tame , it’s humble
And waits upon the judgment ; and what judgment
Would step from this to this ? Sense sure you have ,
Else could you not have motion ; but sure that sense
Is apoplexed ; for madness would not err ,
Nor sense to ecstasy was ne’er so thralled ,
But it reserved some quantity of choice
To serve in such a difference . What devil was ’t
That thus hath cozened 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 . 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 ardor gives the charge ,
Since frost itself as actively doth burn ,
And reason panders will .

O Hamlet , speak no more !
Thou turn’st my eyes into my very soul ,
And there I see such black and grainèd spots
As will not leave their tinct .

Nay , but to live
In the rank sweat of an enseamèd bed ,
Stewed in corruption , honeying and making love
Over the nasty sty !

O , speak to me no more !
These words like daggers enter in my ears .
No more , sweet Hamlet !

A murderer and a villain ,
A slave that is not twentieth part the tithe
Of your precedent lord ; a vice of kings ,
A cutpurse of the empire and the rule ,
That from a shelf the precious diadem stole
And put it in his pocket —

No more !

A king of shreds and patches —
Save me and hover o’er me with your wings ,
You heavenly guards ! — What would your gracious figure ?

Enter Ghost .

Alas , he’s mad .

Do you not come your tardy son to chide ,
That , lapsed in time and passion , lets go by
Th’ important acting of your dread command ?
O , say !

Do not forget . This visitation
Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose .
But look , amazement on thy mother sits .
O , step between her and her fighting soul .
Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works .
Speak to her , Hamlet .

How is it with you , lady ?

Alas , how is ’t with you ,
That you do bend your eye on vacancy
And with th’ incorporal air do hold discourse ?
Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep ,
And , as the sleeping soldiers in th’ alarm ,
Your bedded hair , like life in excrements ,
Start up and stand an end . O gentle son ,
Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper
Sprinkle cool patience ! Whereon do you look ?

On him , on him ! Look you how pale he glares .
His form and cause conjoined , preaching to stones ,
Would make them capable . To the Ghost . Do not look upon me ,
Lest with this piteous action you convert
My stern effects . Then what I have to do
Will want true color — tears perchance for blood .

To the Ghost .

To whom do you speak this ?

Do you see nothing there ?

Nothing at all ; yet all that is I see .

Nor did you nothing hear ?

No , nothing but ourselves .

Why , look you there , look how it steals away !
My father , in his habit as he lived !
Look where he goes even now out at the portal !

Ghost exits .

This is the very coinage of your brain .
This bodiless creation ecstasy
Is very cunning in .

Ecstasy ?
My pulse as yours doth temperately keep time
And makes as healthful music . It is not madness
That I have uttered . Bring me to the test ,
And I the matter will reword , 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 compost 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 .

O Hamlet , thou hast cleft my heart in twain !

O , throw away the worser part of it ,
And live the purer with the other half !
Good night . But go not to my uncle’s bed .
Assume a virtue if you have it not .
That monster , custom , who all sense doth eat ,
Of habits devil , is angel yet in this ,
That to the use of actions fair and good
He likewise gives a frock or livery
That aptly is put on . Refrain tonight ,
And that shall lend a kind of easiness
To the next abstinence , the next more easy ;
For use almost can change the stamp of nature
And either the devil or throw him out
With wondrous potency . Once more , good night ,
And , when you are desirous to be blest ,
I’ll blessing beg of you . For this same lord
I do repent ; but heaven hath pleased it so
To punish me with this and this with me ,
That I must be their scourge and minister .
I will bestow him and will answer well
The death I gave him . So , again , good night .
I must be cruel only to be kind .
This bad begins , and worse remains behind .
One word more , good lady .

Pointing to Polonius .

What shall I do ?

Not this by no means that I bid you do :
Let the bloat king tempt you again to bed ,
Pinch wanton on your cheek , call you his mouse ,
And let him , for a pair of reechy kisses
Or paddling in your neck with his damned fingers ,
Make you to ravel all this matter out
That I essentially am not in madness ,
But mad in craft . ’Twere good you let him know ,
For who that’s but a queen , fair , sober , wise ,
Would from a paddock , from a bat , a gib ,
Such dear concernings hide ? Who would do so ?
No , in despite of sense and secrecy ,
Unpeg the basket on the house’s top ,
Let the birds fly , and like the famous ape ,
To try conclusions , in the basket creep
And break your own neck down .

Be thou assured , if words be made of breath
And breath of life , I have no life to breathe
What thou hast said to me .

I must to England , you know that .

Alack ,
I had forgot ! ’Tis so concluded on .

There’s letters sealed ; and my two schoolfellows ,
Whom I will trust as I will adders fanged ,
They bear the mandate ; they must sweep my way
And marshal me to knavery . Let it work ,
For ’tis the sport to have the enginer
Hoist with his own petard ; and ’t shall go hard
But I will delve one yard below their mines
And blow them at the moon . O , ’tis most sweet
When in one line two crafts directly meet .
This man shall set me packing .
I’ll lug the guts into the neighbor room .
Mother , good night indeed . This counselor
Is now most still , most secret , and most grave ,
Who was in life a foolish prating knave . —
Come , sir , to draw toward an end with you . —
Good night , mother .

They exit , Hamlet tugging in Polonius .

Enter King and Queen , with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern .

There’s matter in these sighs ; these profound heaves
You must translate ; ’tis fit we understand them .
Where is your son ?

Bestow this place on us a little while .
Ah , mine own lord , what have I seen tonight !

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern exit .

What , Gertrude ? How does Hamlet ?

Mad as the sea and wind when both contend
Which is the mightier . In his lawless fit ,
Behind the arras hearing something stir ,
Whips out his rapier , cries “ A rat , a rat , ”
And in this brainish apprehension kills
The unseen good old man .

O heavy deed !
It had been so with us , had we been there .
His liberty is full of threats to all —
To you yourself , to us , to everyone .
Alas , how shall this bloody deed be answered ?
It will be laid to us , whose providence
Should have kept short , restrained , and out of haunt
This mad young man . But so much was our love ,
We would not understand what was most fit ,
But , like the owner of a foul disease ,
To keep it from divulging , let it feed
Even on the pith of life . Where is he gone ?

To draw apart the body he hath killed ,
O’er whom his very madness , like some ore
Among a mineral of metals base ,
Shows itself pure : he weeps for what is done .

O Gertrude , come away !
The sun no sooner shall the mountains touch
But we will ship him hence ; and this vile deed
We must with all our majesty and skill
Both countenance and excuse . — Ho , Guildenstern !
Friends both , go join you with some further aid .
Hamlet in madness hath Polonius slain ,
And from his mother’s closet hath he dragged him .
Go seek him out , speak fair , and bring the body
Into the chapel . I pray you , haste in this .
Come , Gertrude , we’ll call up our wisest friends
And let them know both what we mean to do
And what’s untimely done .
Whose whisper o’er the world’s diameter ,
As level as the cannon to his blank
Transports his poisoned shot , may miss our name
And hit the woundless air . O , come away !
My soul is full of discord and dismay .

Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern .

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern exit .

They exit .

Enter Hamlet .

Safely stowed .

Hamlet ! Lord Hamlet !

, within

But soft , what noise ? Who calls on Hamlet ?
O , here they come .

Enter Rosencrantz , Guildenstern , and others .

What have you done , my lord , with the dead body ?

Compounded it with dust , whereto ’tis kin .

Tell us where ’tis , that we may take it thence
And bear it to the chapel .

Do not believe it .

Believe what ?

That I can keep your counsel and not mine
own . Besides , to be demanded of a sponge , what
replication should be made by the son of a king ?

Take you me for a sponge , my lord ?

Ay , sir , that soaks up the King’s countenance ,
his rewards , his authorities . But such officers do the
King best service in the end . He keeps them like an
ape an apple in the corner of his jaw , first mouthed ,
to be last swallowed . When he needs what you have
gleaned , it is but squeezing you , and , sponge , you
shall be dry again .

I understand you not , my lord .

I am glad of it . A knavish speech sleeps in a
foolish ear .

My lord , you must tell us where the
body is and go with us to the King .

The body is with the King , but the King is not
with the body . The King is a thing —

A “ thing , ” my lord ?

Of nothing . Bring me to him . Hide fox , and
all after !

They exit .

Enter King and two or three .

I have sent to seek him and to find the body .
How dangerous is it that this man goes loose !
Yet must not we put the strong law on him .
He’s loved of the distracted multitude ,
Who like not in their judgment , but their eyes ;
And , where ’tis so , th’ offender’s scourge is weighed ,
But never the offense . To bear all smooth and even ,
This sudden sending him away must seem
Deliberate pause . Diseases desperate grown
By desperate appliance are relieved
Or not at all .
How now , what hath befallen ?

Enter Rosencrantz .

Where the dead body is bestowed , my lord ,
We cannot get from him .

But where is he ?

Without , my lord ; guarded , to know your pleasure .

Bring him before us .

Ho ! Bring in the lord .

They enter with Hamlet .

Now , Hamlet , where’s Polonius ?

At supper .

At supper where ?

Not where he eats , but where he is eaten . A
certain convocation of politic worms are e’en at
him . Your worm is your only emperor for diet . We
fat all creatures else to fat us , and we fat ourselves
for maggots . Your fat king and your lean beggar is
but variable service — two dishes but to one table .
That’s the end .

Alas , alas !

A man may fish with the worm that hath eat
of a king and eat of the fish that hath fed of that
worm .

What dost thou mean by this ?

Nothing but to show you how a king may go a
progress through the guts of a beggar .

Where is Polonius ?

In heaven . Send thither to see . If your messenger
find him not there , seek him i’ th’ other
place yourself . But if , indeed , you find him not
within this month , you shall nose him as you go up
the stairs into the lobby .

Go , seek him there .

, to Attendants .

He will stay till you come .

Attendants exit .

Hamlet , this deed , for thine especial safety
( Which we do tender , as we dearly grieve
For that which thou hast done ) must send thee hence
With fiery quickness . Therefore prepare thyself .
The bark is ready , and the wind at help ,
Th’ associates tend , and everything is bent
For England .

For England ?

Ay , Hamlet .

Good .

So is it , if thou knew’st our purposes .

I see a cherub that sees them . But come , for England .
Farewell , dear mother .

Thy loving father , Hamlet .

My mother . Father and mother is man and wife ,
Man and wife is one flesh , and so , my mother . —
Come , for England .

He exits .

Follow him at foot ; tempt him with speed aboard .
Delay it not . I’ll have him hence tonight .
Away , for everything is sealed and done
That else leans on th’ affair . Pray you , make haste .
And England , if my love thou hold’st at aught
( As my great power thereof may give thee sense ,
Since yet thy cicatrice looks raw and red
After the Danish sword , and thy free awe
Pays homage to us ) , thou mayst not coldly set
Our sovereign process , which imports at full ,
By letters congruing to that effect ,
The present death of Hamlet . Do it , England ,
For like the hectic in my blood he rages ,
And thou must cure me . Till I know ’tis done ,
Howe’er my haps , my joys will ne’er begin .

All but the King exit .

He exits .

Enter Fortinbras with his army over the stage .

Go , Captain , from me greet the Danish king .
Tell him that by his license Fortinbras
Craves the conveyance of a promised march
Over his kingdom . You know the rendezvous .
If that his Majesty would aught with us ,
We shall express our duty in his eye ;
And let him know so .

I will do ’t , my lord .

Go softly on .

All but the Captain exit .

Enter Hamlet , Rosencrantz , Guildenstern , and others .

Good sir , whose powers are these ?

They are of Norway , sir .

How purposed , sir , I pray you ?

Against some part of Poland .

Who commands them , sir ?

The nephew to old Norway , Fortinbras .

Goes it against the main of Poland , sir ,
Or for some frontier ?

Truly to speak , and with no addition ,
We go to gain a little patch of ground
That hath in it no profit but the name .
To pay five ducats , five , I would not farm it ;
Nor will it yield to Norway or the Pole
A ranker rate , should it be sold in fee .

Why , then , the Polack never will defend it .

Yes , it is already garrisoned .

Two thousand souls and twenty thousand ducats
Will not debate the question of this straw .
This is th’ impostume of much wealth and peace ,
That inward breaks and shows no cause without
Why the man dies . — I humbly thank you , sir .

God be wi’ you , sir .

He exits .

Will ’t please you go , my lord ?

I’ll be with you straight . Go a little before .
How all occasions do inform against me
And spur my dull revenge . What is a man
If his chief good and market of his time
Be but to sleep and feed ? A beast , no more .
Sure He that made us with such large discourse ,
Looking before and after , gave us not
That capability and godlike reason
To fust in us unused . Now whether it be
Bestial oblivion or some craven scruple
Of thinking too precisely on th’ event
( A thought which , quartered , hath but one part wisdom
And ever three parts coward ) , I do not know
Why yet I live to say “ This thing’s to do , ”
Sith I have cause , and will , and strength , and means
To do ’t . Examples gross as Earth exhort me :
Witness this army of such mass and charge ,
Led by a delicate and tender prince ,
Whose spirit with divine ambition puffed
Makes mouths at the invisible event ,
Exposing what is mortal and unsure
To all that fortune , death , and danger dare ,
Even for an eggshell . Rightly to be great
Is not to stir without great argument ,
But greatly to find quarrel in a straw
When honor’s at the stake . How stand I , then ,
That have a father killed , a mother stained ,
Excitements of my reason and my blood ,
And let all sleep , while to my shame I see
The imminent death of twenty thousand men
That for a fantasy and trick of fame
Go to their graves like beds , fight for a plot
Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause ,
Which is not tomb enough and continent
To hide the slain ? O , from this time forth
My thoughts be bloody or be nothing worth !

All but Hamlet exit .

He exits .

Enter Horatio , Queen , and a Gentleman .

I will not speak with her .

She is importunate ,
Indeed distract ; her mood will needs be pitied .

What would she have ?

She speaks much of her father , says she hears
There’s tricks i’ th’ world , and hems , and beats her heart ,
Spurns enviously at straws , speaks things in doubt
That carry but half sense . Her speech is nothing ,
Yet the unshapèd use of it doth move
The hearers to collection . They aim at it
And botch the words up fit to their own thoughts ;
Which , as her winks and nods and gestures yield them ,
Indeed would make one think there might be thought ,
Though nothing sure , yet much unhappily .

’Twere good she were spoken with , for she may strew
Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds .

Let her come in .
Aside . To my sick soul ( as sin’s true nature is ) ,
Each toy seems prologue to some great amiss .
So full of artless jealousy is guilt ,
It spills itself in fearing to be spilt .

Gentleman exits .

Aside .

Enter Ophelia distracted .

Where is the beauteous Majesty of Denmark ?

How now , Ophelia ?

How should I your true love know
From another one ?
By his cockle hat and staff
And his sandal shoon .

sings

Alas , sweet lady , what imports this song ?

Say you ? Nay , pray you , mark .
He is dead and gone , lady ,
He is dead and gone ;
At his head a grass-green turf ,
At his heels a stone .
Oh , ho !

Sings .

Nay , but Ophelia —

Pray you , mark .
White his shroud as the mountain snow —

Sings .

Enter King .

Alas , look here , my lord .

Larded all with sweet flowers ;
Which bewept to the ground did not go
With true-love showers .

sings

How do you , pretty lady ?

Well , God dild you . They say the owl was a
baker’s daughter . Lord , we know what we are but
know not what we may be . God be at your table .

Conceit upon her father .

Tomorrow is Saint Valentine’s day ,
All in the morning betime ,
And I a maid at your window ,
To be your Valentine .
Then up he rose and donned his clothes
And dupped the chamber door ,
Let in the maid , that out a maid
Never departed more .
Pray let’s have no words of this , but when
they ask you what it means , say you this :

Sings .

Pretty Ophelia —

Indeed , without an oath , I’ll make an end on ’t :
By Gis and by Saint Charity ,
Alack and fie for shame ,
Young men will do ’t , if they come to ’t ;
By Cock , they are to blame .
Quoth she “ Before you tumbled me ,
You promised me to wed . ”
He answers :
“ So would I ’a done , by yonder sun ,
An thou hadst not come to my bed . ”

Sings .

How long hath she been thus ?

I hope all will be well . We must be patient ,
but I cannot choose but weep to think they would
lay him i’ th’ cold ground . My brother shall know of
it . And so I thank you for your good counsel . Come ,
my coach ! Good night , ladies , good night , sweet
ladies , good night , good night .

She exits .

Follow her close ; give her good watch , I pray you .
O , this is the poison of deep grief . It springs
All from her father’s death , and now behold !
O Gertrude , Gertrude ,
When sorrows come , they come not single spies ,
But in battalions : first , her father slain ;
Next , your son gone , and he most violent author
Of his own just remove ; the people muddied ,
Thick , and unwholesome in their thoughts and whispers
For good Polonius’ death , and we have done but greenly
In hugger-mugger to inter him ; poor Ophelia
Divided from herself and her fair judgment ,
Without the which we are pictures or mere beasts ;
Last , and as much containing as all these ,
Her brother is in secret come from France ,
Feeds on his wonder , keeps himself in clouds ,
And wants not buzzers to infect his ear
With pestilent speeches of his father’s death ,
Wherein necessity , of matter beggared ,
Will nothing stick our person to arraign
In ear and ear . O , my dear Gertrude , this ,
Like to a murd’ring piece , in many places
Gives me superfluous death .

Horatio exits .

A noise within .

Alack , what noise is this ?

Attend !
Where is my Switzers ? Let them guard the door .
What is the matter ?

Enter a Messenger .

Save yourself , my lord .
The ocean , overpeering of his list ,
Eats not the flats with more impiteous haste
Than young Laertes , in a riotous head ,
O’erbears your officers . The rabble call him “ lord , ”
And , as the world were now but to begin ,
Antiquity forgot , custom not known ,
The ratifiers and props of every word ,
They cry “ Choose we , Laertes shall be king ! ”
Caps , hands , and tongues applaud it to the clouds ,
“ Laertes shall be king ! Laertes king ! ”

A noise within .

How cheerfully on the false trail they cry .
O , this is counter , you false Danish dogs !

The doors are broke .

Enter Laertes with others .

Where is this king ? — Sirs , stand you all without .

No , let’s come in !

I pray you , give me leave .

We will , we will .

I thank you . Keep the door . Followers exit . O , thou vile king ,
Give me my father !

Followers exit .

Calmly , good Laertes .

That drop of blood that’s calm proclaims me bastard ,
Cries “ cuckold ” to my father , brands the harlot
Even here between the chaste unsmirchèd brow
Of my true mother .

What is the cause , Laertes ,
That thy rebellion looks so giant-like ? —
Let him go , Gertrude . Do not fear our person .
There’s such divinity doth hedge a king
That treason can but peep to what it would ,
Acts little of his will . — Tell me , Laertes ,
Why thou art thus incensed . — Let him go , Gertrude . —
Speak , man .

Where is my father ?

Dead .

But not by him .

Let him demand his fill .

How came he dead ? I’ll not be juggled with .
To hell , allegiance ! Vows , to the blackest devil !
Conscience and grace , to the profoundest pit !
I dare damnation . To this point I stand ,
That both the worlds I give to negligence ,
Let come what comes , only I’ll be revenged
Most throughly for my father .

Who shall stay you ?

My will , not all the world .
And for my means , I’ll husband them so well
They shall go far with little .

Good Laertes ,
If you desire to know the certainty
Of your dear father , is ’t writ in your revenge
That , swoopstake , you will draw both friend and foe ,
Winner and loser ?

None but his enemies .

Will you know them , then ?

To his good friends thus wide I’ll ope my arms
And , like the kind life-rend’ring pelican ,
Repast them with my blood .

Why , now you speak
Like a good child and a true gentleman .
That I am guiltless of your father’s death
And am most sensibly in grief for it ,
It shall as level to your judgment ’pear
As day does to your eye .

A noise within : “ Let her come in ! ”

A noise within :

How now , what noise is that ?
O heat , dry up my brains ! Tears seven times salt
Burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye !
By heaven , thy madness shall be paid with weight
Till our scale turn the beam ! O rose of May ,
Dear maid , kind sister , sweet Ophelia !
O heavens , is ’t possible a young maid’s wits
Should be as mortal as an old man’s life ?
Nature is fine in love , and , where ’tis fine ,
It sends some precious instance of itself
After the thing it loves .

Enter Ophelia .

They bore him barefaced on the bier ,
Hey non nonny , nonny , hey nonny ,
And in his grave rained many a tear .
Fare you well , my dove .

sings

Hadst thou thy wits and didst persuade revenge ,
It could not move thus .

You must sing “ A-down a-down ” — and you
“ Call him a-down-a . ” — O , how the wheel becomes
it ! It is the false steward that stole his master’s
daughter .

This nothing’s more than matter .

There’s rosemary , that’s for remembrance .
Pray you , love , remember . And there is pansies ,
that’s for thoughts .

A document in madness : thoughts and remembrance
fitted .

Sings . For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy .
There’s fennel for you , and columbines .
There’s rue for you , and here’s some for me ; we
may call it herb of grace o’ Sundays . You must wear
your rue with a difference . There’s a daisy . I would
give you some violets , but they withered all when
my father died . They say he made a good end .

Sings .

Thought and afflictions , passion , hell itself
She turns to favor and to prettiness .

And will he not come again ?
And will he not come again ?
No , no , he is dead .
Go to thy deathbed .
He never will come again .
His beard was as white as snow ,
All flaxen was his poll .
He is gone , he is gone ,
And we cast away moan .
God ’a mercy on his soul .
And of all Christians’ souls , I pray God . God be wi’
you .

sings

She exits .

Do you see this , O God ?

Laertes , I must commune with your grief ,
Or you deny me right . Go but apart ,
Make choice of whom your wisest friends you will ,
And they shall hear and judge ’twixt you and me .
If by direct or by collateral hand
They find us touched , we will our kingdom give ,
Our crown , our life , and all that we call ours ,
To you in satisfaction ; but if not ,
Be you content to lend your patience to us ,
And we shall jointly labor with your soul
To give it due content .

Let this be so .
His means of death , his obscure funeral
( No trophy , sword , nor hatchment o’er his bones ,
No noble rite nor formal ostentation )
Cry to be heard , as ’twere from heaven to earth ,
That I must call ’t in question .

So you shall ,
And where th’ offense is , let the great ax fall .
I pray you , go with me .

They exit .

Enter Horatio and others .

What are they that would speak with me ?

Seafaring men , sir . They say they have
letters for you .

Let them come in . Gentleman exits . I do not
know from what part of the world I should be
greeted , if not from Lord Hamlet .

Gentleman exits .

Enter Sailors .

God bless you , sir .

Let Him bless thee too .

He shall , sir , an ’t please Him . There’s a letter
for you , sir . It came from th’ ambassador that was
bound for England — if your name be Horatio , as I
am let to know it is .

He hands Horatio a letter .

Come , I will give you way for these your letters
And do ’t the speedier that you may direct me
To him from whom you brought them .
Horatio , when thou shalt have
overlooked this , give these fellows some means to the
King . They have letters for him . Ere we were two days
old at sea , a pirate of very warlike appointment gave
us chase . Finding ourselves too slow of sail , we put on
a compelled valor , and in the grapple I boarded them .
On the instant , they got clear of our ship ; so I alone
became their prisoner . They have dealt with me like
thieves of mercy , but they knew what they did : I am to
do a good turn for them . Let the King have the letters
I have sent , and repair thou to me with as much speed
as thou wouldst fly death . I have words to speak in
thine ear will make thee dumb ; yet are they much too
light for the bore of the matter . These good fellows
will bring thee where I am . Rosencrantz and Guildenstern
hold their course for England ; of them I have
much to tell thee . Farewell .
He that thou knowest thine ,
Hamlet .

reads the letter

They exit .

Enter King and Laertes .

Now must your conscience my acquittance seal ,
And you must put me in your heart for friend ,
Sith you have heard , and with a knowing ear ,
That he which hath your noble father slain
Pursued my life .

It well appears . But tell me
Why you proceeded not against these feats ,
So criminal and so capital in nature ,
As by your safety , greatness , wisdom , all things else ,
You mainly were stirred up .

O , for two special reasons ,
Which may to you perhaps seem much unsinewed ,
But yet to me they’re strong . The Queen his mother
Lives almost by his looks , and for myself
( My virtue or my plague , be it either which ) ,
She is so conjunctive to my life and soul
That , as the star moves not but in his sphere ,
I could not but by her . The other motive
Why to a public count I might not go
Is the great love the general gender bear him ,
Who , dipping all his faults in their affection ,
Work like the spring that turneth wood to stone ,
Convert his gyves to graces , so that my arrows ,
Too slightly timbered for so loud a wind ,
Would have reverted to my bow again ,
But not where I have aimed them .

And so have I a noble father lost ,
A sister driven into desp’rate 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 .

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 loved your father , and we love ourself ,
And that , I hope , will teach you to imagine —
How now ? What news ?

Enter a Messenger with letters .

Letters , my lord , from Hamlet .
These to your Majesty , this to the Queen .

From Hamlet ? Who brought them ?

Sailors , my lord , they say . I saw them not .
They were given me by Claudio . He received them
Of him that brought them .

Laertes , you shall hear them . —
Leave us .
What should this mean ? Are all the rest come back ?
Or is it some abuse and no such thing ?

Messenger exits .

Reads .

Know you the hand ?

’Tis Hamlet’s character . “ Naked ” —
And in a postscript here , he says “ alone . ”
Can you advise me ?

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 didst thou . ”

If it be so , Laertes
( As how should it be so ? how otherwise ? ) ,
Will you be ruled by me ?

Ay , my lord ,
So you will not o’errule me to a peace .

To thine own peace . If he be now returned ,
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 .

My lord , I will be ruled ,
The rather if you could devise it so
That I might be the organ .

It falls right .
You have been talked 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
As did that one , and that , in my regard ,
Of the unworthiest siege .

What part is that , my lord ?

A very ribbon 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 served against , the French ,
And they can well on horseback , but this gallant
Had witchcraft in ’t . He grew unto his seat ,
And to such wondrous doing brought his horse
As had he been encorpsed and demi-natured
With the brave beast . So far he topped my thought
That I in forgery of shapes and tricks
Come short of what he did .

A Norman was ’t ?

A Norman .

Upon my life , Lamord .

The very same .

I know him well . He is the brooch indeed
And gem of all the nation .

He made confession of you
And gave you such a masterly report
For art and exercise in your defense ,
And for your rapier most especial ,
That he cried out ’twould be a sight indeed
If one could match you . The ’scrimers of their nation
He swore had neither motion , guard , nor eye ,
If you opposed them . Sir , this report of his
Did Hamlet so envenom with his envy
That he could nothing do but wish and beg
Your sudden coming-o’er , to play with you .
Now out of this —

What out of this , my lord ?

Laertes , was your father dear to you ?
Or are you like the painting of a sorrow ,
A face without a heart ?

Why ask you this ?

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 ” changes
And hath abatements and delays as many
As there are tongues , are hands , are accidents ;
And then this “ should ” is like a spendthrift sigh ,
That hurts by easing . But to the quick of th’ ulcer :
Hamlet comes back ; what would you undertake
To show yourself indeed your father’s son
More than in words ?

To cut his throat i’ th’ church .

No place indeed should murder sanctuarize ;
Revenge should have no bounds . But , good Laertes ,
Will you do this ? Keep close within your chamber .
Hamlet , returned , shall know you are come home .
We’ll put on those shall praise your excellence
And set a double varnish on the fame
The Frenchman gave you ; bring you , in fine , together
And wager on 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 .

I will do ’t ,
And for that 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 scratched withal . I’ll touch my point
With this contagion , that , if I gall him slightly ,
It may be death .

Let’s further think of this ,
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 performance ,
’Twere better not assayed . Therefore this project
Should have a back or second that might hold
If this did blast in proof . Soft , let me see .
We’ll make a solemn wager on your cunnings —
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 prepared him
A chalice for the nonce , whereon but sipping ,
If he by chance escape your venomed stuck ,
Our purpose may hold there . — But stay , what noise ?

Enter Queen .

One woe doth tread upon another’s heel ,
So fast they follow . Your sister’s drowned , Laertes .

Drowned ? O , where ?

There is a willow grows askant the brook
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream .
Therewith fantastic garlands did she make
Of crowflowers , nettles , daisies , and long purples ,
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name ,
But our cold maids do “ dead men’s fingers ” call them .
There on the pendant boughs her coronet weeds
Clamb’ring to hang , an envious sliver broke ,
When down her weedy trophies and herself
Fell in the weeping brook . Her clothes spread wide ,
And mermaid-like awhile they bore her up ,
Which time she chanted snatches of old lauds ,
As one incapable of her own distress
Or like a creature native and endued
Unto that element . But long it could not be
Till that her garments , heavy with their drink ,
Pulled the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death .

Alas , then she is drowned .

Drowned , drowned .

Too much of water hast thou , poor Ophelia ,
And therefore I forbid my tears . But yet
It is our trick ; nature her custom holds ,
Let shame say what it will . When these are gone ,
The woman will be out . — Adieu , my lord .
I have a speech o’ fire that fain would blaze ,
But that this folly drowns it .

He exits .

Let’s follow , Gertrude .
How much I had to do to calm his rage !
Now fear I this will give it start again .
Therefore , let’s follow .

They exit .

Enter Gravedigger and Another .

Is she to be buried in Christian burial ,
when she willfully seeks her own salvation ?

I tell thee she is . Therefore make her grave
straight . The crowner hath sat on her and finds it
Christian burial .

How can that be , unless she drowned
herself in her own defense ?

Why , ’tis found so .

It must be se offendendo ; it cannot be
else . For here lies the point : if I drown myself
wittingly , it argues an act , and an act hath three
branches — it is to act , to do , to perform . Argal , she
drowned herself wittingly .

Nay , but hear you , goodman delver —

Give me leave . Here lies the water ;
good . Here stands the man ; good . If the man go to
this water and drown himself , it is ( will he , nill he )
he goes ; mark you that . But if the water come to him
and drown him , he drowns not himself . Argal , he
that is not guilty of his own death shortens not his
own life .

But is this law ?

Ay , marry , is ’t — crowner’s ’quest law .

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

Why , there thou sayst . And the more
pity that great folk should have count’nance in this
world to drown or hang themselves more than
their even-Christian . Come , my spade . There is no
ancient gentlemen but gard’ners , ditchers , and
grave-makers . They hold up Adam’s profession .

Was he a gentleman ?

He was the first that ever bore arms .

Why , he had none .

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 —

Go to !

What is he that builds stronger than
either the mason , the shipwright , or the carpenter ?

The gallows-maker ; for that frame outlives a
thousand tenants .

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 .

“ Who builds stronger than a mason , a shipwright ,
or a carpenter ? ”

Ay , tell me that , and unyoke .

Marry , now I can tell .

To ’t .

Mass , I cannot tell .

Enter Hamlet and Horatio afar off .

In youth when I did love , did love ,
Methought it was very sweet
To contract — O — the time for — a — my behove ,
O , methought there — a — was nothing — a — meet .
Cudgel thy brains no more about it ,
for your dull ass will not mend his pace with
beating . And , when you are asked this question
next , say “ a grave-maker . ” The houses he makes
lasts till doomsday . Go , get thee in , and fetch me a
stoup of liquor .

The Other Man exits and the Gravedigger digs and sings .

The Other Man exits

and the Gravedigger digs and sings .

Has this fellow no feeling of his business ? He
sings in grave-making .

Custom hath made it in him a property of
easiness .

’Tis e’en so . The hand of little employment
hath the daintier sense .

But age with his stealing steps
Hath clawed me in his clutch ,
And hath shipped me into the land ,
As if I had never been such .

sings

He digs up a skull .

That skull had a tongue in it and could sing
once . How the knave jowls it to the ground as if
’twere Cain’s jawbone , that did the first murder !
This might be the pate of a politician which this ass
now o’erreaches , one that would circumvent God ,
might it not ?

It might , my lord .

Or of a courtier , which could say “ Good
morrow , sweet lord ! How dost thou , sweet lord ? ”
This might be my Lord Such-a-one that praised my
Lord Such-a-one’s horse when he went to beg it ,
might it not ?

Ay , my lord .

Why , e’en so . And now my Lady Worm’s ,
chapless and knocked about the mazard 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 loggets with them ? Mine
ache to think on ’t .

A pickax and a spade , a spade ,
For and a shrouding sheet ,
O , a pit of clay for to be made
For such a guest is meet .

sings

He digs up more skulls .

There’s another . Why may not that be the
skull of a lawyer ? Where be his quiddities now , his
quillities , his cases , his tenures , and his tricks ? Why
does he suffer this mad knave now to knock him
about the sconce with a dirty shovel and will not tell
him of his action of battery ? Hum , this fellow might
be in ’s time a great buyer of land , with his statutes ,
his recognizances , his fines , his double vouchers ,
his recoveries . Is this the fine of his fines and the
recovery of his recoveries , to have 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 scarcely lie in this box ,
and must th’ inheritor himself have no more , ha ?

Not a jot more , my lord .

Is not parchment made of sheepskins ?

Ay , my lord , and of calves’ skins too .

They are sheep and calves which seek out
assurance in that . I will speak to this fellow . —
Whose grave’s this , sirrah ?

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

Sings .

I think it be thine indeed , for thou liest in ’t .

You lie out on ’t , sir , and therefore ’tis
not yours . For my part , I do not lie in ’t , yet it is
mine .

Thou dost lie in ’t , to be in ’t and say it is thine .
’Tis for the dead , not for the quick ; therefore thou
liest .

’Tis a quick lie , sir ; ’twill away again
from me to you .

What man dost thou dig it for ?

For no man , sir .

What woman then ?

For none , neither .

Who is to be buried in ’t ?

One that was a woman , sir , but , rest
her soul , she’s dead .

How absolute the knave is ! We must speak by
the card , or equivocation will undo us . By the
Lord , Horatio , this three years I have took note of
it : the age is 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
grave-maker ?

Of all the days i’ th’ year , I came to ’t
that day that our last King Hamlet overcame
Fortinbras .

How long is that since ?

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 .

Ay , marry , why was he sent into England ?

Why , because he was mad . He shall
recover his wits there . Or if he do not , ’tis no great
matter there .

Why ?

’Twill not be seen in him there . There
the men are as mad as he .

How came he mad ?

Very strangely , they say .

How “ strangely ” ?

Faith , e’en with losing his wits .

Upon what ground ?

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

How long will a man lie i’ th’ earth ere he rot ?

Faith , if he be not rotten before he die
( as we have many pocky corses nowadays that will
scarce hold the laying in ) , he will last you some
eight year or nine year . A tanner will last you nine
year .

Why he more than another ?

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 skull now hath lien you i’ th’ earth
three-and-twenty years .

Whose was it ?

A whoreson mad fellow’s it was .
Whose do you think it was ?

Nay , I know not .

A pestilence on him for a mad rogue !
He poured a flagon of Rhenish on my head once .
This same skull , sir , was , sir , Yorick’s skull , the
King’s jester .

This ?

E’en that .

Let me see . Alas , poor
Yorick ! I knew him , Horatio — a fellow of infinite
jest , of most excellent fancy . He hath bore me on his
back a thousand times , and now how abhorred in
my imagination it is ! My gorge rises at it . Here hung
those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft .
Where be 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 grinning ? Quite chapfallen ? Now get you to my
lady’s chamber , and tell her , let her paint an inch
thick , to this favor she must come . Make her laugh
at that . — Prithee , Horatio , tell me one thing .

, taking the skull

What’s that , my lord ?

Dost thou think Alexander looked o’ this
fashion i’ th’ earth ?

E’en so .

And smelt so ? Pah !

He puts the skull down .

E’en so , my lord .

To what base uses we may return , Horatio !
Why may not imagination trace the noble dust of
Alexander till he find it stopping a bunghole ?

’Twere to consider too curiously to consider
so .

Imperious Caesar , dead and turned to clay ,
Might stop a hole to keep the wind away .
O , that that earth which kept the world in awe
Should patch a wall t’ expel the winter’s flaw !
But soft , but soft awhile ! Here comes the King ,
The Queen , the courtiers . Who is this they follow ?
And with such maimèd rites ? This doth betoken
The corse they follow did with desp’rate hand
Fordo its own life . ’Twas of some estate .
Couch we awhile and mark .
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 ?

Enter King , Queen , Laertes , Lords attendant , and the corpse of Ophelia , with a Doctor of Divinity .

They step aside .

What ceremony else ?

That is Laertes , a very noble youth . Mark .

What ceremony else ?

Her obsequies have been as far enlarged
As we have warranty . Her death was doubtful ,
And , but that great command o’ersways the order ,
She should in ground unsanctified been lodged
Till the last trumpet . For charitable prayers
Shards , flints , and pebbles should be thrown on her .
Yet here she is allowed her virgin crants ,
Her maiden strewments , and the bringing home
Of bell and burial .

Must there no more be done ?

No more be done .
We should profane the service of the dead
To sing a requiem and such rest to her
As to peace-parted souls .

Lay her i’ th’ earth ,
And from her fair and unpolluted flesh
May violets spring ! I tell thee , churlish priest ,
A minist’ring angel shall my sister be
When thou liest howling .

What , the fair Ophelia ?

, to Horatio

Sweets to the sweet , farewell !
I hoped thou shouldst have been my Hamlet’s wife ;
I thought thy bride-bed to have decked , sweet maid ,
And not have strewed thy grave .

She scatters flowers .

O , treble woe
Fall ten times treble on that cursèd head
Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense
Deprived thee of ! — Hold off the earth awhile ,
Till I have caught her once more in mine arms .
Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead ,
Till of this flat a mountain you have made
T’ o’ertop old Pelion or the skyish head
Of blue Olympus .

Leaps in the grave .

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 .

, advancing

The devil take thy soul !

, coming out of the grave

Thou pray’st not well .
I prithee take thy fingers from my throat ,
For though I am not splenitive and rash ,
Yet have I in me something dangerous ,
Which let thy wisdom fear . Hold off thy hand .

They grapple .

Pluck them asunder .

Hamlet ! Hamlet !

Gentlemen !

Good my lord , be quiet .

Hamlet and Laertes are separated .

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

O my son , what theme ?

I loved Ophelia . Forty thousand brothers
Could not with all their quantity of love
Make up my sum . What wilt thou do for her ?

O , he is mad , Laertes !

For love of God , forbear him .

’Swounds , show me what thou ’t do .
Woo’t weep , woo’t fight , woo’t fast , woo’t tear thyself ,
Woo’t drink up eisel , 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 .

This is mere madness ;
And thus awhile the fit will work on him .
Anon , as patient as the female dove
When that her golden couplets are disclosed ,
His silence will sit drooping .

Hear you , sir ,
What is the reason that you use me thus ?
I loved you ever . But it is no matter .
Let Hercules himself do what he may ,
The cat will mew , and dog will have his day .

Hamlet exits .

I pray thee , good Horatio , wait upon him .
To Laertes . Strengthen your patience in our last night’s speech .
We’ll put the matter to the present push . —
Good Gertrude , set some watch over your son . —
This grave shall have a living monument .
An hour of quiet thereby shall we see .
Till then in patience our proceeding be .

Horatio exits .

To Laertes .

They exit .

Enter Hamlet and Horatio .

So much for this , sir . Now shall you see the other .
You do remember all the circumstance ?

Remember it , my lord !

Sir , in my heart there was a kind of fighting
That would not let me sleep . Methought I lay
Worse than the mutines in the bilboes . Rashly —
And praised be rashness for it : let us know ,
Our indiscretion sometime serves us well
When our deep plots do pall ; and that should learn us
There’s a divinity that shapes our ends ,
Rough-hew them how we will —

That is most certain .

Up from my cabin ,
My sea-gown scarfed about me , in the dark
Groped I to find out them ; had my desire ,
Fingered their packet , and in fine withdrew
To mine own room again , making so bold
( My fears forgetting manners ) to unfold
Their grand commission ; where I found , Horatio ,
A royal knavery — an exact command ,
Larded with many several sorts of reasons
Importing Denmark’s health and England’s too ,
With — ho ! — such bugs and goblins in my life ,
That on the supervise , no leisure bated ,
No , not to stay the grinding of the ax ,
My head should be struck off .

Is ’t possible ?

Here’s the commission . Read it at more leisure .
But wilt thou hear now how I did proceed ?

Handing him a paper .

I beseech you .

Being thus benetted round with villainies ,
Or I could make a prologue to my brains ,
They had begun the play . I sat me down ,
Devised a new commission , wrote it fair —
I once did hold it , as our statists do ,
A baseness to write fair , and labored much
How to forget that learning ; but , sir , now
It did me yeoman’s service . Wilt thou know
Th’ effect of what I wrote ?

Ay , good my lord .

An earnest conjuration from the King ,
As England was his faithful tributary ,
As love between them like the palm might flourish ,
As peace should still her wheaten garland wear
And stand a comma ’tween their amities ,
And many suchlike as es of great charge ,
That , on the view and knowing of these contents ,
Without debatement further , more or less ,
He should those bearers put to sudden death ,
Not shriving time allowed .

How was this sealed ?

Why , even in that was heaven ordinant .
I had my father’s signet in my purse ,
Which was the model of that Danish seal ;
Folded the writ up in the form of th’ other ,
Subscribed it , gave ’t th’ impression , placed it safely ,
The changeling never known . Now , the next day
Was our sea-fight ; and what to this was sequent
Thou knowest already .

So Guildenstern and Rosencrantz go to ’t .

Why , man , they did make love to this employment .
They are not near my conscience . Their defeat
Does by their own insinuation grow .
’Tis dangerous when the baser nature comes
Between the pass and fell incensèd points
Of mighty opposites .

Why , what a king is this !

Does it not , think thee , stand me now upon —
He that hath killed my king and whored my mother ,
Popped in between th’ election and my hopes ,
Thrown out his angle for my proper life ,
And with such cozenage — is ’t not perfect conscience
To quit him with this arm ? And is ’t not to be damned
To let this canker of our nature come
In further evil ?

It must be shortly known to him from England
What is the issue of the business there .

It will be short . The interim’s mine ,
And a man’s life’s no more than to say “ one . ”
But I am very sorry , good Horatio ,
That to Laertes I forgot myself ,
For by the image of my cause I see
The portraiture of his . I’ll court his favors .
But , sure , the bravery of his grief did put me
Into a tow’ring passion .

Peace , who comes here ?

Enter Osric , a courtier .

Your Lordship is right welcome back to
Denmark .

I humbly thank you , sir .
Dost know this waterfly ?

Aside to Horatio .

No , my good lord .

, aside to Hamlet

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 .

, aside to Horatio

Sweet lord , if your Lordship were at leisure , I
should impart a thing to you from his Majesty .

I will receive it , sir , with all diligence of
spirit . Put your bonnet to his right use : ’tis for the
head .

I thank your Lordship ; it is very hot .

No , believe me , ’tis very cold ; the wind is
northerly .

It is indifferent cold , my lord , indeed .

But yet methinks it is very sultry and hot for
my complexion .

Exceedingly , my lord ; it is very sultry , as
’twere — I cannot tell how . My lord , his Majesty
bade me signify to you that he has laid a great wager
on your head . Sir , this is the matter —

I beseech you , remember .

He motions to Osric to put on his hat .

Nay , good my lord , for my ease , in good faith .
Sir , here is newly come to court Laertes — believe
me , an absolute gentleman , full of most excellent
differences , of very soft society and great showing .
Indeed , to speak feelingly of him , he is the card or
calendar of gentry , for you shall find in him the
continent of what part a gentleman would see .

Sir , his definement suffers no perdition in
you , though I know to divide him inventorially
would dozy th’ arithmetic of memory , and yet but
yaw neither , in respect of his quick sail . But , in the
verity of extolment , I take him to be a soul of great
article , and his infusion of such dearth and rareness
as , to make true diction of him , his semblable is his
mirror , and who else would trace him , his umbrage ,
nothing more .

Your Lordship speaks most infallibly of him .

The concernancy , sir ? Why do we wrap the
gentleman in our more rawer breath ?

Sir ?

Is ’t not possible to understand in another
tongue ? You will to ’t , sir , really .

What imports the nomination of
this gentleman ?

, to Osric

Of Laertes ?

His purse is empty already ; all ’s golden words
are spent .

Of him , sir .

I know you are not ignorant —

I would you did , sir . Yet , in faith , if you did , it
would not much approve me . Well , sir ?

You are not ignorant of what excellence Laertes
is —

I dare not confess that , lest I should compare
with him in excellence . But to know a man well
were to know himself .

I mean , sir , for his weapon . But in the imputation
laid on him by them , in his meed he’s
unfellowed .

What’s his weapon ?

Rapier and dagger .

That’s two of his weapons . But , well —

The King , sir , hath wagered with him six Barbary
horses , against the which he has impawned , as I
take it , six French rapiers and poniards , with their
assigns , as girdle , hangers , and so . Three of the
carriages , in faith , are very dear to fancy , very
responsive to the hilts , most delicate carriages , and
of very liberal conceit .

What call you the “ carriages ” ?

I knew you must be edified by the margent
ere you had done .

The carriages , sir , are the hangers .

The phrase would be more germane to the
matter if we could carry a cannon by our sides . I
would it might be “ hangers ” till then . But on . Six
Barbary horses against six French swords , their
assigns , and three liberal-conceited carriages —
that’s the French bet against the Danish . Why is this
all “ impawned , ” as you call it ?

The King , sir , hath laid , sir , that in a dozen
passes between yourself and him , he shall not
exceed you three hits . He hath laid on twelve for
nine , and it would come to immediate trial if your
Lordship would vouchsafe the answer .

How if I answer no ?

I mean , my lord , the opposition of your person
in trial .

Sir , I will walk here in the hall . If it please his
Majesty , it is the breathing time of day with me . Let
the foils be brought , the gentleman willing , and the
King hold his purpose , I will win for him , an I can .
If not , I will gain nothing but my shame and the odd
hits .

Shall I deliver you e’en so ?

To this effect , sir , after what flourish your
nature will .

I commend my duty to your Lordship .

Yours . Osric exits . He does well to commend
it himself . There are no tongues else for ’s
turn .

Osric exits .

This lapwing runs away with the shell on his
head .

He did comply , sir , with his dug before he
sucked it . Thus has he ( and many more of the same
breed that I know the drossy age dotes on ) only got
the tune of the time , and , out of an habit of
encounter , a kind of yeasty collection , which carries
them through and through the most fanned
and winnowed opinions ; and do but blow them to
their trial , the bubbles are out .

Enter a Lord .

My lord , his Majesty commended him to you by
young Osric , who brings back to him that you
attend him in the hall . He sends to know if your
pleasure hold to play with Laertes , or that you will
take longer time .

I am constant to my purposes . They follow
the King’s pleasure . If his fitness speaks , mine is
ready now or whensoever , provided I be so able as
now .

The King and Queen and all are coming down .

In happy time .

The Queen desires you to use some gentle
entertainment to Laertes before you fall to play .

She well instructs me .

Lord exits .

You will lose , my lord .

I do not think so . Since he went into France , I
have been in continual practice . I shall win at the
odds ; but thou wouldst not think how ill all’s here
about my heart . But it is no matter .

Nay , good my lord —

It is but foolery , but it is such a kind of
gaingiving as would perhaps trouble a woman .

If your mind dislike anything , obey it . I will
forestall their repair hither and say you are not fit .

Not a whit . We defy augury . There is a
special providence in the fall of a sparrow . If it be
now , ’tis not to come ; if it be not to come , it will be
now ; if it be not now , yet it will come . The
readiness is all . Since no man of aught he leaves
knows , what is ’t to leave betimes ? Let be .

A table prepared . Enter Trumpets , Drums , and Officers with cushions , King , Queen , Osric , and all the state , foils , daggers , flagons of wine , and Laertes .

Trumpets , Drums

Come , Hamlet , come and take this hand from me .

He puts Laertes’ hand into Hamlet’s .

Give me your pardon , sir . I have done you wrong ;
But pardon ’t as you are a gentleman . This presence knows ,
And you must needs have heard , how I am punished
With a sore distraction . What I have done
That might your nature , honor , and exception
Roughly awake , I here proclaim was madness .
Was ’t Hamlet wronged Laertes ? Never Hamlet .
If Hamlet from himself be ta’en away ,
And when he’s not himself does wrong Laertes ,
Then Hamlet does it not ; Hamlet denies it .
Who does it , then ? His madness . If ’t be so ,
Hamlet is of the faction that is wronged ;
His madness is poor Hamlet’s enemy .
Sir , in this audience
Let my disclaiming from a purposed evil
Free me so far in your most generous thoughts
That I have shot my arrow o’er the house
And hurt my brother .

, to Laertes

I am satisfied in nature ,
Whose motive in this case should stir me most
To my revenge ; but in my terms of honor
I stand aloof and will no reconcilement
Till by some elder masters of known honor
I have a voice and precedent of peace
To keep my name ungored . But till that time
I do receive your offered love like love
And will not wrong it .

I embrace it freely
And will this brothers’ wager frankly play . —
Give us the foils . Come on .

Come , one for me .

I’ll be your foil , Laertes ; in mine ignorance
Your skill shall , like a star i’ th’ darkest night ,
Stick fiery off indeed .

You mock me , sir .

No , by this hand .

Give them the foils , young Osric . Cousin Hamlet ,
You know the wager ?

Very well , my lord .
Your Grace has laid the odds o’ th’ weaker side .

I do not fear it ; I have seen you both .
But , since he is better , we have therefore odds .

This is too heavy . Let me see another .

This likes me well . These foils have all a length ?

Ay , my good lord .

Prepare to play .

Set me the stoups of wine upon that table . —
If Hamlet give the first or second hit
Or quit in answer of the third exchange ,
Let all the battlements their ordnance fire .
The King shall drink to Hamlet’s better breath ,
And in the cup an union shall he throw ,
Richer than that which four successive kings
In Denmark’s crown have worn . Give me the cups ,
And let the kettle to the trumpet speak ,
The trumpet to the cannoneer without ,
The cannons to the heavens , the heaven to earth ,
“ Now the King drinks to Hamlet . ” Come , begin .
And you , the judges , bear a wary eye .

Trumpets the while .

Trumpets the while .

Come on , sir .

Come , my lord .

They play .

One .

No .

Judgment !

A hit , a very palpable hit .

Well , again .

Stay , give me drink . — Hamlet , this pearl is thine .
Here’s to thy health .
Give him the cup .

He drinks and then drops the pearl in the cup .

Drum , trumpets , and shot .

Drum , trumpets , and shot .

I’ll play this bout first . Set it by awhile .
Come . They play . Another hit . What say you ?

They play .

A touch , a touch . I do confess ’t .

Our son shall win .

He’s fat and scant of breath . —
Here , Hamlet , take my napkin ; rub thy brows .
The Queen carouses to thy fortune , Hamlet .

She lifts the cup .

Good madam .

Gertrude , do not drink .

I will , my lord ; I pray you pardon me .

She drinks .

It is the poisoned cup . It is too late .

, aside

I dare not drink yet , madam — by and by .

Come , let me wipe thy face .

My lord , I’ll hit him now .

, to Claudius

I do not think ’t .

And yet it is almost against my conscience .

, aside

Come , for the third , Laertes . You do but dally .
I pray you pass with your best violence .
I am afeard you make a wanton of me .

Say you so ? Come on .

Play .

Nothing neither way .

Have at you now !

Laertes wounds Hamlet . Then in scuffling they change rapiers , and Hamlet wounds Laertes .

Part them . They are incensed .

Nay , come again .

The Queen falls .

Look to the Queen there , ho !

They bleed on both sides . — How is it , my lord ?

How is ’t , Laertes ?

Why as a woodcock to mine own springe , Osric .
I am justly killed with mine own treachery .

He falls .

How does the Queen ?

She swoons to see them bleed .

No , no , the drink , the drink ! O , my dear Hamlet !
The drink , the drink ! I am poisoned .

She dies .

O villainy ! Ho ! Let the door be locked .
Treachery ! Seek it out .

Osric exits .

It is here , Hamlet . Hamlet , thou art slain .
No med’cine in the world can do thee good .
In thee there is not half an hour’s life .
The treacherous instrument is in thy hand ,
Unbated and envenomed . The foul practice
Hath turned itself on me . Lo , here I lie ,
Never to rise again . Thy mother’s poisoned .
I can no more . The King , the King’s to blame .

The point envenomed too ! Then , venom , to thy work .

Hurts the King .

Treason , treason !

O , yet defend me , friends ! I am but hurt .

Here , thou incestuous , murd’rous , damnèd Dane ,
Drink off this potion . Is thy union here ?
Follow my mother .

Forcing him to drink the poison .

King dies .

He is justly served .
It is a poison tempered by himself .
Exchange forgiveness with me , noble Hamlet .
Mine and my father’s death come not upon thee ,
Nor thine on me .

Dies .

Heaven make thee free of it . I follow thee . —
I am dead , Horatio . — Wretched queen , adieu . —
You that look pale and tremble at this chance ,
That are but mutes or audience to this act ,
Had I but time ( as this fell sergeant , Death ,
Is strict in his arrest ) , O , I could tell you —
But let it be . — Horatio , I am dead .
Thou livest ; report me and my cause aright
To the unsatisfied .

Never believe it .
I am more an antique Roman than a Dane .
Here’s yet some liquor left .

He picks up the cup .

As thou ’rt a man ,
Give me the cup . Let go ! By heaven , I’ll ha ’t .
O God , Horatio , what a wounded name ,
Things standing thus unknown , shall I leave behind me !
If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart ,
Absent thee from felicity awhile
And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain
To tell my story .
What warlike noise is this ?

A march afar off and shot within .

A march afar off and shot within .

Enter Osric .

Young Fortinbras , with conquest come from Poland ,
To th’ ambassadors of England gives
This warlike volley .

O , I die , Horatio !
The potent poison quite o’ercrows my spirit .
I cannot live to hear the news from England .
But I do prophesy th’ election lights
On Fortinbras ; he has my dying voice .
So tell him , with th’ occurrents , more and less ,
Which have solicited — the rest is silence .
O , O , O , O !

Dies .

Now cracks a noble heart . Good night , sweet prince ,
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest .
Why does the drum come hither ?

March within .

March within .

Enter Fortinbras with the English Ambassadors with Drum , Colors , and Attendants .

Drum ,

Where is this sight ?

What is it you would see ?
If aught of woe or wonder , cease your search .

This quarry cries on havoc . O proud Death ,
What feast is toward in thine eternal cell
That thou so many princes at a shot
So bloodily hast struck ?

The sight is dismal ,
And our affairs from England come too late .
The ears are senseless that should give us hearing
To tell him his commandment is fulfilled ,
That Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead .
Where should we have our thanks ?

Not from his mouth ,
Had it th’ ability of life to thank you .
He never gave commandment for their death .
But since , so jump upon this bloody question ,
You from the Polack wars , and you from England ,
Are here arrived , give order that these bodies
High on a stage be placed to the view ,
And let me speak to th’ yet unknowing world
How these things came about . So shall you hear
Of carnal , bloody , and unnatural acts ,
Of accidental judgments , casual slaughters ,
Of deaths put on by cunning and forced cause ,
And , in this upshot , purposes mistook
Fall’n on th’ inventors’ heads . All this can I
Truly deliver .

Let us haste to hear it
And call the noblest to the audience .
For me , with sorrow I embrace my fortune .
I have some rights of memory in this kingdom ,
Which now to claim my vantage doth invite me .

Of that I shall have also cause to speak ,
And from his mouth whose voice will draw on more .
But let this same be presently performed
Even while men’s minds are wild , lest more mischance
On plots and errors happen .

Let four captains
Bear Hamlet like a soldier to the stage ,
For he was likely , had he been put on ,
To have proved most royal ; and for his passage ,
The soldier’s music and the rite of war
Speak loudly for him .
Take up the bodies . Such a sight as this
Becomes the field but here shows much amiss .
Go , bid the soldiers shoot .

They exit , marching , after the which , a peal of ordnance are shot off .

Author: William Shakespeare
Publication: The Folger Shakespeare (formerly Folger Digital Texts), February, 2017, Ham
Editors: Barbara A. Mowat, Paul Werstine, Barbara A. Mowat, Paul Werstine
Encoded in TEI Simple by: Martin Mueller, Michael Poston
Linguistically annotated with MorphAdorner by: Philip R. Burns, Martin Mueller
Edited for XML and encoded by: Michael Poston, Rebecca Niles
Source: https://www.folgerdigitaltexts.org/download/teisimple/Ham.xml