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But as we often see against some storm,
A silence in the heav'ns, the rack stand ftill,
The bold winds speechless, and the orb below
As hush as death: anon the dreadful thunder
Doth rend the region. So after Pyrrhus' pause,
A rowsed vengeance sets him new a-work,
And never did the Cyclops hammers fall
On Mars bis armour, forgʻd for proof eterne,
With less remorse than Pyrrhus' bleeding sword
Now falls on Priam.
Out, out, thou strumpet-fortune! all you gods,
In general fynod take away her power :
Break all the spokes and fellies from her wheel,
And bowl the round nave down the bill of heav'n,
As low as to the fiends.

Pol. This is too long.

Ham. It thall to th’ barberos with your beard. Proythee say on; he's for a jigg, or a tale of bawdry, or he sleeps. 'Say on, come to Hecuba.

1 Play. But who, oh who, bad seen the f mobled Queen ?
Ham. The mobled Queen ?
Pol. That's good; mobled Queen, is good.

1 Play. Run bare-foot up and down, threátning 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’er-teemed loyos,
A blanket in th’alarm of fear caught up.
Who this had seen, with tongue in venom Iteep'd,
Gainst fortune's state would treason have pronounc'd:
But if the gods themselves did fee her then,
When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious fport
In mincing with his sword her husband's limbs;
The instant burst of clamour that she made,

(Un-
f In the first folio edition, it is thenobled Queen.

report while

(Unless things mortal move them not at all)
Would have made 8 melt the burning eyes of heavia,
And passion in the gods.

Pol. Look if he has not turn'd his colour, and has tears ia’s eyes. Pr’ythee no more.

Ham. 'Tis well, I'll have thee speak out the rest of this soon. Good my lord, will you see the players well bestow'd. Do ye hear, let them be well us’d; for they are the abstract, and brief chronicles of the time. After your death, you were better have a bad epitaph, then their ill

you

liv'd. Pol. My lord, I will use them according to their defert.

Ham. Gods bodikios man, much better. Use every man af. ter his desert, and who fhall scape whipping? use them after your own honour and dignity. The less they deserve, the more merit is in your bounty.

bounty. Take them in. Pol. Come, Sirs.

[Exit Polonius. Ham. Follow him, friends: we'll hear a play to-morrow. Dost thou hear me, old friend, can you play the murther of Gonzago?

Play. Ay, my lord.

Ham. We'll ha’t to-morrow night. You could for a need ftudy a speech of some dozen or sixteen lines, which I would set down, and infert in't? could ye not?

Play. Ay, my lord.
Ham. Very well. Follow that lord, and look you mock him

My good friends, ill leave you till night, you are welcome to Ellinoor. Ros. Good my lord.

(Exeunt. S CE N E VIII.

not.

Manet Hamlet.

Ham. Ay so, God b'w ye: now I am alone.

Ddd 2

Oh

& milch.

Oh 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 foul so to his own conceit,
That from her working, all his visage warm’d:
Tears in his eyes, distraction in his aspect,
A broken voice, and his whole function fuiting
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 gen’ral ear with horrid speech,
Make mad the guilty, and appall the free,
Confound the ign'rant, and amaze indeed
The very faculty of eyes and ears.

Yet I say nothing; no, not for a King,
Upon whose property and most dear life
A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward:
Who calls me villain, breaks my pate a-cross,
Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face?
Tweaks me by th' nose, gives me the lye i’th throat,
As deep as to the lungs? who does me this?
i Yet I should take it for it cannot be,
But I am pigeon-liver’d, 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, tercherous, kindless villain!

h

1

h Yet I,

A dull and muddy metled rascal peak
Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause
And can say nothing

i Ha! why should I take it?

Why

Why wh at an ass am I: this is most brave,
That I, the son of a dear father murthered,
Prompted to my revenge by heav'a and hell,
Must, like a whore, uopack my heart with words,
And fall a cursing like a very drab-----
Ak stallion! fye upon't! foh! about my brain
I've heard, that guilty creatures, at a play,
Have by the very cunning of the scene
Been struck so to the soul, that presently
They have proclaim'd their malefactions.
For murther, though it have no tongue, will speak
With most miraculous organ. I'll observe his looks,
Play something like the murther of my father,
Before mine uncle. I'll observe his looks,
I'll tent him to the quick; if he but bleach,
I know my course. The spirit that I have seen
May be the 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.

Le scullio n.

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13

ACT III. S CE NE I

The P. AL AC E.

Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosincrofle,

Guildenstern, and Lords.

KING.
"ND can you by no drift of 'conference

Get from him why he puts on this confufion,
А

Gratiog fo barshly all his days of quiet,
With turbulent and dang’rous lunacy?

Ref. He does confess he feels himself distracted;

But from what cause he will by no means speak.
Guil. Nor do we find him forward to be founded;
But with a crafty madness keeps aloof,
When we would bring him on to some confession
Of his true state.

Queen. Did he receive you well?
Ros. Most like a gentleman.
Guil. But with much forcing of his disposition.

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

Queen. Did you affay him to any paftime?

Rof. Madam, it so fell out, that certain players
We o’er-took on the way; of these we told him;
And there did feem in him a kind of joy
To hear of it: they are about the court,
And (as I think) they have already order
This night to play before him.

Pol. * circumstance.

b confefon.

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