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Enter Rosincrofle and Guildenstern.
Guil. Good my lord, vouchsafe me a word with you.
Ham. Your wisdom should shew it self more rich to signifie this to his doctor: for me to put him to bis purgation, would perhaps plunge him into more choler.
Guil. Good my lord, put your discourse into some frame, and start not so wildly from my affair.
Ham. I am tame, Sir, pronounce.
Guil. The Queen your mother, in most great affliction of spirit, hath sent me to you.
Ham. You are welcome.
Guil. Nay, good my lord, this courtesie is not of the right
Ham. Sir, I cannot.
Ham. Make you a wholsom answer : my wit's diseas’d. But, Sir, such answers as I can make, you shall command; or rather you say, my mother - therefore no more but to the matter
my mother, you say
Rof. Then thus she says; your behaviour hath struck her into amazement, and admiration.
Ham. Oh wonderful fon, that can so astonish a mother. But is there no sequel at the heels of this mother-admiration ?
Rof. She desires to speak with you in her closer ere you go to bed.
Ham. We shall obey, were she ten times our mother. Have you any further trade with us?
Rof. My lord, you once did love nie.
Rof. Good my lord, what is your cause of distemper?. you do surely bar the door of your own liberty, if you deny your griefs
to your friend.
Ham. Sir, I lack advancement.
Ros. How can that be, when you have the voice of the King himself, for your succession in Denmark?
Ham. Ay, but while the grass grows ---- the proverb is fomething musty.
Enter one with a Recorder. Oh the recorders, let me see one.
To withdraw with you why do you go about to recover the wind of me, as if you would drive me into a toil ?
Guil. Oh my lord, if my duty be too bold, my love is too unmannerly. Ham. I do not well understand that.
Will you play upon this pipe?
Guil. My lord, I cannot.
lord. Ham. 'Tis as easie as lying; govern chese ventiges with your
fingers and thumb, give it breath with your mouth, and it will discourse most eloquent musick. Look you, these are the stops.
Guil. But these cannot I command to any utterance of harmony, I have not the skill.
Ham. Why look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me; you would play upon me, you would seem to know.my stops ; you would pluck out the heart of my mystery, you would sound me from my lowest note, to the top of my compass; and there is much musick, excellent voice, in this little organ, yet cannot you make it speak. Why do you think that I am easier to be plaid on than a pipe? call me what-instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me. God bless
Pol. My lord, the Queen would speak with you, and presently.
Ham. Do you see yonder cloud, that's almost in shape of a Camel? Pol. By the mass, and it's like a Camel indeed. Ham. Methinks it is like an | Ouzle. Pol. It is black' like an Ouzle. Ham. Or like a Wbale? Pol. Very like a Whale.
Ham. Then will I come to my mother by and by; they fool me to the top
bent. I will come by and by. Leave me friends. I will say so. By and by is easily said. [Exeunt. ?Tis now the very witching time of night, When church-yards yawn, and hell it self breaths 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 Oh heart, lose not thy nature; let not ever
The An Ouzle or Blackbird : it has been printed by misi ake a Wcesel, which is not black.
The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom ;
S CE N E IX.
Enter King, Rosincrosse, and Guildenstern.
Guild. We will provide our selves ;
Rof. The single and peculiar life is bound
The decease of majesty
King. Arm you, I pray you, to this speedy voyage ;
G g 8
For we will fetters put upon this fear,
[Exit. King. Thanks, dear
lord. Oh my
offence is rank, it smells to heav'n, It hath the primal eldest curse upon't ; "A brother's murther. Pray I cannot,
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 fhall first begin, ' And both neglect. What if this cursed hand « Were thicker than it self with brother's blood ? ' Is there not rain enough in the sweet heav'ns * To wash it white as snow? whereto serves mercy, ' But to confront the visage of offence ? ' And what's in prayer, but this two-fold force, "To be fore-stalled ere we come to fall,
Or pardon’d being down ? then I'll look up. • My fault is past. But oh what form of prayer “Can serve my turn; Forgive me my foul murther! “That cannot be, since I am ftill possest