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Oph. And hath given Countenance to his Speech, my Lord, With almost all the Vows of Heaven,

Pol. Ay, Springes to catch Woodcocks. I do know
When the Blood burns, how prodigal the Soul
Gives the Tongue vows; thefe blazes, Daughter,
Giving more light than heat, extinct in both,
Even in their Promife, as it is a making,

You must not take for Fire. For this time, Daughter,
Be fomewhat scanter of your Maiden prefence,
Set

your Entreatments at a higher rate,

Than a command to Parley. For Lord Hamlet,
Believe fo 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 the Eye, which their Investments fhew,
But meer Implorators of unholy Suits,
Breathing like fanctified and pious Bonds,
The better to beguile. This is for all:
I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth,
Have you so flander any moment leifure,

As to give words or talk with the Lord Hamlet:
Look to't, I charge you; come your way.
Oph. I fhall obey my Lord.

[Exeunt.

SCENE 111. The Platform before the Palace.

Enter Hamlet, Horatio, and Marcellus.

Ham. The Air bites fhrewdly; it is

Hor. It is a nipping and an eager Air.

Ham. What hour now?

very cold.

Hor. I think it lacks of twelve.

Mar. No, it has ftruck.

Hor. I heard it not: Then it draws near the Seafon,

Wherein the Spirit held his wont to walk.

[Noife of warlike Musick within.

What does this mean, my Lord?

Ham. The King doth wake to Night, and takes his rowse, Keeps waffel, and the fwaggering upfpring reels, And as he drains his draughts of Rhenifh down, The Kettle Drum and Trumpet thus bray out The triumph of his Pledge.

Hor.

Hor. Is it a Cuftom?

Ham. Ay marry is't:

But to my Mind, though I am native here,
And to the manner born, it is a Custom

More honour'd in the breach, than the obfervance
Enter Ghoft.

Hor. Look, my Lord, it comes.

Ham. Angels and Minifters of Grace defend us! Be thou a Spirit of Health, or Goblin damn'd, Bring with thee Airs from Heaven, or blafts from Hell, Be thy Events wicked or charitable,

Thou com'ft in fuch a queftionable shape,

That I will speak to thee. I'll call thee Hamlet,
King, Father, Royal Dane: Oh! oh! answer me,
Let me not burft in Ignorance; but tell
Why thy Canoniz'd Bones hearfed in Death,
Have burft their Cearments? why the Sepulcher
Wherein we faw thee quietly Inurn'd,
Hath op'd his ponderous and marble Jaws,
To caft thee up again? What may this mean?
That thou dead Coarfe again in compleat Steel,
Revifit'ft thus the glimpfes of the Moon,
Making Night hideous? and we Fools of Nature,
So horridly to shake our Difpofition,

With Thoughts beyond the reaches of our Souls?
Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we do?

[Ghoft beckons Hamlet.
Hor. It beckons you to go away with it,
As if it fome impartment did defire,
To you alone.

Mar. Look with what courteous A&ion It wafts you to a more removed Ground: But do not go with it.

Hor. No, by no means.

[Holding Hamlet.

Ham. It will not fpeak; then will I follow it.

Hor. Do not, my Lord.

Ham. Why, what should be the fear?

I do not fet my Life at a Pins fee;

And for my Soul, what can it do to that?
Being a thing immortal as it felf.

It waves me forth again.

I'll follow it

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Hor. What if it tempt you toward the Flood, my Lord? Or to the dreadful Summit of the Cliff,

That beetles o'er his bafe into the Sea,

And there affume fome other horrible Form,

Which might deprive your Sovereignty of Reason,
And draw you into madness? think of it.

Ham. It wafts me ftill: Go on, I'll follow thee----
Mar. You fhall not go, my Lord.

Ham. Hold off, your Hand.

Hor. Be rul'd, you fhall not go.

Ham. My Fate crics out,

And makes each petty Artery in this Body,

As hardy as the Nemean Lion's Nerve :

Still am I call'd? Unhand me, Gentlemen---[Breaking from them. By Heav'n I'll make a Ghost of him that letts me.

I lay away

go on

I'll follow thee

[Exeunt Ghost and Hamlet.

Hor. He waxes defperate with Imagination.
Mar. Let's follow; 'tis not fit thus to obey him.
Hor. Have after; to what iffue will this come?
Mar. Something is rotten in the State of Denmark.
Hor. Heav'n will direct it.

Mar. Nay, let's follow him.

Enter Ghoft and Hamlet.

[Exeunt.

Ham. Where wilt thou lead me? (peak; I'll go no further.

Ghoft. Mark me.

Ham. I will.

Ghoft. My hour is almoft come,

When I to fulphurous and tormenting Flames

Muft render up my felf.

Ham. Alas poor Ghost,

Ghoft. Pity me not, but lend thy ferious hearing

To what I fhall unfold.

Ham. Speak, I am bound to hear.

Ghoft. So art thou to Revenge, when thou shalt hear.
Ham. What?

Ghoft. I am thy Father's Spirit;

Doom'd for a certain term to walk the Night,
And for the Day confin'd to faft in Fires;

Till the foul Crimes done in my Days of Nature,
Are burnt and purg'd away. But that I am forbid
To tell the Secrets of my Prifon-house ;

I

I could a Tale unfold, whofe lightest word

Would harrow up thy Soul, freeze thy young Blood,
Make thy two Eyes like Stars, ftart from their Spheres,
Thy knotty and combined Locks to part,
And each particular Hair to ftand an end
Like Quills upon the fretful Porcupine:
But this eternal Blazon must not be

To ears of Flesh and Blood; lift Hamlet! oh lift!
If thou dift ever thy dear Father love

Ham. Oh Heaven!

Ghost. Revenge his foul and moft unnatural Murther.
Ham. Murther?

Ghost. Murther moft foul, as in the beft it is;

But this moft foul, ftrange, and unnatural.

Ham. Hafte me to know it, that I with Wings as fwift As Meditation, or the Thoughts of Love

May sweep to my Revenge.

Ghost. I find thee apt ;

And duller shouldst thou be than the fat Weed
That rots it felf in eafe on Lethe's Wharf,

Wouldst thou not ftir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear:
It's given out, that fleeping in my Orchard,
A Serpent ftung me. So the whole ear of Denmark,
Is by a forged Procefs of my Death

Rankly abus'd: But know, thou noble Youth,
The Serpent that did fting thy Father's Life,
Now wears his Crown.

Ham. O my Prophetick Soul; mine Uncle?
Ghost. Ay, that inceftuous, that adulterate Beaff,
With Witchcraft of his Wits, and traiterous Gifts,
Oh wicked Wit, and Gifts, that have the Power
So to feduce ! won to his fhameful Luft
The Will of my moft feeming virtuous Queen,
Oh Hamlet, what a falling off was there!
From me, whofe 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, whofe natural Gifts were poor
To thofe of mine! But Virtue, as it never will be moved,
Though Lewdness court it in a Shape of Heaven;

So

So luft, though to a radiant Angel link'd,
Will fate it felf in a Celeftial Bed, and prey on Garbage.
But foft, methinks I fcent the Morning's Air-
Brief let me be; fleeping within mine Orchard,
My Custom always in the Afternoon,
Upon my fecure Hour thy Uncle ftole
With Juice of curfed Hebenon in a Viol,
And in the Porches of mine Ears did pour
The leprous Diftilment; whofe effect
Holds fuch an enmity with blood of Man,
That fwift as Quick-filver it courses through
The natural Gates and Allies of the Body;
And with a fudden vigour it doth poffet
And curd, like Eagre droppings into Milk,
The thin and wholfome blood: So did it mine
And a moft inftant Tetter bak'd about,

Moft Lazar-like, with vile and loathsome cruft,
All my fmooth Body.

Thus was I, fleeping, by a Brother's Hand,

Of Life, of Crown, and Queen at once dispatcht;
Cut off even in the Bloffoms of my Sin,
Unhouzzled, difappointed, unnaneld,

No reckoning made, but fent to my Account
With all my imperfections on my Head.
Oh horrible! Oh horrible! moft horrible !
If thou hast Nature in thee, bear it not ;
Let not the Royal Bed of Denmark, be
A Couch for Luxury, and damned Inceft.
But howfoever thou purfueft this A&,
Taint not thy Mind, nor let thy Soul contrive
Against thy Mother ought; leave her to Heav'n,
And to thofe Thorns that in her Bofom lodge,
To prick and fting her. Fare thee well at once,
The Glow-worm fhews the Matin to be near,
And 'gins to pale his uneffectual Fire.
Adieu, adieu, Hamlet! remember me.

[Exit.

Ham. Oh all you Hoft of Heaven! Oh Earth! what elfe? And fhall I couple Hell? Oh fie! hold my Heart And you my Sinews, grow not inftant Old; But bear me ftiffly up; remember thee

Ay,

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