That he should weep for her? what would he do,
Had he the Motive and the Cue for Paffion
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 faculty of Eyes and Ears. Yet I,
A dull and muddy metled Rafcal, peak
Like John-a-deames, unpregnant of my Cause,
And can fay nothing: No, not for a King,
Upon whofe Property, and most dear Life,
A damn'd Defeat was made. Am I a Coward?
Who calls me Villain, breaks my Pate a-crofs,
Plucks off my Beard, and blows it in my Face?
Tweaks me by th'Nofe, gives me the lye i'th' Throat,
As deep as to the Lungs? Who does me this?
Ha? Why should I take it for it cannot be,
But I am Pigeon Liver'd, and lack Gall
To make Oppreffion bitter, or e'er this,
I fhould have fatted all the Region Kites
With this Slave's Offal. Bloody, bawdy Villain!
Remorfelefs, Treacherous, Lecherous, kindlefs Villain!
Oh Vengeance!

Why what an Afs am I? I fure, this is moft brave,
That I, the Son of the dear Murthered,

Prompted to my Revenge by Heav'n and Hell,
Muft, like a Whore, unpack my Heart with Words,
And fall a curfing like a very Drab,

A Scullion ---- Fye upon't! Foh! About my Brain.
I have heard, that guilty Creatures fitting at a Play,
Have by the very cunning of the Scene,

Been ftruck fo 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 have thefe Players,
Play fomething like the Murther of my Father,
Before mine Uncle. I'll obferve his looks,
I'll tent him to the Quick; if he but blench,
I know my Courfe. The Spirit that I have feen,
May be the Devil, and the Devil hath Power
T'affume a pleafing Shape, yea, and perhaps

Out

Out of my Weakness, and my Melancholy,
As he is very Potent with fuch Spirits,
Abules me to damn me. I'll have Grounds
More relative than this: The Play's the thing,
Wherein I'll catch the Confcience of the King.

АСТ III.

SCENE I.

SCENE The Palace.

[Exit.

1

Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rofeneraus, Guildenftern and Lords.

King. AND can you by no drift of Circumstance

from him why he puts on this Confufion,

Grating fo harshly all his Days of quiet,
With turbulent and dangerous Lunacy?

Rof. He does confefs he feels himself distracted,
But from what cause he will by no means fpeak.
Guild. Nor do we find him forward to be founded,
But with a crafty Madness keeps aloof:

When we would bring him on to fome Confeffion

Of his true State.

Queen. Did he receive you well?

Rof. Moft like a Gentleman.

Guild. But with much forcing of his difpofition Rof. Niggard of Queftion, but of our Demands Moft free in his reply.

Queen. Did you affay him to any pastime?

Rof. Madam, it fo 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. 'Tis moft true:

And he befeech'd me to intreat your Majefties

To hear and fee the Matter.

King. With all my Heart, and it doth much content me

To hear him fo inclin'd. Good Gentlemen,

Give him a further Edge, and drive his Purpose on

To thefe Delights.

Rof.

Rof. We fhall, my Lord.

King. Sweet Gertrude, leave us too,
For we have closely fent for Hamlet hither;
That he, as 'twere by accident, may there

[Exeunt.

Affront Ophelia. Her Father, and my felf, lawful efpials Will fo bestow our felves, that seeing unfeen

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:

Queen. I fhall obey you:

And for your part, Ophelia, I do wish

That your good Beauties be the happy cause
Of Hamlet's wildnefs. So fhall I hope your Virtues
Will bring him to his wonted way again;

To both your Honours.

Oph. Madam, I wish it may.

Pol. Ophelia, walk you here. Gracious, so please ye,
We will beftow our felves: Read on this Book,
That fhew of fuch an exercise may colour
Your loneliness. We are oft to blame in this,
'Tis too much prov'd, that with Devotion's vifage,
And pious Action, we do fuger o'er

The Devil himself.

King. Oh 'tis too true;

How fmarta lafh that Speech doth give my Conscience?
The Harlot's Cheek beautied with plastring Art
Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it,
Than is my Deed to my moft painted word.
Oh heavy burthen!

Pol. I hear him coming, let's withdraw, my Lord.
[Exeunt all but Ophelia

Enter Hamlet.

Ham. To be, or not to be, that is the Question :
Whether, 'tis nobler in the Mind, to fuffer
The Slings and Arrows of outragious Fortune,
Or to take Arms against a Sea of Troubles,
And by oppofing end them. To dye, to fleep
No more; and by a fleep, to fay we end
The Heart-ache, and the thoufand natural Shocks
That Flesh is Heir to; 'tis à Confummation
VOL. V.

Devoutly

Devoutly to be wifh'd. To die to Sleep-
To Sleep, perchance to Dream; ay, there's the rub
For in that fleep of Death, what Dreams may come,
When we have fhuffled off this mortal Coil,
Must give us paufe. There's the respect
That makes Calamity of fo long Life:

For who would bear the Whips and Scorns of Time,
The Oppreffors wrong, the poor Man's Contumely,
The pangs of defpis'd Love, the Laws delay,
The infolence of Office, and the fpurns
That patient merit of the Unworthy takes,
When he himself might his Quietus make
With a bare Bodkin? Who would Fardles bear
To grunt and fweat under a weary Life,
But that the dread of fomething after Death,
The undiscover'd Country, from whofe Born
No Traveller returns, puzzles the Will,
And makes us rather bear thofe 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 Refolution

Is ficklied o'er, with the pale caft of Thought;
And Enterprizes of great Pith and Moment,
With this regard their Currents turn away,

And lofe the name of Action. Soft you now, [Seeing Oph.
The fair Ophelia? Nymph, in thy Oraifons

Be all my Sins remembred.

Oph. Good my Lord,

How does your Honour for this many a Day?
Ham. I humbly thank you; well, well, well-
Oph. My Lord, I have remembrances of
That I have longed long to re-deliver.

I pray you now receive them.

Ham. No, no, I never gave you ought.

yours,

Oph. My honour'd Lord, I know right well you did,
And with them Words of fo fweet Breath compos'd,
As made the things more Rich: That perfume loft,
Take these again; for to the noble Mind

Rich Gifts wax poor, when Givers prove unkind.
There, my Lord.

Ham. Ha, ha! are you honeft?

Oph.

Oph. My Lord

Ham. Are you fair?

Oph. What means your Lordship?

Ham. That if you be honest and fair, your Honefty should admit no Difcourfe to your Beauty.

Oph. Could Beauty, my Lord, have better Commerce than with Honesty?

Ham. Ay truly; for the power of Beauty, will fooner transform Honefty from what it is, to a Bawd, than the force of Honefty can tranflate Beauty into his likenefs. This was fometimes a Paradox, but now the time gives it proof. L did love you once.

Oph. Indeed, my Lord, you made me believe fo.

I

Ham. You fhould not have believed me. For Virtue cannot fo inoculate our old Stock, but we shall relish of it. I loved you not.

Oph. I was the more deceived.

Ham. Get thee to a Nunnery. Why wouldst thou be a breeder of Sinners? I am my felf indifferent honeft, but yet I could accuse me of fuch things, that it were better my Mother had not born me. I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious, with more Offences at my beck, than I have thoughts to put them in Imagination, to give them fhape, or time to act them in. What fhould fuch Fellows as I do crawling between Heaven and Earth. We are arrant Knaves all, be lieve none of us Go thy ways to a Nunnery Where's your Father?

Oph. At home, my Lord.

Ham. Let the Doors be fhut upon him, that he may play the Fool no where but in's own House. Farewel.

Oph. O help him, you fweet Heav'ns.

Ham. If thou doft Marry, I'll give thee this Plague for thy Dowry. Be thou as chafte as Ice, as pure as Snow, thou fhalt not escape Calumny--- Get thee to a Nunnery, GofarewelOr if thou wilt needs marry, marry a fool; for wife Men know well enough, what Monfters you make of them----To a Nunnery go--and quickly too. Farewel. Oph. O heav'nly Powers! reftore him.

Ham. I have heard of your pratling too, well enough. God has given you one pace, and you make your felf another: You jig, you amble, and you lifp, and Nick-name

God's