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scarce hold the laying in,) he will last you some eight year, or nine year: a tanner will last you nine year.

Ham. Why he more than another?

1 Clo. 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 scull now hath lain you i̇' th' earth three-and-twenty years.

Ham. Whose was it?

1 Clo. A whoreson mad fellow's it was; Whose do you think it was?

Ham. Nay, I know not.

1 Clo. A pestilence on him for a mad rogue! he poured a flagon of Rhenish on my head once. This same scull, sir, was Yorick's scull, the king's jester. Ham. This? [Takes the scull.

1 Clo. E'en that.

Ham. Alas, poor Yorick!--I knew him, Horatio; a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he hath borne 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 chap-fallen? Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour' she must come; make her laugh at that.-Pr'ythee, Horatio, tell me one thing.

Hor. What's that, my lord?

Ham. Dost thou think Alexander looked o'this fashion i' th' earth?

Hor. E'en so.

Ham. And smelt so? pah! [Throws down the scull. Hor. E'en so, my lord.

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Ham. To what base uses we may return, Horatio! But soft! but soft! aside; Here comes the king, Enter Priests, &c. in procession; the corpse of OPHELIA, LAERTES and Mourners following; King, Queen, their trains, &c.

The queen, the courtiers: Who is this they follow?
And with such maimed rites! This doth betoken,
The corse, they follow, did with desperate hand
Fordo its own life. 'Twas of some estate:
Couch we a while, and mark.

[Retiring with HORATIO.

That is Laertes,

Laer. What ceremony else?

A very noble youth: Mark.
Laer. What ceremony else?

1 Priest. Her obsequies have been as far enlarg'd
As we have warranty: Her death was doubtful;
And, but that great command o'ersways the order,
She should in ground unsanctified have lodg'd
Till the last trumpet; for charitable prayers,
Shards, flints, and pebbles, should be thrown on her,
Yet here she is allowed her virgin crants,1
Her maiden strewments, and the bringing home
Of bell and burial.


Laer. Must there no more be done?

1 Priest.
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 !

fordo, undo, destroy.

imperfect obsequies.

3 shards, broken pieces of earthenware.

4 crants, garlands.

Queen. Sweets to the sweet: Farewell!

[Scattering flowers. I hop'd thou should'st have been my Hamlet's wife; I thought, thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid, And not have strew'd thy grave.


O, treble woe Fall ten times treble on that cursed head, Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense Depriv'd thee of!-Hold off the earth a while, Till I have caught her once more in mine arms: [Leaps into the grave. Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead; Till of this flat a mountain you have made, To o'ertop old Pelion, or the skyish head Of blue Olympus.

Ham. [Advancing]. 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. Laer.

[Leaps into the grave. The devil take thy soul! [Grappling with him.

Ham. Thou pray'st not well.

I pr'ythee, take thy fingers from my throat;
For, though I am not splenetive and rash,
Yet have I in me something dangerous,
Which let thy wisdom fear: Hold off thy hand.
King. Pluck them asunder.


Hamlet, Hamlet!

All. Gentlemen,


Good my lord, be quiet. [The Attendants part them, and they come out of the grave.

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

Queen. O my son! what theme?

Ham. I lov'd Ophelia; forty thousand brothers
Could not, with all their quantity of love,
Make up my sum.-What wilt thou do for her?

King. O, he is mad, Laertes.

Queen. For love of God, forbear him.

Ham. 'Zounds, show me what thou❜lt do:

Woul't weep? woul't fight? woul't fast? woul't tear thyself?

Woul't drink up Esil?1 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 a while the fit will work on him;
Anon, as patient as the female dove,

When that her golden couplets are disclos'd,'
His silence will sit drooping.


Hear you, sir;

What is the reason that you use me thus?

I lov'd you ever: But it is no matter;
Let Hercules himself do what he may,

The cat will mew, and dog will have his day. [Exit.
King. I pray thee, good Horatio, wait upon him.—

[Exit HORATIO. Strengthen your patience in our last night's speech; [TO LAERTES.

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 shortly shall we see;
Till then, in patience our proceeding be.


Esil. The Yssel, the most northerly branch of the Rhine. 2 disclosed, hatched.

SCENE II.-A hall in the castle.


Ham. So much for this, sir: now shall you see the You do remember all the circumstance? [other;

Hor. Remember it, my lord!


Ham. 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. And prais'd be rashness for it,-Let us know,3 Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well, When our deep plots do pall: and that should teach There's a divinity that shapes our ends, [us, Rough-hew them how we will.


That is most certain.

Ham. Up from my cabin,
My sea-gown scarf'd about me, in the dark
Grop'd I to find out them: had my desire;
Finger'd their packet; and, in fine, withdrew
To mine own room again: making so bold,
My fears forgetting manners, to unseal
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,5
No not to stay the grinding of the axe,
My head should be struck off.



Is't possible?

Ham. Here's the commission; read it at more leisure: But wilt thou hear now how I did proceed?

mutines, seditious fellows.


And prais'd be rashness, for it lets us know,

2 bilboes, a species of fetter. Rashly,

&c., is the suggestion of TYRWHITT.

4 bugbears. ⚫ without any abatement, or intermission of time.

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