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Therefore, our sometime sister, now our queen,
Th' imperial jointress of this warlike state,
Have we, as 't were, with a defeated joy,
With one auspicious, and one dropping eye,
With mirth in funeral, and with dirge in marriage,
In equal scale weighing delight and dole,
Taken to wife; nor have we herein barr'd
Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone
With this affair along: for all, our thanks. I
14 Now follows, that you know, young Fortinbras,
Holding a weak supposal of our worth,
Or thinking, by our late dear brother's death.
Our state to be disjoint and out of frame,
Colleagued with the dream of his advantage,
He hath not fail'd to pester us with message,
Importing the surrender of those lands
Lost by his father, with all bands of law,
To our most valiant brother. So much for him.
Now for ourself, and for this time of meeting. I
15 Thus much the business is: we have here writ

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To Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras, -
Who, impotent and, bed-rid, scarcely hears.
Of this his nephew's purpose, to suppress
His farther gait herein, in that the levies,
The lists, and full proportions, are all made
Out of his subject: and we here despatch
You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltimand,
For bearers of this greeting to old Norway;
Giving to you no farther personal power
To business with the king, more than the scope
Of these dilated articles allow.
Farewell; and let your haste commend your duty.


Cor. Vol. In that, and all things, will we show our duty.
King. We doubt it nothing: heartily farewell.
16 And now, Laertes, what's the news with you?
You told us of some suit; what is't, Laertes?
You cannot speak of reason to the Dane,

And lose your voice: what would'st thou beg, Laertes,
That shall not be my offer, not thy asking?
The head is not more native to the heart,
The hand more instrumental to the mouth,
Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father.
What would'st thou have, Laertes?


My dread lord,

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Your leave and favour to return to France;
From whence though willingly I came to Denmark,
To show my duty in your coronation,

Yet now, I must confess, that duty done,

My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France,
And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon,
King. Have you your father's leave? What says Polonius ?17
Pol. He hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow leave,
By laboursome petition; and, at last,
Upon his will I seal'd my hard consent:

I do beseech you, give him leave to go.

King. Take thy fair hour, Laertes; time be thine,
And thy best graces spend it at thy will.
But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son,

Ham. A little more than kin, and less than kind. [Aside.
King. How is it that the clouds still hang on you?
Ham. Not so, my lord; I am too much i' the sun.
Queen. Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off,
And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark.
Do not, for ever, with thy vailed lids.
Seek for thy noble father in the dust:

Thou know'st, 't is common; all that lives must die,
Passing through nature to eternity. I

Ham. Ay, Madam, it is common.

If it be,

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To give these mourning duties to your father:.


But, you must know, your father lost a father;
That father lost, lost his; and the survivor bound

In filial obligation, for some term,

To do obsequious sorrow: but to persevere
In obstinate condolement is a course
Of impious stubbornness; 't is unmanly grief:

Why seems it so particular with thee?

Ham. Seems, Madam! nay, it is; I know not seems.
"T is not alone my inky cloak, good mother,
Nor customary suits of solemn black,

Nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath,
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,
Nor the dejected haviour of the visage,
Together with all forms, moods, shows of grief,
That can denote me truly: these, indeed, seem,
For they are actions that a man might play;
But I have that within, which passeth show,
These but the trappings and the suits of woe. |

King. 'T is sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet, 19

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It shows a will most incorrect to heaven;
A heart unfortified, a mind impatient,
An understanding simple and unschool'd:
For what, we know, must be, and is as common
As any the most vulgar thing to sense,
Why should we, in our peevish opposition,
20 Take it to heart? | Fie! 't is a fault to heaven,
A fault against the dead, a fault to nature,
To reason most absurd, whose common theme
Is death of fathers, and who still hath cried,
From the first corse till he that died to-day,
"This must be so." We pray you, throw to earth
This unprevailing woe, and think of us
As of a father; for let the world take note,
You are the most immediate to our throne;
And, with no less nobility of love

Than that which dearest father bears his son
Do I impart toward you. For your intent
In going back to school in Wittenberg
It is most retrograde to our desire; |
21 And, we beseech you, bend you to remain
Here, in the cheer and comfort of our eye,
Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son.


Queen. Let not thy mother lose her prayers,
I pray thee, stay with us; go not to Wittenberg.
Ham. I shall in all my best obey you, Madam.
King. Why, 't is a loving and a fair reply:
Be as ourself in Denmark. Madam, come;
This gentle and unforc'd accord of Hamlet
Sits smiling to my heart; in grace whereof,
No jocund health that Denmark drinks to-day,
But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell,
And the king's rouse the heaven shall bruit again,
Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come away.


[Exeunt King, Queen, Lords, &c. POLONIUS, and LAERTES.

Ham. O! that this too, too solid flesh would melt,
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew;
Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd

His canon 'gainst self-slaughter. O God! O God!"
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable

Seem to me all the uses of this world!

Fie on 't! O fie! 't is an unweeded garden,
That grows to seed; things rank, and gross in nature,
Possess it merely. That it should come to this!


But two months dead! nay, not so much, not two:
So excellent a king; that was, to this,
Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother,
That he might not beteem the winds of heaven
Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth! |
Must I remember? why, she would hang on him,
As if increase of appetite had grown



By what it fed on; and yet, within a month,
Let me not think on 't. Frailty, thy name is woman!
A little month; or ere those shoes were old,
With which she follow'd my poor father's body,
Like Niobe, all tears; why she, even she,
(O God! a beast, that wants discourse of reason,
Would have mourn'd longer) - married with my uncle,
My father's brother, but no more like my father,
Than I to Hercules: within a month;
Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears
Had left the flushing in her galled eyes,
She married. O, most wicked speed, to post
With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!
It is not, nor it cannot come to, good;

But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue! |



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Hor. Hail to your lordship!

Ham. Horatio,

or I do forget myself.

Hor. The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever. Ham. Sir, my good friend; I'll change that name with you. And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio? Marcellus?

Mar. My good lord,

Ham. I am very glad to see you; good even, Sir.
But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg?
Hor. A truant disposition, good my lord.

Ham. I would not hear your enemy say so;
Nor shall you do mine ear that violence,
To make it truster of your own report
Against yourself: I know, you are no truant.
But what is your affair in Elsinore?
We'll teach you to drink deep, ere you depart. |



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I am glad to see you well:

Hor. My lord, I came to see your father's funeral. Ham. I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow student; I think, it was to see my mother's wedding.

Hor. Indeed, my lord, it follow'd hard upon.




Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio! the funeral bak'd meats
Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.
'Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven
Ere ever I had seen that day, Horatio!
My father, methinks, I see my father.


Hor. O where, my lord?

Ham. In my mind's eye, Horatio.

Hor. 1 saw him once: he was a goodly king.
Ham. He was a man, take him for all in all,'
I shall not look upon his like again.

Hor. My lord, I think I saw him yesternight.
Ham. Saw, who?

Hor. My lord, the king your father. 26 Ham.

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The king my father;
Hor. Season your admiration for a while
With an attent ear, till I may deliver,
Upon the witness of these gentlemen,
This marvel to you.


For God's love, let me hear.
Hor. Two nights together, had these gentlemen,
Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch,
'In the dead vast and middle of the night,
Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your father,
Arm'd at all points, evactly, cap-à-pié,
Appears before them, and with solemn march
Goes slow and stately by them: thrice he walk'd,
By their oppress'd and fear-surprised eyes,

Within his truncheon's length; whilst they, distill'd
Almost to jelly with the act of fear,


27 Stand dumb, and speak not to him. This to me In dreadful secrecy impart they did,


And I with them the third night kept the watch;
Where, as they had deliver'd, both in time,
Form of the thing, each word made true and good,
The apparition comes. I knew your father;
These hands are not more like.


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My lord, I did,
But answer made it none; yet once, methought,
It lifted up its head, and did address
Itself to motion, like as it would speak:

But, even then, the morning cock crew loud,
And at the sound it shrunk in haste away,
And vanish'd from our sight. |

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But where was this?.
Mar. My lord, upon the platform where we watch'd.
Ham. Did you not speak to it?



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