To cast thee up again! What may this mean,
That thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel,s
Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon,
Making night hideous; and we fools of nature,
So horridly to shake our disposition 9

With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?
Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we do?)
Hor. It beckons you to go away with it,

As if it some impartment did desire

To you alone.

Mar. Look, with what courteous action

It waves you to a more removed ground:
But do not go with it.

Hor. No, by no means.

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

Hor. Do not, my lord.

Ham. Why, what should be the fear?

I do not set my life at a pin's fee : 1
And, for my soul, what can it do to that,
Being a thing immortal as itself?

It waves me forth again ;-I'll follow it.

Hor. What, if it tempt you toward the flood, my lord, Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff,

That beetles o'er his base into the sea?

And there assume some other horrible form,

Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason,
And draw you into madness? think of it:

The very place puts toys of desperation, 2
Without more motive, into every brain,
That looks so many fathoms to the sea,
And hears it roar beneath.

Ham. It waves me still :

Go on, I'll follow thee.

Mar. You shall not go, my lord.

Ham. Hold off your hands.
Hor. Be rul'd, you shall not go
Ham. My fate cries out,

And makes each petty artery in this body

As hardy as the Némean lion's nerve. [Ghost beckons.

[8] It is probable that Shakspeare introduced his ghost in armour, that it might appear more solemn by such a discrimination from the other characters; though it was really the custom of the Danish kings to be buried in that manner. Vide Olaus Wormius, cap. 7. STEEVENS.

Still am I call'd ;-unhand me, gentlemen, ;

[Breaking from them. By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me :3I say, away-Go on, I'll follow thee.

[Exeunt Ghost and HAMLET. Hor. He waxes desperate with imagination. Mar. Let's follow; 'tis not fit thus to obey him. Hor. Have after :-To what issue will this come? Mar. Something is rotten in the state of Denmark. Hor. Heaven will direct it.

Mar. Nay, let's follow him.

SCENE V.

+

[Exeunt.

Amore remote part of the Platform. Re-enter Ghost and HAMLET.

Ham. Whither wilt thou lead me ? Speak, I'll go no further.

Ghost. Mark me.

Ham. I will.

Ghost. My hour is almost come,

When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames

Must render up myself.

Ham. Alas, poor ghost!

Ghost. Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing

To what I shall unfold.

Ham. Speak, I am bound to hear.

Ghost. So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear. Ham. What?

Ghost. I am thy father's spirit;

Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night;

And, for the day, confin'd to fast 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 prison-house,

I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word

Would harrow up thy soul; freeze thy young blood; Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres ; Thy knotted and combined locks to part,

Like quills upon the fretful porcupine:

But this eternal blazon must not be

To ears of flesh and blood :-List, list, O list
If thou didst ever thy dear father love,-
Ham. O heaven!

Ghost. Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder.

[3] To let among the old authors, signifies, to prevent, to hinder. STEE.

Ham. Murder?

Ghost. Murder most foul, as in the best it is; But this most foul, strange, and unnatural.

Ham. Haste me to know it; that I, with wings as swift 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 itself in ease on Lethe wharf,4

Would'st thou not stir in this.

Now, Hamlet, hear :

'Tis given out, that sleeping in mine orchard,

A serpent stung me: so the whole ear of Denmark
Is by a forged process of my death

Rankly abus'd: but know, thou noble youth,
The serpent that did sting thy father's life,
Now wears his crown.

Ham. O, my prophetic soul! my uncle!

Ghost. Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast,
With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts,
(O wicked wit, and gifts, that have the power
So to seduce!) won to his shameful lust

The will of my most seeming virtuous queen :
O, Hamlet, what a falling-off was there!
From me, whose 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, whose natural gifts were poor
To those of mine!

But virtue, as it never will be mov'd,

Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven;
So lust, though to a radiant angel link'd,
Will sate itself in a celestial bed,

And prey on garbage.

But, soft! methinks, I scent the morning air;
Brief let me be :-Sleeping within mine orchard,5
My custom always of the afternoon,

Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole,

[4] Shakspeare, apparently through ignorance, makes Roman Catholics of these pagan Danes; and here gives a description of purgatory; but yet mixes it with the Pagan fable of Lethe's wharf. Whether he did it to insinuate to the zealous Protestants of his time, that the Pagan and Popish purgatory stood both upon the same footing of credibility, or whether it was by the same kind of licentious inadvertence that Michael Angelo brought Charon's bark into his picture of the Last Judgment is not easy to decide. WARB. [5] Orchard for garden. So in Romeo and Juliet:

"The orchard walls are high, and hard to climb." See also Much Ado about Nothing, p. 27.

STEEVENS.

With juice of cursed hebenon in a vial,6
And in the porches of mine ears did pour
The leperous distilment; whose effect
Holds such an enmity with blood of man,
That, swift as quicksilver, it courses through
The natural gates and alleys of the body;
And, with a sudden vigour, it doth posset
And curd, like eager droppings into milk,
The thin and wholesome blood: so did it mine;
And a most instant tetter bark'd about,

Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust,
All my smooth body.

Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand,
Of life, of crown, of queen, at once despatch'd:
Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin,
Unhousel'd, disappointed, unanel'd:"
No reckoning made, but sent to my account
With all my imperfections on my head:
O, horrible! O, horrible! most horrible !8
If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not;
Let not the royal bed of Denmark be
A couch for luxury and damned incest.
But, howsoever thou pursu'st this act,

9

Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive
Against thy mother aught; leave her to heaven,
And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge,
To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once!
The glow-worm shows the matin to be near,
And 'gins to pale his uneffectual fire.

Adieu, adieu, adieu! remember me.

[Exit.

Ham. O all you host of heaven! O earth! What else? And shall I couple hell?-O fye !-Hold, hold, my heart,

[6] The word here used was more probably designed by a metathesis, either of the poet or transcriber, for henebon, that is, henbane; of which the most common kind (hyoscyamus niger) is certainly narcotic, and perhaps, if taken in a considerable quantity, might prove poisonous. Galen calls it cold in the third degree; by which in this, as well as opium, he seems not to mean an actual coldness, but the power it has of benumbing the faculties.

GREY.

[7] Unhousel'd, is without having received the sacrament. Disappointed, Dr. Johnson observes, is the same as unappointed, and may be properly ex. plained unprepared. Unanel'd is without extreme unction." STEEVÉNS.

[8] It was ingeniously hinted to me by a very learned lady, that this line seems to belong to Hamlet, in whose mouth it is a proper and natural exclamation; and who, according to the practice of the stage, may be supposed to interrupt so long a speeeh. JOHNSON.

91 For lewdness. STEEVENS.

4 Fire that is no longer seen when the light of morning approaches.

STEEVENS,

And you, my sinews, grow not instant old,
But bear me stiffly up!-Remember thee?
Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat
In this distracted globe. Remember thee?
Yea, from the table of my memory

I'll wipe away all trivial fond records,
All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past,
That youth and observation copied there;
And thy commandment all alone shall live
Within the book and volume of my brain,
Unmix'd with baser matter: yes, by heaven.
O most pernicious woman!

O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain !

My tables,-meet it is, I set it down,

That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain;

At least, I am sure, it may be so in Denmark: [Writing. So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word;

It is, Adieu, adieu! remember me..

I have sworn't.

Hor. [within.] My lord, my lord,-
Mar. [within.] Lord Hamlet,-
Hor. [within.] Heaven secure him!
Ham. So be it!

Mar. [within.] Illo, ho, ho, my lord!

Ham. Hillo, ho, ho, boy! Come, bird, come. *

Enter HORATIO and MARCELLUS.

Mar. How is't, my noble lord?

Hor. What news, my lord?

Ham. O, wonderful !

Hor. Good my lord, tell it.
Ham. No;

You will reveal it.

Hor. Not I, my lord, by heaven.

Mar. Nor my lord.

Ham. How say you then; would heart of man once think it?

But you'll be secret,

Hor. Mar. Ay, by heaven, my lord.

Ham. There's ne'er a villain, dwelling in all Denmark, But he's an arrant knave.

Hor. There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the

grave,

[1] In this head, confused with thought.

STEEVENS.

[2] This is the call which falconers use to their hawk in the air when they would have him come down to them. HANMER.