P. King. 'Faith, I must leave thee, love, and

shortly too;

My operant powers their functions leave to do:
And thou shalt live in this fair world behind,
Honour'd, beloved; and, haply, one as kind
For husband shalt thou-

P. Queen. O, confound the rest!

Such love must needs be treason in my breast:
In second husband let me be accurst!

None wed the second, but who kill'd the first.
Ham. That's wormwood.

P. Queen. The instancest, that second marriage

move,

Are base respects of thrift, but none of love;
A second time I kill my husband dead,

When second husband kisses me in bed.

P. King. I do believe, you think what now you speak:

But, what we do determine, oft we break.
Purpose is but the slave to memory;

Of violent birth, but poor validity:

Which now, like fruit unripe, sticks on the tree;
But fall, unshaken, when they mellow be.
Most necessary 'tis, that we forget

To pay ourselves what to ourselves is debt:
What to ourselves in passion we propose,
The passion ending, doth the purpose lose.
The violence of either grief or joy

Their own enactures with themselves destroy:
Where joy most revels, grief doth most lament;
Grief joys, joy grieves, on slender accident.
This world is not for aye g; nor 'tis not strange,
That even our loves should with our fortunes
change;

For 'tis a question left us yet to prove,

Whether love lead fortune or else fortune love.
The great man down, you mark his favourite flies;
The poor advanced makes friends of enemies.
And hitherto doth love on fortune tend:
For who not needs, shall never lack a friend;
And who in want a hollow friend doth try,
Directly seasons him his enemy.

But, orderly to end where I begum,-
Our wills, and fates, do so contrary run,
That our devices still are overthrown;

• Active. Determinations.

+ Motives.

. Ever.

Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own:
So think thou wilt no second husband wed;
But die thy thoughts, when thy first lord is dead.
P. Queen. Nor earth to give me food, nor hea-
ven light!

Sport and repose lock from me, day and light!
To desperation turn my trust and hope!
An anchor's cheer in prison be my scope!
Each opposite, that blanks the face of joy,
Meet what I would have well, and it destroy!
Both here, and hence, pursue me lasting strife,
If, once a widow, ever I be wile!
Ham. If she should break it now,

[To Oph. P. King. 'Tis deeply sworn. Sweet, leave me here a while;

My spirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile
The tedious day with sleep.

[Sleeps.

(Exit.

And never come mischance between us twain!

P. Queen. Sleep rock thy brain;

Ham. Madam, how like you this play?

Queen. The lady doth protest too much, methinks.. Ham. O, but she'll keep her word.

King. Have you heard the argument? Is there no offence in't?

Ham. No, no, they do but jest, poison in jest; no offence i' the world.

King. What do you call the play?

Ham. The Mouse trapt. Marry, how? Tropically. This play is the image of a murder done in Vienna: Gonzago is the duke's name; his wife, Baptista: you shall see anon; 'tis a knavish piece of work: but what of that? your majesty, and we that have free souls, it touches us not: let the gali'd jade wince, our withers are unwrung.

Enter LUCIANUS."

This is one Lucianus, nephew to the king. Oph. You are as good as a chorus, my lord. Ham. I could interpret between you and your love, if I could see the puppets dallying. Oph. You are keen, my lord, you are keen. Ham. It would cost you a groaning, to take off my edge.

* Anchoret's.

+

-the thing

In which he'll catch the conscience of the king. 1 This is a proverbial saying. Kk

VOL. V.

Oph. Still better, and worse.

Ham. So you mistake your husbands.-Begin, murderer ;-leave thy damnable faces, and begin. Conie ;

The croaking raven

Doth bellow for revenge.

Luc. Thoughts black, hands up, drugs fit, and time agreeing;

Confederate season, else no creature seeing;
Thou mixture rank, of midnight weeds collected,
With Hecate's ban thrice blasted, thrice infected,
Thy natural magic and dire property,
On wholesome life usurp immediately.

[Pours the Poison into the Sleeper's Ears. Ham. He poisons him i' the garden for his estate. His name's Gonzago: the story is extant, and written in very choice Italian; you shall see anon, how the murderer gets the love of Gonzago's wife. Oph. The king rises.

Ham. What! frighted with false fire?

Queen. How fares my lord?

Pol. Give o'er the play.

King, Give me some light:-Away!

Pol. Lights, lights, lights!

[Exeunt all but Hamlet and Horatio.

Ham. Why, let the strucken deer go weep,
The hart ungalled play:

For some must watch, while some must sleep;
Thus runs the world away.-

Would not this, Sir, and a forest of feathers + (if the rest of my fortunes turn Turk with me), with two Provencial roses on my razed shoes, get me a fellowship in a cry of players, Sir?

Hor. Half a share.

Ham. A whole one, I.

For thou dost know, O Damon, dear,
This realm dismantled was

Of Jove himself; and now reigns here
A very, very-peacock.

Hor. You might have rhymed.

Ham. O good Horatio, I'll take the ghost's word

for a thousand pound. Didst perceive?

Hor. Very well, my lord.

Ham. Upon the talk of the poisoning,-
Hor. I did very well note him.

• Curse.

For his head.

Slashed.

Change conditions.

Pack, company.

Ham. Ah, ha!-Come, some music; come, the recorders.

For if the king like not the comedy,

Why then, belike,-he likes it not, perdy.t.-
Enter ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN.

Come, some music.

Guil. Good my lord, vouchsafe me a word with you.

Ham. Sir, a whole history.

Guil. The king, Sir,

Ham. Ay, Sir, what of him?

Guil. Is, in his retirement, marvellous distemper'd.

Ham. With drink, Sir?

Guil. No, my lord, with choler.

Ham. Your wisdom should shew itself more richer, to signify this to the doctor; for, for me to put him to his purgation, would, perhaps, plunge him into more choler.

Guil. Good my lord, put your discourse into some frame, and start not so wildly from my affair. Ham. I am tame, Sir:-pronounce.

Guil. The queen, your mother, in most great af fliction of spirit, hath sent me to you.

Ham. You are welcome.

Guil. Nay, good my lord, this courtesy is not of the right breed. If it shall please you to make me a wholesome answer, I will do your mother's commandment: if not, your pardon, and my return, shall be the end of my business.

Ham. Sir, I cannot.

Guil. What, my lord?

Ham. Make you a wholesome answer; my wit's diseased: but, Sir, such answer as I can make, you 'shall command; or, rather, as you say, my mother: therefore no more, but to the matter: my mother, you say,--

Ros. Then thus she says; Your behaviour hath struck her into amazement and admiration.

Ham. O wonderful son, that can so astonish a mother!-But is there no sequel at the heels of this mother's admiration? Impart.

Ros. She desires to speak with you in her closet, ere you go to bed.

Ham. We shall obey, were she ten times our mother. Have you any further trade

A kind of flute, + Par Dieu.

with us?

+ Business.

Ros. My lord, you once did love me.

Ham. And do still, by these pickers and stealers.. Ros. Good my lord, what is your cause of dis temper? You do, surely, but bar the door upon your own liberty, if you deny your griefs to your friend.

Ham. Sir, I lack advancement.

Ros. How can that be, when you have the voice of the king himself for your succession in Denmark?.

Ham. Ay, Sir, but, While the grass grows,-the proverb is something musty.

Enter the PLAYERS, with Recorders.

O, the recorders :-Let me see one. To withdraw with you:-Why do you go about to recover the wind of me, as if you would drive me into a toil? Guil. O, my lord, if my duty be too bold, my love is too unmannerly.

Ham. I do not well understand that. Will you play upon this pipe?

Guil. My lord, I cannot.

Ham. I pray you.

Guil. Believe me, I cannot.

Ham. I do beseech you.

Guil. I know no touch of it, my lord.

Ham. 'Tis as easy as lying: govern these ven tagest, with your fingers and thumb, give it breath with your mouth, and it will discourse most eloquent music. Look you, these are the stops.

Guil. But these cannot I command to any utterance of harmony; i have not the skill.

Ham. Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me. You would play upon me; you would seem to know my stops: you would pluck out the heart of my mystery; you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass: and there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ; yet cannot you make it speak. 'Sblood, do you think, I am easier to be play'd on than a pipe? Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me.

Enter POLONIUS.

God bless you, Sir?

Pol. My lord, the queen would speak with you, and presently.

* Hands.

+ Holes.