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Were thicker than itself with brother's blood?
And what's in prayer, but this two-fold force,
Or pardon'd being down? then I'll look up;
- But oh, what form of prayer Can ferve my turn? Forgive me my foul murder !That cannot be, fince I am ftill poffeft
Of those effects for which I did the murder,
My Crown, mine own Ambition, and my Queen.
All may be well.
[The King retires and kneels,
Ham. Now might I do it pat, now he is praying, And now I'll do't-and fo he goes to heav'n. And fo am I reveng'd? that would be seann'd; A villain kills my father, and for that
I, his fole fon, do this fame villain fend
To heav'n-O, this is hire and falary, not revenge.
With all his crimes broad blown, as flufh as May;
Up, fword, and know thou a more horrid bent; (23)
Then trip him, that his heels may kick at heav'n;
The King rifes, and comes forward.
King. My words fly up, my thoughts remain below; Words, without thoughts, never to heaven go. [Exit.
SCENE changes to the Queen's Apartment.
Enter Queen and Polonius.
Ewill come ftraight; look, you lay home to him; Tell him, his pranks have been too broad to. bear with;
And that your Grace hath fcreen'd, and stood between Much heat and him. I'll filence me e'en here;
Pray you, be round with him.
(23) Up, Sword, and know thou a more borrid Time.] This is a fophifticated Reading, warranted by none of the Copies of any Au thority. Mr. Pope fays, I read conjecturally;
a more borrid Bent.
I do fo; and why? the two oldest Quarto's, as well as the two elder Folio's, read; a more horrid Hent. But, as there is no fuch English Subftantive, it feems very natural to conclude, that, with the Change of a fingle Letter, our Author's genuine Word was, Bent; i, e. Drift, Scope, Inclination, Purpose, &c.
Ham. [within.] Mother, Mother, Mother-
Withdraw, I hear him coming.
[Polonius hides himself behind the Arras.
Ham. Now, mother, what's the matter?
Ham. What's the matter now?
Ham. No, by the rood, not fo;
You are the Queen, your husband's brother's wife,
You go not, till I fet you up a glass
Where you may fee the inmoft part of you.
Queen. What wilt thou do? thou wilt not murder me? Help, ho.
Pol. What ho, help.
Ham. How now, a rat? dead for a ducat, dead.
Pol. Oh, I am flain.
[Bebind the Arras."
[Hamlet kills Polonius.
Queen. Oh me, what haft thou done?
Ham. Nay, I know not: is it the King?
Queen. Oh, what a rash and bloody deed is this! Ham. A bloody deed; almost as bad, good mother, As kill a King, and marry with his brother. Queen. As kill a King?
Ham. Ay, lady, 'twas my word.
Thou wretched, rafh, intruding fool, farewel,
I took thee for thy, betters; take thy fortune; Thou find'ft, to be too bufy, is fome danger. 5
Leave wringing of your hands; peace, fit you down, And let me wring your heart, for fo I fhall,
If it be made of penetrable stuff:
If damned cuftom have not braz❜d it fo,
Queen. What have I done, that thou dar'ft wag thy tongue
In noise fo rude against me?
Ham. Such an act,
That blurs the grace and blush of modesty ;
Queen. Ay me! what act,
That roars fo loud, and thunders in the index?
To give the world affurance of a man.
This was your husband,-Look you now, what follows;;
Blafting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes?
Would step from this to this? Senfe, fure, you have, (24)
Nor fenfe to ecftacy was ne'er fo thrall'd,
To serve in fuch a diff'rence.- -What devil was't,
O fhame! where is thy blush? rebellious hell,
And melt in her own fire. Proclaim no fhame,
And Reafon panders Will.
Queen. O Hamlet, speak no more.
Thou turn'ft mine eyes into
my very foul,
And there I fee fuch black and grained spots,
As will not leave their tin&t.
Ham. Nay, but to live
In the rank fweat of an incestuous bed,
Stew'd in corruption, honying and making love
Queen. Oh, fpeak no more;
Thefe words like daggers enter in mine ears.
Ham. A murderer, and a villain!
A flave, that is not twentieth part the tythe
(24) Senfe, fure, you have, &c.] Mr. Pope has left out the Quantity of about eight Verfes here, which I have taken care to replace. They are not, indeed, to be found in the two elder Folio's, but they carry the Style, Expreffion, and Caft of Thought, peculiar to our Author; and that they were not an Interpolation from another Hand needs no better Proof, than that they are in all the oldeft Quarto's