But as we often fee against some storm,
A filence in the heav'ns, the rack stand ftill,
The bold winds fpeechless, and the orb below
As hufh as death: anon the dreadful thunder
Doth rend the region. So after Pyrrhus' pause,
A rowsed vengeance fets him new a-work,
And never did the Cyclops hammers fall
On Mars his armour, forg'd for proof eterne,
With less remorse than Pyrrhus' bleeding fword
Now falls on Priam.-

Out, out, thou ftrumpet-fortune! all you gods,
In general fynod take away
her power:

Break all the spokes and fellies from her wheel,
And bowl the round nave down the hill of heav'n,
As low as to the fiends.

Pol. This is too long.

Ham. It fhall to th' barber's with your beard.

Pr'ythee fay

on; he's for a jigg, or a tale of bawdry, or he fleeps. Say on, come to Hecuba.

1 Play. But who, oh who, had seen the mobled Queen ? Ham. The mobled Queen?

Pol. That's good; møbled Queen, is good.

1 Play. Run bare-foot up and down, threatning the flames With biffon rheum; a clout upon that head, Where late the diadem ftood, and for a robe About her lank and all o'er-teemed loyns, A blanket in th' alarm of fear caught up. Who this had seen, with tongue in venom fteep'd, 'Gainst fortune's state would treafon have pronounc'd: But if the gods themselves did fee her then, When the faw Pyrrhus make malicious fport In mincing with his fword her husband's limbs; The inftant burft of clamour that she made,

In the first folio edition, it is th' enobled Queen.

(Un

(Unless things mortal move them not at all)

Would have made melt the burning eyes of heav'n,
And paffion in the gods.

Pol. Look if he has not turn'd his colour, and has tears in's eyes. Pr'ythee no more.

Ham. 'Tis well, I'll have thee fpeak out the rest of this foon. Good my lord, will you fee the players well bestow'd. Do ye hear, let them be well us'd; for they are the abstract, and brief chronicles of the time. After your death, you were better have a bad epitaph, then their ill report while you liv'd.

Pol. My lord, I will use them according to their desert.

Ham. Gods bodikins man, much better. Ufe every man after his defert, and who fhall scape whipping? use them after your own honour and dignity. The less they deserve, the more merit is in your bounty. Take them in.

Pol. Come, Sirs.

Ham. Follow him, friends: Doft thou hear me, old friend, Gonzago?

Play. Ay, my lord.

[Exit Polonius.

we'll hear a play to-morrow. can you play the murther of

Ham. We'll ha't to-morrow night. You could for a need study a speech of some dozen or fixteen lines, which I would fet down, and infert in't? could ye not?

Play. Ay, my lord.

not.

Ham. Very well. Follow that lord, and look you mock him My good friends, I'll leave you 'till night, you are welcome to Elfinoor. Rof. Good

my

lord.

SCENE VIII.

Manet Hamlet.

Ham. Ay fo, God b' w' ye: now I am alone.

[Exeunt.

8 milch.

Ddd 2

Oh

Oh what a rogue and peasant slave am I?
Is it not monstrous that this player here,
But in a fiction, in a dream of paffion,
Could force his foul fo to his own conceit,
That from her working, all his visage warm'd:
Tears in his eyes, distraction in his aspect,
A broken voice, and his whole function fuiting
With forms, to his conceit? and all for nothing?
For Hecuba?

What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,

That he should weep for her? what would he do,
Had he the motive and the cue for paffion
That I have? he would drown the stage with tears,
And cleave the gen'ral ear with horrid fpeech,
Make mad the guilty, and appall the free,
Confound the ign'rant, and amaze indeed
The very faculty of eyes and ears.

1 Yet I fay nothing, no, not for a King,
Upon whose property and moft dear life
A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward?
Who calls me villain, breaks my pate a-cross,
Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face?
Tweaks me by th' nose, gives me the lye i̇'th' throat,
As deep as to the lungs? who does me this?
Yet I fhould take it - for it cannot be,

But I am pigeon-liver'd, and lack gall
To make oppreffion bitter; or ere this,
I should have fatted all the region kites

With this flave's offal. Bloody, bawdy villain!

Remorseless, treacherous, letcherous, kindless villain!

h Yet I,

A dull and muddy metled rafcal peak

Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause

And can fay nothing

i Ha! why fhould I take it?

Why

Why what an afs am I? this is most brave,
That I, the son of a dear father murthered,
Prompted to my revenge by heav'n and hell,
Muft, like a whore, unpack my heart with words,
And fall a curfing like a very drab-

A ftallion! k

fye upon't! foh! about my brain
I've heard, that guilty creatures, at a play,
Have by the very cunning of the scene
Been ftruck so to the foul, that presently
They have proclaim'd their malefactions.

For murther, though it have no tongue, will speak
With most miraculous organ. I'll obferve his looks,
Play fomething like the murther of my father,
Before mine uncle. I'll obferve his looks,
I'll tent him to the quick; if he but blench,
I know my course. The spirit that I have seen
May be the devil, and the devil hath power
T'affume a pleafing fhape, yea, and perhaps
Out of my weakness and my melancholy,
(As he is very potent with such spirits)
Abuses me to damn me. I'll have grounds
More relative than this: The play's the thing,
Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the King.
* Scullion.

ACT IIL SCENE I

The PALACE.

Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rofincroffe,
Guildenstern, and Lords.

A

KING.

ND can you by no drift of conference
Get from him why he puts on this 'confufion,
Grating fo harshly all his days of quiet,
With turbulent and dang'rous lunacy?

Rof. He does confefs he feels himself distracted;
But from what cause he will by no means speak.
Guil. Nor do we find him forward to be founded;
But with a crafty madness keeps aloof,

When we would bring him on to fome confeffion
Of his true state.

Queen. Did he receive you well?

Rof. Most like a gentleman.

Guil. But with much forcing of his difpofition. Rof. Niggard of question, but of our demands Moft free in his reply.

Queen. Did you assay him to any paftime?

Rof. Madam, it fo fell out, that certain players
We o'er-took on the way; of these we told him;
And there did feem in him a kind of joy
To hear of it: they are about the court,
And (as I think) they have already order
This night to play before him.

Pol.