Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew!
Or that the Everlasting had not fixd
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 ont! Oh fie! tis 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 ont-Frailty, thy name is woman!
A little month, or ere those shoes were old
With which she followed my poor fathers body
Like Niobe, all tears.-Why she, even she-
O God! A beast that wants discourse of reason
Would have mournd longer, married with mine uncle,
My fathers 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.
Enter Horatio, Marcellus and Barnardo.
HORATIO.
Hail to your lordship!
HAMLET.
I am glad to see you well:
Horatio, or I do forget myself.
HORATIO.
The same, my lord,
And your poor servant ever.
HAMLET.
Sir, my good friend;
Ill change that name with you:
And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio?-
Marcellus?
MARCELLUS.
My good lord.
HAMLET.
I am very glad to see you.-Good even, sir.-
But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg?
HORATIO.
A truant disposition, good my lord.
HAMLET.
I would not hear your enemy say so;
Nor shall you do my 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?
Well teach you to drink deep ere you depart.
HORATIO.
My lord, I came to see your fathers funeral.
HAMLET.
I prithee do not mock me, fellow-student.
I think it was to see my mothers wedding.
HORATIO.
Indeed, my lord, it followd hard upon.
HAMLET.
Thrift, thrift, Horatio! The funeral bakd meats
Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.
Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven
Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio.
My father, methinks I see my father.
HORATIO.
Where, my lord?
HAMLET.
In my minds eye, Horatio.
HORATIO.
I saw him once; he was a goodly king.
HAMLET.
He was a man, take him for all in all,
I shall not look upon his like again.
HORATIO.
My lord, I think I saw him yesternight.
HAMLET.
Saw? Who?
HORATIO.
My lord, the King your father.
HAMLET.
The King my father!
HORATIO.
Season your admiration for a while
With an attent ear, till I may deliver
Upon the witness of these gentlemen
This marvel to you.
HAMLET.
For Gods love let me hear.
HORATIO.
Two nights together had these gentlemen,
Marcellus and Barnardo, on their watch
In the dead waste and middle of the night,
Been thus encounterd. A figure like your father,
Armed at point exactly, cap-à-pie,
Appears before them, and with solemn march
Goes slow and stately by them: thrice he walkd
By their oppressd and fear-surprised eyes,
Within his truncheons length; whilst they, distilld
Almost to jelly with the act of fear,
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 deliverd, 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.
HAMLET.
But where was this?
MARCELLUS.
My lord, upon the platform where we watch.
HAMLET.
Did you not speak to it?
HORATIO.
My lord, I did;
But answer made it none: yet once methought
It lifted up it 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 vanishd from our sight.
HAMLET.
Tis very strange.
HORATIO.
As I do live, my honourd lord, tis true;
And we did think it writ down in our duty
To let you know of it.
HAMLET.
Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles me.
Hold you the watch tonight?
Mar. and BARNARDO.
We do, my lord.
HAMLET.
Armd, say you?
Both.
Armd, my lord.
HAMLET.
From top to toe?
BOTH.
My lord, from head to foot.
HAMLET.
Then saw you not his face?
HORATIO.
O yes, my lord, he wore his beaver up.
HAMLET.
What, lookd he frowningly?
HORATIO.
A countenance more in sorrow than in anger.
HAMLET.
Pale, or red?
HORATIO.
Nay, very pale.
HAMLET.
And fixd his eyes upon you?
HORATIO.
Most constantly.
HAMLET.
I would I had been there.
HORATIO.
It would have much amazd you.
HAMLET.
Very like, very like. Stayd it long?
HORATIO.
While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred.
MARCELLUS and BARNARDO.
Longer, longer.
HORATIO.
Not when I sawt.
HAMLET.
His beard was grizzled, no?
HORATIO.
It was, as I have seen it in his life,
A sable silverd.
HAMLET.
I will watch tonight;
Perchance twill walk again.
HORATIO.
I warrant you it will.
HAMLET.
If it assume my noble fathers person,
Ill speak to it, though hell itself should gape
And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all,
If you have hitherto conceald this sight,
Let it be tenable in your silence still;
And whatsoever else shall hap tonight,
Give it an understanding, but no tongue.
I will requite your loves. So, fare ye well.
Upon the platform twixt eleven and twelve,
Ill visit you.
ALL.
Our duty to your honour.
HAMLET.
Your loves, as mine to you: farewell.
[Exeunt Horatio, Marcellus and Barnardo.]
My fathers spirit in arms! All is not well;
I doubt some foul play: would the night were come!
Till then sit still, my soul: foul deeds will rise,
Though all the earth oerwhelm them, to mens eyes.
[Exit.]
Scene III
A room in Poloniuss house.
Enter Laertes and Ophelia.
LAERTES.
My necessaries are embarkd. Farewell.
And, sister, as the winds give benefit
And convoy is assistant, do not sleep,
But let me hear from you.
OPHELIA.
Do you doubt that?
LAERTES.
For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favour,
Hold it a fashion and a toy in blood;
A violet in the youth of primy nature,
Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting;
The perfume and suppliance of a minute;
No more.
OPHELIA.
No more but so?
LAERTES.
Think it no more.
For nature crescent does not grow alone
In thews and bulk; but as this temple waxes,
The inward service of the mind and soul
Grows wide withal. Perhaps he loves you now,
And now no soil nor cautel doth besmirch
The virtue of his will; but you must fear,
His greatness weighd, his will is not his own;
For he himself is subject to his birth:
He may not, as unvalud persons do,
Carve for himself; for on his choice depends
The sanctity and health of this whole state;
And therefore must his choice be circumscribd
Unto the voice and yielding of that body
Whereof he is the head. Then if he says he loves you,
It fits your wisdom so far to believe it
As he in his particular act and place
May give his saying deed; which is no further
Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal.
Then weigh what loss your honour may sustain
If with too credent ear you list his songs,
Or lose your heart, or your chaste treasure open
To his unmasterd importunity.
Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister;
And keep you in the rear of your affection,
Out of the shot and danger of desire.
The chariest maid is prodigal enough
If she unmask her beauty to the moon.
Virtue itself scopes not calumnious strokes:
The canker galls the infants of the spring
Too oft before their buttons be disclosd,
And in the morn and liquid dew of youth
Contagious blastments are most imminent.
Be wary then, best safety lies in fear.
Youth to itself rebels, though none else near.
OPHELIA.
I shall theffect of this good lesson keep
As watchman to my heart. But good my brother,
Do not as some ungracious pastors do,
Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven;
Whilst like a puffd and reckless libertine
Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads,
And recks not his own rede.
LAERTES.
O, fear me not.
I stay too long. But here my father comes.
Enter Polonius.
A double blessing is a double grace;
Occasion smiles upon a second leave.
POLONIUS.
Yet here, Laertes? Aboard, aboard, for shame.
The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail,
And you are stayd for. There, my blessing with you.
[Laying his hand on Laertess head.]
And these few precepts in thy memory
Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue,
Nor any unproportiond thought his act.
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.
Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them unto thy soul with hoops of steel;
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
Of each new-hatchd, unfledgd comrade. Beware
Of entrance to a quarrel; but being in,
Beart that thopposed may beware of thee.
Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice:
Take each mans censure, but reserve thy judgment.
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
But not expressd in fancy; rich, not gaudy:
For the apparel oft proclaims the man;
And they in France of the best rank and station
Are of a most select and generous chief in that.
Neither a borrower nor a lender be:
For loan oft loses both itself and friend;
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
This above all: to thine own self be true;
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
Farewell: my blessing season this in thee.
LAERTES.
Most humbly do I take my leave, my lord.
POLONIUS.
The time invites you; go, your servants tend.
LAERTES.
Farewell, Ophelia, and remember well
What I have said to you.
OPHELIA.
Tis in my memory lockd,
And you yourself shall keep the key of it.
LAERTES.
Farewell.
[Exit.]
POLONIUS.
What ist, Ophelia, he hath said to you?
OPHELIA.
So please you, something touching the Lord Hamlet.
POLONIUS.
Marry, well bethought:
Tis told me he hath very oft of late
Given private time to you; and you yourself
Have of your audience been most free and bounteous.
If it be so, as so tis put on me,
And that in way of caution, I must tell you
You do not understand yourself so clearly
As it behoves my daughter and your honour.
What is between you? Give me up the truth.
OPHELIA.
He hath, my lord, of late made many tenders
Of his affection to me.
POLONIUS.
Affection! Pooh! You speak like a green girl,
Unsifted in such perilous circumstance.
Do you believe his tenders, as you call them?
OPHELIA.
I do not know, my lord, what I should think.
POLONIUS.
Marry, Ill teach you; think yourself a baby;
That you have taen these tenders for true pay,
Which are not sterling. Tender yourself more dearly;
Or, not to crack the wind of the poor phrase,
Roaming it thus, youll tender me a fool.
OPHELIA.
My lord, he hath importund me with love
In honourable fashion.
POLONIUS.
Ay, fashion you may call it; go to, go to.
OPHELIA.
And hath given countenance to his speech, my lord,
With almost all the holy vows of heaven.
POLONIUS.
Ay, springes to catch woodcocks. I do know,
When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul
Lends the tongue vows: these blazes, daughter,
Giving more light than heat, extinct in both,
Even in their promise, as it is a-making,
You must not take for fire. From this time
Be something scanter of your maiden presence;
Set your entreatments at a higher rate
Than a command to parley. For Lord Hamlet,
Believe so much in him that he is young;
And with a larger tether may he walk
Than may be given you. In few, Ophelia,
Do not believe his vows; for they are brokers,
Not of that dye which their investments show,
But mere implorators of unholy suits,
Breathing like sanctified and pious bawds,
The better to beguile. This is for all.
I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth
Have you so slander any moment leisure
As to give words or talk with the Lord Hamlet.
Look tot, I charge you; come your ways.
OPHELIA.
I shall obey, my lord.
[Exeunt.]
Scene IV
The platform.
Enter Hamlet, Horatio and Marcellus.
HAMLET.
The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold.
HORATIO.
It is a nipping and an eager air.
HAMLET.
What hour now?
HORATIO.
I think it lacks of twelve.
MARCELLUS.
No, it is struck.
HORATIO.
Indeed? I heard it not. It then draws near the season
Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk.
[A flourish of trumpets, and ordnance shot off within.]
What does this mean, my lord?
HAMLET.
The King doth wake tonight and takes his rouse,
Keeps wassail, and the swaggering upspring reels;
And as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down,
The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out
The triumph of his pledge.
HORATIO.
Is it a custom?
HAMLET.
Ay marry ist;
And to my mind, though I am native here,
And to the manner born, it is a custom
More honourd in the breach than the observance.
This heavy-headed revel east and west
Makes us traducd and taxd of other nations:
They clepe us drunkards, and with swinish phrase
Soil our addition; and indeed it takes
From our achievements, though performd at height,
The pith and marrow of our attribute.
So oft it chances in particular men
That for some vicious mole of nature in them,
As in their birth, wherein they are not guilty,
Since nature cannot choose his origin,
By their oergrowth of some complexion,
Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason;
Or by some habit, that too much oerleavens
The form of plausive manners;-that these men,
Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect,
Being Natures livery or Fortunes star,-
His virtues else, be they as pure as grace,
As infinite as man may undergo,
Shall in the general censure take corruption
From that particular fault. The dram of evil
Doth all the noble substance often doubt
To his own scandal.
HORATIO.
Look, my lord, it comes!
Enter Ghost.
HAMLET.
Angels and ministers of grace defend us!
Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damnd,
Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell,
Be thy intents wicked or charitable,
Thou comst in such a questionable shape
That I will speak to thee. Ill call thee Hamlet,
King, father, royal Dane. O, answer me!
Let me not burst in ignorance; but tell
Why thy canonizd bones, hearsed in death,
Have burst their cerements; why the sepulchre,
Wherein we saw thee quietly inurnd,
Hath opd his ponderous and marble jaws
To cast thee up again! What may this mean,
That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel,
Revisitst thus the glimpses of the moon,
Making night hideous, and we fools of nature
So horridly to shake our disposition
With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?
Say, why is this? Wherefore? What should we do?
[Ghost beckons Hamlet.]
HORATIO.
It beckons you to go away with it,
As if it some impartment did desire
To you alone.
MARCELLUS.
Look with what courteous action
It waves you to a more removed ground.
But do not go with it.
HORATIO.
No, by no means.
HAMLET.
It will not speak; then will I follow it.
HORATIO.
Do not, my lord.
HAMLET.
Why, what should be the fear?
I do not set my life at a pins fee;
And for my soul, what can it do to that,
Being a thing immortal as itself?
It waves me forth again. Ill follow it.
HORATIO.
What if it tempt you toward the flood, my lord,
Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff
That beetles oer 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,
Without more motive, into every brain
That looks so many fadoms to the sea
And hears it roar beneath.
HAMLET.
It waves me still.
Go on, Ill follow thee.