| ACT II. | |
| Scene II. A room in the Castle. | |
| [Enter King, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and Attendants.] |
| King. | |
| Welcome, dear Rosencrantz and Guildenstern! |
| Moreover that we much did long to see you, |
| The need we have to use you did provoke |
| Our hasty sending. Something have you heard |
| Of Hamlet's transformation; so I call it, |
| Since nor the exterior nor the inward man |
| Resembles that it was. What it should be, |
| More than his father's death, that thus hath put him |
| So much from the understanding of himself, |
| I cannot dream of: I entreat you both |
| That, being of so young days brought up with him, |
| And since so neighbour'd to his youth and humour, |
| That you vouchsafe your rest here in our court |
| Some little time: so by your companies |
| To draw him on to pleasures, and to gather, |
| So much as from occasion you may glean, |
| Whether aught, to us unknown, afflicts him thus, |
| That, open'd, lies within our remedy. |
| Queen. | |
| Good gentlemen, he hath much talk'd of you, |
| And sure I am two men there are not living |
| To whom he more adheres. If it will please you |
| To show us so much gentry and good-will |
| As to expend your time with us awhile, |
| For the supply and profit of our hope, |
| Your visitation shall receive such thanks |
| As fits a king's remembrance. |
| Ros. | |
| Both your majesties |
| Might, by the sovereign power you have of us, |
| Put your dread pleasures more into command |
| Than to entreaty. |
| Guil. | |
| We both obey, |
| And here give up ourselves, in the full bent, |
| To lay our service freely at your feet, |
| To be commanded. |
| King. | |
| Thanks, Rosencrantz and gentle Guildenstern. |
| Queen. | |
| Thanks, Guildenstern and gentle Rosencrantz: |
| And I beseech you instantly to visit |
| My too-much-changed son.--Go, some of you, |
| And bring these gentlemen where Hamlet is. |
| Guil. | |
| Heavens make our presence and our practices |
| Pleasant and helpful to him! |
| Queen. | |
| Ay, amen! |
| [Exeunt Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and some Attendants]. |
| [Enter Polonius.] |
| Pol. | |
| Th' ambassadors from Norway, my good lord, |
| Are joyfully return'd. |
| King. | |
| Thou still hast been the father of good news. |
| Pol. | |
| Have I, my lord? Assure you, my good liege, |
| I hold my duty, as I hold my soul, |
| Both to my God and to my gracious king: |
| And I do think,--or else this brain of mine |
| Hunts not the trail of policy so sure |
| As it hath us'd to do,--that I have found |
| The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy. |
| King. | |
| O, speak of that; that do I long to hear. |
| Pol. | |
| Give first admittance to the ambassadors; |
| My news shall be the fruit to that great feast. |
| King. | |
| Thyself do grace to them, and bring them in. |
| [Exit Polonius.] |
| He tells me, my sweet queen, he hath found |
| The head and source of all your son's distemper. |
| Queen. | |
| I doubt it is no other but the main,-- |
| His father's death and our o'erhasty marriage. |
| King. | |
| Well, we shall sift him. |
| [Enter Polonius, with Voltimand and Cornelius.] |
| Welcome, my good friends! |
| Say, Voltimand, what from our brother Norway? |
| Volt. | |
| Most fair return of greetings and desires. |
| Upon our first, he sent out to suppress |
| His nephew's levies; which to him appear'd |
| To be a preparation 'gainst the Polack; |
| But, better look'd into, he truly found |
| It was against your highness; whereat griev'd,-- |
| That so his sickness, age, and impotence |
| Was falsely borne in hand,--sends out arrests |
| On Fortinbras; which he, in brief, obeys; |
| Receives rebuke from Norway; and, in fine, |
| Makes vow before his uncle never more |
| To give th' assay of arms against your majesty. |
| Whereon old Norway, overcome with joy, |
| Gives him three thousand crowns in annual fee; |
| And his commission to employ those soldiers, |
| So levied as before, against the Polack: |
| With an entreaty, herein further shown, |
| [Gives a paper.] |
| That it might please you to give quiet pass |
| Through your dominions for this enterprise, |
| On such regards of safety and allowance |
| As therein are set down. |
| King. | |
| It likes us well; |
| And at our more consider'd time we'll read, |
| Answer, and think upon this business. |
| Meantime we thank you for your well-took labour: |
| Go to your rest; at night we'll feast together: |
| Most welcome home! |
| [Exeunt Voltimand and Cornelius.] |
| Pol. | |
| This business is well ended.-- |
| My liege, and madam,--to expostulate |
| What majesty should be, what duty is, |
| Why day is day, night is night, and time is time. |
| Were nothing but to waste night, day, and time. |
| Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit, |
| And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, |
| I will be brief:--your noble son is mad: |
| Mad call I it; for to define true madness, |
| What is't but to be nothing else but mad? |
| But let that go. |
| Queen. | |
| More matter, with less art. |
| Pol. | |
| Madam, I swear I use no art at all. |
| That he is mad, 'tis true: 'tis true 'tis pity; |
| And pity 'tis 'tis true: a foolish figure; |
| But farewell it, for I will use no art. |
| Mad let us grant him then: and now remains |
| That we find out the cause of this effect; |
| Or rather say, the cause of this defect, |
| For this effect defective comes by cause: |
| Thus it remains, and the remainder thus. |
| Perpend. |
| I have a daughter,--have whilst she is mine,-- |
| Who, in her duty and obedience, mark, |
| Hath given me this: now gather, and surmise. |
| [Reads.] |
| 'To the celestial, and my soul's idol, the most beautified |
| Ophelia,'-- |
| That's an ill phrase, a vile phrase; 'beautified' is a vile |
| phrase: but you shall hear. Thus: |
| [Reads.] |
| 'In her excellent white bosom, these, &c.' |
| Queen. | |
| Came this from Hamlet to her? |
| Pol. | |
| Good madam, stay awhile; I will be faithful. |
| [Reads.] |
| 'Doubt thou the stars are fire; |
| Doubt that the sun doth move; |
| Doubt truth to be a liar; |
| But never doubt I love. |
| 'O dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers; I have not art to |
| reckon my groans: but that I love thee best, O most best, believe |
| it. Adieu. |
| 'Thine evermore, most dear lady, whilst this machine is to him, |
| HAMLET.' |
| This, in obedience, hath my daughter show'd me; |
| And more above, hath his solicitings, |
| As they fell out by time, by means, and place, |
| All given to mine ear. |
| King. | |
| But how hath she |
| Receiv'd his love? |
| Pol. | |
| What do you think of me? |
| King. | |
| As of a man faithful and honourable. |
| Pol. | |
| I would fain prove so. But what might you think, |
| When I had seen this hot love on the wing,-- |
| As I perceiv'd it, I must tell you that, |
| Before my daughter told me,-- what might you, |
| Or my dear majesty your queen here, think, |
| If I had play'd the desk or table-book, |
| Or given my heart a winking, mute and dumb; |
| Or look'd upon this love with idle sight;-- |
| What might you think? No, I went round to work, |
| And my young mistress thus I did bespeak: |
| 'Lord Hamlet is a prince, out of thy sphere; |
| This must not be:' and then I precepts gave her, |
| That she should lock herself from his resort, |
| Admit no messengers, receive no tokens. |
| Which done, she took the fruits of my advice; |
| And he, repulsed,--a short tale to make,-- |
| Fell into a sadness; then into a fast; |
| Thence to a watch; thence into a weakness; |
| Thence to a lightness; and, by this declension, |
| Into the madness wherein now he raves, |
| And all we wail for. |
| King. | |
| Do you think 'tis this? |
| Queen. | |
| It may be, very likely. |
| Pol. | |
| Hath there been such a time,--I'd fain know that-- |
| That I have positively said ''Tis so,' |
| When it prov'd otherwise? |
| King. | |
| Not that I know. |
| Pol. | |
| Take this from this, if this be otherwise: |
| [Points to his head and shoulder.] |
| If circumstances lead me, I will find |
| Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed |
| Within the centre. |
| King. | |
| How may we try it further? |
| Pol. | |
| You know sometimes he walks for hours together |
| Here in the lobby. |
| Queen. | |
| So he does indeed. |
| Pol. | |
| At such a time I'll loose my daughter to him: |
| Be you and I behind an arras then; |
| Mark the encounter: if he love her not, |
| And he not from his reason fall'n thereon |
| Let me be no assistant for a state, |
| But keep a farm and carters. |
| King. | |
| We will try it. |
| Queen. | |
| But look where sadly the poor wretch comes reading. |
| Pol. | |
| Away, I do beseech you, both away |
| I'll board him presently:--O, give me leave. |
| [Exeunt King, Queen, and Attendants.] |
| [Enter Hamlet, reading.] |
| How does my good Lord Hamlet? | |
| Ham. | |
| Well, God-a-mercy. |
| Pol. | |
| Do you know me, my lord? |
| Ham. | |
| Excellent well; you're a fishmonger. |
| Pol. | |
| Not I, my lord. |
| Ham. | |
| Then I would you were so honest a man. |
| Pol. | |
| Honest, my lord! |
| Ham. | |
| Ay, sir; to be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man |
| picked out of ten thousand. |
| Pol. | |
| That's very true, my lord. |
| Ham. | |
| For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a god-kissing |
| carrion,--Have you a daughter? |
| Pol. | |
| I have, my lord. |
| Ham. | |
| Let her not walk i' the sun: conception is a blessing, but not |
| as your daughter may conceive:--friend, look to't. |
| Pol. | |
| How say you by that?--[Aside.] Still harping on my daughter:--yet |
| he knew me not at first; he said I was a fishmonger: he is far |
| gone, far gone: and truly in my youth I suffered much extremity |
| for love; very near this. I'll speak to him again.--What do you |
| read, my lord? |
| Ham. | |
| Words, words, words. |
| Pol. | |
| What is the matter, my lord? |
| Ham. | |
| Between who? |
| Pol. | |
| I mean, the matter that you read, my lord. |
| Ham. | |
| Slanders, sir: for the satirical slave says here that old men |
| have grey beards; that their faces are wrinkled; their eyes |
| purging thick amber and plum-tree gum; and that they have a |
| plentiful lack of wit, together with most weak hams: all which, |
| sir, though I most powerfully and potently believe, yet I hold it |
| not honesty to have it thus set down; for you yourself, sir, |
| should be old as I am, if, like a crab, you could go backward. |
| Pol. | |
| [Aside.] Though this be madness, yet there is a method in't.-- |
| Will you walk out of the air, my lord? |
| Ham. | |
| Into my grave? |
| Pol. | |
| Indeed, that is out o' the air. [Aside.] How pregnant sometimes |
| his replies are! a happiness that often madness hits on, which |
| reason and sanity could not so prosperously be delivered of. I |
| will leave him and suddenly contrive the means of meeting between |
| him and my daughter.--My honourable lord, I will most humbly take |
| my leave of you. |
| Ham. | |
| You cannot, sir, take from me anything that I will more |
| willingly part withal,--except my life, except my life, except my |
| life. |
| Pol. | |
| Fare you well, my lord. |
| Ham. | |
| These tedious old fools! |
| [Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.] |
| Pol. | |
| You go to seek the Lord Hamlet; there he is. |
| Ros. | |
| [To Polonius.] God save you, sir! |
| [Exit Polonius.] |
| Guil. | |
| My honoured lord! |
| Ros. | |
| My most dear lord! |
| Ham. | |
| My excellent good friends! How dost thou, Guildenstern? Ah, |
| Rosencrantz! Good lads, how do ye both? |
| Ros. | |
| As the indifferent children of the earth. |
| Guil. | |
| Happy in that we are not over-happy; |
| On fortune's cap we are not the very button. |
| Ham. | |
| Nor the soles of her shoe? |
| Ros. | |
| Neither, my lord. |
| Ham. | |
| Then you live about her waist, or in the middle of her |
| favours? |
| Guil. | |
| Faith, her privates we. |
| Ham. | |
| In the secret parts of fortune? O, most true; she is a |
| strumpet. What's the news? |
| Ros. | |
| None, my lord, but that the world's grown honest. |
| Ham. | |
| Then is doomsday near; but your news is not true. Let me |
| question more in particular: what have you, my good friends, |
| deserved at the hands of fortune, that she sends you to prison |
| hither? |
| Guil. | |
| Prison, my lord! |
| Ham. | |
| Denmark's a prison. |
| Ros. | |
| Then is the world one. |
| Ham. | |
| A goodly one; in which there are many confines, wards, and |
| dungeons, Denmark being one o' the worst. |
| Ros. | |
| We think not so, my lord. |
| Ham. | |
| Why, then 'tis none to you; for there is nothing either good |
| or bad but thinking makes it so: to me it is a prison. |
| Ros. | |
| Why, then, your ambition makes it one; 'tis too narrow for your |
| mind. |
| Ham. | |
| O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell, and count myself a |
| king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams. |
| Guil. | |
| Which dreams, indeed, are ambition; for the very substance of |
| the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream. |
| Ham. | |
| A dream itself is but a shadow. |
| Ros. | |
| Truly, and I hold ambition of so airy and light a quality that |
| it is but a shadow's shadow. |
| Ham. | |
| Then are our beggars bodies, and our monarchs and outstretch'd |
| heroes the beggars' shadows. Shall we to the court? for, by my |
| fay, I cannot reason. |
| Ros. and Guild. | |
| We'll wait upon you. |
| Ham. | |
| No such matter: I will not sort you with the rest of my |
| servants; for, to speak to you like an honest man, I am most |
| dreadfully attended. But, in the beaten way of friendship, what |
| make you at Elsinore? |
| Ros. | |
| To visit you, my lord; no other occasion. |
| Ham. | |
| Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks; but I thank you: |
| and sure, dear friends, my thanks are too dear a halfpenny. Were |
| you not sent for? Is it your own inclining? Is it a free |
| visitation? Come, deal justly with me: come, come; nay, speak. |
| Guil. | |
| What should we say, my lord? |
| Ham. | |
| Why, anything--but to the purpose. You were sent for; and |
| there is a kind of confession in your looks, which your modesties |
| have not craft enough to colour: I know the good king and queen |
| have sent for you. |
| Ros. | |
| To what end, my lord? |
| Ham. | |
| That you must teach me. But let me conjure you, by the rights |
| of our fellowship, by the consonancy of our youth, by the |
| obligation of our ever-preserved love, and by what more dear a |
| better proposer could charge you withal, be even and direct with |
| me, whether you were sent for or no. |
| Ros. | |
| [To Guildenstern.] What say you? |
| Ham. | |
| [Aside.] Nay, then, I have an eye of you.--If you love me, hold |
| not off. |
| Guil. | |
| My lord, we were sent for. |
| Ham. | |
| I will tell you why; so shall my anticipation prevent your |
| discovery, and your secrecy to the king and queen moult no |
| feather. I have of late,--but wherefore I know not,--lost all my |
| mirth, forgone all custom of exercises; and indeed, it goes so |
| heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, |
| seems to me a sterile promontory; this most excellent canopy, the |
| air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical |
| roof fretted with golden fire,--why, it appears no other thing |
| to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. What a |
| piece of work is man! How noble in reason! how infinite in |
| faculties! in form and moving, how express and admirable! in |
| action how like an angel! in apprehension, how like a god! the |
| beauty of the world! the paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what |
| is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me; no, nor woman |
| neither, though by your smiling you seem to say so. |
| Ros. | |
| My lord, there was no such stuff in my thoughts. |
| Ham. | |
| Why did you laugh then, when I said 'Man delights not me'? |
| Ros. | |
| To think, my lord, if you delight not in man, what lenten |
| entertainment the players shall receive from you: we coted them |
| on the way; and hither are they coming to offer you service. |
| Ham. | |
| He that plays the king shall be welcome,--his majesty shall |
| have tribute of me; the adventurous knight shall use his foil and |
| target; the lover shall not sigh gratis; the humorous man shall |
| end his part in peace; the clown shall make those laugh whose |
| lungs are tickle o' the sere; and the lady shall say her mind |
| freely, or the blank verse shall halt for't. What players are |
| they? |
| Ros. | |
| Even those you were wont to take such delight in,--the |
| tragedians of the city. |
| Ham. | |
| How chances it they travel? their residence, both in |
| reputation and profit, was better both ways. |
| Ros. | |
| I think their inhibition comes by the means of the late |
| innovation. |
| Ham. | |
| Do they hold the same estimation they did when I was in the |
| city? Are they so followed? |
| Ros. | |
| No, indeed, are they not. |
| Ham. | |
| How comes it? do they grow rusty? |
| Ros. | |
| Nay, their endeavour keeps in the wonted pace: but there is, |
| sir, an aery of children, little eyases, that cry out on the top |
| of question, and are most tyrannically clapped for't: these are |
| now the fashion; and so berattle the common stages,--so they call |
| them,--that many wearing rapiers are afraid of goose-quills and |
| dare scarce come thither. |
| Ham. | |
| What, are they children? who maintains 'em? How are they |
| escoted? Will they pursue the quality no longer than they can |
| sing? will they not say afterwards, if they should grow |
| themselves to common players,--as it is most like, if their means |
| are no better,--their writers do them wrong to make them exclaim |
| against their own succession? |
| Ros. | |
| Faith, there has been much to do on both sides; and the nation |
| holds it no sin to tarre them to controversy: there was, for |
| awhile, no money bid for argument unless the poet and the player |
| went to cuffs in the question. |
| Ham. | |
| Is't possible? |
| Guil. | |
| O, there has been much throwing about of brains. |
| Ham. | |
| Do the boys carry it away? |
| Ros. | |
| Ay, that they do, my lord; Hercules and his load too. |
| Ham. | |
| It is not very strange; for my uncle is king of Denmark, and |
| those that would make mouths at him while my father lived, give |
| twenty, forty, fifty, a hundred ducats a-piece for his picture in |
| little. 'Sblood, there is something in this more than natural, if |
| philosophy could find it out. |
| [Flourish of trumpets within.] |
| Guil. | |
| There are the players. |
| Ham. | |
| Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinore. Your hands, come: the |
| appurtenance of welcome is fashion and ceremony: let me comply |
| with you in this garb; lest my extent to the players, which I |
| tell you must show fairly outward, should more appear like |
| entertainment than yours. You are welcome: but my uncle-father |
| and aunt-mother are deceived. |
| Guil. | |
| In what, my dear lord? |
| Ham. | |
| I am but mad north-north-west: when the wind is southerly I |
| know a hawk from a handsaw. |
| [Enter Polonius.] |
| Pol. | |
| Well be with you, gentlemen! |
| Ham. | |
| Hark you, Guildenstern;--and you too;--at each ear a hearer: that |
| great baby you see there is not yet out of his swaddling clouts. |
| Ros. | |
| Happily he's the second time come to them; for they say an old |
| man is twice a child. |
| Ham. | |
| I will prophesy he comes to tell me of the players; mark it.--You |
| say right, sir: o' Monday morning; 'twas so indeed. |
| Pol. | |
| My lord, I have news to tell you. |
| Ham. | |
| My lord, I have news to tell you. When Roscius was an actor in |
| Rome,-- |
| Pol. | |
| The actors are come hither, my lord. |
| Ham. | |
| Buzz, buzz! |
| Pol. | |
| Upon my honour,-- |
| Ham. | |
| Then came each actor on his ass,-- |
| Pol. | |
| The best actors in the world, either for tragedy, comedy, |
| history, pastoral, pastoral-comical, historical-pastoral, |
| tragical-historical, tragical-comical-historical-pastoral, scene |
| individable, or poem unlimited: Seneca cannot be too heavy nor |
| Plautus too light. For the law of writ and the liberty, these are |
| the only men. |
| Ham. | |
| O Jephthah, judge of Israel, what a treasure hadst thou! |
| Pol. | |
| What treasure had he, my lord? |
| Ham. | |
| Why-- |
| 'One fair daughter, and no more, |
| The which he loved passing well.' |
| Pol. | |
| [Aside.] Still on my daughter. |
| Ham. | |
| Am I not i' the right, old Jephthah? |
| Pol. | |
| If you call me Jephthah, my lord, I have a daughter that I |
| love passing well. |
| Ham. | |
| Nay, that follows not. |
| Pol. | |
| What follows, then, my lord? |
| Ham. | |
| Why-- |
| 'As by lot, God wot,' |
| and then, you know, |
| 'It came to pass, as most like it was--' |
| The first row of the pious chanson will show you more; for look |
| where my abridgment comes. |
| [Enter four or five Players.] |
| You are welcome, masters; welcome, all:--I am glad to see thee |
| well.--welcome, good friends.--O, my old friend! Thy face is |
| valanc'd since I saw thee last; comest thou to beard me in |
| Denmark?--What, my young lady and mistress! By'r lady, your |
| ladyship is nearer to heaven than when I saw you last, by the |
| altitude of a chopine. Pray God, your voice, like a piece of |
| uncurrent gold, be not cracked within the ring.--Masters, you are |
| all welcome. We'll e'en to't like French falconers, fly at |
| anything we see: we'll have a speech straight: come, give us a |
| taste of your quality: come, a passionate speech. |
| I Play. | |
| What speech, my lord? |
| Ham. | |
| I heard thee speak me a speech once,--but it was never acted; |
| or if it was, not above once; for the play, I remember, pleased |
| not the million, 'twas caviare to the general; but it was,--as I |
| received it, and others, whose judgments in such matters cried in |
| the top of mine,--an excellent play, well digested in the scenes, |
| set down with as much modesty as cunning. I remember, one said |
| there were no sallets in the lines to make the matter savoury, |
| nor no matter in the phrase that might indite the author of |
| affectation; but called it an honest method, as wholesome as |
| sweet, and by very much more handsome than fine. One speech in it |
| I chiefly loved: 'twas AEneas' tale to Dido, and thereabout of it |
| especially where he speaks of Priam's slaughter: if it live in |
| your memory, begin at this line;--let me see, let me see:-- |
| The rugged Pyrrhus, like th' Hyrcanian beast,-- |
| it is not so:-- it begins with Pyrrhus:-- |
| 'The rugged Pyrrhus,--he whose sable arms, |
| Black as his purpose,did the night resemble |
| When he lay couched in the ominous horse,-- |
| Hath now this dread and black complexion smear'd |
| With heraldry more dismal; head to foot |
| Now is be total gules; horridly trick'd |
| With blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, sons, |
| Bak'd and impasted with the parching streets, |
| That lend a tyrannous and a damned light |
| To their vile murders: roasted in wrath and fire, |
| And thus o'ersized with coagulate gore, |
| With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus |
| Old grandsire Priam seeks.' |
| So, proceed you. |
| Pol. | |
| 'Fore God, my lord, well spoken, with good accent and good |
| discretion. |
| I Play. | |
| Anon he finds him, |
| Striking too short at Greeks: his antique sword, |
| Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls, |
| Repugnant to command: unequal match'd, |
| Pyrrhus at Priam drives; in rage strikes wide; |
| But with the whiff and wind of his fell sword |
| The unnerved father falls. Then senseless Ilium, |
| Seeming to feel this blow, with flaming top |
| Stoops to his base; and with a hideous crash |
| Takes prisoner Pyrrhus' ear: for lo! his sword, |
| Which was declining on the milky head |
| Of reverend Priam, seem'd i' the air to stick: |
| So, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrhus stood; |
| And, like a neutral to his will and matter, |
| Did nothing. |
| But as we often see, against some storm, |
| A silence in the heavens, the rack stand still, |
| The bold winds speechless, and the orb below |
| As hush as death, anon the dreadful thunder |
| Doth rend the region; so, after Pyrrhus' pause, |
| A roused vengeance sets him new a-work; |
| And never did the Cyclops' hammers fall |
| On Mars's armour, forg'd for proof eterne, |
| With less remorse than Pyrrhus' bleeding sword |
| Now falls on Priam.-- |
| Out, out, thou strumpet, Fortune! All you gods, |
| In general synod, take away her power; |
| Break all the spokes and fellies from her wheel, |
| And bowl the round nave down the hill of heaven, |
| As low as to the fiends! |
| Pol. | |
| This is too long. |
| Ham. | |
| It shall to the barber's, with your beard.--Pr'ythee say on.-- |
| He's for a jig or a tale of bawdry, or he sleeps:--say on; come |
| to Hecuba. |
| I Play. | |
| But who, O who, had seen the mobled queen,-- |
| Ham. | |
| 'The mobled queen'? |
| Pol. | |
| That's good! 'Mobled queen' is good. |
| I Play. | |
| Run barefoot up and down, threatening the flames |
| With bisson rheum; a clout upon that head |
| Where late the diadem stood, and for a robe, |
| About her lank and all o'erteemed loins, |
| A blanket, in the alarm of fear caught up;-- |
| Who this had seen, with tongue in venom steep'd, |
| 'Gainst Fortune's state would treason have pronounc'd: |
| But if the gods themselves did see her then, |
| When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious sport |
| In mincing with his sword her husband's limbs, |
| The instant burst of clamour that she made,-- |
| Unless things mortal move them not at all,-- |
| Would have made milch the burning eyes of heaven, |
| And passion in the gods. |
| Pol. | |
| Look, whether he has not turn'd his colour, and has tears in's |
| eyes.--Pray you, no more! |
| Ham. | |
| 'Tis well. I'll have thee speak out the rest of this soon.-- |
| Good my lord, will you see the players well bestowed? Do you |
| hear? Let them be well used; for they are the abstracts and brief |
| chronicles of the time; after your death you were better have a |
| bad epitaph than their ill report while you live. |
| Pol. | |
| My lord, I will use them according to their desert. |
| Ham. | |
| Odd's bodikin, man, better: use every man after his |
| desert, and who should 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. we'll hear a play to-morrow. |
| [Exeunt Polonius with all the Players but the First.] |
| Dost thou hear me, old friend? Can you play 'The Murder of |
| Gonzago'? |
| I Play. | |
| Ay, my lord. |
| Ham. | |
| We'll ha't to-morrow night. You could, for a need, study a |
| speech of some dozen or sixteen lines which I would set down and |
| insert in't? could you not? |
| I Play. | |
| Ay, my lord. |
| Ham. | |
| Very well.--Follow that lord; and look you mock him not. |
| [Exit First Player.] |
| --My good friends [to Ros. and Guild.], I'll leave you till |
| night: you are welcome to Elsinore. |
| Ros. | |
| Good my lord! |
| [Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.] |
| Ham. | |
| Ay, so, God b' wi' ye! |
| Now I am alone. |
| O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I! |
| Is it not monstrous that this player here, |
| But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, |
| Could force his soul so to his own conceit |
| That from her working all his visage wan'd; |
| Tears in his eyes, distraction in's aspect, |
| A broken voice, and his whole function suiting |
| 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 passion |
| That I have? He would drown the stage with tears |
| And cleave the general ear with horrid speech; |
| Make mad the guilty, and appal the free; |
| Confound the ignorant, and amaze, indeed, |
| The very faculties of eyes and ears. |
| Yet I, |
| A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak, |
| Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause, |
| And can say nothing; no, not for a king |
| Upon whose property and most dear life |
| A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward? |
| Who calls me villain? breaks my pate across? |
| Plucks off my beard and blows it in my face? |
| Tweaks me by the nose? gives me the lie i' the throat |
| As deep as to the lungs? who does me this, ha? |
| 'Swounds, I should take it: for it cannot be |
| But I am pigeon-liver'd, and lack gall |
| To make oppression bitter; or ere this |
| I should have fatted all the region kites |
| With this slave's offal: bloody, bawdy villain! |
| Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain! |
| O, vengeance! |
| Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave, |
| That I, the son of a dear father murder'd, |
| Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell, |
| Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words |
| And fall a-cursing like a very drab, |
| A scullion! |
| Fie upon't! foh!--About, my brain! I have heard |
| That guilty creatures, sitting at a play, |
| Have by the very cunning of the scene |
| Been struck so to the soul that presently |
| They have proclaim'd their malefactions; |
| For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak |
| With most miraculous organ, I'll have these players |
| Play something like the murder of my father |
| Before mine uncle: I'll observe 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 |
| To assume a pleasing shape; 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. |
| [Exit.] |