SCENE I.-The Same.

Enter King, Queen, ROSENCRANTZ, and GUIL

DENSTERN.

King. There's matter in these sighs: these profound heaves

You must translate; 'tis fit we understand them. Where is your son?

Queen. Bestow this place on us a little while.

[Exeunt ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN. Ah, my good lord, what have I seen to-night! King. What, Gertrude? How does Hamlet? Queen. Mad as the sea, and wind, when both contend

Which is the mightier. In his lawless fit,
Behind the arras hearing something stir,
He whips his rapier out, and cries, "A rat! a rat!"
And in his brainish apprehension kills
The unseen good old man.

King.

O heavy deed!

It had been so with us, had we been there.
His liberty is full of threats to all;

To you yourself, to us, to every one.

Alas! how shall this bloody deed be answer'd?
It will be laid to us, whose providence

Should have kept short, restrain'd, and out of haunt,
This mad young man; but so much was our love,
We would not understand what was most fit,
But, like the owner of a foul disease,
To keep it from divulging, let it feed
Even on the pith of life. Where is he gone?
Queen. To draw apart the body he hath kill'd;
O'er whom his very madness, like some ore
Among a mineral of metals base,

Shows itself pure: he weeps for what is done.
King. O, Gertrude! come away.
The sun no sooner shall the mountains touch,
But we will ship him hence; and this vile deed
We must, with all our majesty and skill,
Both countenance and excuse.-Ho! Guildenstern!

Enter ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN.
Friends both, go join you with some further aid.
Hamlet in madness hath Polonius slain,
And from his mother's closet hath he dragg'd him:
Go, seek him out; speak fair, and bring the body
Into the chapel. I pray you, haste in this.
[Exeunt Ros. and GUIL.
Come, Gertrude, we'll call up our wisest friends;
And let them know, both what we mean to do,

SCENE II.-Another Room in the Same.
Enter HAMLET.

Ham. Safely stowed.-[Ros. &c. within. Hamlet! lord Hamlet!] But soft!-what noise! who calls on Hamlet? O! here they come.

Enter ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN. Ros. What have you done, my lord, with the dead body?

Ham. Compounded it with dust, whereto 'tis kin. Ros. Tell us where 'tis; that we may take it thence,

And bear it to the chapel.

Ham. Do not believe it.

Ros. Believe what?

Ham. That I can keep your counsel, and not mine own. Besides, to be demanded of a sponge, what replication should be made by the son of a king?

Ros. Take you me for a sponge, my lord?

Ham. Ay, sir, that soaks up the king's countenance, his rewards, his authorities. But such officers do the king best service in the end: he keeps them, like an ape, in the corner of his jaw, first mouthed, to be last swallowed: when he needs what you have gleaned, it is but squeezing you, and, sponge, you shall be dry again.

Ros. I understand you not, my lord.

Ham. I am glad of it: a knavish speech sleeps in a foolish ear.

Ros. My lord, you must tell us where the body is, and go with us to the king.

Ham. The body is with the king, but the king is not with the body. The king is a thing— Guil. A thing, my lord!

Ham. Of nothing: bring me to him. Hide fox, and all after. [Exeunt.

How dangerous is it, that this man goes loose!
Yet must not we put the strong law on him:
He's lov'd of the distracted multitude,

Who like not in their judgment, but their eyes;
And where 'tis so, th' offender's scourge is weigh'd,
But never the offence. To bear all smooth and
even,

This sudden sending him away must seem
Deliberate pause: diseases, desperate grown,
By desperate appliance are reliev'd,

Enter ROSENCRANTZ.

Or not at all.-How now! what hath befallen? Ros. Where the dead body is bestow'd, my lord, We cannot get from him.

But where is he?

King. Ros. Without, my lord; guarded, to know your pleasure.

King. Bring him before us.

Ros. Ho, Guildenstern! bring in my lord.

Enter HAMLET and GUILDENSTERN. King. Now, Hamlet, where's Polonius? Ham. At supper.

King. At supper! Where?

Ham. Not where he eats, but where he is eaten : a certain convocation of politic worms are e'en at him. Your worm is your only emperor for diet: we fat all creatures else to fat us, and we fat ourselves for maggots: your fat king, and your lean beggar, is but variable service; two dishes, but to one table: that's the end.

King. Alas, alas!

Ham. A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a king; and eat of the fish that hath fed of that worm.

King. What dost thou mean by this? Ham. Nothing, but to show you how a king may go a progress through the guts of a beggar. King. Where is Polonius?

Ham. In heaven: send thither to see; if your messenger find him not there, seek him i' the other

place yourself. But, indeed, if you find him not within this month, you shall nose him as you go up the stairs into the lobby.

King. Go seek him there. [To some Attendants. Ham. He will stay till you come.

[Exeunt Attendants. King. Hamlet, this deed, for thine especial safety,

Which we do tender, as we dearly grieve

For that which thou hast done,-must send thee hence

With fiery quickness: therefore, prepare thyself.
The bark is ready, and the wind at help,
Th' associates tend, and every thing is bent
For England.

Ham.

King.

For England?

Ay, Hamlet.

Ham. Good. King. So is it, if thou knew'st our purposes. Ham. I see a cherub that sees them.-But, come; for England!-Farewell, dear mother. King. Thy loving father, Hamlet.

Ham. My mother: father and mother is man and wife, man and wife is one flesh; and so, my mother. Come, for England. [Erit.

King. Follow him at foot; tempt him with speed aboard:

Delay it not, I'll have him hence to-night.
Away, for every thing is seal'd and done,
That else leans on th' affair: pray you, make haste.
[Exeunt Ros. and GUIL.
And, England, if my love thou hold'st at aught,
(As my great power thereof may give thee sense,
Since yet thy cicatrice looks raw and red
After the Danish sword, and thy free awe
Pays homage to us,) thou may'st not coldly set
Our sovereign process, which imports at full,
By letters conjuring to that effect,

The present death of Hamlet. Do it, England;
For like the hectic in my blood he rages,

And thou must cure me. Till I know 'tis done, Howe'er my haps, my joys were ne'er begun. [Exit.

Commands them, sir?

Who

Cap. The nephew to old Norway, Fortinbras. Ham. Goes it against the main of Poland, sir, Or for some frontier?

Cap. Truly to speak, and with no addition,
We
Te go to gain a little patch of ground,
That hath in it no profit but the name.
To pay five ducats, five, I would not farm it;
Nor will it yield to Norway, or the Pole,
A ranker rate, should it be sold in fee.

Ham. Why, then the Polack never will defend it.
Cap. Yes, 'tis already garrison'd.

Ham. Two thousand souls, and twenty thousand ducats,

Will not debate the question of this straw:
This is th' imposthume of much wealth and peace,
That inward breaks, and shows no cause without
Why the man dies.-I humbly thank you, sir.

Cap. God be wi' you, sir.

Ros.

before.

[Exit Captain. Will't please you go, my lord?

Ham. I'll be with you straight. Go a little [Exeunt Ros. and GUIL. How all occasions do inform against me, And spur my dull revenge! What is a man, If his chief good, and market of his time, Be but to sleep, and feed? a beast, no more. Sure, He, that made us with such large discourse, Looking before and after, gave us not

That capability and godlike reason,

To fust in us unus'd. Now, whether it be
Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple

Of thinking too precisely on th' event,

A thought, which, quarter'd, hath but one part

wisdom,

And ever three parts coward,-I do not know
Why yet I live to say, "This thing's to do;"
Sith I have cause, and will, and strength, and means,
To do't. Examples, gross as earth, exhort me:
Witness this army, of such mass and charge,
Led by a delicate and tender prince,
Whose spirit, with divine ambition puff'd,
Makes mouths at the invisible event;
Exposing what is mortal, and unsure,

To all that fortune, death, and danger, dare,
Even for an egg-shell. Rightly to be great,
Is not to stir without great argument,
But greatly to find quarrel in a straw,
When honour's at the stake. How stand I, then,
That have a father kill'd, a mother stain'd,
Excitements of my reason, and my blood,
And let all sleep? while, to my shame, I see,
The imminent death of twenty thousand men,
That for a fantasy, and trick of fame,
Go to their graves like beds; fight for a plot
Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause;
Which is not tomb enough, and continent,
To hide the slain?-O! from this time forth,
My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth!
[Exit.

To my sick soul, as sin's true nature is,

Each toy seems prologue to some great amiss:
So full of artless jealousy is guilt,

It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.

Re-enter HORATIO, with OPHELIA.

Oph. Where is the beauteous majesty of Denmark?

Queen. How now, Ophelia?

Oph. How should I your true love know [Singing.
From another one?

By his cockle hat and staff,
And his sandal shoon.

Queen. Alas, sweet lady! what imports this song?
Oph. Say you? nay, pray you, mark.

O, ho!

He is dead and gone, lady,

He is dead and gone; At his head a grass-green turf, At his heels a stone.

Queen. Nay, but Ophelia,

Oph.

[Singing.

Pray you, mark.

Queen. Alas! look here, my lord.
Oph. Larded with sweet flowers;

Which bewept to the grave did not go,
With true-love showers.

King. How do you, pretty lady?

Oph. Well, God'ild you! They say, the owl was a baker's daughter. Lord! we know what we are, but know not what we may be. God be at your table!

King. Conceit upon her father.

Oph. Pray you, let's have no words of this; but when they ask you what it means, say you this: To-morrow is Saint Valentine's day,

All in the morning betime;

And I a maid at your window,

To be your Valentine:

Then, up he rose, and don'd his clothes,
And dupp'd the chamber door;

Let in the maid, that out a maid
Never departed more.

King. Pretty Ophelia !

Oph. Indeed, la! without an oath, I'll make an end on't:

By Gis, and by Saint Charity,

Alack, and fie for shame!

Young men will do't, if they come to't;
By cock they are to blame.

Quoth she, before you tumbled me,
You promised me to wed:

He answers.

So would I ha' done, by yonder sun, An thou hadst not come to my bed. King. How long hath she been thus?

Oph. I hope, all will be well. We must be patient; but I cannot choose but weep, to think, they would lay him i' the cold ground. My brother shall know of it, and so I thank you for your good counsel. Come, my coach! Good night, ladies; good night, sweet ladies: good night, good night. [Exit.

King. Follow her close; give her good watch, pray you. [Exit HORATIO. O! this is the poison of deep grief; it springs All from her father's death. And now, behold, O Gertrude, Gertrude!

When sorrows come, they come not single spies,
But in battalions. First, her father slain;
Next, your son gone; and he most violent author
Of his own just remove: the people muddied,
Thick and unwholesome in their thoughts and
whispers,

For good Polonius' death; and we have done but greenly,

In hugger-mugger to inter him: poor Ophelia, Divided from herself, and her fair judgment, Without the which we are pictures, or mere beasts:

Last, and as much containing as all these,
Her brother is in secret come from France,
Feeds on his wonder, keeps himself in clouds,
And wants not buzzers to infect his ear
With pestilent speeches of his father's death;
Wherein necessity, of matter beggar'd,
Will nothing stick our persons to arraign
In ear and ear. O, my dear Gertrude! this,
Like to a murdering piece, in many places
Gives me superfluous death. [A noise within.
Queen.
Alack! what noise is this?

Gent.

Save yourself, my lord; The ocean, overpeering of his list, Eats not the flats with more impetuous haste, Than young Laertes, in a riotous head, O'erbears your officers! The rabble call him, lord; And, as the world were now but to begin, Antiquity forgot, custom not known, The ratifiers and props of every word, They cry, "Choose we; Laertes shall be king!" Caps, hands, and tongues, applaud it to the clouds, "Laertes shall be king, Laertes king!"

Queen. How cheerfully on the false trail they cry! O! this is counter, you false Danish dogs. King. The doors are broke. [Noise within. Enter LAERTES, armed; Danes following. Laer. Where is this king?-Sirs, stand you all without.

Calmly, good Laertes.

Laer. That drop of blood that's calm proclaims me bastard;

Cries, cuckold, to my father; brands the harlot
Even here, between the chaste unsmirched brow
Of my true mother.
King.
What is the cause, Laertes,
That thy rebellion looks so giant-like?—
Let him go, Gertrude; do not fear our person:
There's such divinity doth hedge a king,
That treason can but peep to what it would,
Acts little of his will.-Tell me, Laertes,

Why thou art thus incens'd.-Let him go, Gertrude.

And, like the kind life-rendering pelican, Repast them with my blood.

King.

Why, now you speak
Like a good child, and a true gentleman.
That I am guiltless of your father's death,
And am most sensibly in grief for it,
It shall as level to your judgment pierce,
As day does to your eye.

Danes. [Within.] Let her come in.
Laer. How now! what noise is that?
Re-enter OPHELIA.

O heat, dry up my brains! tears seven times salt,
Burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye!--
By heaven, thy madness shall be paid by weight,
Till our scale turns the beam. O rose of May!
Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia !-
O heavens! is't possible, a young maid's wits
Should be as mortal as an old man's life?
Nature is fine in love; and, where 'tis fine,
It sends some precious instance of itself
After the thing it loves.

Oph. They bore him barefac'd on the bier;
Hey non nonny, nonny, hey nonny :
And in his grave rain'd many a tear ;—
Fare you well, my dove!
Laer. Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade
revenge,

It could not move thus.

Oph. You must sing, Down a-down, an you call him a-down-a. O, how the wheel becomes it! It is the false steward, that stole his master's daughter. Laer. This nothing's more than matter.

Oph. There's rosemary, that's for remembrance; pray you, love, remember: and there is pansies, that's for thoughts.

Laer. A document in madness; thoughts and remembrance fitted.

Oph. There's fennel for you, and columbines ;there's rue for you; and here's some for me: we may call it, herb of grace o' Sundays:-you may wear your rue with a difference.-There's a daisy: I would give you some violets; but they withered all when my father died.-They say, he made a good end,

For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy,-[Sings. Laer. Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself, She turns to favour, and to prettiness.