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And, though he came our enemy, remember,
He was paid* for that: Though mean and mighty,
Together, have one dust; yet reverence, [rotting
(That angel of the world,) doth make distinction
Of place 'tween high and low. Our foe was princely;
And though you took his life, as being our foe,
Yet bury him as a prince.
Pray you, fetch him hither.
Thersites' body is as good as Ajax,
When neither are alive.
Gui. Fear no more the heat o' the sun,
Nor the furious winter's rages;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages:
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.
Arv. Fear no more the frown o'the great,
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;
Care no more to clothe, and eat;
To thee the reed is as the oak:
The sceptre, learning, physic, must,
All follow this, and come to dust.
Gui. Fear no more the lightning flash,
Arv. Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;
Gui. Fear not slander, censure† rash;
Arv. Thou hast finish'd joy and moan:
Both. All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee, and come to dust.
No exorciser harm thee!
Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Ghost unlaid forbear thee!
Nothing ill come near thee!
Both. Quiet consummation have;
And renowned be thy grave!
No blame be to you, sir; for all was lost,
But that the heavens fought: The king himself
Of his wings destitute, the army broken,
And but the backs of Britons seen, all flying
Through a strait lane; the enemy full-hearted,
Lolling the tongue with slaughtering, having work
More plentiful than tools to do't, struck down
Some mortally, some slightly touch'd, some falling
Merely through fear; that the straight pass was
With dead men, hurt behind, and cowards living
To die with lengthen'd shame.
I, in mine own woe charm'd, Could not find death, where I did hear him groan; Nor feel him, where he struck: Being an ugly monster, 'Tis strange, he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds, Sweet words; or hath more ministers than we That draw his knives i' the war.
In the most high and palmy† state of Rome,
A little ere the mightiest Julius fell,
The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets.
As, stars with trains of fire and dews of blood,
Disasters in the sun; and the moist star*,
Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands,
Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse.
GHOSTS VANISH AT THE CROWING OF A COCK.
Ber. It was about to speak, when the cock crew. Hor. And then it started like a guilty thing Upon a fearful summons. I have heard, The cock, that is the trumpet of the morn, Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat Awake the god of day; and, at his warning, Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air, The extravagant and erring † spirit hies To his confine: and of the truth herein This present object made probation ‡.
THE REVERENCE PAID TO CHRISTMAS-TIME.
It faded on the crowing of the cock. Some say, that ever 'gainst the season comes Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, This bird of dawning singeth all night long: And then they say no spirit dares stir abroad; The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike, No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm, So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.
But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad, Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill.
Seems, madam! nay, it is; I know not seems.
"Tis not alone, my inky cloak, good mother,
Nor customary suits of solemn black,
Nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath,
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,
Nor the dejected 'haviour of the visage,
Together with all forms, modes, shows of grief,
* The moon. + Wandering.
That can denote me truly: These, indeed, seem,
For they are actions that a man might play:
But I have that within, which passeth show;
These, but the trappings and the suits of woe.
IMMODERATE GRIEF DISCOMMENDED.
'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Ham-
To give these mourning duties to your father: [let,
But, you must know, your father lost a father;
That father lost his; and the survivor bound
In filial obligation, for some term
To do obsequious sorrow: But to persevere
In obstinate condolement, is a course
Of impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief:
It shows a will most incorrect to heaven;
A heart unfortified, or mind impatient;
An understanding simple and unschool'd:
For what, we know, must be, and is as common,
As any the most vulgar thing to sense,
Why should we, in our peevish opposition,
Take it to heart? Fie! 'tis a fault to heaven,
A fault against the dead, a fault to nature,
To reason most absurd; whose common theme
Is death of fathers, and who still hath cried,
From the first corse, till he that died to-day,
This must be so.
HAMLET'S SOLILOQUY ON HIS MOTHER'S MARRIAGE. O, that this too too solid flesh would melt Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew!
Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd
His canon t'gainst self-slaughter! O, God! O, God!
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable
Seem to me all the uses of this world!
Fie on't! O, 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: + Law. + Entirely.
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 on't;-Frailty, thy name is woman!—
A little month; or ere those shoes were old,
With which she follow'd my poor father's body,
Like Niobe, all tears; -why she, even she,
O, heaven! a beast, that wants discourse of reason,
Would have mourn'd longer,-married with my uncle,
My father's 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.
CAUTIONS TO YOUNG FEMALES.
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:
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 unmaster'd || 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: