To be contracted in one brow of woe;

Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature,
That we with wisest sorrow think on him,
Together with remembrance of ourselves.
Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen,
The imperial jointress of this warlike state,
Have we, as 'twere, with a defeated joy,—
Taken to wife nor have we herein barred
Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone
With this affair along :-For all, our thanks.
But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son,-

Ham. A little more than kin, and less than kind.
King. How is it that the clouds still hang on you?
Ham. Not so, my lord, I am too much i' the sun.
Queen. Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted color off,
And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark.
Do not, for ever, with thy vailèd lids,

Seek for thy noble father in the dust:

Thou know'st, 'tis common; all that live, must die,
Passing through nature to eternity.

Ham. Ay, madam, it is common.
Queen.

If it be,

Why seems it so particular with thee?

Ham. 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 forced breath,
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,
Nor the dejected 'havior of the visage,
Together with all forms, modes, shows of grief,
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.

[Aside,

King. 'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet, To give these mourning duties to your father:

But, you must know, your father lost a father;

That father lost, lost his; and the survivor bound,

In filial obligation, for some term

To do obsequious sorrow: but to persevere

In obstinate condolemènt, 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 unschooled :
For what, we know, must be ; and is as common
As any of the most vulgar thing to sense,
Why should we, in our peevish opposition,
Take it to heart? Fye! 'tis a fault to heaven.
We pray you, throw to earth

This unprevailing woe; and think of us

As of a father: for let the world take note,
You are the most immediate to our throne;
Our chiefèst courtier, cousin, and our son.

Queen. Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet:
I pray thee stay with us; go not to Wittenberg.
Ham. I shall in all my best obey you, madam.
King. Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply;
Be as ourself in Denmark.-Madam, come;
This gentle and unforced accord of Hamlet
Sits smiling to my heart: in grace whereof,
No jocund health, that Denmark drinks to-day
But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell ;
Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come away.

[Exeunt KING, QUEEN, LORDS, &c.

Ham. Oh, that this too too solid flesh would melt,
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew!

Or that the Everlasting had not fixed
His canon 'gainst self-slaughter!
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable

Seem to me all the uses of this world!

Fye on't! Oh fye! '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,

1

1 Hy pe' ri on, the father of Aurora, and the Sun and Moon; or, as Shakspeare represents, this is a name

of Apollo, the god of day, who was distinguished for his beauty.

'Satyr, a demigod or deity of

That he might not beteem'the winds of heaven
Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth!
Must I remember? 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 followed my poor father's body,
Like Ni'obè, all tears ;-why she, even she,—

O heaven! a beast, that wants discourse of reason,
Would have mourned longer,-married with my uncle,
My father's brother; but no more like my father,
Than I to Hercules:

It is not, nor it can not come to, good;

But break, my heart; for I must hold my tongue!
Enter HORATIO, BERNARDO, and MARCELLUS.

Hor. Hail to your lordship!

Ham.

I am glad to see you well:

Horatio, or I do forget myself.

—or

Hor. The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever.

Ham. Sir, my good friend; I'll change that name with you.

And what make you from Wit'tenberg, Horatio ?—

Marcellus?

Mar. My good lord.

Ham. I am very glad to see you; good even, sir,—

But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg?

Hor. A truant disposition, good my lord.
Ham. I would not hear your enemy say so;
Nor shall you do mine 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?

We'll teach you to drink deep, ere you depart.
Hor. My lord, I came to see your father's funeral.
Ham. I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow-student;
I think, it was to see my mother's wedding.
Hor. Indeed, my lord, it followed hard upon.

the wood, described as a monster,
part man and part goat, and charac-
terized by riotous merriment and in-
dulgence in sensual pleasure. Sa-
tyrs are represented with bristly hair,

the nose round and turned upward,
the ears pointed, with two small
horns growing out of the forehead,
and a tail like that of a goat.
1 Be teem', allow; suffer.

Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio! the funeral baked 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.

Hor.

My lord?

Ham. In my mind's eye, Horatio.

Where,

Hor. I saw him once, he was a goodly king.

Ham. He was (woz) a man, take him for all in all,

I shall not look upon his like again.

Hor. My lord, I think I saw him yesternight.

Ham. Saw! whom?

Hor. My lord, the king your father.

Ham.

The king, my father?

Hor. Season your admiration for a while
With an attent ear; till I may deliver,
Upon the witness of these gentlemen,
This marvel to you.

Ham.

For heaven's love, let me hear.

Hor. Two nights together had these gentlemen, Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch,

In the dead waist and middle of the night,

Been thus encountered. A figure like your father,
Armed at point, exactly, cap-à-pé,

Appears before them, and, with solemn march,
Goes slow and stately by them: thrice he walked,
By their oppressed and fear-surprised eyes,

Within his truncheon's length; whilst they, distilled
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 delivered, 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.

Ham.

But where was this?

Mar. My lord, upon the platform where we watched. Ham. Did you not speak to it?

Hor.

My lord, I did;

But answer made it none (nŭn); yet once, methought,
It lifted up its 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 vanished from our sight.

Ham.

'Tis very strange.

Hor. As I do live, my honored lord, 'tis true; And we did think it writ down in our duty,

To let you know of it.

Ham. Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles me. Hold you the watch to-night?

Hor. O, yes, my lord; he wore his beaver up
Ham. What! looked he frowningly?

Ham.

I would, I had been there.

Hor. It would have much amazed you.

Ham.

Very like. Stay'd it long?

Věry like,

Hor. While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred.

Ham. His beard was grizzled ?—no?

Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life,

I warrant, 'twill.

Perchance, 'twill walk again.

Hor.

Ham. If it assume my noble father's person,