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The memory be green, and that it us befitted
To bear our hearts in grief and our whole kingdom
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 to this warlike state,
Have we, as 'twere with a defeated joy,—
With an auspicious and a dropping eye,
With mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage,
In equal scale weighing delight and dole,-
Taken to wife nor have we herein barr'd'
Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone
With this affair along. For all, our thanks.
Now follows, that you know, young Fortinbras,
Holding a weak supposal of our worth,
Or thinking by our late dear brother's death
Our state to be disjoint and out of frame,
Colleagued with the dream of his advantage,
He hath not fail'd to pester us with message,
Importing the surrender of those lands
Lost by his father, with all bonds of law,
To our most valiant brother. So much for him.
Now for ourself and for this time of meeting:
Thus much the business is: we have here writ
To Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras,-
Who, impotent and bed-rid, scarcely hears
Of this his nephew's purpose,-to suppress
His further gait herein; in that the levies,
The lists and full proportions, are all made
Out of his subject: and we here dispatch
You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltimand,
For bearers of this greeting to old Norway;
Giving to you no further personal power
To business with the king, more than the scope
Of these delated articles allow.
Farewell, and let your haste commend your duty.
Cor. In that and all things will we show our
Vol.
duty.
King. We doubt it nothing: heartily farewell.
[Exeunt Voltimand and Cornelius.
And now, Laertes, what's the news with you?
You told us of some suit; what is't, Laertes?
You cannot speak of reason to the Dane,
And lose your voice: what wouldst thou beg,
Laertes,

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That shall not be my offer, not thy asking? The head is not more native to the heart, The hand more instrumental to the mouth, Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father.

ΙΟ

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30

My dread lord, 50

What wouldst thou have, Laertes?
Laer.
Your leave and favour to return to France;
From whence though willingly I came to Den-
mark,

To show my duty in your coronation,
Yet now, I must confess, that duty done,

My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France
And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon.
King. Have you your father's leave? What
says Polonius?

Pol. He hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow leave

бо

By laboursome petition, and at last
Upon his will I seal'd my hard consent:
I do beseech you, give him leave to go.
King Take thy fair hour, Laertes; time be
thine,

And thy best graces spend it at thy will!
But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son,-
Ham. [Aside] 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.

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Queen. Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off,
And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark.
Do not for ever with thy vailed lids
Seek for thy noble father in the dust:
Thou know'st 'tis common; all that lives 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 'haviour of the visage,
Together with all forms, moods, shapes 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.
King. 'Tis sweet and commendable in your
nature, Hamlet,

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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 persever
In obstinate condolement is a course
Of impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief;
It shows a will most incorrect to heaven,
A heart unfortified, a 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.' We pray you, throw to earth
This unprevailing woe, and think of us

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As of a father: for let the world take note,
You are the most immediate to our throne;
And with no less nobility of love
Than that which dearest father bears his son,
Do I impart toward you. For your intent
In going back to school in Wittenberg,
It is most retrograde to our desire:
And we beseech you, bend you to remain
Here, in the cheer and comfort of our eye,
Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son.
Queen. Let not thy mother lose her prayers,
Hamlet:

IIO

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: 121
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,
And the king's rouse the heavens shall bruit again,
Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come away.
[Exeunt all but Hamlet.
Ham. O, that this too too solid flesh would
melt,

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-- 149
O God! 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:
But break, my heart; for I must hold my tongue.
Enter HORATIO, MARCELLUS, and BERNARDO.
Hor. Hail to your lordship!
Ham.
I am glad to see you well: 160
Horatio, or I do forget myself.
Hor. The same, my lord, and your poor servant

Mar. My good lord

Ham. I am very glad to see you. Good even, sir.

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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.

Clever.

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

And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio?
Marcellus?

Ham. I pray thee, do not mock me, fellowstudent;

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Thaw and resolve itself into a dew!
Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd
His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! God! I shall not look upon his like again.
How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable,
Seem to me all the uses of this world!
Fie on't! ah fie! 'tis an unweeded garden,
That grows to seed; things rank and gross in

I think it was to see my mother's wedding.
Hor. Indeed, my lord, it follow'd hard upon.
Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio! the funeral
baked meats

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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. Where, my lord?

Ham.
In my mind's eye, Horatio.
Hor. I saw him once; he was a goodly king.
Ham. He was a man, take him for all in all,

Hor. My lord, I think I saw him yesternight.
Ham. Saw? who?

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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 140
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-

Ham.
For God's love, let me hear.
Hor. Two nights together had these gentlemen,
Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch,
In the dead vast and middle of the night,
Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your father,
Armed at point exactly, cap-a-pe,

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Let me not think on't-Frailty, thy name is Appears before them, and with solemn march Goes slow and stately by them: thrice he walk'd By their oppress'd and fear-surprised eyes, Within his truncheon's length; whilst they, dis

woman!

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.

till'd
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 deliver'd, both in time,
Form of the thing, each word made true and good,
The apparition comes: I knew your father; 211
These hands are not more like..

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Arm'd, say you?

Mar. Arm'd, my lord.

Ber. Ham.

From top to toe?

Mar.

Ber.

My lord, from head to foot.

Ham. Then saw you not his face?
Hor. O, yes, my lord; he wore his beaver up.
Ham. What, look'd he frowningly? 231
Hor. A countenance more in sorrow than in

anger.

Ham. Pale or red?

Hor. Nay, very pale.
Ham.

And fix'd his eyes upon you?
Hor. Most constantly.
Ham.
I would I had been there.
Hor. It would have much amazed you.
Ham. Very like, very like. Stay'd it long?
Hor. While one with moderate haste might
tell a hundred.

Mar Longer, longer.

Ber.

Hor. Not when I saw't. Ham. His beard was grizzled,-no? 240 Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life, A sable silver'd.

Ham. I will watch to-night; Perchance 'twill walk again.

Hor. I warrant it will. Ham. If it assume my noble father's person, I'll speak to it, though hell itself should gape And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all, If you have hitherto conceal'd this sight, Let it be tenable in your silence still; And whatsoever else shall hap to-night, Give it an understanding, but no tongue: I will requite your loves. So, fare you well: Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve, I'll visit you.

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All.

Our duty to your honour. Ham. Your loves, as mine to you: farewell. [Exeunt all but Hamlet. My father's 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 o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes. [Exit

SCENE III. A room in Polonius' house.
Enter LAERTES and OPHELIA.

Laer. My necessaries are embark'd: farewell:
And, sister, as the winds give benefit
And convoy is assistant, do not sleep,
But let me hear from you.

Laer.

Think it no more: 10 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 weigh'd, his will is not his own; For he himself is subject to his birth: He may not, as unvalued persons do, Carve for himself; for on his choice depends 20 The safety and health of this whole state; And therefore must his choice be circumscribed Unto the voice and yielding of that body Whereof he is the head. Then if he says he loves

Oph.

Do you doubt that? Laer. 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.

Oph. No more but so?

you,

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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 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:
Virtue itself 'scapes not calumnious strokes:
The canker galls the infants of the spring,
Too oft before their buttons be disclosed,
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.

Oph. I shall the effect 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; Whiles, like a puff'd and reckless libertine, Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads, 50 And recks not his own rede.

Laer.

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. Pol.

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Yet here, Laertes! aboard, aboard, for shame!

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But not express'd 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 ownself 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!
Laer. Most humbly do I take my leave, my
lord.

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Pol. The time invites you; go; your servants tend.

Laer. Farewell, Ophelia; and remember well What I have said to you.

Oph. 'Tis in my memory lock'd, And you yourself shall keep the key of it. Laer. Farewell.

[Exit.

Pol. What is 't, Ophelia, he hath said to you? Oph. So please you, something touching the Lord Hamlet.

Pol. 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 boun

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teous:

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.
Oph. He hath, my lord, of late made many
tenders

girl,

Unsifted in such perilous circumstance.
Do you believe his tenders, as you call them?
Oph. I do not know, my lord, what I should
think,

Pol. Marry, I'll teach you: think yourself a

baby; That you have ta'en these tenders for true pay, Which are not sterling. Tender yourself more dearly;

Or-not to crack the wind of the poor phrase,
Running it thus-you'll tender me a fool.
Oph. My lord, he hath importuned me with

ΙΙΟ

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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 to 't, I charge you: come your ways.
Oph. I shall obey, my lord.

[Exeunt.

love

In honourable fashion.

Pol. Ay, fashion you may call it; go to, go to. Oph. And hath given countenance to his speech, my lord,

With almost all the holy vows of heaven.
Pol. 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 somewhat 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
And with a larger tether may he walk
Than may be given you: in few, Ophelia,

young,

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SCENE IV. The platform.

Enter HAMLET, HORATIO, and MARCELLUS.
Ham. The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold.
Hor. It is a nipping and an eager air.
Ham. What hour now?

I think it lacks of twelve.
No, it is struck.
Indeed? I heard it not: then it draws
near the season

Hor.

Is it a custom?
Ham. Ay, marry, is't:

But to my mind, though I am native here
And to the manner born, it is a custom

Of his affection to me.

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Pol. Affection! pooh! you speak like a green More honour'd in the breach than the observance. This heavy-headed revel east and west

Hor. Mar.

Hor.

Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk.

[A flourish of trumpets, and ordnance shot off, within. What does this mean, my lord? Ham. The king doth wake to-night and takes his rouse,

Keeps wassail, and the swaggering up-spring reels;

And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down,
The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out
The triumph of his pledge.

II

Makes us traduced and tax'd of other nations:
They clepe us drunkards, and with swinish phrase
Soil our addition; and indeed it takes
From our achievements, though

height,

20

perform'd at

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 the o'ergrowth of some complexion,
Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason,
Or by some habit that too much o'er-leavens
The form of plausive manners, that these men, 30
Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect,
Being nature's livery, or fortune's star,-
Their 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 teale
Doth all the noble substance † of a doubt
To his own scandal.
Hor.

Look, my lord, it comes!
Enter Ghost.

Ham. Angels and ministers of grace defend us!

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Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn'd, Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from

hell,

Be thy intents wicked or charitable,

Thou comest in such a questionable shape
That I will speak to thee I'll call thee Hamlet,
King, father, royal Dane: O, answer me !
Let me not burst in ignorance; but tell
Why thy canonized bones, hearsed in death,
Have burst their cerements; why the sepulchre,
Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd,
Hath oped his ponderous and marble jaws,
To cast thee up again. What may this mean,
That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel
Revisit'st 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
[Ghost beckons Hamlet.
Hor. It beckons you to go away with it,
As if it some impartment did desire
To you alone.

do?

Ham.
Go on; I'll follow thee.

No, by no means.
Ham. It will not speak; then I will follow it.
Hor. Do not, my lord.
Ham.
Why, what should be the fear?
I do not set my life at a pin's fee;
And for my soul, what can it do to that,
Being a thing immortal as itself?
It waves me forth again: I'll follow it.

Hor. What if it tempt you toward the flood,
my lord,

Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff
That beetles o'er 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 fathoms to the sea
And hears it roar beneath.

It waves me still.

Denmark.

Hor.
Mar.

Mar. Look, with what courteous action 60 Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young
It waves you to a more removed ground:
But do not go with it.

Hor.

Heaven will direct it.

Alas, poor ghost!

Pity me not, but lend thy serious
hearing
To what I shall unfold.
Ham.

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Speak; I am bound to hear. Ghost. So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear.

Ham. What?

Ghost. I am thy father's spirit,

Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night,
And for the day confined to fast in fires,
Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature
Are burnt and purged away. But that I am forbid
To tell the secrets of my prison-house,

I could a tale unfold whose lightest word

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Ham.
Ghost.

I will.

My hour is almost come,
When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames
Must render up myself.

Ham.

Ghost.

Nay, let's follow him. [Exeunt.

blood,

Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their
spheres,

Thy knotted and combined locks to part
And each particular hair to stand an end,
Like quills upon the fretful porpentine:
But this eternal blazon must not be

As meditation or the thoughts of love,
May sweep to my revenge.

ΙΟ

To ears of flesh and blood. List, list, O, list!
If thou didst ever thy dear father love-
Ham. O God!

Ghost. Revenge his foul and most unnatural
murder.

Ham. Murder!

Ghost. Murder most foul, as in the best it is;
But this most foul, strange and unnatural.
Ham. Haste me to know't, that I, with wings
as swift

hear:

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'Tis given out that, sleeping in my orchard,
A serpent stung me; so the whole ear of Denmark
Is by a forged process of my death

Mar. You shall not go, my lord.
Ham.
Hold off your hands.
Hor. Be ruled; you shall not go.
Ham.
My fate cries out,
And makes each petty artery in this body
As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve.
Still am I call'd. Unhand me, gentlemen.
By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me !
I say, away! Go on; I'll follow thee.

Rankly abused: but know, thou noble youth,
The serpent that did sting thy father's life
Now wears his crown.

O my prophetic soul !

[Exeunt Ghost and Hamlet. Hor. He waxes desperate with imagination. Mar. Let's follow; 'tis not fit thus to obey

Ham.
My uncle!
Ghost. Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate
beast,
With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts,-
O wicked wit and gifts, that have the power
So to seduce!-won to his shameful lust
The will of my most seeming-virtuous queen:

him.
Hor. Have after. To what issue will this
come?

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Mar. Something is rotten in the state of O Hamlet, what a falling-off was there!
From me, whose love was of that dignity
That it went hand in hand even with the vow
I made to her in marriage, and to decline
Upon a wretch whose natural gifts were poor
To those of mine!

20

Ghost.
I find thee apt;
And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed
That roots itself in ease on Lethe wharf,

Wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet,

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SCENE V. Another part of the platform.

Enter GHOST and HAMLet.

But virtue, as it never will be moved,
Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven,

Ham. Where wilt thou lead me? speak; I'll So lust, though to a radiant angel link'd,
go no further.
Will sate itself in a celestial bed,

Ghost.

Mark me.

And prey on garbage.

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