:

As "Well, well, we know" or "We could an if we would";

Or "If we list to speak"; or "There
be, an if they might";

Or such ambiguous giving out, to note
That you know aught of me :

this not

There is a purpose in all this minute precaution. One unwary syllable, one indiscreet hint of the apparition, and instead of becoming an avenger, the chances are that he will become a victim. As for now sweeping to revenge on wings as swift as meditation, or the thoughts of love, it is simply absurd. His mission is too vast and complicated to be solved in one fiery second; his life is no longer merely consecrated to woe, but summoned to a perilous and unwelcome duty. That grim, ocular demonstration of the existence of penal

fires, has clogged the impulse of human revenge with a salutary appreciation of eternal justice. The future is vague and hopeless, but, come what may, he means to be master of the situation. His manner must necessarily change, but he will mask the change with madness—an easy mask for one whose whole life is spent in holding real madness at bay, whose reason would be lost in dark abysses of despair, but for the quenchless truth and splendor of an imagination which encircles and upholds him like an outstretched angel's wing. As if that one instant of aberration were providentially suggestive, 'he plays,' as Coleridge observes, 'that subtle trick of pretending to act the lunatic only when he is very near being what he pretends to act.' It is not the past, but a clear vision of the future, that extorts that prophetic sigh.

The time is out of joint; O cursed spite
That ever I was born to set it right.

The inspiration of that sigh is Ophelia ; for, as we shall see, the gloom of that first soliloquy is not without its solitary ray of light.

Now mark with what consummate art it happens, that on the very eve of that fearful midnight, - precisely as Hamlet is about to undergo the most appalling ordeal that ever man sustained, the tragic muse foreshadows another crowning sorrow for the doomed scion of Denmark. The fair Ophelia is made to flit before us, graceful, reticent, tender, saying the very word that's wanted and nothing more; witty, high-bred, resolute-just such a lady as such a prince might love,

Stood challenger on mount of all the age
For her perfections: '

a 'Rose of May' that turned

'to favour and to prettiness'

'Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself.'

What a lady she is! How archly she turns the tables on her light-headed, loudmouthed brother, in words as memorable as any in the play:

Laer.

But good my brother,

Do not as some ungracious pastors do, Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven;

Whilst, like a puff'd and reckless libertine,

Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads,

And recks not his own read.

Too long, decidedly; that home-thrust was sharper than the sword of Saladin. But observe how differently she encounters her father; though infinitely more insulted and nettled by the broad sarcasms of the Premier, she never permits herself to be stirred an inch from maidenly dignity, or to violate the completest filial respect and obedience.

Pol. What is 't Ophelia, he (Laertes) hath said to you?

Oph. So please you, something touching the Lord Hamlet.

Pol. Marry, well bethought:

'T is told me, he hath very oft of late Given private time to you; and you your

self

Have of our audience been most free and bounteous;

What is between you? give me up the truth.

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

Pol.

tenders

Of his affection for me.

Affection! pooh! you speak like a green 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;