Imagens das páginas

Hor. What news, my lord?
Ham. O, wonderful!

Hor. Good my lord, tell it.
Ham. No;

You will reveal it.

Hor. Not I, my lord, by Heaven.

Mar. Nor I, my lord.

Ham. How say you then; would heart of man once think it?

But you'll be secret,—

Hor. Ay, by Heaven, my lord.

Ham. There's ne'er a villain, dwelling in all Denmark,

But he's an arrant knave.

Hor. There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave, To tell us this.

Ham. Why right; you are in the right;
And so, without more circumstance at all,
I hold it fit, that we shake hands, and part:

You, as your business and desire shall point you,-
For every man hath business and desire,

Such as it is, and, for my own poor part,

I will go pray.

Hor. These are but wild and whirling words, my lord.

Ham. I am sorry they offend you, heartily..
Hor. There's no offence, my lord.

Ham. Yes, by Saint Patrick, but there is, Horatio; And much offence too. Touching this vision here,— It is an honest ghost, that let me tell you:

For your desire to know what is between us, O'ermaster it as you may. And now, good friends, As you are friends, scholars, and soldiers,

Give me one poor request.

Hor. What is't, my lord ?

We will.


Ham. Never make known what you have seen to


Hor. & Mar. My lord, we will not.

Ham. Nay, but swear it.

Hor. Propose the oath, my lord.

Ham. Never to speak of this that you have seen, Swear by my sword.

Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear.

Hor. O day and night, but this is wondrous strange! Ham. And therefore, as a stranger, give it wel


There are more things in Heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

But come:

Here, as before,-Never,-so help you mercy!
How strange or odd soe'er I bear myself,
As I, perchance, hereafter shall think meet
To put an antic disposition on,-

That you, at such times seeing me, never shall
(With arms encumber'd thus, or this head-shake,
Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase,

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,) denote

That you know aught of me :-this do you swear,

grace and mercy at your most need help you!
Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear.

Ham. Rest, rest, perturbed spirit!-So, gentlemen, With all my love I do commend me to you; And what so poor a man as Hamlet is

May do, to express his love and friending to you, Heaven willing, shall not lack.. Let us go in toge


And still your fingers on your lips, I pray.
The time is out of joint-O cursed spight,
That ever I was born to set it right!




An Apartment in POLONIUS' House.

Enter POLONIUS, meeting OPHELIA.

Pol. How now, Ophelia? what is the matter? Oph. O, my lord, my lord, I have been so affrighted?

Pol. With what, in the name of Heaven?
Oph. My lord, as I was sewing in my closet,
Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbrac'd,
No hat upon his head, his stockings foul'd,
Ungarter'd, and down-gyved to his ankle,
Pale as his shirt, his knees knocking each other,-
He comes before me.

Pol. Mad for thy love?

Oph. My lord, I do not know;

But, truly, I do fear it.

Pol. What said he?

Oph. He took me by the wrist, and held me hard; Then goes he to the length of all his arm, And, with his other hand thus o'er his brow, He falls to such perusal of my face,

As he would draw it. Long staid he so;

At last,—a little shaking of mine arm,

And thrice his head thus waving up and down,-
He rais'd a sigh so piteous and profound,
As it did seem to shatter all his bulk,

And end his being: That done, he lets me go;
And, with his head over his shoulder turn'd,
He seem'd to find his way without his
For out o' doors he went without their helps,
And, to the last, bended their light on me.

Pol. Come, go with me; I will go seek the King. This is the very ecstacy of love.

What, have you given him any hard words of late? Oph. No, my good lord; but, as you did command, I did repel his letters, and denied

His access to me.

Pol. That hath made him mad.

Come, go we to the King:

This must be known; which, being kept close, might


More grief to hide, than hate to utter love. [Exeunt.


The Palace.


King. Welcome, dear Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern!

Moreover that we much did long to see you,
The need, we have to use you, did provoke
Our hasty sending. Something have you heard
Of Hamlet's transformation:

What it should be,

More than his father's death, that thus hath put him So much from the understanding of himself,

I cannot dream of: I entreat you both,

That you vouchsafe your rest here in our court
Some little time: so by your companies
To draw him on to pleasures; and to gather,
Whether aught, to us unknown, afflicts him thus,
That, open'd, lies within our remedy.

Queen. Good gentlemen, he hath much talk'd of


And, sure I am, two men there are not living,

To whom he more adheres. If it will please you
So to expend your time with us a while,
Your visitation shall receive such thanks
As fits a king's remembrance.

Ros. Both your majesties

Might, by the sovereign power you have of us,
Put your dread pleasures more into command
Than to entreaty.

Guil. But we both obey;

And here give up ourselves, in the full bent,
To lay our service freely at your feet.

King. Thanks, Rosencrantz, and gentle Guilden


Queen. I do beseech you instantly to visit My too much changed son.-Go, some of you, And bring these gentlemen where Hamlet is. [Exeunt GUILDENSTERN, ROSENCRANTZ, FRANCISCO, and Bernardo.


Pol. I now do think, (or else this brain of mine
Hunts not the train of policy so sure
As it hath us'd to do,) that I have found
The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy.

King. O, speak of that; that I do long to hear.
Pol. My liege, and madam, to expostulate
What majesty should be, what duty is,
Why day is day, night night, and time is time,
Were nothing but to waste night, day, and time:
Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit,
And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes,
I will be brief: Your noble son is mad:
Mad call I it; for, to define true madness,
What is't, but to be nothing else but mad?
But let that go.

Queen. More matter, with less art.

Pol. Madam, I swear, I use no art at all.That he is mad, 'tis true; 'tis true, 'tis pity;

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