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You cannot call it loue, for at your age
The heyday in the blood is tame, it's humble,
And waites vpon the iudgement, and what iudgement
Would step from this to this ? fence sure you haue
Els could you not haue motion, but sure that sence
Is appoplext, for madnesse would not erre.
Nor senc to extacie was neere so thrald
But it referu'd some quantity of choyce
To ferue in such a difference. What diuell wast
That thus hath cofond you at hodman-blind?
Eyes without feeling, feeling without fight,
Eares without hands, or eyes, smelling fance all,
Or but a sickly part of one true sence
Could not so mope. O shame! where is thy blush?
If thou canst mutine in a matrons bones,
To flaming youth, let vertue be as wax
And melt in her owne fire, proclaime no shame
When the compulsiue ardure giues the charge,
Since frost itselfe as actiuely doth burne,
And reason pardons will.
Ger. O Hamlet speake no more,
Thou turn'st my very eyes into my soule,
And there I see such black and greeued spots
As will leaue there their tin'êt.
Ham. Nay but to liue
In the rancke sweat of an incestuous * bed
Stewed in corruption, honying and making loue
Ouer the nafty stie.
Ger. O speake to mee no more,
These words like daggers enter in my eares,
No more sweet Hamlet..
Ham. A murtherer and a villaine,
A Maue that is not twentith part the kyth
Of your precedent lord, a vice of kings,
A cut-purse of the empire and the rule,
That from a shelfe the precious diadem stole
And put it in his pocket. *
Ham. A king of shreds and patches,
Saue me and houer ore me with your wings
You heauenly gards : what would your gratious figure ?
Ger. Alasse hee's mad.
Ham. Doe youe not come your tardy fonne to chide,
That lap'it in time and passion lets goe by
Th' important acting of your dread command. O say !
Ghost. Doe not forget : this visitation
Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose,
But looke, amazement on thy mother fits,
O step between her, and her sighing + foule !
Conceit in weakest bodies strongest workes,
Speake to her Hamlet.
Ham. How is it with you lady ?
Ger. Alasse how i'lt with you ?
That you doe bend your eye on vacancy.
And with th’incorporall ayre doe hold discourse,
Foorth at your eyes your spirrits wildly peep,
· And as the sleeping louldiers in th’alarme,
Your beaded I haire like life in excrements
Starts vp and stands an end : O gentle sonne !
Vpon the heate and Aame of thy distemper
Sprinckle coole patience, whereon due you looke?
Ham. On him, on him, looke you how pale he glares,
His forme and cause conioyned, preaching to stones
Would make them capable, doe not looke vpon me,
Least with this pittious action you conuert
My stearge effects, then what I haue to doe
Will want true collour, teares perchance for blood.
Ger. To whome doe you speake this?
Ham. Doe you see nothing there?
Ger. Nothing at all, yet all that is there* I fee.
Ham. Nor did you nothing heare ?
Ger. No nothing but our felues.
Ham. Why looke you there, looke how it steales away,
My father in his habit as he liue'd,
Looke where he goes, euen now out at the portall,
Ger. This is the very coynage of your braine,
This bodilesse creation, extacy is very cunning in.
Ham. My pulse as yours doth temperatly keepe-time,
And makes as healthfull musicke, it is not madnelle
That I haue vttred, bring me to the test,
And the matter will reword, which madnesle
Would gambole from. Mother for loue of grace,
Lay not that flattering vnction to your soule
That not your trespasse but my madnesse speakes,
It will but skin and filme the vicerous place,
Whiles rancke corruption mining all within
Infects vofeene: confesse your felfe to heauen,
Repent what's past, auoyd what is to come,
And do not spread the compost on the weedes
To make them rancker, forgiue me this my vertue,
For in the fatnesse of these pursie times
Vertue it selfe of vice must pardon beg,
Yea curbe and wooe for leaue to doe him good.
Ger. O Hamlet, thou hast cleft my hart in twaine.
Ham. O throw away the worser
And leaue the purer with the other halfe,
Good night, but goe not to my vncles bed,
Assume a vertue if you haue it not,
That monster custome, who all fence doth cate
Of habits deuill, is angell yet in this
That to the vse of actions faire and good,
He likewise giues a frocke or livery
That aptly is put on to refraine night,
And that shall lend a kind of easines
To the next abstinence, the next more easie :
For vse almost can change the stamp of nature,
And maister * the diuell, or throw him out
With wonderous potency : once more good night,
And when you are desirous to be blest,
Ile blessing beg of you, for this fame lord
I doe repent; but heauen hath pleasd it so
To punish me with this, and this with me,
That I must be their scourge and minister,
I will bestow him and will answer well
The death I gaue him ; so againe good night
I must be cruell onely to be kinde,
This bad beginnes, and worse remaines behind.
One word more good lady.
Ger. What shall I doe ?
Ham. Not this by no meanes that I bid you doe,
Let the blowt king temp't you againe to bed,
Pinch wanton on your cheeke, call you his mouse,
And let him for a paire of reechy kisses,
Or padling in your necke with his damn'd fingers.
Make you to rouell all this matter out
That I cffentially am not in madnesle,
But mad in craft, t’were good you let him know.
For who that's but a queene, faire, sober, wise,
Would from a paddack, from a bat, a gib,
Such deare concernings hide, who would doe so,
No, in dispight of fence and secrecy,
Vapeg the basket on the houses top,
Let the birds fly, and like the famous ape,
To try conclusions in the basket creepe,
And breake your owne necke downe.
Ger. Be thou aflur'd, if words be made of breath,
And breath of life, I haue no life to breath
What thou hast sayd to me.
Ham. I must to England, you know that,
Ger. Alacke I had forgot. Tis so concluded on.
Ham. Ther's letters feald, and my two schoolefellowes,
Whom I will trust as I will adders fang'd,
They beare the mandat, they must sweepe my way
And marshall me to knauery : let it worke,
For tis the sport to haue the enginer
Hoist with his owne petar, an't shall goe
But I will delue one yard belowe their mines,
And blow them at the moone : 0 tis most sweete
When in one line two crafts directly meete.
This man shall set me packing,
Ile lugge the guts into the neighbour roome ;
Mother good night indeed, this counsayler
Is now most still, most fecret, and most graue,
Who was in life a most foolish prating knaue.
Come sir, to draw toward an end with you.
Good night mother.
Exit. Enter King, and Queene, with Rosencraus and Gyllensterne.
King. There's matter in these sighes, these profound heaues ; You must translate, tis fit we ynderstand them, Where is your sonne?