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 fure you haue
Els could you not haue motion, but fure that fence
Is appoplext, for madneffe would not erre.

Nor fenc to extacie was neere so thral'd

But it referu'd fome quantity of choyce

To ferue in fuch a difference.

What diuell waft

That thus hath cofond you at hodman-blind?
Eyes without feeling, feeling without fight,
Eares without hands, or eyes, fmelling fance all,
Or but a fickly part of one true fence

Could not fo mope. O fhame! where is thy blush?
Rebellious hell,

If thou canft mutine in a matrons bones,

To flaming youth, let vertue be as wax

And melt in her owne fire, proclaime no fhame
When the compúlfiue ardure giues the charge,
Since froft itselfe as actiuely doth burne,
And reafon pardons will.

Ger. O Hamlet fpeake no more,

Thou turn'ft my very eyes into my foule,

And there I fee fuch black and greeued fpots
As will leaue there their tin'ct.

Ham. Nay but to liue

*

In the rancke fweat of an incestuous bed

Stewed in corruption, honying and making loue
Ouer the nafty fie.

Ger. O fpeake to mee no more,

These words like daggers enter in my eares,

No more fweet Hamlet.

Ham. A murtherer and a villaine,

A flaue 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 fhelfe the precious diadem ftole
And put it in his pocket. *

Enter Ghost.

Ham. A king of fhreds and patches,
Saue me and houer ore me with your wings

You heauenly gards: what would your gratious figure?
Ger. Alaffe hee's mad.

Ham. Doe youe not come your tardy fonne to chide,
That lap'ft in time and paffion lets goe by

Th' important acting of your dread command. O fay!
Ghost. Doe not forget this vifitation

Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose,
But looke, amazement on thy mother fits,
Oftep between her, and her fighing † foule !
Conceit in weakest bodies strongest workes,
Speake to her Hamlet.

Ham. How is it with you lady?

Ger. Alaffe how i'ft with you?

That you doe bend your eye on vacancy.
And with th' incorporall ayre doe hold difcourfe,
Foorth at your eyes your fpirrits wildly peep,

And as the fleeping fouldiers in th' alarme,

Your beaded haire like life in excrements
Starts vp and ftands an end: O gentle fonne !
Vpon the heate and flame of thy distemper

Sprinckle coole patience, whereon doe you looke?

Ham. On him, on him, looke you how pale he glares, His forme and cause conioyned, preaching to stones

*Gert. No more, ift edit. † fighting.

bedded.

Would

Would make them capable, doe not looke vpon me,
Leaft with this pittious action you conuert

My ftearne effects, then what I haue to doe

Will want true collour, teares perchance for blood."
Ger. To whome doe you fpeake this?
Ham. Doe you fee 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.

Exit Ghost.

Ger. This is the very coynage of your braine,
This bodileffe creation, extacy is very cunning in.
Ham. My pulfe as yours doth temperatly keepe time,
And makes as healthfull muficke, it is not madneffe
That I haue vttred, bring me to the test,
And the matter will reword, which madnesse
Would gambole from. Mother for loue of grace,
Lay not that flattering vnction to your foule
That not your trespasse but my madnesse speakes,
It will but skin and filme the vicerous place,
Whiles rancke corruption mining all within
Infects vnfeene: confeffe your felfe to heauen,
Repent what's paft, auoyd what is to come,
And do not spread the compoft on the weedes
To make them rancker, forgiue me this my vertue,
For in the fatneffe of these purfie times

Vertue it felfe of vice must pardon beg,

Yea curbe and wooe for leaue to doe him good.

Ger. O Hamlet, thou haft cleft my hart in twaine.

❤there omitted.

Ham.

Ham. O throw away the worfer part of it, And leaue the purer with the other halfe, Good night, but goe not to my vncles bed, Affume a vertue if you haue it not,

That monfter cuftomé, who all fence doth cate

Of habits deuill, is angell yet in this
That to the vfe of actions faire and good,
He likewife giues a frocke or liuery
That aptly is put on to refraine night,
And that shall lend a kind of eafines

To the next abftinence, the next more cafie:
For vfe almost can change the ftamp of nature,
And maister the diuell, or throw him out
With wonderous potency: once more good night,
And when you are defirous to be bleft,
Ile bleffing beg of you, for this fame lord
I doe repent; but heauen hath pleaf'd it fo
To punish me with this, and this with me,
That I must be their fcourge and minifter,
I will bestow him and will anfwer well
The death I gaue him; fo 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 fhall 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 kiffes,

Or padling in your necke with his damn'd fingers.
Make you to rouell all this matter out
That I effentially am not in madneffe,

But mad in craft, t'were good you let him know.

For who that's but a queene, faire, sober, wife,
Would from a paddack, from a bat, a gib,
Such deare concernings hide, who would doe fo,
No, in difpight of fence and fecrecy,
Vapeg the basket on the houfes top,

Let the birds fly, and like the famous ape,

To try conclufions in the basket creepe,

And breake your owne necke downe.

Ger. Be thou affur'd, if words be made of breath,

And breath of life, I haue no life to breath

What thou haft fayd to me.

Ham. I must to England, you know that,

Ger. Alacke I had forgot.

Tis fo concluded on.

Ham. Ther's letters feald, and my two schoolefellowes,

Whom I will truft 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 fport to haue the enginer

Hoist with his owne petar, an't shall goe hard
But I will delue one yard belowe their mines,
And blow them at the moone: O tis most sweete
When in one line two crafts directly meete.
This man fhall fet me packing,

Ile lugge the guts into the neighbour roome;
Mother good night indeed, this counfayler
Is now most still, most fecret, and most graue,
Who was in life a most foolish prating knaue.
Come fir, to draw toward an end with you.
Good night mother.

Exit.

Enter King, and Queene, with Rosencraus and Gyklensterne.

King. There's matter in these fighes, these profound heaues; You must tranflate, tis fit we vnderstand them,

Where is your fonne?

R 4

Gert.