Imagens das páginas
PDF
ePub

Laer. This nothing's more than matter.

Oph. There's rosemary, that's for remembrance;' pray you, love, remember: and there is pansies, that's for thoughts.

Laer. A document in madness; thoughts and remembrance fitted.

you;

Oph. There's fennel for you, and columbines :--there's rue for and here's some for me:-we may call it, herb of grace o'Sundays:-you may wear your rue with a difference.-There's a daisy: -I would give you some violets; but they withered all, when my father died :-They say, he made a good end,

For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy,

Sings. Laer. Thought and affliction,3 passion, hell itself, She turns to favour, and to prettiness.

Oph. And will he not come again?
And will he not come again?
No, no, he is dead,

Go to thy death-bed,

He never will come again.

[Sings.

1 There's rosemary, that's for remembrance;] Rosemary was anciently supposed to strengthen the memory, and was not only carried at funerals, but worn at weddings.

2

you may wear your rue with a difference.] This seems to refer to the rules of heraldry, where the younger brothers of a family bear the same arms with a difference, or mark of distinction. There may, however, be somewhat more implied here than is expressed. You, madam, (says Ophelia to the Queen,) may call your RUE by its Sunday name, HERB OF GRACE, and so wear it with a difference to distinguish it from mine, which can never be any thing but merely RUE, i. e. sorrow. STEEVENS.

3 Thought and affliction,] Thought here, as in many other places, signifies melancholy.

VOL. IX.

T

His beard was as white as snow,
All flaren was his poll:

He is gone, he is gone,

And we cast away moan;

God'a mercy on his soul!

And of all christian souls! I pray God. God be

wi' you! [Exit OPHELIA. Laer. Do you see this, O God?

King. Laertes, I must commune with your grief, Or you deny me right. Go but apart,

Make choice of whom your wisest friends you will, And they shall hear and judge 'twixt you and me:

If by direct or by collateral hand

They find us touch'd, we will our kingdom give,
Our crown, our life, and all that we call ours,
To you in satisfaction; but, if not,

Be you content to lend your patience to us,
And we shall jointly labour with your soul
To give it due content.

Laer.

Let this be so;

His means of death, his obscure funeral,—
No trophy, sword, nor hatchment, o'er his bones,
No noble rite, nor formal ostentation,

Cry to be heard, as 'twere from heaven to earth,
That I must call❜t in question.

King.

So you shall;

And, where the offence is, let the great axe fall.

I

pray you, go with me.

4 God'a mercy on his soul!

[Exeunt

And of all christian souls!] This is the common conclusion to many of the ancient monumental inscriptions.

5 No trophy, sword, nor hatchment, o'er his bones,] It was the custom, in the times of our author, to hang a sword over the grave of a knight, and it is uniformly kept up to this day. Not only the sword, but the helmet, gauntlet, spurs, and tabard (i. e. a coat whereon the armorial ensigns were anciently depicted, from whence the term coat of armour,) are hung over the grave of every knight.

SCENE VI.

Another Room in the same.

Enter HORATIO, and a Servant.

Hor. What are they, that would speak with me?

Serv.

They say, they have letters for you.

Hor.

Sailors, sir;

Let them come in.

[Erit Servant. I do not know from what part of the world I should be greeted, if not from lord Hamlet.

[blocks in formation]

Hor. Let him bless thee too.

1 Sail. He shall, sir, an't please him. There's a letter for you, sir; it comes from the ambassador that was bound for England; if your name be Horatio, as I am let to know it is.

Hor. [Reads.] Horatio, when thou shalt have overlooked this, give these fellows some means to the king; they have letters for him. Ere we were two days old at sea, a pirate of very warlike appointment gave us chace: Finding ourselves too slow of sail, we put on a compelled valour; and in the grapple I boarded them: on the instant, they got clear of our ship; so I alone became their prisoner. They have dealt with me, like thieves of mercy; but they knew what they did; I am to do a good turn for them. Let the king have the letters I have sent; and repair thou to me with as much haste as thou wouldst fly death. I have words to speak in thine ear, will make

thee dumb; yet are they much too light for the bore of the matter. These good fellows will bring thee where I am. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern hold their course for England; of them I have much to tell thee. Farewell.

He that thou knowest thine, Hamlet.

Come, I will give you way for these your letters; And do't the speedier, that you may direct me To him from whom you brought them.

[Exeunt.

SCENE VII.

Another Room in the same.

Enter King and LAERTES.

King. Now must your conscience my acquittance seal,

And you must put me in your heart for friend
Sith
you have heard, and with a knowing ear,
That he, which hath your noble father slain,
Pursu'd my life.

Laer.

It well appears:-But tell me,

Why you proceeded not against these feats,
So crimeful and so capital in nature,

As by your safety, greatness, wisdom, all things else,
You mainly were stirr'd up.

King. Ô, for two special reasons; Which may to you, perhaps, seem much unsinew'd, But yet to me they are strong. The queen his mother,

Lives almost by his looks; and for myself,

- for the bore of the matter.] The bore is the caliber of a gun, or the capacity of the barrel. The matter (says Hamlet) would carry heavier words.

(My virtue, or my plague, be it either which,)
She is so conjunctive to my life and soul,
That, as the star moves not but in his sphere,
I could not but by her. The other motive,
Why to a publick count I might not go,

Is, the great love the general gender bear him:
Who, dipping all his faults in their affection,
Work like the springs that turneth wood to stone,
Convert his gyves to graces; so that my arrows,
Too slightly timber'd for so loud a wind,
Would have reverted to my bow again,
And not where I had aim'd them.

Laer. And so have I a noble father lost;
A sister driven into desperate terms;

Whose worth, if praises may go back again,'
Stood challenger on mount of all the

age

For her perfections :-But my revenge will come. King. Break not your sleeps for that: you must not think,

That we are made of stuff so flat and dull,

That we can let our beard be shook with danger,
And think it pastime. You shortly shall hear more ;
I loved your father, and we love ourself;

And that, I hope, will teach you to imagine,-
How now? what news?

Mess.

Enter a Messenger.

Letters, my lord, from Hamlet:

This to your majesty; this to the queen.

King. From Hamlet! Who brought them? Mess. Sailors, my lord, they say: I saw them not; They were given me by Claudio, he receiv'd them

7

the general gender-] The common race of the people. 8 Work like the spring, &c.] The allusion here is to the quality still ascribed to the dropping well at Knaresborough in Yorkshire. if praises may go back again,] If I may praise what has been, but is now to be found no more.

9

« AnteriorContinuar »