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In mincing with his fword her husband's limbs;
The instant burit of clamour that the made,
(Unless things mortal move them not at all)
Would have

made milch the burning eyes of Heaven, And pallion in the gods.

Pol. Look whether he has not turned his colour, and has tears in's eyes. Pr'ythee, no more.

Ham. 'Tis well. I'll have thee fpeak out the red of this foon. Good my Lord, will you see the players well bestowed? Do ye hear, let them be well used; for they are the abstract and brief chroniclers of the time. After your death, you were better have a bad epitaph, than their ill report while you lived.

Pol. My Lord, I will use them according to their desert.

Ham. God's bodikins, man, much better. Use every man after his defert, and who shall 'scape whipping ? use them after your own honour and dignity. The less they deserve, the more merit is in your hounty. Take them in. Poi. Come, Sirs.

[Exit Polonius. Ham. Follow him, friends: we'll have a play to.

Dost thou hear me, old friend, can you play the murder of Gonzago?

Play. Ay, my Lord.

Ham. We'll ha’t to-morrow night. You could, for a need, study a specch of fome dozen or fixteen lines, which I would fet down and infert in't? could


ye not?

Play. Ay, my Lord.

Ham Very well. Follow that Lord, and look you mock him not. My good friends, I'll leave you 'till night: you are welcome to Ellinoor. Rof. Good my Lord.


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Ham. Ay, fo, God b'w'ye. Now I am alone,
Oh, what a rogue and peafant flave am I!
Is it not monstrous that this player here,
But in a fi&tion, in a dream of paffion,
Could force his soul so to his own conceit,
That, from her working, all his visage warmed :
Tears in his eyes, distraction in his afpect,
A broken voice, and his whole function suiting,
With forms to his conceit? and all for nothing?
For Hecuba ?
What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,

That he should weep for her? what would he do,
Had he the motive and the cue for paflion
That I have? he would drown the stage with tears,
And cleave the general ear with horrid speech,
Make mad the guilty, and appal the five;
Confound the ignorant, and amaze, indeed,
The very faculty of eyes and ears.-------- Yet I,
A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak,
Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause,
And can fay nothing-----no, not for a King,
Upon whose property and most dear life
A damned defeat was made. Am I a coward?
Who calls me villain, breaks my pate a-cross,
Plucks off my bcard, and blows it in my face?
Tweaks me by th' nose, gives me the lye i' th’throat,
As deep as to the lungs? who does me this ?
Yet I should take it-.-.-for it cannot be
But I am pigeon-livered, and lack gall
To make oppression bitter; or, cre this,
I should have fatted all the region kites
With this save's offal. Bloody, bawdy villain !
Remorseless, treacherous, letcherous, kindless vil
Why, what an ass am I? this is most brave, [lain!

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That I, the fon of a dear father murdered,
Prompted to my revenge by Heaven and hell,
Must, like a wbore, unpack my heart with words,
And fall a curfing like a very drab-(32)
A cullion,---fy upon't ! foh!-about, my brain !...
I've heard, that guilty creatures, at a play,
Have, by the very cunning of the scene,
Been struck so to the soul, that presently
They have proclaimed their malefactions.
For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak
With most miraculous organ. I'll have thefe players
Play something like the murder of my father,
Before mine uncle. I'll observe his looks;
"I'll tent him to the quick; if he but blench,
I know my course. This spirit, that I have seen,
May be the devil; and the devil hath power
T'assume a pleafing shape; yea, and, perhaps,
Out of my weakness and my melancholy,
(As he is very potent with such spirits)
Abuses me to damn me. I'll have grounds
More relative than this: the play's the thing,
Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the King. [Exit.

(32) And fall a curfing like a very drað

A ftallion.) But why a stallion? The two old Folios hare it, a scullion, but that too is wrong. I am persuaded Shakespeare wrote as I have reformed the text, a vulli.n, i.e. a stupid, heartless, fàint-hearted, white-livered fellow; one good for nothing, but curfing and talking big. So, in King Lear; I'll make a Top o'tl' mooniline of you; you whorlon,

villionly barbermonger, draw. 2 Henry VI.

Away, base cullions !-Suffolk, Ict 'em go. The word is of lialian extraction, from coglione; which, in its metaphorical significatien, (as La Crufca defines it) dicesi ancor englione per ingiuria in senso di balardo, is said by way of reproach to a slupid, good-for-nothing blockhead. VOL. XII,


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AND can you by no drift of conference

Get from him why he puts on this confufion, Grating fo harshly all his days of quiet, With turbulent and dangerous lunacy?

RoS, He does confess, he feels himself distracted; But from what cause he will by no means speak.

Guil. Nor do we find him forward to be founded;
But with a crafty madness keeps aloof,
When we would bring him on to fome confession
Of his true ftate.

Queer. Did he receive you well?
Rof. Most like a gentleman.
Guil. But with much forcing of his disposition.

Rof. Niggard of question, but of our demands
Most free in his reply.

Queen. Did you affay him to any paftime?

Rof. Madam, it fo fell out that certain players
We o'er-took on the way; of these we told him;
And there did seem in him a kind of joy
To hear of it: they are about the court;
And (as I think) they have already order
This night to play before him.

Pol, 'Tis most true :
And he beseeched me to intreat your Majesties
To hear and see the matter.

King. With all my heart, and it doth much conTo hear him so inclined.

(tent me


Good gentlemen, give him a further edge,
And drive his purpose into these delights.
Rof. We shall, my Lord.

King. Sweet Gertrude, leave us too;
For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither,
That he, as 'twere by accident, may here
Affront Ophelia. Her father and myself
Will fo beltow ourfelves, that, seeing, unseen,
We may of their encounter frankly judge;
And gather by hin, as he is behaved,
If't be th' affliction of his love, or nog,
That this he suffers for.

Queen. I shall obey you: And for my part, Ophelia, I do with, That your good beauties be the happy causeOf Hamlet's wildness! So shall I hope; your virtues May bring him to his wonted way again, To both your honours. Oph. Madam, I wish it may.

[Exit Queen. Pol. Ophelia, walk you here.--Gracious, 10 We will bestow ourfelves. Read on this book; That shew of such an exercise may colour Your loneliness, We're oft to blame in this, 'Tis too much proved, that with devotion's visage, And pious action, we do fugar o'er The devil himself.

King Oh, 'tis too true. How. Imart a lash that speech doth give my conscience !

[ Afide. The harlot's cheek, beautied with plaistring art, Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it, Than is my deed to my molt painted word. Oh heavy burden ! Pol. I hear him coming; let's withdraw, my Lord.

[Exeunt all but Ophelia.

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