39

O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven;
It hath the primal eldest curse upon 't,
A brother's murder! Pray can I not,
Though inclination be as sharp as will:
My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent,
And, like a man to double business bound,
I stand in pause where I shall first begin,
And both neglect. What if this cursed hand
Were thicker than itself with brother's blood,
Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens
To wash it white as snow? Whereto serves
mercy

But to confront the visage of offence?
And what's in prayer but this twofold force,
To be forestalled ere we come to fall,

49

Or pardon'd being down? Then I'll look up; My fault is past. But, O, what form of prayer Can serve my turn? "Forgive me my foul murder?"

60

That cannot be, since I am still possess'd
Of those effects for which I did the murder,
My crown, mine own ambition, and my queen.
May one be pardon'd, and retain the offence?
In the corrupted currents of this world
Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice;
And oft 't is seen the wicked prize itself
Buys out the law: but 't is not so above;
There is no shuffling, there the action lies
In his true nature; and we ourselves compell'd,
Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults,
To give in evidence. What then? what rests??
Try what repentance can: what can it not?
Yet what can it when one can not repent?
O wretched state! O bosom black as death!
O limed3 soul, that struggling to be free
Art more engag'd. Help, angels! Make
assay!

4

Enter HAMLET.

Ham. Now might I do it pat, now he is praying;

And now I'll do 't: and so he goes to heaven;
And so am I reveng'd. That would be scann'd:
A villain kills my father; and, for that,
I, his sole son, do this same villain send
To heaven.

80

O, this is hire and salary, not revenge.
He took my father grossly, full of bread,
With all his crimes broad blown, as flush as
May;

And how his audit stands who knows save heaven?

But, in our circumstance and course of thought,
"Tis heavy with him: and am I, then, reveng'd,
To take him in the purging of his soul,
When he is fit and season'd for his passage?
No.

Up, sword, and know thou a more horrid hent:

When he is drunk asleep, or in his rage, [Or in the incestuous pleasure of his bed;] 90 At gaming, swearing, or about some act That has no relish of salvation in 't; Then trip him, that his heels may kick at heaven,

And that his soul may be as damn'd and black As hell, whereto it goes. My mother stays: This physic but prolongs thy sickly days.

[Exit.

[The King rises and advances. King. My words fly up, my thoughts remain below:

Words without thoughts never to heaven go. [Exit.

SCENE IV. Another room in the same.

Enter QUEEN and POLONIUS.

Pol. He will come straight. Look you lay home to him:

Tell him his pranks have been too broad to bear with,

And that your grace hath screen'd and stood between

5 Would, i.e. requires to.

2 Rests, remains.

3 Limed, caught with bird-lime.

* Engag'd, entangled,

6 Flush, full of vigour.

7 Broad, unrestrained.

Queen. Nay, then, I'll set those to you that can speak.

Ham. Come, come, and sit you down; you shall not budge;

19

You go not till I set you up a glass
Where you may see the inmost part of you.
Queen. What wilt thou do? thou wilt not
murder me? Help, help, ho!

Pol. [Behind] What, ho! help, help, help! Ham. [Drawing] How now! a rat? Dead, for a ducat, dead!

[Makes a pass through the arras. Pol. [Behind] O, I am slain!

[Falls and dies. Queen. O me, what hast thou done? Ham.

Is it the king?

Nay, I know not:

Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell! I took thee for thy better: take thy fortune; Thou find'st to be too busy in some danger. Leave wringing of your hands: peace! sit you down,

And let me wring your heart: for so I shall,
If it be made of penetrable stuff;

If damned custom have not braz'd it so,
That it is proof and bulwark against sense.1
Queen. What have I done, that thou dar'st
wag thy tongue

40

In noise so rude against me?
Ham.
Such an act
That blurs the grace and blush of modesty,
Calls virtue hypocrite, takes off the rose
From the fair forehead of an innocent love
And sets a blister there, makes marriage-vows
As false as dicers' oaths: O, such a deed
As from the body of contraction2 plucks
The very soul, and sweet religion makes
A rhapsody of words: heaven's face doth glow;
Yea, this solidity and compound mass,
With tristful visage, as against the doom,
Is thought-sick3 at the act.

50

Queen.
Ay me, what act,
That roars so loud, and thunders in the index?
Ham. Look here, upon this picture, and on
this,

The counterfeit presentment of two brothers.
See, what a grace was seated on this brow;
Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself;
An eye like Mars, to threaten and command;
A station like the herald Mercury
New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill;
A combination and a form indeed,
Where every god did seem to set his seal,
To give the world assurance of a man:
This was your husband. Look you now, what
follows:

60

Here is your husband; like a mildew'd ear, Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you

eyes?

Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed, And batten on this moor? Ha! have you eyes?

1 Sense, feeling.

2 Contraction, i.e. marriage contract.

3 Thought-sick, sick with anxiety.

4 Station, attitude in standing. 5 Batten, grow fat.

Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings, You heavenly guards! What would your gracious figure?

Queen. Alas, he's mad!

Ham. Do you not come your tardy son to chide,

That, laps'd in time and passion, lets go by The important' acting of your dread command? O, say!

Ghost. Do not forget: this visitation Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose. But, look, amazement on thy mother sits: O, step between her and her fighting soul: Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works: Speak to her, Hamlet.

Ham.

110

How is it with you, lady? Queen. Alas, how is 't with you, That you do bend your eye on vacancy, And with the incorporal air do hold discourse? Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep; [And, as the sleeping soldiers in the alarm, Your bedded hair, like life in excrements, Starts up, and stands on end.] O gentle son, Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look? Ham. On him, on him! Look you, how pale he glares!

His form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to stones,

Would make them capable. Do not look

That I have utter'd: bring me to the test,
And I the matter will re-word; which madness
Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace,
Lay not that flattering unction to your soul,
That not your trespass, but my madness speaks:
It will but skin and film the ulcerous place,
Whilst rank corruption, mining all within,
Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven;
Repent what's past; avoid what is to come;
[And do not spread the compost on the weeds,)
To make them ranker. Forgive me this my

virtue;

6

152

For in the fatness of these pursy times
Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg,
Yea, curb and woo for leave to do him good.]
Queen. O Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart
in twain.

160

Ham. O, throw away the worser part of it,
And live the purer with the other half.
Good night: but go not to my uncle's bed;
Assume a virtue, if you have it not.
[That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat,
Of habits devil, is angel yet in this,
That to the use of actions fair and good
He likewise gives a frock or livery,
That aptly is put on.
Refrain to-night,

And that shall lend a kind of easiness
To the next abstinence: the next more easy;
For use almost can change the stamp of nature,
And either lay the devil, or throw him out
With wondrous potency. Once more, good

night:]

170

And when you are desirous to be bless'd,
I'll blessing beg of you. For this same lord,

[Pointing to Polonius.

I do repent: but heaven hath pleas'd it so,

5 Ecstasy, madness.

Compost, manure.

7 Curb (Fr. courber), bow.