Do not believe his vows; for they are brokers, (9)
Not of that Die which their investments fhew,
But meer implorers of unholy fuits,

Breathing like fanctified and pious Bawds,
The better to beguile. This is for all :

I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth,
Have you fo flander any moment's leifure,

As to give words or talk with the lord Hamlet.-
Look to't, I charge you, come your way.
Oph. I fhall obey, my lord.

(9) Do not believe his Vows; for they are Brokers;

Breathing like fanctified and pious Bonds,

The better to beguile.]

[Exeunt.

Tho' all the Editors have swallow'd this Reading implicitly, it is certainly corrupt; and I have been furpriz'd, how Men of Genius and Learning could let it pass without some Sufpicion. What Ideas can we form to ourselves of a breathing Bond, or of its being sanctified and pious? As he, just before, is calling amorous Vows Brokers, and implorers of unholy Suits; I think, a Continuation of the plain and natural Senfe directs to an easy Emendation, which makes the whole Thought of a piece, and gives it a Turn not unworthy of

our Poet.

Breathing, like fanctified and pious Bawds,

The better to beguile.

Broker, 'tis to be observ'd, our Author perpetually uses as the more modeft Synonymous Term for Bawd. Befides, what ftrengthens my Correction, and makes this Emendation the more neceffary and probable, is, the Words with which the Poet winds up his Thoughts, the better to beguile. It is the fly Artifice and Cuftom of Bawds to put on an Air and Form of Sanctity, to betray the Virtues of young Ladies; by drawing them first into a kind Opinion of them, from their exteriour and diffembled Goodness. And Bawds in their Office of Treachery are likewife properly Brokers; and the Implorers and Prompters of unholy (that is, unchaft) Suits: And fo a Chain of the fame Metaphors is continued to the End.

SCENE

SCENE changes to the Platform before the
Palace.

Ham.

Enter Hamlet, Horatio, and Marcellus.

very cold.

HE Air bites fhrewdly; it is
Hor. It is a nipping and an eager air.

ΤΗ

Ham. What hour now?

Hor. I think, it lacks of twelve.

Mar. No, it is ftruck.

Hor. I heard it not: it then draws near the season,

Wherein the Spirit held his wont to walk.

Noife of warlike mufick within.

What does this mean, my lord?

Ham. The King doth wake to night, and takes his
roufe,

Keeps waffel, and the fwagg'ring up-fpring reels;
And as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down,

The kettle- drum and trumpet thus bray out

The triumph of his pledge.

Hor. Is it a custom?
Ham. Ay, marry, is't:

But, to my mind, though I am native here,
And to the manner born, it is a custom

More honour'd in the breach, than the observance.

This heavy-headed revel, eaft and weft,

Makes us traduc'd, and tax'd of other nations;

They clepe us drunkards, and with fwinish phrase
Soil our addition; and, indeed, it takes

From our atchievements, though perform'd at height,
The pith and marrow of our attribute.

So, oft it chances in particular men,

That for fome vicious mole of nature in them,
As, in their birth, (wherein they are not guilty,
Since nature cannot chufe his origin)
By the o'ergrowth of fome complexion,
Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reafon;
Or by fome habit, that too much o'er-leavens
The form of plaufive manners; that these men

Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect,
(Being nature's livery, or fortune's fcar)
Their virtues elfe, be they as pure as grace,
As infinite as man may undergo,

Shall in the general cenfure take corruption
From that particular fault.

The dram of Bafe (10)

Doth all the noble fubftance of Worth out,

To his own fcandal.

Enter Ghoft.

Hor. Look, my lord, it comes!

Ham. Angels and minifters of grace defend us! Be thou a Spirit of health, or Goblin damn'd, Bring with thee airs from heav'n, or blasts from hell, Be thy intents wicked or charitable,

Thou com'ft in such a questionable shape,

That I will speak to thee. I'll call thee Hamlet,
King, Father, Royal Dane: oh! answer me;
Let me not burft in ignorance; but tell,
Why thy canoniz'd bones, hearsed in death,
Have burst their cearments? why the fepulchre,
Wherein we saw thee quietly in-urn'd,
Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws,
To caft thee up again? What may this mean?

(10)-
The Dram of Eafe
Doth all the noble Substance of a Doubt

To his own scandal.] I do not remember a Paffage, throughout all our Poet's Works, more intricate and deprav'd in the Text, of lefs Meaning to outward Appearance, or more likely to baffle the Attempts of Criticism in its Aid. It is certain, there is neither Senfe, nor Grammar, as it now ftands: yet, with a flight Alteration, I'll endeavour to cure those Defects, and give a Sentiment too, that shall make the Poet's Thought clofe nobly. The Dram of Bafe, (as I have corrected the Text) means the leaft Alloy of Baseness or Vice. It is very frequent with our Poet to use the Adjective of Quality instead of the Substantive fignifying the Thing. Befides, I have obferved, that elsewhere, fpeaking of Worth, he delights to confider it as a Quality that adds Weight to a Perfon, and connects she Word with that Idea.

That

That thou, dead coarfe, again, in compleat steel,
Revifit'ft thus the glimpfes of the moon,
Making night hideous, and us fools of nature
So horribly to shake our difpofition

With thoughts beyond the reaches of our fouls?
Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we do?

[Ghoft beckons Hamlet.

Hor. It beckons you to go away with it, As if it fome impartment did defire

To

you

alone.

Mar. Look, with what courteous action It waves you to a more removed ground:

But do not go with it.

Hor. No, by no means.

[Holding Hamlet.

Ham. It will not speak; then I will follow it.

Hor. Do not, my lord.

Ham. Why, what should be the fear?

I do not fet my life at a pin's fee;

And, for my foul, what can it do to That,
Being a thing immortal as it felf?

It waves me forth again.

-I'll follow it

Hor. What if it tempt you tow'rd the flood, my lord? Or to the dreadful fummit of the cliff,

That beetles o'er his Base into the fea;

And there affume fome other horrible form,

Which might deprive your fov'reignty of reason,
And draw you into madness? think of it.
The very place puts toys of defperation,
Without more motive, into ev'ry brain,
That looks fo many fadoms to the fea;
And hears it roar beneath.

Ham. It waves me ftill: go on, I'll follow thee

Mar. You fhall not go, my lord.

Ham. Hold off your hands.

Mar. Be rul'd, you shall not go.

Ham. My fate cries out,

And makes each petty artery in this body
As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve:

Still am I call'd: unhand me, gentlemen

[Breaking from them.

By heaven, I'll make a Ghost of him that lets me-
I fay, away- -go on- -I'll follow thee
Exeunt Ghoft and Hamlet.

Hor. He waxes defp'rate with imagination.
Mar. Let's follow; 'tis not fit thus to obey him.
Hor. Have after.- To what iffue will this come?
Mar. Something is rotten in the State of Denmark.
Hor. Heav'n will direct it.

Mar. Nay, let's follow him.

[Exeunt.

S.CENE changes to a more remote Part of the Platform.

Ham.

Re-enter Ghoft and Hamlet.

HERE wilt thou lead me? fpeak; I'll go no further.

WH

Ghoft. Mark me.

Ham. I will

Ghoft. My hour is almost come,

When I to fulphurous and tormenting flames

Muft render up my self.

Ham. Alas, poor Ghost!

Ghoft. Pity me not, but lend thy ferious hearing

To what I fhall unfold.

Ham. Speak, I am bound to hear.

Ghoft. So art thou to revenge, when thou fhalt hear.
Ham. What?

Ghost. I am thy father's Spirit;

Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night,
And, for the day, confin'd to faft in fires;
"Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature,
Are burnt and purg'd away. But that I am forbid
To tell the fecrets of my prifon-house,

I could a tale unfold, whofe lighteft word

Would harrow up thy foul, freeze thy young blood,
Make thy two eyes, like ftars, ftart from their spheres,
Thy knotty and combined locks to part,

And each particular hair to stand on end
Like quills upon the fretful porcupine:

But