To lack difcretion. Come; go we to the King.

This must be known; which, being kept clofe, might

move

More grief to hide, than hate to utter, love. [Exeunt.

SCENE changes to the Palace.

Enter King, Queen, Rofincrantz, Guildenstern, Lords and other Attendants.

King. WB

KingELCOME, dear Rofincrantz, and Guil denftern!

Moreover that we much did long to fee you,
The need, we have to use you, did provoke
Our hafty fending. Something you have heard
Of Hamlet's transformation; fo I call it,
Since not th' exterior, nor the inward, man
Refembles That it was. What it fhould be
More than his Father's death, that thus hath put him
So much from th' understanding of himself,

I cannot dream of. I entreat you Both,

That being of fo young days brought up with him,
And fince fo neighbour'd to his youth and humour,
That
you vouchfafe your Reft here in our Court
Some little time; fo by your companies
To draw him on to pleasures, and to gather,
So much as from occafions you may glean,
If aught, to us unknown, afflicts him thus,
That open'd lies within our remedy.

Queen. Good gentlemen, he hath much talk'd of you; And, fure I am, two men there are not living,

To whom he more adheres. If it will please you

To fhew us fo much gentry and good will,

As to extend your time with us a while,

For the fupply and profit of our hope,
Your vifitation fhall receive fuch thanks,
As fits a King's remembrance.

Rof. Both your Majesties

Might, by the fov'reign power you have of us, dread pleasures more into command

Put

your

Than

Than to entreaty.

Guil. But we both obey,

And here give up our felves, in the full bent,
To lay our fervice freely at your feet.

King. Thanks, Rofincrantz, and gentle Guildenstern.
Queen. Thanks, Guildenftern, and gentle Refin-

crantz.

And, I beseech you, inftantly to vifit

My too much changed fon. Go, fome of yẽ,

And bring thefe gentlemen where Hamlet is.

Guil. Heav'ns make our prefence and our practices Pleasant and helpful to him!

Queen. Amen.

[Exeunt Rof. and Guil.

Enter Polonius.

Pol. Th' ambffadors from Norway, my good lord, Are joyfully return'd.

King. Thou ftill haft been the father of good news. Pol Have I, my lord? affure you, my good liege, I hold my duty, as I hold my foul,

Both to my God, and to my gracious King;

And I do think, (or elfe this brain of mine
Hunts not the trail of policy fo fure

As I have us'd to do) that I have found
The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy.

King. Oh, fpeak of that, that do I long to hear.
Pol. Give firft admittance to th' ambaffadors:

My news fhall be the fruit to that great feast.
King. Thy felf do grace to them, and bring them in.
[Ex. Pol.
He tells me, my fweet Queen, that he hath found
The head and fource of all your fon's distemper.

Queen. I doubt, it is no other but the main,
His father's death, and our o'er-hafty marriage.

Re-enter Polonius, with Voltimand, and Cornelius.

King. Well, we shall fift him.-Welcome, my good friends!

Say, Voltimand, what from our brother Norway?
Volt. Most fair return of Greetings, and Defires.

Upon

Upon our firft, he fent out to fupprefs
His Nephew's levies, which to him appear'd
To be a preparation 'gainst the Polack:
But, better look'd into, he truly found

It was against your Highness: Whereat griev'd,
That so his fickness, age, and impotence
Was falfely borne in hand, fends out Arrefts
On Fortinbras; which he, in brief, obeys;
Receives rebuke from Norway; and, in fine,
Makes vow before his uncle, never more
To give th' affay of arms against your Majefty.
Whereon old Norway, overcome with joy,
Gives him threescore thousand crowns in annual fee; (13)

(13) Gives him three thousand Crowns in annual Fee.] This Reading first obtain'd in the Edition put out by the Players. But all the old Quarto's (from 1605, downwards,) read, as I have reform'd the Text. I had hinted, that threescore thoufand Crowns feem'd a much more fuitable Donative from a King to his own Nephew, and the General of an Army, than fo poor a Pittance as three thousand Crowns, a Penfion fcarce large enough for a dependent Courtier. I therefore reftor'd,

Gives him threescore thousand Crowns

To this Mr. Pope, (very archly critical, as he imagines ;) has only replyed,- -which in his Ear is a Verfe. I own, it is; and I'll venture to prove to this great Mafter in Numbers, that 2 Syllables may, by Pronunciation, be refolv'd and melted into one, as easily as two Notes are fur'd in Mufick and a Redundance of a Syllable, that may be fo funk, has never been a Breach of Harmony in any Language. We must pronounce, and fcan, as if 'twere written;

Gi's'm three | Score thousand crowns |

Mr. Pope would advance a falfe Nicety of Ear against the Licence of Shakespeare's Numbers; nay, indeed, against the Licence of all English Verfification, in common with That of other Languages. Three Syllables, thus liquidated into Two, are in Scanfion plainly an Anapest; and equal to a Spondee, or Foot of two Syllables. I could produce at least two thousand of our Poet's Verses, that would be difturb'd by this modern, unreasonable, Chafteness of Metre.

And

And his Commiffion to employ those soldiers,
So levied as before, against the Polack:
With an entreaty, herein further fhewn,
That it might please you to give quiet Pass
Through your Dominions for this enterprize,
On fuch regards of safety and allowance,
As therein are fet down.

King. It likes us well;

And at our more confider'd time we'll read,
Anfwer, and think

upon this business.

Mean time, we thank you for your well-took labour.
Go to your Reft; at night we'll feast together.

Moft welcome home!

Pol. This business is well ended.

My Liege, and Madam, to expoftulate
What Majefty fhould be, what duty is,

[Ex. Ambaf.

Why day is day, night night, and time is time,
Were nothing but to wafte night, day, and time.
Therefore, fince brevity's the foul of wit,
And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes,
I will be brief; your noble fon is mad;
Mad, call I it; for, to define true madness,
What is't, but to be nothing else but mad ?
But let that go.

Queen. More matter, with less art.

Pol. Madam, I fwear, I use no art at all:
That he is mad, 'tis true; 'tis true, 'tis pity;
And pity 'tis, 'tis true; a foolish figure,
But farewel it; for I will use no art.
Mad let us grant him then; and now remains
That we find out the cause of this effect,
Or rather fay, the cause of this defect;
For this effect, defective, comes by cause ;
Thus it remains, and the remainder thus.-Perpend.
I have a daughter; have, whilft fhe is mine;
Who in her duty and obedience, mark,

Hath giv'n me this; now gather, and surmise.

[He opens a letter, and reads.]

To the celestial, and my foul's idol, the most beati

fied (14) Ophelia.

That's an ill phrase, a vile phrafe: beatified is a vile phrafe; but you fhall hear Thefe to ber excellent white bofom, thefe.

Queen. Came this from Hamlet to her?

Pol. Good Madam, stay a while, I will be faithful.

Doubt thou, the ftars are fire,

Doubt, that the Sun doth move ;
Doubt truth to be a liar,

But never doubt, I love.

[Reading.

Oh, dear Ophelia, I am ill at thefe numbers; I have not art to reckon my groans; but that I love thee beft, b most beft, believe it.

Adieu.

Thine evermore, moft dear Lady, whilst

this Machine is to him, Hamlet.

This in obedience hath my daughter fhewn me:
And, more above, hath his follicitings,

As they fell out by time, by means, and place,
All given to mine ear.

King. But how hath fhe receiv'd his love?

(14) To the Celestial, and my Soul's Idol, the most beautified Ophelia.] I have ventur'd at an Emendation here, against the Authority of all the Copies; but, I hope, upon Examination it will appear probable and reasonable. The Word beautified may carry two diftin&t Ideas, either as applied to a Woman made up of artificial Beauties, or to one rich in native Charms. As Shakespeare has therefore chofe to use it in the latter Acceptation, to exprefs natural Comeliness 3 I cannot imagine, that, here, he would make Polonius except to the Phrase, and call it a vile one. But a ftronger Objection ftill, in my Mind, lies against it. As Celestial and Soul's Idol are the introductory Characteristics of Ophelia, what a dreadful Anticlimax is it to defcend to fuch an Epithet as beautified? On the other hand, beatified, as I have conjectur'd, raises the Image: but Polenius might very well, as a Roman Catholick, call it a vile Phrafe, i. e. favouring of Prophanation; fince the Epithet is peculiarly made an Adjunct to the Virgin Mavy's Honour, and therefore ought not to be employ'd in the Praise of a meer Mortal.

Pol..