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Hor. Oh my dear lord,

Ham. Nay, do not think, I flatter: For what advancement may I hope from thee, That no revenue hast, but thy good spirits, To feed and cloath thee? Should the poor be flatter'd ? No, let the candied tongue lick absurd Pomp, And crock the pregnant hinges of the knee, Where thrift may follow fawning. Doft thou hear ? Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice, And could of men distinguish, her election Hath seal'd thee for her self. For thou haft been As one, in suffering all, that fuffers nothing : A man, that fortune's buffets and rewards Haft ta'en with equal thanks. And blest are those, Whose blood and judgment are so well comingled, That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger, To sound what ftop the please. Give me that man, That is not passion's flave, and I will wear him In my heart's core': ay, in my heart of heart, As. I do thee. Something too much of this. There is a Play to night before the King, One Scene of it comes near the circumstance, Which I have told thee, of my father's death. I priythee, when thou feeft that Act a-foot, Ev'n with the very comment of thy soul Observe mine uncle: if his occult guilt. Do not it self unkennel in one speech, It is a damned Ghost that we have seen : And my imaginations are as foul (17) As Vulcan's Smithy. Give him heedful note ; For I mine eyes will rivet to his face ; And, after, we will both our judgments join, In cenfure of his Seeming.

Hor. Well, my lord.

(17) And my Imaginations are as foul,

As Vulcan's Stithy.) I have ventur*d, against the Authority of all the Copies, to fubftitute Smithy here. I have given my Reasons already in a Nore on Troilus, to which, for Brevity's sake, I beg. Leave to refer the Readers,

If he steal aught, the whilft this Play is playing,
And 'scape detecting, I will pay the theft.
Enter King, Queen, Polonias, Ophelia, Rofincrantz,

Guildenstern, and other lords 'attendant, with a guard carrying torches. Danish March. Sound a Aourish.

Ham. They're coming to the Play; I must be idle Get you a place.

King. How fares our cousin Hamlet?

Ham. Excellent, i'faith, of the camelion's dish: I eat the air, promise-crammid: you cannot feed capons

fo. King. I have nothing with this answer, Hamlet; these words are not mine.

Ham. No, nor mine. - Now, my lord ; you plaid once i'th' university, you say i

[To Polonius. Pol. That I did, my lord, and was accounted a good actor. Han. And what did

you

enact ? Pol. I did enact Julius Cæfar, I was kill'd i'ch' Cam pitol : Brutus kill'd

me Ham. It was a brute part of him, to kill fo capital a calf there. Be the players ready?

Rof. Ay, my lord, they stay upon your patience.
Queen. Come hither, my dear Hamlet, fit by me.
Ham. No, good mother, here's mettle more attractive.
Pol. Oh ho, do you mark that?
Ham. Lady, shall I lye in your lap?

[Lying down at Ophelia's feet.
Oph. No, my lord.
Ham. I mean, my Head upon your Lap?
Oph. Ay, my Lord.
Ham. Do you think, I meant country matters ?
Oph. I think nothing, my lord.
Ham. That's a fair thought, to lie between a maid's

legs.
Oph. What is, my lord:
Ham. Nothing
Oph. You are merry, my lord.
Ham. Who, I?

Opb.

Oph. Ay, my lord.

Ham. Oh God! your only jig-maker ; what should a man do, but be merry ? For, look you, how chearfuly my mother looks, and my father dy'd within these two hours.

Oph. Nay, 'tis twice two months, my lord.

Ham. So long? nay, 'then let the Devil wear black, for I'll have a fuit of fables. Oh heav'ns ! dye two months ago, and not forgotten yet! then there's hope, a Great man's memory may out-live his life half a year : but, by'r-lady, he must build churches then ; or else shall he suffer not thinking on, with the hobby-horse; whose epitaph is, For ob, for oh, the bobby-horse is forgot.

Haut boys play. The dumb Mew enters. (18) Enter a Duke and Dutchefs, with regal Coronets,

very lovingly; the Dutchess embracing him, and be her. She kneels; he takes her up, and declines his head upon her neck; he lays him down upon a bank of flowers ; she seeing him asleep, leaves him. Anon

comes in a fellow, takes off his Crown, kifes it, and : pours poison in the Duke's ears, and Exit. The

Dutchess' returns, finds the Duke dead, and makes pasionate action. The poisoner, with some two or three mutes, comes in again, seeming to lament with her. The dead body is carried away. The poisoner wooes the Dutchess with gifts ;.me jeems loth and unwilling a while, but in the end accepts his love,

[Exeunt. (18) Enter a King and Queen very lovingly : ) Thus have the blundering and inadvertent Editors all along given us chis Stage-Direction, tho we are expressly cold by Hamlet anon, that the Story of this introduced Interlude is the Murther of Gonzago Duke of Vienna. The Source of this Miftake is ea. lily to be accounted for, from the Stage's dressing the Characters. Regal Coronets being at first order'd by the Poet for the Duke and Dutchess, the succeeding Players, who did not ftri&ly observe the Quality of the Persons or Circumstances of the Story, miftook 'em for a King and Queen ; and so the Error was deduced down from thence to the present Times.

Opb.

Oph. What means this, my lord ?

Ham. Marry, this is miching Malicho ; it means mischief.

Opb. Belike, this show imports the Argument of the Play?

Enter Prologue. Ham. We shall know by this fellow : the Players cannot keep counsel ; they'll tell all.

Oph. Will he tell us, what this show meant ?

Ham. Ay, or any show that you'll shew him. Be not you ashamed to snew, he'll not shame to tell you what it means.

Oph. You are naught, you are naught, I'll mark the Play. Prol. For us, and for our tragedy,

Here flooping to your clemency,

We beg your hearing patiently.
Ham. Is this a prologue, or the posie of a ring?
Oph. 'Tis brief, my lord.
Ham. As woman's love.

Enter Duke, and Dutchess, Players.
Duke. Full thirty times hath Phæbus' Carr gone round
Neptune's falt wash, and Tellus' orbed ground;
And thirty dozen moons with borrowed sheen
About the world have time twelve thirties been,
Since love our hearts, and Hymen did our hands,
Unite commutual, in most facred bands.

Dutch. So many journeys may the Sun and Moon
Make us again count o'er, ere love be done.
But woe is me, you are so sick of late,
So far from cheer and from your former ftate,
That I distrust you ; yet though I distrust,
Discomfort you, my lord, it nothing must:
For women fear too much, ev'n as they love.
And womens' fear and love hold quantity :
'Tis either none, or in extremity.

Now,

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Now, what my love is, proof hath made you

know ; And as my love is fiz'd, my fear is so. (19) Where love is great, the smallest doubts are fear Where little fears

grow great, great love grows there,
Duke. Faith, I must leave thee, Love, and shortly too:
My operant powers their fun&tions leave to do,
And thou shalt live in this fair world behind,
Honour'd, belov'd ; and, haply, one as kind
For husband shalt thou

Dutch. Oh, confound the rest !
Such love must needs be treason in my breast :
In second husband let me be accurst !
None wed the second, but who kill the first.

Ham. Wormwood, wormwood !

Dutch. The instances, that second marriage move, Are base respects of thrift, but none of love." A second time I kill my husband dead, When second husband kiffes me in bed.

Duke. I do believe, you think what now you speak; But what we do determine, oft we break; Purpose is but the slave to memory, Of violent birth, but poor validity : Which now, like fruits unripe, sticks on the tree, But fall unshaken, when they mellow be. Moft necessary 'tis, that we forget To'pay our felves what to our selves is debt : What to our selves in paffion we propose,

(19) And as my Love is fix'd, my fear is so.) Mr. Pape says, I read siz'd; and, indeed, I do ro: because, i observe, • the Quarto of 1605 reads, ciz'd; that of 1611 cizst; the Fo

lio in 1632, fiz; and that in 1623, siz'd: and because, befides, the whole Tenour of the Context demands this Read. ing: For the Lady evidently is talking here of the Quantity and Proportion of her Love and Fear ; not of their Continuance, Duration, or Stability. Cleopatra expresses herself much in the same manner, with regard to her Grief for the Loss of Antony.

our Size of Sorrow, Proportion'd 10 our Cause, muft be as great As that which makes it.

The

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