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The nights are wholesome; then no planets | And lose your voice: What wouldst thou beg, strike,

No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm, So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.

Hor. So I have heard, and do in part believe But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad, [it. Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill: Break we our watch up; and, by my advice, Let us impart what we have seen to-night Unto young Hamlet: for, upon my life, This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him: Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it, As needful in our loves, fitting our duty? Mar. Let's do't, I pray; and I this morning know

Where we shall find him most convenient.

[Exeunt. SCENE II.-The same.-A Room of Stute in the same.


King. Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death

The memory be green; and that it us befitted To bear our hearts in grief, and our whole kingdom

To be contracted in one brow of woe;
Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature,
That we with wisest sorrow think on him,
Together with remembrance of ourselves."
Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen,
The imperial jointress of this warlike state,
Have we, as 'twere, with a defeated joy,-
With one auspicious, and one dropping eye;
With mirth in funeral, and with dirge in mar-

In equal scale weighing delight and dole,*-
Taken to wife: nor have we herein barr'd


That shall not be my offer, not thy asking?
The head is not more native to the heart,
The hand more instrumental to the mouth,
Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father
What wouldst thou have, Laertes?
Laer. My dread lord,

Your leave and favour to return to France;
From whence though willingly I came to

To show my duty in your coronation;
Yet now, I must confess, that duty done,
My thoughts and wishes bend again toward
And bow them to your gracious leave and par-
King. Have you your father's leave? What
says Polonius?

Pol. He hath, my lord, [wrung from me my slow leave,

By laboursome petition; and, at last,
Upon his will I seal'd my hard consent:]
I do beseech you, give him leave to go.

King. Take thy fair hour, Laertes; time be thine,

And thy best graces: spend it at thy will.But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son,Ham. A little more than kin, and less than


[Aside. King. How is it, that the clouds still hang on you?

Ham. Not so, my lord, I am too much i'the


Queen. Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour

off, [mark. And let thine eye look like a friend on DenSeek for thy noble father in the dust: Do not, for ever, with thy veiled lidst Thou know'st, 'tis common; all, that live, must die,

Passing through nature to eternity.
Ham. Ay, madam, it is common.
Queen. If it be,

Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone
With this affair along:-For all, our thanks.
Now follows, that you know, young Fortin-Why


Holding a weak supposal of our worth;
Or thinking, by our late dear brother's death,
Our state to be disjoint and out of frame,
Colleagued with this dream of his advantage,
He hath not fail'd to pester us with message,
Importing our surrender of those lands
Lost by his father, with all bandst of law,
To our most valiant brother.-So much for

Now for ourself, and for this time of meeting:
Thus much the business is: We have here writ
To Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras,-
Who, impotent and bed-rid, scarcely hears
Of this his nephew's purpose,-to suppress
His further gait; herein; in that the levies,
The lists, and full proportions, are all made
Out of his subject:-and we here despatch
You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltimand,
For bearers of this greeting to old Norway;
Giving to you no further personal power
To business with the king, more than the scope
Farewell; and let your haste commend your
Cor. Vol. In that, and all things, will we
show our duty.
King. We doubt it nothing; heartily fare-

Of these dilated articles allow.


[Exeunt VOLTIMAND and CORNELIUS. And now, Laertes, what's the news with you? You told us of some suit; What is't, Laertes? You cannot speak of reason to the Dane, + Bonds. + Way,

* Grief.

not seems.

seems it so particular with thee? Ham. Seems, madam! nay, it is; I know 'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, Nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath, Nor customary suits of solemn black, No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, Nor the dejected haviour of the visage, Together with all forms, modes, shows of grief, {seem, For they are actions that a man might play: That can denote me truly: These, indeed, But I have that within, which passeth show; These, but the trappings and the suits of woe. King. 'Tis sweet and commendable in your

nature, Hamlet,

To give these mourning duties to your father:
But, you must know, your father lost a father;
That father lost his; and the survivor bound
In filial obligation, for some term

To do obsequious sorrow: But to perséver
of impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief:
In obstinate condolement, is a course
A heart unfortified, or mind impatient;
It shows a will most incorrect to heaven;
An understanding simple and unschool'd:
For what, we know, must be, and is as com-


As any the most vulgar thing to sense,
Why should we, in our peevish opposition,
Take it to heart? Fie! 'tis a fault to heaven,

* Nature: a little more than a kinsman, and less than a natural one. + Lowering eyes.

A fault against the dead, a fault to nature,
To reason most absurd; whose common theme
Is death of fathers, and who still hath cried,
From the first corse, till he that died to-day,
This must be so. We pray you, throw to earth
This unprevailing woe; and think of us
As of a father: for let the world take note,
You are the most immediate to our throne;
And, with no less nobility of love,

Than that which dearest father bears his son,
Do I impart toward you. For your intent
In going back to school in Wittenberg,
It is most retrograde* to our desire :
And, we beseech you, bend you to remain
Here, in the cheer and comfort of our eye,
Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son.
Queen. Let not thy mother lose her prayers,

I pray thee, stay with us, go not to Wittenberg.
Ham. I shall in all my best obey you, ma-

King. Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply; Be as ourself in Denmark.-Madam, come; This gentle and unforc'd accord of Hamlet Sits smiling to my heart: in grace whereof, No jocund health, that Denmark drinks to-day, But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell; And the king's rouset the heaven shall bruit‡ again,

Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come away.

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But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg?
Hor. A truant disposition, good my lord.
Ham. I would not hear your enemy say so:
Nor shall you do mine ear that violence,
To make it truster of your own report
Against yourself: I know, you are no truant.
But what is your affair in Elsinore?

We'll teach you to drink deep ere you depart.
Hor. My lord, I came to see your father's

Ham. I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow.

I think, it was to see my mother's wedding.
Hor. Indeed, my lord, it follow'd hard upon.
Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio! the funeral
bak'd meats*

Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.
'Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven
Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio !—
My father, Methinks, I see my father.
Hor. Where,

[Exeunt KING, QUEEN, Lords, &c. POLO-My lord?

Ham. O, that this too too solid flesh would
Thaw, and resolves itself into a dew! [melt,
Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd [God!
His canon|| 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! O
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable
Seem to me all the uses of this world!
Fie on't! O fie! 'tis an unweeded garden,
That grows to seed; things rank, and gross in

Possess it merely. That it should come to
But two months dead !-nay, not so much, not
So excellent a king; that was, to this, [two:
Hyperion to a satyr: so loving to my mother,
That he might not beteem++ the winds of heaven
Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth!
Must I remember? why, she would hang on
As if increase of appetite had grown [him,
By what it fed on: And yet, within a month,-
Let me not think on't;-Frailty, thy name is

A little month; or ere those shoes were old,
With which she follow'd my poor father's

Like Niobe, all tears;-why she, even she,-
O heaven! a beast, that wants discourse of


Would have mourn'd longer,-married with
my uncle,

My father's brother; but no more like my father,
Than I to Hercules: Within a month;
Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears
Had left the flushing in her galled eyes,
She married :-O most wicked speed, to post
With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!
It is not, nor it cannot come to, good;
But break, my heart: for I must hold my

Hor. Hail to your lordship!
Ham. I am glad to see you well:
Horatio,-or I do forget myself.

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Ham. In my mind's eye, Horatio.

Hor. I saw him once, he was a goodly king.
Ham. He was a man, take him for all in all,
shall not look upon his like again.

Hor. My lord, I think I saw him yesternight.
Ham. Saw! who?

Hor. My lord, the king your father.
Ham. The king my father?

Hor. Season your admiration for a while
With an attent ear; till I may deliver,
Upon the witness of these gentlemen,
This marvel to you.

Ham. For God's love, let me hear.
Hor. Two nights together had these gentle-
Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch,
In the dead waist and middle of the night,
Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your
Armed at point, exactly, cap-à-pé, [father,
Appears before them, and, with solemn march,
Goes slow and stately by them: thrice he

By their oppress'd and fear-surprized eyes,
Within his truncheon's length; whilst they,
Almost to jelly with the act of fear,[distill'd
Stand dumb, and speak not to him. This to me
In dreadful secrecy impart they did;
And I with them, the third night, kept the

Where, as they had deliver'd, both in time,
Form of the thing, each word made true and


The apparition comes: I knew your father;
These hands are not more like.

Ham. But where was this?

Hor. My lord, upon the platform where we

Ham. Did you not speak to it?
Hor. My lord, I did;

But answer made it none: yet once, methought,
It lifted up its head, and did address
Itself to motion, like as it would speak:
But, even then, the morning cock crew loud;
It was anciently the custom to give a cold entertain
ment at a funeral.

+ Chiefest.

* Attentive.

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Ham. What, look'd be frowningly?
Hor. A countenance more

In sorrow than in anger.

Ham. Pale, or red?

Hor. Nay, very pale.

Ham. And fix'd his eyes upon you?

Hor. Most constantly.

Ham. I would, I had been there.

Hor. It would have much amaz'd you.

Ham. Very like,

Very like: Stay'd it long?

Laer. Think it no more:

For nature, crescent, does not grow alone In thews, and bulk; but, as this temple waxes,

The inward service of the mind and soul Grows wide withal. Perhaps, he loves you


And now no soil, nor cautel,‡ doth besmirch
The virtue of his will: but, you must fear,
His greatness weigh'd, his will is not his own;
For he himself is subject to his birth:

He may not, as unvalued persons do,
Carve for himself; for on his choice depends
The safety and the health of the whole state;
And therefore must his choice be circumscrib'd
Unto the voice and yielding of that body,
Whereof he is the head: Then if he says he
loves you,


It fits your wisdom so far to believe it,
As he in his particular act and place
May give his saying deed; which is no fur-
Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal.
Then weigh what loss your honour may sus-


If with too credent|| ear you list¶ his songs;
Or lose your heart; or your chaste treasure
To his unmaster'd** importunity. [open
Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister;
And keep you in the rear of your affection,

Hor. While one with moderate haste might Out of the shot and danger of desire.

tell a hundred.

Mar. Ber. Longer, longer.

Hor. Not when I saw it.

Ham. His beard was grizzl'd? no?

Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life,

A sable silver'd.

Ham. I will watch to-night; Perchance, 'twill walk again.

Hor. I warrant, it will.

Ham. If it assume my noble father's person, I'll speak to it, though hell itself should gape, And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all, If you have hitherto conceal'd this sight, Let it be tenable in your silence still; And whatsoever else shall hap to-night, Give it an understanding, but no tongue; I will requite your loves: So, fare you well: Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve, I'll visit you.

All. Our duty to your honour.

Ham. Your loves, as mine to you: Farewell. [Exeunt HORATIO, MARCELLUS, and BER

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Enter LAERTES and OPHELIA. Laer. My necessaries are embark'd; fareAnd, sister, as the winds give benefit, [well: And convoy is assistant, do not sleep, But let me hear from you.

Oph. Do you doubt that?

Luer. For Hamlet, and the trifling of his faHold it a fashion, and a toy in blood; [vour, A violet in the youth of primy nature, Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting, The perfume and suppliance of a minute; No more.

Oph. No more but so?

That part of the helmet which may be lifted up.

The chariest++ maid is prodigal enough,
If she unmask her beauty to the moon:
Virtue itself scapes not calumnious strokes:
The canker galls the infants of the spring,
Too oft before their buttons be disclos'd;
And in the morn and liquid dew of youth
Contagious blastments are most imminent.
Be wary then: best safety lies in fear;
Youth to itself rebels, though none else near.
Oph. I shall the effect of this good lesson


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A double blessing is a double grace;
Occasion smiles upon a second leave.
Pol. Yet here, Laertes! aboard, aboard, for

The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail,
And you are staid for: There, my blessing
with you;

[Laying his Hand on LAERTES' Head. And these few precepts in thy memory Look thou charácter. Give thy thoughts no tongue,

Nor any unproportion'd thought his act.
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.
The friends thou hast, and their adoption

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Bear it that the opposer may beware of thee. Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice: Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgement.


Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy:
For the apparel oft proclaims the man;
And they in France, of the best rank and

Are most select and generous, chieft in that.
Neither a borrower, nor a lender be:
For loan oft loses both itself and friend;
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.§
This above all,-To thine ownself be true;
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
Farewell; my blessing season|| this in thee!
Laer. Most humbly do I take my leave, my

Pol. The time invites you; go, your servants

Laer. Farewell, Ophelia; and remember well What I have said to you.

Oph. "Tis in my memory lock'd, And you yourself shall keep the key of it. Laer. Farewell. [Exit LAERTES. Pol. What is't, Ophelia, he hath said to you?

Oph. So please you, something touching the lord Hamlet.

Pol. Marry, well bethought: 'Tis told me, he hath very oft of late Given private time to you: and you yourself Have of your audience been most free and


If it be so, (as so 'tis put on me,
And that in way of caution,) I must tell you,
You do not understand yourself so clearly,
As it behoves my daughter, and your honour:
What is between you? give me up the truth.
Oph. He hath, my lord, of late, made many
Pol. Affection? puh! you speak like a green

Of his affection to me.

Unsifted in such perilous circumstance.
Do you believe his tenders, as you call them?
Oph. I do not know, my lord, what I should

Pol. Marry, I'll teach you: think yourself


That you have ta'en these tenders for true pay, Which are not sterling. Tender yourself more dearly;

Or (not to crack the wind of the poor phrase, Wronging it thus,) you'll tender me a fool. Oph. My lord he hath impórtun'd me with [love, Pol. Ay, fashion you may call it; go to, go

In honourable


Oph. And hath given countenance to his speech, my lord,

With almost all the holy vows of heaven. Pol. Ay, springes to catch woodcocks. I do know,

When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul Lends the tongue vows: these blazes, daugh


Giving more light than heat,-extinct in both,
Even in their promise, as it is a making,-
You must not take for fire. From this time,
Be somewhat scanter of your maiden presence;
Set your entreatments at a higher rate,
Than a command to parley. For lord Hamlet,
Believe so much in him, That he is young;

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And with a larger tether may he walk,
Then may be given you: In few, Ophelia,
Do not believe his vows: for they are brokers, t
Not of that die which their investments show,
But mere imploratorst of unholy suits,
Breathing like sanctified and pious bonds,
The better to beguile. This is for all,-
I would not, in plain terms, from this time

Have you so slander any moment's leisure,
As to give words or talk with the lord Hamlet.
Look to't, I charge you; come your ways.
Oph. I shall obey, my lord.

SCENE IV.-The Platform.


Ham. The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold.
Hor. It is a nipping and an eager air.
Ham. What hour now?

Hor. I think, it lacks of twelve.
Mar. No, it is struck.

Hor. Indeed? I heard it not; it then draws
near the season,

Wherein the spirit held is wont to walk.

[A Flourish of Trumpets, and Ordnance shot off, within. What does this mean, my lord?

Ham. The king doth wake to-night, and takes his rouse,||

Keeps wassel, and the swaggering upspring reels ;**

[down, And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish 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 obser-


This heavy-headed revel, east and west, Makes us traduc'd, and tax'd of other nations: They clepett us, drunkards, and with swinish phrase

Soil our addition; and, indeed it takes
From our achievements, though perform'd at

The pith and marrow of our attribute.
So, oft it chances in particular men,

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


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Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts

from hell,

Be thy intents wicked, or charitable,
Thou com'st in such a questionable shape,
That I will speak to thee; I'll call thee, Ham-
King, father, royal Dane: O, answer me: [let,
Let me not burst in ignorance! but tell,
Why thy canoniz'd bones, hearsed in death,
Have burst their cerements! why the sepul-
Wherein we saw thee quietly in-urn'd, [chre,
Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws,
To cast thee up again! What may this mean,
That thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel,
Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon,
Making night hideous; and we fools of nature,
So horridly to shake our disposition,†
With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?
Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we

Hor. It beckons you to go away with it,
As if it some impartment did desire
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.

Ghost. Mark me.
Ham. I will.


Ghost. My hour is almost come,
Must render up myself.
When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames

Ham. Alas, poor ghost!

Ghost. Pity me not, but lend thy serious To what I shall unfold. Ham. Speak, I am bound to hear. [hearing Ghost. So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear. Ham. What?

I am thy father's

Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night;
And, for the day, confin'd to fast in fires,
Are burn'd and purg'd away. But that I am
Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature,
To tell the secrets of my prison-house, [forbid
1 could a tale unfold, whose lightest word
Would harrow up thy soul; freeze thy young
Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their
Thy knotted and combined locks to part,
Like quills upon the fretful porcupine:
But this eternal blazon* must not be
To ears of flesh and blood:-List, list, O list!-

Ham. It will not speak; then I will follow it. If thou didst ever thy dear father love,

Hor. Do not, my lord.

Ham. Why, what should be the fear?

I do not set my life at a pin's fee ;
And, for my soul, what can it do to that,
Being a thing immortal as itself?

It waves me forth again;-I'll follow it.
Hor. What, if it tempt you toward the flood,
my lord,

Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff,
That beetles o'er his base into the sea?
And there assume some other horrible form,
Which might deprive your sovereignty


And draw you into madness? think of it:
The very place puts toys¶ of desperation,
Without more motive, into every brain,
That looks so many fathoms to the sea,
And hears it roar beneath.

Ham. It waves me still:

Go on, I'll follow thee.

Mar. You shall not go, my lord.
Ham. Hold off your hands.

Hor. 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;-
[GHOST beckons.
By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets**
[Breaking from them.
I say, away :-Go on, I'll follow thee. [me:-
[Exeunt GHOST and HAMLET,
Hor. He waxes desperate with imagination.
Mar. Let's follow; ''tis not fit thus to obey



Hor. Have after:-To what issue will this


Mar. Something is rotten in the state of

Hor. Heaven will direct it.
Mar. Nay, let's follow him.


SCENE V.-A more remote part of the Plat-

Re-enter GHOST and HAMLET.
Ham. Whither wilt thou lead me? Speak;
I'll go no further.

* Conversable. + Frame. || Hangs.

¶ Whims.

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Ghost. Murder most foul, as in the best it is;
But this most foul, strange, and unnatural.
Ham. Haste me to know it; that I, with
wings as swift

As meditation, or the thoughts of love,
May sweep to my revenge.

And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed
Ghost. I find thee apt;
That rots itself in ease on Lethe wharf, [hear:
Wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet,
'Tis given out, that sleeping in mine orchard,†
A serpent stung me; so the whole ear of Den-
Is by a forged process of my death
Rankly abus'd: but know, thou noble youth,
The serpent that did sting thy father's life,
Now wears his crown.

Ham. O, my prophetic soul! my uncle!
Ghost. Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate


With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts,
(O wicked wit, and gifts, that have the power
So to seduce!) won to his shameful lust
The will of my most seeming virtuous queen :
O, Hamlet, what a falling-off was there!
That it went hand in hand even with the vow
From me, whose loye was of that dignity,
Upon a wretch, whose natural gifts were poor
I made to her in marriage; and to decline
To those of mine!

But virtue, as it never will be mov'd,
So lust, though to a radiant angel link'd,
Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven;
And prey on garbage.
Will sate itself in a celestial bed,

But, soft! methinks, I scent the morning air;
Brief let me be:-Sleeping within mine or-
My custom always of the afternoon, [chard,
With juice of cursed hebenons in a vial,
pon my secure hour thy uncle stole,
And in the porches of mine ears did pour
That, swift as quicksilver, it courses through
The leperous distilment: whose effect
Holds such an enmity with blood of man,
The natural gates and alleys of the body;
* Display.

+ Garden. + Satiate. § Henbane.

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