Out of his Lunacies,

Guil. We will provide ourselves;
Moft holy and religious fear it is
To keep those many, many Bodies, fafe,
That live and feed upon your Majetty.

Rof The fingle and peculiar life is bound,
With all the ftrength and armour of the mind,
To keep itfelf from noyance; but much more,
That fpirit, on whofe weal depends and refts
The lives of many. The ceafe of Majesty
Dies not alone, but, like a gulf, doth draw
What's near it with it. It's a maffy wheel
Fixt on the fummit of the higheft mount,
To whofe huge fpokes ten thousand leffer things
Are mortiz'd and adjoin'd; which, when it falls,.
Each small annexment, petty confequence,
Attends the boift'rous ruin.

Ne'er alone

Did the King figh; but with a general groan.
King. Arm you, I pray you, to this fpeedy voyage;
For we will fetters put upon this fear,

Which now goes too free-footed.

Both. We will hafte us.

Enter Polonius.

[Exeunt Gentlemen.

Pol. My Lord, he's going to his mother's clofet; Behind the arras I'll convey myfelf

8 Out of bis Lunacies.] The old quarto's read,

Out of his Brows. This was from the ignorance of the first editors; as is this unneceflary Alexandrine, which we owe to the players. The poet, I am perfuaded, wrote,

-as deth hourly grow

Out of bis Lunes. i. e. bi madness, frenzy. THEOB.

I take Brows to be, properly read, Frows, which, I think, is a provincial word, for perver/e humours; which being, I fuppofe, not underflood, was changed to Lunacies. But of this I am not confident,

9 That fpirit, on whofe aveal-] So the quarto. The folio gives, On whole/pirit.

To hear the procefs. I'll warrant, fhe'll tax him

home.

And, as you faid, and wifely was it faid,

'Tis meet, that fome more audience than a mother,
Since nature makes them partial, fhould o'er-hear
The speech,' of vantage. Fare you well, my Liege;
I'll call upon you ere you go to bed,
And tell you what I know.

King. Thanks, dear my Lord.

Oh! my offence is rank, it fmells to heav'n,
It hath the primal, eldeft, curfe upon't;
A brother's murder. Pray I cannot,

2

[Exit.

* Though inclination be as fharp as 't will;
My ftronger guilt defeats my ftrong intent:
And, like a man to double bufinefs bound,
I ftand in pause where I fhall firft begin,
And both neglect. What if this curfed hand
Were thicker than itself with brother's blood?
Is there not rain enough in the fweet heav'ns
To wash it white as fnow? Whereto ferves Mercy,
But to confront the visage of offence?

And what's in prayer, but this two-fold force,
To be fore-ftalled ere we come to fall,

Or pardon'd being down? Then I'll look up;
My fault is paft. But oh, what form of prayer
Can ferve my turn? Forgive me my foul murder!
That cannot be, fince I am ftill poffeft

Of those effects for which I did the murder,
My Crown, mine own Ambition, and my Queen.

1 Of vantage.] By fame opportunity of fecret obfervation." 2 Though inclination be as sharp as WILL;] This is rank nonfenfe. We should read,

Tho' inclination be as sharp as

TH' ILL;

i. e. tho' my inclination makes me as reftlefs and uneafy as my

crime does. The line immediately following fhews this to be the true reading,

My Aronger guilt defeats my WARB. Strong intent. I have followed the easier emendation of Theobald, received by Hanmer,

May

3 May one be pardon'd, and retain th' offence?
In the corrupted currents of this world,
Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice;
And oft 'tis feen, the wicked prize itself
Buys out the law; but 'tis not fo above:
There, is no fhuffling; there, the action lies
In his true nature, and we ourselves compell'd
Ey'n to the teeth and forehead of our faults,
To give in evidence. What then? what refts?
Try, what repentance can. What can it not?
Yet what can it, when one cannot repent?

Oh wretched ftate! oh bofom, black as death!
Oh limed foul, that, ftruggling to be free,
Art more engag'd! Help, angels! make affay!
Bow, ftubborn knees; and, heart, with ftrings of
fteel,

Be foft as finews of the new-born babe!

All may be well.

[The King retires and kneels.

SCENE IX.

Enter Hamlet."

Ham. Now might I do it pat, now he is praying, And now I'll do't. And fo he goes to heav'n. And so am I reveng'd? that would be scann'd. A villain kills my father, and for that 5 I, his fole fon, do this fame villain fend

To heav'n. O, this is hire and falary, not revenge.
He took my father grofly, full of bread,
With all his crimes broad blown, as flush as May;
And how his audit ftands, who knows, fave heav'n?
But in our circumftance and course of thought,
'Tis heavy with him. Am I then reveng❜d,
To take him in the purging of his foul,
When he is fit and feafon'd for his paffage?
"Up, fword, and know thou a more horrid Hent;
When he is drunk-afleep, or in his
rage,
Or in th' incestuous pleasure of his bed,
At gaming, fwearing, or about fome act
That has no relish of falvation in't;

Then trip him, that his heels may kick at heav'n;
And that his foul may be as damn'd and black
7 As hell, whereto it goes. My mother stays;
This phyfick but prolongs thy fickly days.

is, fal'n fon, i. e. difinherited. This was an aggravation of the injury; that he had not only murder'd the father, but rein'd WARBURTON.

the fon.

The folio 'gives a reading apparently corrupted from the quarto. The meaning is plain. I, bis only fon, who am bound to punish his murder.

6 In the common editions, Up, fword, and know thou a more horrid time.] This is a fophifticated reading, warranted by none of the copies of any authority. Mr. Pope fays, I read conjecturally;

-a more horrid Bent. I do fo; and why? the two old-, eft quarto's, as well as the two elder folio's, read; —a korvid Hent. But as there is no fuch English fubftantive, it seems

more

[Exit.

very natural to conclude, that with the change of a fingle letter, our author's genuine word was, Bent; i. e. rift, scope, inclinatin, purpose, &c.

THEOBALD.

This reading is followed by Sir T. Hanmer and Dr. Worbur ton; but Hent is probably the right word. To hent is used by Shakespeare for, to feize, to catch, to lay hold on. Hent is therefore, bold, or Jeizure. Lay bold on him, fword, at a more horrid time.

7 As bell, whereto it goes.-] This fpeech, in which Hamlet, reprefented as a virtuous character, is not content with taking blood for blood, but contrives damnation for the man that he would punish, is too horrible to be read or to be uttered.

The