No, let the candied tongue lick abfurd pomp;
And crook the pregnant hinges of the knce,
Where thrift may follow fawning. Doft thou hear?
Since my dear foul was miftrefs of her choice,
And could of men diftinguish her election,
She hath feal'd thee for herself: for thou haft been
As one, in fuffering all, that fuffers nothing;
A man, that fortune's buffets and rewards
Haft ta'en with equal thanks: and bleft are thofe,
Whofe blood and judgment are fo well comingled,
That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger,
To found what stop the pleafe: Give me the man
That is not paffion's flave, and I will wear him
In my heart's core-ay, in my heart of heart,
As I do thee.
'Tis now the very witching time of night;
When church-yards yawn, and hell itfelf breathes
[blood,
Contagion to this world: Now could I drink hot
And do fuch bufinefs as the bitter day
Would quake to look on. Soft; now to my mo-
O heart, lofe not thy nature; let not ever [ther.
The foul of Nero enter this firm bofom:
Let me be cruel, not unnatural:
I will speak daggers to her, but ufe none.
The King's defpairing Soliloquy, and Hamlet's
Reflections on bim.
O, my offence is rank, it fmells to heaven;
It hath the primal, eldeft curfe upon 't,
A brother's murder! Pray can I not,
Tho' inclination be as sharp as will;
My ftronger guilt defeats my strong intent;
And, like a man to double bufinefs bound,
I ftand in paufe where I fhall first begin,
And both neglect. What if this curled hand
Were thicker than itfelf with brother's blood?
Is there not rain enough in the fweet heavens
To wash it white as fnow? Whereto ferves mercy,
But to confront the vifage of offence?
And what's in prayer, but this two-fold force-
To be foreftalled, ere we come to fall,
Or pardon'd, being down? Then I'll look up;
My fault is paft. But, O, what form of prayer
Can ferve my turn? Forgive me my foul murder!
That cannot be; fince I am ftill poffefs'd
Of thofe effects for which I did the murder,
My crown, mine own ambition, and my queen.
May one be pardon'd, and retain th' offence?
In the corrupted currents of this world,
Offence's gilded hand may fhove by juftice:
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 ourfelves compell'd
Even 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?
O wretched ftate O bofom, black as death!
O limed foul! that, ftruggling to be free,
Art more engag'd! Help, angels, make affay!
Be foft as finews of the new-born babe ;
All may be well!
[The King kneels,
Ham. Now might I do it, pat, now he is praying;
And fo am I reveng'd-that would be fcann'd:-
And now I'll do 't;-and fo he goes to heaven:
A villain kills my father; and, for that,
To heaven!
I, his fole fon, do this fame villain fend
Why this is hire and falary, not revenge.
with all his crimes broad blown, as flush as May;
He took my father grofsly, full of bread;
And, how his audit ftands, who knows, fave
Heaven?
But in our circumftance and courfe of thought,
'Tis heavy with him:-and 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, asleep, or in his rage;
Or in the inceftuous pleafures of his bed;
At gaming, fwearing; or about fome act
That has no relifh of falvation in 't:
Then trip him, that his heels may kick at heaven;
And that his foul may be as damn'd, and black,
As hell whereto it goes.
Hamlet and bis Mother.
Queen. What have I done, that thou dar'st wag
In noife fo rude against me?
[thy tongue
That blurs the grace and blush of modesty;
Calls virtue hypocrite; takes off the rofe"
From the fair forehead of an innocent love,
And fets a blifter there; makes marriage-vows
As falfe as dicers' oaths: O, fuch a deed,
As from the body of contraction plucks
The very foul! and fweet religion makes
A rhapsody of words.
Queen. Ah me, what act?
Ham. Look here, upon this picture, and on this;
The counterfeit prefentment of two brothers.
See what a grace was feated on this brow:
Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself;
An eye like Mars, to threaten or command;
A ftation like the herald Mercury,
New-lighted on a heaven-kiffing hill;
Where every god did feem to fet his seal,
A combination, and a form, indeed,
To give the world affurance of a man: [lows:
This was your husband. Look you now, what fol-
Here is your husband; like a mildew'd ear,
Blafting his wholetome brother. Have you eyes?
Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed,
And batten on this moor?
Queen. O, Hamlet, fpeak no more:
Thou turn't mine eyes into my very foul;
And there I fee fuch black and grained spots,
As will not leave their tinct.
Ham. Save me, and hover o'er me with your
wings,
Bow, ftubborn knees! and, heart, with ftrings of You heavenly guards!-What would your gra
Queen. Alas! he 's mad.
Ham. Do you not come your tardy fon to chide,
That, laps'd in time and paffion, lets go by
Th' important acting of your dread command ?
O, fay
Ghoft. Do not forget this vifitation
Is but to whet thy almoft blunted purpose.
But, look! amazement on thy mother fits:
O ftep between her and her fighting foul!
Conceit in weakest bodies ftrongest works;
Speak to her, Hamlet.
Ham. How is it with you, Lady?
Queen. Alas, how is 't with you?
That you do bend your eye on vacancy,
And with the incorporal air do hold discourse ?
Forth at your eyes your fpirits wildly peep;
And, as the fleeping foldiers in the alarm,
Your bedded hair, like life in excrements,
Starts up, and ftands on end. O, gentle fon,
Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper
Sprinkle cool patience. Whercon do you look?
Ham. On him, on him! look you, how pale
he glares!
His form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to ftones,
Would make them capable. Do not look on me,
Left, with this piteous action, you convert
My ftern effects: then, what I have to do
Will want true colour; tears, perchance, for blood.
Queen. To whom do you fpeak this?
Ham. Do you fee nothing there?
[Pointing to the Ghoft.
Queen. Nothing at all; yet all, that is, I fec.
Ham. Nor did you nothing hear?
Queen. No, nothing, but ourselves.
Ham. Why, look you there! look how it ftcals
My father, in his habit as he liv'd! [away
Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal.
[Exit Gboft.
Queen. This is the very coinage of your brain:
This bodilefs creation ecitafy
Is very cunning in.
My pulfe, as yours, doth temperately keep time,
And makes as healthful mufic: it is not madnefs
That I have utter'd: bring me to the test,
And I the matter will re-word; which madnefs
Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace,
Lay not that flattering unétion to your foul,
That not your trefpals, but my madnefs, fpeaks:
It will but skin and film the ulcerous place;
Whiles rank corruption, mining all within,
Infects unfeen.-Confefs your felf to Heaven;
Repent what 's paft; avoid what is to come.
Queen. O Hamlet! thou hast cleft my heart
in twain.
Ham. O, throw away the worfer part of it,
And live the purer with the other half.
Good-night: but go not to my uncle's bed;
Affume a virtue, if you have it not.
That monfter cuftom, who all fenfe doth eat
Of habit's devil, is angel yet in this;
That to the ufe of actions fair and good
He likewife gives a frock, or livery,
That aptly is put on: refrain to-night;
And that hall lend a kind of cafinets
To the next abftinence: the next more cafy:
For ufe can almost change the ftamp of nature,
And either curb the devil, or throw him out
With wondrous potency. Once more, good-night!
And when you are defirous to be bleft,
I'll blething beg of you.
Queen. What shall I do?
Ham. Not this, by no means, that I bid you do;
Let the bloat king tempt you again to bed;
Pinch wanton on your cheek; call you his moufe;
And let him, for a pair of recchy kiffes,
Or paddling in your neck with his damn'd fingers,
Make you to ravel all this matter out,
That I effentially am not in madness,
But mad in craft. 'Twere good, you let him know.
Queen. Be thou affur'd, if words be made of
breath,
And breath of life, I have no life to breathe
What thou haft faid to me.
Ham. I muft to England; you know that?
Queen. Alack, I had forgot;
[fellows,
Ham: There's letters feal'd; and my two fchool-
Whom I will truft, as I will adders fang'd,
They bear the mandate; they muft fweep my way,
And marshal me to knavery: let it work ;-
For 'tis the sport, to have the engineer
Hoift with his own petar: and it fhall go hard,
But I will delve one yard below their mines,
And blow them at the moon.
Hamlet's Reflection on his own Irrefolution.
How all occafions do inform against me,
And fpur my dull revenge! What is a man,
If his chief good and market of his time
Be but to fleep, and feed? a beaft, no more.
Sure, he, that made us with fuch large discourse,
Looking before, and after, gave us not
That capability and godlike reason
To fuft in us unus'd: now, whether it be
Beftial oblivion, or fome craven fcruple
Of thinking too precifely on the event, [wisdom,
A thought, which, quarter'd, hath but one part
And ever three parts coward-I do not know
Why yet I live to fay, this thing 's to do;
Sith i have caufe,and will, and strength, and means,
To do 't. Examples, grofs as earth, exhort me;
Witnefs, this ariny, of fuch mafs, and charge,
Led by a delicate and tender prince,
Whofe fpirit, with divine ambition puft,
Makes mouths at the invifible event;
Expofing what is mortal, and unfure,
To all that fortune, death, and danger dare,
Even for an egg-fhell. Rightly to be great,
Is, not to ftir without great argument;
But greatly to find quarrel in a straw,
When honour's at the ftake. How ftand I then,
That have a father kill'd, a mother stain'd,
Excitements of my reafon, and my blood,
And let all fleep while, to my fhame, I fee
The imminent death of twenty thousand men,
That, for a phantafy, and trick of fame,
Go to their graves like beds; fight for a plot
Whercon the numbers cannot try the caule,
Which is not tomb enough, and continent,
To hide the flain-O, from this time forth, My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth!
Sorrows rarely fingle. O, Gertrude, Gertrude! When forrows come, they come not single spies, But in battalions.
Let him go, Gertrude; do not fear our perfon: There's fuch divinity doth hedge a king, That treafon can but peep to what it would, A&t little of his will.
Defcription of Ophelia's Drowning.
There is a willow grows afcaunt the brook, That fhews his hoar leaves in the glaffy ftream; Therewith fantastic garlands did the make, Of crow-flowers, nettles, daifies, and long purples, That liberal fhepherds give a groffer name, But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them: There on the pendant boughs her coronet weeds Clambering to hang, an envious fliver broke; When down her weedy trophies, and herself, Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes fpread wide, And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up: Which time the chanted fnatches of old tunes; As one incapable of her own diftrefs, Or like a creature native and indued Unto that element; but long it could not be, Tili that her garments, heavy with their drink, Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay To muddy death.
Lay her i' the earth; And from her fair and unpolluted flesh May violets fpring! I tell thee, churlish priest, A minift'ring angel fhall my fifter be, When thou lieft howling.
This is mere madness:
And thus awhile the fit will work on him;
Anon, as patient as the female dove,
When firft her golden couplets are difclos'd,
His filence will fit drooping.
Providence directs our Ations.
And that should teach us, There's a divinity that fhapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will.
Give me the cups; And let the kettle to the trumpet fpeak, The trumpet to the cannoncer without, The cannons to the heavens, the heavens to earth; "Now the King drinks to Hamlet."
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No more the thirfty entrance of this foil
Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood;
No more fhall trenching war channel her fields;
Nor bruife her flowrets with the armed hoofs
Of hoftile paces: Thofe oppofed eyes,
Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven,
All of one nature, of one fubftance bred-
Did lately meet in the inteftine fhock
And furious clofe of civil butchery,
Shall now, in mutual, well-befeeming ranks,
March all one way; and be no more oppos'd
Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies:
The edge of war, like an ill-fheathed knife,
No more fhall cut his mafter.
King Henry's Character of Percy, and of his Son
Prince Henry
Yea, there thou mak'ft me fad, and mak'ft me fin
In envy that my lord Northumberland
Should be the father of fo bleft a fon:
A fon, who is the theme of honour's tongue:
Amongst a grove, the very ftraighteft plant;
Who is fweet fortune's minion, and her pride:
Whilft I, by looking on the praise of him,
See riot and difhonour stain the brow
Of my young Harry.
Prince Henry's Soliloquy.
I know you all, and will awhile uphold The unyok'd humour of your idleness: Yet herein will I imitate the fun, Who doth permit the base contagious clouds To fmother up his beauty from the world; That, when he please again to be himself, Being wanted, he may more be wonder'd at, By breaking through the foul and ugly mists If all the year were playing holidays, Of vapours, that did feem to ftrangle him. To fport would be as tedious as to work; But,when they feldom come, they wifn'd-for coine, And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents. So, when this loofe behaviour I throw off, And pay the debt I never promised; By how much better than my word I am, By fo much fhall I falfify men's hopes; And, like bright metal on a fullen ground, My reformation, glitt'ring o'er my fault, Shall fhew more goodly, and attract more eyes, Than that which hath no foil to fet it off. I'll fo offend, to make offence a skill; Redeeming time, when men think least I will
Hotfpur's Defcription of a finical Courtier.
But, I remember, when the fight was done,
When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil,
Came there a certain lord, neat, and trimly drefs'd:
Breathlefs and faint, leaning upon my fword,
Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin, new-reap'd,
Shew'd like a fubble-land at harveft-home:
He was perfumed like a milliner;
And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held
A pouncet-box, which ever and anon
He gave his nofe, and took 't away again ;~
Who, therewith angry, when it next came there,
Took it in fnuff:-And ftill he fmil'd, and talk'd;
| And, as the foldiers bare dead bodies by,
He call'd them-untaught knaves, unmannerly.
To bring a flovenly unhandfome corfe
Betwixt the wind and his nobility.
With many holiday and lady terms
He question'd me; amongst the rest, demanded
My prifoners, in your majefty's behalf.
I then, all fmarting, with my wounds being cold,
To be fo pefter'd with a popinjay,
Out of my grief and my impatience
Anfwer'd neglectingly, I know not what ;
He fhould or he fhould not; for he made me mad,
To fee him fhine fo brifk, and fmell fo fweet,
And talk fo like a waiting gentlewoman,
Of guns, and drums, and wounds (God fave the
And telling me the fovereign't thing on earth
Was parmacity, for an inward bruise;
And that it was great pity, fo it was,
That villainous falt-petre fhould be digg'd
Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,
Which many a good tali fellow had deftroy'd
So cowardly; and, but for thefe vile guns,
He would himself have been a foldier.
I'll read you matter deep and dangerous; As full of peril and advent'rous fpirit, As to o'erwalk a current, roaring loud, On the unsteadfast footing of a spear.
By heaven, methinks it were an eafy leap, To pluck bright honour from the pale-fac'd moon; Or dive into the bottom of the deep, Where fathom-line could never touch the ground, And pluck up drowned honour by the locks; So he, that doth redeem her thence, might wear Without corrival all her dignities: But out upon this half-fac'd fellow fhip!
Lady Percy's pathetic Speech to her Husband. O my good lord, why are you thus alone? For what offence have I, this fortnight, been A banish'd woman from my Harry's bed? Tell me, fweet lord, what is 't that takes from thee Thy ftomach, pleasure, and thy golden fleep › Why doft thou bend thine eyes upon the caith, And ftart fo often when thou fitt'ft alone? Why haft thou loft the fresh blood in thy cheeks? And givin my treasures, and my rights of thee, To thick-eyed mufing, and curs'd melancholy? In thy faint flumbers I by thee have watch'd, And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars: Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed; Cry, "Courage! to the field!" and thou haft talk'd Of fallies, and retires; of trenches, tents, Of palifadoes, frontiers, parapets; Of bafilifks, of cannon, culverin; Of prifoners' ranfom, and of foldiers flain, And all the currents of a heady fight. Thy fpirit within thee hath been to at war, And thus hath fo beftirr'd thee in thy fleep, That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow, Like bubbles in a late-disturbed stream: And in thy face ftrange motions have appear'd, Such as we fee when men restrain their breath
On fome great fudden hafte. O, what portents
Some heavy business hath my lord in hand,
And I must know it, elfe he loves me not.
Prodigies ridiculed.
I cannot blame him: at my nativity,
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes,
Of burning creffets, and, at my birth,
The frame and huge foundation of the earth
Shak'd like a coward.
Hot. Why fo it would have done
At the fame feafon, if your mother's cat
Had kitten'd-tho' yourself had ne'er been born.
Difeafed nature oftentimes breaks forth
In ftrange eruptions: oft the teeming earth
Is with a kind of colic pinch'd and vex'd,
By the imprifoning of unruly wind [ing,
Within her womb, which, for enlargement firiv-
Shakes the old beldame earth, and topples down
Steeples, and mols grown towers.
I had rather be a kitten, and cry-mew, Than one of thefe fame metre-ballad-mongers: I had rather hear a brazen canftick turn'd, Or a dry wheel grate on the axle-tree; And that would fet my teeth nothing on edge, Nothing fo much as mincing poetry; 'Tis like the forc'd gait of a fhuffling nag. Punctuality in Bargain.
I'll give thrice so much land
any well-deferving friend;
But, in the way of bargain, maik ye me,
I'll cavil on the ninth part of a hair.
A Hufband jung to fleep by a fair Wife.
She bids you
Upon the wanton rufhes lay you down,
And reft your gentle head upon her lap,
And he will fing the fong that pleaseth you,
And on your eye-lids crown the god of fleep,
Charming your blood with pleafing heaviness;
Making fuch difference 'twixt wake and fleep,
As is the difference betwixt day and night,
The hour before the heavenly harnefs'd team
Begins his golden progrefs in the east.
King Henry the IVth to bis Son.
Had I fo lavish of my prefence been,
So common hackney'd in the eyes of men,
So ftale and cheap to vulgar company;
Opinion, that did help me to the crown,
Had ftill kept loyal to poffeflion;
And left me in reputelefs banishment,
A fellow of no mark nor likelihood.
By being feldom feen, I could not ftir,
But, like a conict, I was wonder'd at:
That men would tell their children, "This is he."
Others would fay, Where which is Boling-
broke?"
And then I ftole all courtesy from heaven,
And drefs'd myfelf in fuch humility,
That I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts,
Loud fhouts and falutations from their mouths,
Even in the prefence of the crowned king.
Thus did I keep my perfon fresh and new;
My prefence, like a robe pontifical,
Ne'er feen but wonder'd at: and fo my ftate,
Seldon, but fumptuous, fhewed like a feast;
And won, by rareness, fuch folemnity.
The fkipping king, he ambled up and down
With thallow jefters, and rash bavin wits,
Soon kindled, and foon burn'd: 'carded his ftate;
Mingled his royalty with capering fools;
Had his great name profaned with their scorns;
And gave his countenance, against his name,
To laugh at gibing boys, and stand the pufh
Of ev'ry beardlefs vain comparative:
Grew a companion to the common streets,
Enfeoff'd himself to popularity:
That, being daily fwallow'd by men's eyes,
They furfeited with honey; and began
To loath the taste of fweetnefs, whereof a little
More than a little is by much too much.
So, when he had occafion to be feen,
He was but as the cuckow is in June,
Heard, not regarded; feen, but with fuch eyes,
As, fick and blunted with community,
Afford no extraordinary gaze,
Such as is bent on fun-like majefty
When it fhines feldom in admiring eyes:
But rather drows'd, and hung their eye-lids down,
Slept in his face, and render'd fuch afpect
As cloudy men use to their adverfaries;
Being with his prefence glutted, gorg'd, and full.
Prince Henry's modest Defence of himself.
-God forgive them, that so much have
fway'd
Your Majefty's good thoughts away from me!
I will redeem all this on Percy's head,
And, in the clofing of fome glorious day,
Be bold to tell you, that I am your fon;
When I will wear a garment all of blood,
And ftain my favours in a bloody mask,
Which, wath'd away, fhall fcour my fhame
And that fhall be the day, whene'er it lights,
That this fame child of honour and renown,
This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight,
And your unthought of Harry chance to meet:
For ev'ry honour fitting on his helm,
Would they were multitudes: and on my
My fhames redoubled! for the time will come,
That I shall make this northern youth exchange
His glorious deeds for my indignities.
Percy is but my factor, good my lord,
To engrofs up glorious deeds on any behalf;
And I will call him to fo ftrict account,
That he shall render every glory up,
Yea, even the fighteft worthip of his time,
Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart.
This, in the name of God, I promife here:
The which, if he be pleas'd I thall perform,
I do befeech your Majesty may falve
The long-grown wounds of my intemperance:
If not, the end of life cancels ali bonds;
And I will die a hundred thoufand deaths,
Ere break the fmalleft parcel of this vow.
I faw young Harry-with his beaver on,
His cuiffes on his thighs, gallantly arm'd-
Rife from the ground like feather'd Mercury,
And vaulted with fuch eafe into his feat,
As if an angel dropp'd down from the clouds,
To turn and wind a fiery Pegafus,
And witch the world with noble horsemanship.
Hotfpur's Impatience for the Battle.
-Let them come;
They come like facrifices in their trim,
And to the fire-eyed maid of fmoky war,
All hot, and bleeding will we offer them:
The mailed Mars fhall on his altar fit,
Up to the ears in blood. I am on fire,
To hear this rich reprifal is fo nigh,
And yet not ours: Come, let me take my horfe,
Who is to bear me like a thunderbolt,
Against the bofom of the Prince of Wales:
Harry to Harry fhall, not horfe to horfe,
Meet, and ne'er part, till one drop down a corfe-
O, that Glendower were come!
Prince Henry's modeft Challenge.
-Tell your nephew,
The Prince of Wales doth join with all the world
In praise of Henry Percy: by my hopes-
This prefent enterprise fet off his head-
I do not think, a braver gentleman,
More active-valiant, or more valiant young,
More daring, or more bold, is now alive,
with noble deeds.
To grace this latter age
For my part, I may speak it to my shame,
I have a truant been to chivalry;
And fo, I hear, he doth account me too:
Yet this before my father's majefty-
I am content that he fhall take the odds
Of his great name and eftimation;
And will, to fave the blood on either fide,
Try fortune with himn in a fingle fight.
Prince Henry's pathetic Speech on the Death of
Hotspur.
-Brave Percy :-fare thee well, great heart !
Ill-weav'd ambition, how much art thou fhrunk!
When that this body did contain a spirit,
A kingdom for it was too fmall a bound;
But now, two paces of the vileft earth
Is room enough:-this earth, that bears thee dead,
Bears not alive fo ftout a gentleman.
If thou wert fenfible of courtesy,
I fhould not make fo dear a fhow of zeal:-
But let my favours hide thy mangled face;
And, even in thy behalf, I'll thank myfelf
For doing thefe fair rites of tenderness.
Adieu, and take thy praife with thee to heaven!
Thy ignominy fleep with thee in the grave,
But not remeinber'd in thy epitaph !
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