Yet what can it! when one can but repent? Oh wretched ftate! oh bofom, black as death! Oh limed foul, that, ftruggling to be free, Art more engaged! 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.

S C

Ham. Now

CEN E IX.

Enter Hamlet.

OW might I do it pat, now he is pray-
ing,

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

+ I, his fall'n fon, do this fame villain fend

To heav'n

venge.

O, this is hire and falary, not re

He took my father grofly, full of bread,

With all his crimes broad blown, and 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, sword, and know thou a more horrid bent;
When he is drunk, asleep, or in his rage,
Or in th' inceftuous pleasure of his bed;
At gaming, fwearing, or about fome act

Yet what can it, when one cannot repent!] Shakespear wrote,
Yet what can it, when one can but repent?

i. . what can Repentance do without Restitution? a natural and reasonable thought; and which the Transcribers might have seen was the Result of his preceding Reflections. Warb.

+ I, his fole fon, do this fame villain fend] fon. This will lead us to the true Reading. e. i. difinherited.

The Folio reads foule
Which is, fall'n fon,
Warb.

That

That has no relifh 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
As hell, whereto it goes. My mother stays;
This phyfic but prolongs thy fickly days.

The King rifes, and comes forward.

[Exit.

King. My words fly up, my thoughts remain below;

Words, without thoughts, never to heav'n go. [Exit.

Pol.

HE

Changes to the Queen's Apartment.
Enter Queen and Polonius.

E will come ftraight; look, you lay home
to him;

Tell him, his pranks have been too broad to bear

with;

And that your Grace hath fcreen'd, and stood be

tween

Much heat and him. I'll 'fconce me e'en here;
Pray you, be round with him.

Ham. [within.] Mother, Mother, Mother.-
Queen. I'll warrant you, fear me not.

Withdraw, I hear him coming.

[Polonius hides himself behind the Arras.

Enter Hamlet.

Ham. Now, mother, what's the matter?

Queen. Hamlet, thou haft thy father much offended.

Ham. Mother, you have my father much offended. Queen. Come, come, you anfwer with an idle

tongue.

Ham. Go, go, you queftion with a wicked tongue. Queen. Why, how now, Hamlet?

Ham.

Ham. What's the matter now?
Queen. Have you forgot me?
Ham. No, by the rood, not fo;

You are the Queen, your husband's brother's wife, But, 'would you were not fo!-You are my mother. Queen. Nay, then I'll fet thofe to you that can speak.

Ham. Come, come, and fit you down; you fhall not budge:

You go not, 'till I fet you up a glass

Where you may fee the inmoft part of you.

Queen. What wilt thou do? thou wilt not murder me?

Help, ho!

Pol. What ho, help.

[Behind the Arras.

[Hamlet kills Polonius."

Ham. How now, a rat? dead for a ducat, dead.

Pol. Oh, I am flain.

Queen. Oh me, what haft thou done?

Ham. Nay, I know not: is it the King?

Queen. Oh, what a rafh and bloody deed is this! Ham. A bloody deed; almoft as bad, good mother, As kill a King, and marry with his brother. Queen. As kill a King?

Ham. Ay, lady, 'twas my word.

Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewel,

[To Polonius.

I took thee for thy Betters; take thy fortune;
Thou find'ft, to be too bufy, is fome danger.
Leave wringing of your hands; peace, fit you down,
And let me wring your heart, for fo I fhall,

If it be made of penetrable ftuff:

If damned cuftom have not braz'd it fo,
That it is proof and bulwark against sense.

Queen. What have I done, that thou dar'ft wag

thy tongue

In noise fo rude against me?

Ham. Such an act,

That

That blurs the grace and blufh of modefty;
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. Oh, fuch a deed,
As from the body of Contraction plucks
The very foul, and fweet Religion makes
A rhapsody of words. Heav'n's face doth glow
O'er this folidity and compound mafs

With triftful vifage; and, as 'gainst the doom,
Is thought fick at the act.

Queen. Ay me! what act?

Ham. That roars so loud, it thunders to the Indies.

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 curles; 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;
A combination, and a form indeed,
Where every God did feem to fet his feal,
To give the world affurance of a man.

This was your husband,—Look you now, what follows;

Here is your husband, like a mildew'd ear,

Blafting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes? Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed,

*Queen Ay me! what act,

That roars fo loud, and thunders in the index?

This is a flrange Answer. But the old Quarto brings us nearer to the Poet's Senfe by dividing the Lines thus ;

Queen. Ah me, what act?

Ham. That roars fo loud, and thunders in the Index.

He had faid the Sun was thought-fick at the act. She says,

Ah me! what a&t?

He replies, (as we should read it)

That roars Le loud, it thunders to the indies.

Warb.

And

And battén on this moor? ha! have you eyes?
You cannot call it Love; for, at your age,

The hey-day in the bloom is tame, it's humble,
And waits upon the judgment; and what judgment
Would step from this to this? *Senfe, fure, you,
have,

Elfe could you not have notion: but, fure, that sense
Is apoplex'd: for madnefs would not err;
Nor fenfe to ecstasy was ne'er so thrall'd,
But it referv'd fome quantity of choice

To serve in such a diff'rence.-What devil was't,
That thus hath cozen'd you at hoodman blind?
Eyes without feeling, feeling without fight,
Ears without hands or eyes, fmelling fans all,
Or but a fickly part of one true sense
Could not fo mope.

O fhame! where is thy blufh? rebellious hell,
If thou canft mutiny in a matron's bones;
To flaming youth let virtue be as wax,

And melt in her own fire.

Proclaim no fhame,

When the compulfive ardour gives the charge;
Since froft itself as actively doth burn,

And Reason panders Will.

Queen. O Hamlet, fpeak no more.

Thou turn'd mine eyes into my very foul,
And there I fee fuch black and grained fpots,
As will not leave their tinct.

Ham. Nay, but to live

In the rank fweat of an incestuous bed,

Stew'd in corruption, honying and making love

Over the nafty fty;

Queen. Oh, fpeak no more;

These words like daggers enter in mine ears.
No more, fweet Hamlet.

We should read, Else could you nɔi have notion, i. e. intelled, reason.

bc.

Warb.

Ham.