Chapter III: Part 3

King. I like him not, nor stands it safe with vs, To let his madnesse range. Therefore prepare you, I your Commission will forthwith dispatch, And he to England shall along with you: The termes of our estate, may not endure Hazard so dangerous as doth hourely grow Out of his Lunacies

Guild. We will our selues prouide: Most holie and Religious feare it is To keepe those many many bodies safe That liue and feede vpon your Maiestie

Rosin. The single And peculiar life is bound With all the strength and Armour of the minde, To keepe it selfe from noyance: but much more, That Spirit, vpon whose spirit depends and rests The liues of many, the cease of Maiestie Dies not alone; but like a Gulfe doth draw What's neere it, with it. It is a massie wheele Fixt on the Somnet of the highest Mount. To whose huge Spoakes, ten thousand lesser things Are mortiz'd and adioyn'd: which when it falles, Each small annexment, pettie consequence Attends the boystrous Ruine. Neuer alone Did the King sighe, but with a generall grone

King. Arme you, I pray you to this speedie Voyage; For we will Fetters put vpon this feare, Which now goes too free-footed

Both. We will haste vs.

Exeunt. Gent.

Enter Polonius.

Pol. My Lord, he's going to his Mothers Closset: Behinde the Arras Ile conuey my selfe To heare the Processe. Ile warrant shee'l tax him home, And as you said, and wisely was it said, 'Tis meete that some more audience then a Mother, Since Nature makes them partiall, should o're-heare The speech of vantage. Fare you well my Liege, Ile call vpon you ere you go to bed, And tell you what I know

King. Thankes deere my Lord. Oh my offence is ranke, it smels to heauen, It hath the primall eldest curse vpon't, A Brothers murther. Pray can I not, Though inclination be as sharpe as will: My stronger guilt, defeats my strong intent, And like a man to double businesse bound, I stand in pause where I shall first begin, And both neglect; what if this cursed hand Were thicker then it selfe with Brothers blood, Is there not Raine enough in the sweet Heauens To wash it white as Snow? Whereto serues mercy, But to confront the visage of Offence? And what's in Prayer, but this two-fold force, To be fore-stalled ere we come to fall, Or pardon'd being downe? Then Ile looke vp, My fault is past. But oh, what forme of Prayer Can serue my turne? Forgiue me my foule Murther: That cannot be, since I am still possest Of those effects for which I did the Murther. My Crowne, mine owne Ambition, and my Queene: May one be pardon'd, and retaine th' offence? In the corrupted currants of this world, Offences gilded hand may shoue by Iustice, And oft 'tis seene, the wicked prize it selfe Buyes out the Law; but 'tis not so aboue, There is no shuffling, there the Action lyes In his true Nature, and we our selues compell'd Euen to the teeth and forehead of our faults, To giue in euidence. What then? What rests? Try what Repentance can. What can it not? Yet what can it, when one cannot repent? Oh wretched state! Oh bosome, blacke as death! Oh limed soule, that strugling to be free, Art more ingag'd: Helpe Angels, make assay: Bow stubborne knees, and heart with strings of Steele, Be soft as sinewes of the new-borne Babe, All may be well. Enter Hamlet.

Ham. Now might I do it pat, now he is praying, And now Ile doo't, and so he goes to Heauen, And so am I reueng'd: that would be scann'd, A Villaine killes my Father, and for that I his foule Sonne, do this same Villaine send To heauen. Oh this is hyre and Sallery, not Reuenge. He tooke my Father grossely, full of bread, With all his Crimes broad blowne, as fresh as May, And how his Audit stands, who knowes, saue Heauen: But in our circumstance and course of thought 'Tis heauie with him: and am I then reueng'd, To take him in the purging of his Soule, When he is fit and season'd for his passage? No. Vp Sword, and know thou a more horrid hent When he is drunke asleepe: or in his Rage, Or in th' incestuous pleasure of his bed, At gaming, swearing, or about some acte That ha's no rellish of Saluation in't, Then trip him, that his heeles may kicke at Heauen, And that his Soule may be as damn'd and blacke As Hell, whereto it goes. My Mother stayes, This Physicke but prolongs thy sickly dayes. Enter.

King. My words flye vp, my thoughts remain below, Words without thoughts, neuer to Heauen go. Enter.

Enter Queene and Polonius.

Pol. He will come straight: Looke you lay home to him, Tell him his prankes haue been too broad to beare with, And that your Grace hath screen'd, and stoode betweene Much heate, and him. Ile silence me e'ene heere: Pray you be round with him

Ham. within. Mother, mother, mother

Qu. Ile warrant you, feare me not. Withdraw, I heare him coming. Enter Hamlet.

Ham. Now Mother, what's the matter?
Qu. Hamlet, thou hast thy Father much offended

Ham. Mother, you haue my Father much offended

Qu. Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue

Ham. Go, go, you question with an idle tongue

Qu. Why how now Hamlet?
Ham. Whats the matter now?
Qu. Haue you forgot me?
Ham. No by the Rood, not so:
You are the Queene, your Husbands Brothers wife,
But would you were not so. You are my Mother

Qu. Nay, then Ile set those to you that can speake

Ham. Come, come, and sit you downe, you shall not boudge: You go not till I set you vp a glasse, Where you may see the inmost part of you? Qu. What wilt thou do? thou wilt not murther me? Helpe, helpe, hoa

Pol. What hoa, helpe, helpe, helpe

Ham. How now, a Rat? dead for a Ducate, dead

Pol. Oh I am slaine.

Killes Polonius

Qu. Oh me, what hast thou done?
Ham. Nay I know not, is it the King?
Qu. Oh what a rash, and bloody deed is this?
Ham. A bloody deed, almost as bad good Mother,
As kill a King, and marrie with his Brother

Qu. As kill a King? Ham. I Lady, 'twas my word. Thou wretched, rash, intruding foole farewell, I tooke thee for thy Betters, take thy Fortune, Thou find'st to be too busie, is some danger. Leaue wringing of your hands, peace, sit you downe, And let me wring your heart, for so I shall If it be made of penetrable stuffe; If damned Custome haue not braz'd it so, That it is proofe and bulwarke against Sense

Qu. What haue I done, that thou dar'st wag thy tong, In noise so rude against me? Ham. Such an Act That blurres the grace and blush of Modestie, Cals Vertue Hypocrite, takes off the Rose From the faire forehead of an innocent loue, And makes a blister there. Makes marriage vowes As false as Dicers Oathes. Oh such a deed, As from the body of Contraction pluckes The very soule, and sweete Religion makes A rapsidie of words. Heauens face doth glow, Yea this solidity and compound masse, With tristfull visage as against the doome, Is thought-sicke at the act

Qu. Aye me; what act, that roares so lowd, & thunders
in the Index

Ham. Looke heere vpon this Picture, and on this, The counterfet presentment of two Brothers: See what a grace was seated on his Brow, Hyperions curles, the front of Ioue himselfe, An eye like Mars, to threaten or command A Station, like the Herald Mercurie New lighted on a heauen-kissing hill: A Combination, and a forme indeed, Where euery God did seeme to set his Seale, To giue the world assurance of a man. This was your Husband. Looke you now what followes. Heere is your Husband, like a Mildew'd eare Blasting his wholsom breath. Haue you eyes? Could you on this faire Mountaine leaue to feed, And batten on this Moore? Ha? Haue you eyes? You cannot call it Loue: For at your age, The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble, And waites vpon the Iudgement: and what Iudgement Would step from this, to this? What diuell was't, That thus hath cousend you at hoodman-blinde? O Shame! where is thy Blush? Rebellious Hell, If thou canst mutine in a Matrons bones, To flaming youth, let Vertue be as waxe. And melt in her owne fire. Proclaime no shame, When the compulsiue Ardure giues the charge, Since Frost it selfe, as actiuely doth burne, As Reason panders Will

Qu. O Hamlet, speake no more. Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soule, And there I see such blacke and grained spots, As will not leaue their Tinct

Ham. Nay, but to liue In the ranke sweat of an enseamed bed, Stew'd in Corruption; honying and making loue Ouer the nasty Stye

Qu. Oh speake to me, no more, These words like Daggers enter in mine eares. No more sweet Hamlet

Ham. A Murderer, and a Villaine: A Slaue, that is not twentieth part the tythe Of your precedent Lord. A vice of Kings, A Cutpurse of the Empire and the Rule. That from a shelfe, the precious Diadem stole, And put it in his Pocket

Qu. No more.
Enter Ghost.

Ham. A King of shreds and patches.
Saue me; and houer o're me with your wings
You heauenly Guards. What would your gracious figure?
Qu. Alas he's mad

Ham. Do you not come your tardy Sonne to chide, That laps't in Time and Passion, lets go by Th' important acting of your dread command? Oh say

Ghost. Do not forget: this Visitation Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose. But looke, Amazement on thy Mother sits; O step betweene her, and her fighting Soule, Conceit in weakest bodies, strongest workes. Speake to her Hamlet

Ham. How is it with you Lady? Qu. Alas, how is't with you? That you bend your eye on vacancie, And with their corporall ayre do hold discourse. Forth at your eyes, your spirits wildely peepe, And as the sleeping Soldiours in th' Alarme, Your bedded haire, like life in excrements, Start vp, and stand an end. Oh gentle Sonne, Vpon the heate and flame of thy distemper Sprinkle coole patience. Whereon do you looke? Ham. On him, on him: look you how pale he glares, His forme and cause conioyn'd, preaching to stones, Would make them capeable. Do not looke vpon me, Least with this pitteous action you conuert My sterne effects: then what I haue to do, Will want true colour; teares perchance for blood

Qu. To who do you speake this?
Ham. Do you see nothing there?
Qu. Nothing at all, yet all that is I see

Ham. Nor did you nothing heare?
Qu. No, nothing but our selues

Ham. Why look you there: looke how it steals away: My Father in his habite, as he liued, Looke where he goes euen now out at the Portall. Enter.

Qu. This is the very coynage of your Braine,
This bodilesse Creation extasie is very cunning in

Ham. Extasie? My Pulse as yours doth temperately keepe time, And makes as healthfull Musicke. It is not madnesse That I haue vttered; bring me to the Test And I the matter will re-word: which madnesse Would gamboll from. Mother, for loue of Grace, Lay not a flattering Vnction to your soule, That not your trespasse, but my madnesse speakes: It will but skin and filme the Vlcerous place, Whil'st ranke Corruption mining all within, Infects vnseene. Confesse your selfe to Heauen, Repent what's past, auoyd what is to come, And do not spred the Compost on the Weedes, To make them ranke. Forgiue me this my Vertue, For in the fatnesse of this pursie times, Vertue it selfe, of Vice must pardon begge, Yea courb, and woe, for leaue to do him good

Qu. Oh Hamlet,
Thou hast cleft my heart in twaine

Ham. O throw away the worser part of it, And liue the purer with the other halfe. Good night, but go not to mine Vnkles bed, Assume a Vertue, if you haue it not, refraine to night, And that shall lend a kinde of easinesse To the next abstinence. Once more goodnight, And when you are desirous to be blest, Ile blessing begge of you. For this same Lord, I do repent: but heauen hath pleas'd it so, To punish me with this, and this with me, That I must be their Scourge and Minister. I will bestow him, and will answer well The death I gaue him: so againe, good night. I must be cruell, onely to be kinde; Thus bad begins and worse remaines behinde

Qu. What shall I do? Ham. Not this by no meanes that I bid you do: Let the blunt King tempt you againe to bed, Pinch Wanton on your cheeke, call you his Mouse, And let him for a paire of reechie kisses, Or padling in your necke with his damn'd Fingers, Make you to rauell all this matter out, That I essentially am not in madnesse, But made in craft. 'Twere good you let him know, For who that's but a Queene, faire, sober, wise, Would from a Paddocke, from a Bat, a Gibbe, Such deere concernings hide, Who would do so, No in despight of Sense and Secrecie, Vnpegge the Basket on the houses top: Let the Birds flye, and like the famous Ape To try Conclusions in the Basket, creepe And breake your owne necke downe

Qu. Be thou assur'd, if words be made of breath, And breath of life: I haue no life to breath What thou hast saide to me

Ham. I must to England, you know that?
Qu. Alacke I had forgot: 'Tis so concluded on

Ham. This man shall set me packing: Ile lugge the Guts into the Neighbor roome, Mother goodnight. Indeede this Counsellor Is now most still, most secret, and most graue, Who was in life, a foolish prating Knaue. Come sir, to draw toward an end with you. Good night Mother. Exit Hamlet tugging in Polonius.

Enter King.

King. There's matters in these sighes. These profound heaues You must translate; Tis fit we vnderstand them. Where is your Sonne? Qu. Ah my good Lord, what haue I seene to night? King. What Gertrude? How do's Hamlet? Qu. Mad as the Seas, and winde, when both contend Which is the Mightier, in his lawlesse fit Behinde the Arras, hearing something stirre, He whips his Rapier out, and cries a Rat, a Rat, And in his brainish apprehension killes The vnseene good old man

King. Oh heauy deed: It had bin so with vs had we beene there: His Liberty is full of threats to all, To you your selfe, to vs, to euery one. Alas, how shall this bloody deede be answered? It will be laide to vs, whose prouidence Should haue kept short, restrain'd, and out of haunt, This mad yong man. But so much was our loue, We would not vnderstand what was most fit, But like the Owner of a foule disease, To keepe it from divulging, let's it feede Euen on the pith of life. Where is he gone? Qu. To draw apart the body he hath kild, O're whom his very madnesse like some Oare Among a Minerall of Mettels base Shewes it selfe pure. He weepes for what is done

King. Oh Gertrude, come away: The Sun no sooner shall the Mountaines touch, But we will ship him hence, and this vilde deed, We must with all our Maiesty and Skill Both countenance, and excuse. Enter Ros. & Guild.

Ho Guildenstern: Friends both go ioyne you with some further ayde: Hamlet in madnesse hath Polonius slaine, And from his Mother Clossets hath he drag'd him. Go seeke him out, speake faire, and bring the body Into the Chappell. I pray you hast in this. Exit Gent.

Come Gertrude, wee'l call vp our wisest friends, To let them know both what we meane to do, And what's vntimely done. Oh come away, My soule is full of discord and dismay.

Exeunt.

Enter Hamlet.

Ham. Safely stowed

Gentlemen within. Hamlet, Lord Hamlet

Ham. What noise? Who cals on Hamlet? Oh heere they come. Enter Ros. and Guildensterne.

Ro. What haue you done my Lord with the dead body?
Ham. Compounded it with dust, whereto 'tis Kinne

Rosin. Tell vs where 'tis, that we may take it thence,
And beare it to the Chappell

Ham. Do not beleeue it

Rosin. Beleeue what?
Ham. That I can keepe your counsell, and not mine
owne. Besides, to be demanded of a Spundge, what replication
should be made by the Sonne of a King

Rosin. Take you me for a Spundge, my Lord? Ham. I sir, that sokes vp the Kings Countenance, his Rewards, his Authorities (but such Officers do the King best seruice in the end. He keepes them like an Ape in the corner of his iaw, first mouth'd to be last swallowed, when he needes what you haue glean'd, it is but squeezing you, and Spundge you shall be dry againe

Rosin. I vnderstand you not my Lord

Ham. I am glad of it: a knauish speech sleepes in a
foolish eare

Rosin. My Lord, you must tell vs where the body is,
and go with vs to the King

Ham. The body is with the King, but the King is not
with the body. The King, is a thing-
Guild. A thing my Lord?
Ham. Of nothing: bring me to him, hide Fox, and all
after.

Exeunt.

Enter King.

King. I haue sent to seeke him, and to find the bodie: How dangerous is it that this man goes loose: Yet must not we put the strong Law on him: Hee's loued of the distracted multitude, Who like not in their iudgement, but their eyes: And where 'tis so, th' Offenders scourge is weigh'd But neerer the offence: to beare all smooth, and euen, This sodaine sending him away, must seeme Deliberate pause, diseases desperate growne, By desperate appliance are releeued, Or not at all. Enter Rosincrane.

How now? What hath befalne? Rosin. Where the dead body is bestow'd my Lord, We cannot get from him

King. But where is he?
Rosin. Without my Lord, guarded to know your
pleasure

King. Bring him before vs

Rosin. Hoa, Guildensterne? Bring in my Lord.
Enter Hamlet and Guildensterne.

King. Now Hamlet, where's Polonius?
Ham. At Supper

King. At Supper? Where? Ham. Not where he eats, but where he is eaten, a certaine conuocation of wormes are e'ne at him. Your worm is your onely Emperor for diet. We fat all creatures else to fat vs, and we fat our selfe for Magots. Your fat King, and your leane Begger is but variable seruice to dishes, but to one Table that's the end

King. What dost thou meane by this?
Ham. Nothing but to shew you how a King may go
a Progresse through the guts of a Begger

King. Where is Polonius

Ham. In heauen, send thither to see. If your Messenger finde him not there, seeke him i'th other place your selfe: but indeed, if you finde him not this moneth, you shall nose him as you go vp the staires into the Lobby

King. Go seeke him there

Ham. He will stay till ye come

K. Hamlet, this deed of thine, for thine especial safety Which we do tender, as we deerely greeue For that which thou hast done, must send thee hence With fierie Quicknesse. Therefore prepare thy selfe, The Barke is readie, and the winde at helpe, Th' Associates tend, and euery thing at bent For England

Ham. For England?
King. I Hamlet

Ham. Good

King. So is it, if thou knew'st our purposes

Ham. I see a Cherube that see's him: but come, for
England. Farewell deere Mother

King. Thy louing Father Hamlet

Hamlet. My Mother: Father and Mother is man and wife: man & wife is one flesh, and so my mother. Come, for England.

Exit

King. Follow him at foote, Tempt him with speed aboord: Delay it not, Ile haue him hence to night. Away, for euery thing is Seal'd and done That else leanes on th' Affaire, pray you make hast. And England, if my loue thou holdst at ought, As my great power thereof may giue thee sense, Since yet thy Cicatrice lookes raw and red After the Danish Sword, and thy free awe Payes homage to vs; thou maist not coldly set Our Soueraigne Processe, which imports at full By Letters coniuring to that effect The present death of Hamlet. Do it England, For like the Hecticke in my blood he rages, And thou must cure me: Till I know 'tis done, How ere my happes, my ioyes were ne're begun.

Exit

Enter Fortinbras with an Armie.

For. Go Captaine, from me greet the Danish King, Tell him that by his license, Fortinbras Claimes the conueyance of a promis'd March Ouer his Kingdome. You know the Rendeuous: If that his Maiesty would ought with vs, We shall expresse our dutie in his eye, And let him know so

Cap. I will doo't, my Lord

For. Go safely on.
Enter.

Enter Queene and Horatio.

Qu. I will not speake with her

Hor. She is importunate, indeed distract, her moode
will needs be pittied

Qu. What would she haue? Hor. She speakes much of her Father; saies she heares There's trickes i'th' world, and hems, and beats her heart, Spurnes enuiously at Strawes, speakes things in doubt, That carry but halfe sense: Her speech is nothing, Yet the vnshaped vse of it doth moue The hearers to Collection; they ayme at it, And botch the words vp fit to their owne thoughts, Which as her winkes, and nods, and gestures yeeld them, Indeed would make one thinke there would be thought, Though nothing sure, yet much vnhappily

Qu. 'Twere good she were spoken with, For she may strew dangerous coniectures In ill breeding minds. Let her come in. To my sicke soule (as sinnes true Nature is) Each toy seemes Prologue, to some great amisse, So full of Artlesse iealousie is guilt, It spill's it selfe, in fearing to be spilt. Enter Ophelia distracted.

Ophe. Where is the beauteous Maiesty of Denmark

Qu. How now Ophelia?
Ophe. How should I your true loue know from another one?
By his Cockle hat and staffe, and his Sandal shoone

Qu. Alas sweet Lady: what imports this Song? Ophe. Say you? Nay pray you marke. He is dead and gone Lady, he is dead and gone, At his head a grasse-greene Turfe, at his heeles a stone. Enter King.

Qu. Nay but Ophelia

Ophe. Pray you marke.
White his Shrow'd as the Mountaine Snow

Qu. Alas, looke heere my Lord

Ophe. Larded with sweet Flowers: Which bewept to the graue did not go, With true-loue showres

King. How do ye, pretty Lady?
Ophe. Well, God dil'd you. They say the Owle was
a Bakers daughter. Lord, wee know what we are, but
know not what we may be. God be at your Table

King. Conceit vpon her Father

Ophe. Pray you let's haue no words of this: but when they aske you what it meanes, say you this: To morrow is S[aint]. Valentines day, all in the morning betime, And I a Maid at your Window, to be your Valentine. Then vp he rose, & don'd his clothes, & dupt the chamber dore, Let in the Maid, that out a Maid, neuer departed more

King. Pretty Ophelia

Ophe. Indeed la? without an oath Ile make an end ont. By gis, and by S[aint]. Charity, Alacke, and fie for shame: Yong men wil doo't, if they come too't, By Cocke they are too blame. Quoth she before you tumbled me, You promis'd me to Wed: So would I ha done by yonder Sunne, And thou hadst not come to my bed

King. How long hath she bin thus? Ophe. I hope all will be well. We must bee patient, but I cannot choose but weepe, to thinke they should lay him i'th' cold ground: My brother shall knowe of it, and so I thanke you for your good counsell. Come, my Coach: Goodnight Ladies: Goodnight sweet Ladies: Goodnight, goodnight. Enter.

King. Follow her close, Giue her good watch I pray you: Oh this is the poyson of deepe greefe, it springs All from her Fathers death. Oh Gertrude, Gertrude, When sorrowes comes, they come not single spies, But in Battalians. First, her Father slaine, Next your Sonne gone, and he most violent Author Of his owne iust remoue: the people muddied, Thicke and vnwholsome in their thoughts, and whispers For good Polonius death; and we haue done but greenly In hugger mugger to interre him. Poore Ophelia Diuided from her selfe, and her faire Iudgement, Without the which we are Pictures, or meere Beasts. Last, and as much containing as all these, Her Brother is in secret come from France, Keepes on his wonder, keepes himselfe in clouds, And wants not Buzzers to infect his eare With pestilent Speeches of his Fathers death, Where in necessitie of matter Beggard, Will nothing sticke our persons to Arraigne In eare and eare. O my deere Gertrude, this, Like to a murdering Peece in many places, Giues me superfluous death.

A Noise within.

Enter a Messenger.

Qu. Alacke, what noyse is this? King. Where are my Switzers? Let them guard the doore. What is the matter? Mes. Saue your selfe, my Lord. The Ocean (ouer-peering of his List) Eates not the Flats with more impittious haste Then young Laertes, in a Riotous head, Ore-beares your Officers, the rabble call him Lord, And as the world were now but to begin, Antiquity forgot, Custome not knowne, The Ratifiers and props of euery word, They cry choose we? Laertes shall be King, Caps, hands, and tongues, applaud it to the clouds, Laertes shall be King, Laertes King

Qu. How cheerefully on the false Traile they cry,
Oh this is Counter you false Danish Dogges.

Noise within. Enter Laertes.

King. The doores are broke

Laer. Where is the King, sirs? Stand you all without

All. No, let's come in

Laer. I pray you giue me leaue

Al. We will, we will

Laer. I thanke you: Keepe the doore.
Oh thou vilde King, giue me my Father

Qu. Calmely good Laertes

Laer. That drop of blood, that calmes Proclaimes me Bastard: Cries Cuckold to my Father, brands the Harlot Euen heere betweene the chaste vnsmirched brow Of my true Mother

King. What is the cause Laertes, That thy Rebellion lookes so Gyant-like? Let him go Gertrude: Do not feare our person: There's such Diuinity doth hedge a King, That Treason can but peepe to what it would, Acts little of his will. Tell me Laertes, Why thou art thus Incenst? Let him go Gertrude. Speake man

Laer. Where's my Father?
King. Dead

Qu. But not by him

King. Let him demand his fill

Laer. How came he dead? Ile not be Iuggel'd with. To hell Allegeance: Vowes, to the blackest diuell. Conscience and Grace, to the profoundest Pit. I dare Damnation: to this point I stand, That both the worlds I giue to negligence, Let come what comes: onely Ile be reueng'd Most throughly for my Father

King. Who shall stay you?
Laer. My Will, not all the world,
And for my meanes, Ile husband them so well,
They shall go farre with little

King. Good Laertes: If you desire to know the certaintie Of your deere Fathers death, if writ in your reuenge, That Soop-stake you will draw both Friend and Foe, Winner and Looser

Laer. None but his Enemies

King. Will you know them then

La. To his good Friends, thus wide Ile ope my Armes: And like the kinde Life-rend'ring Politician, Repast them with my blood

King. Why now you speake Like a good Childe, and a true Gentleman. That I am guiltlesse of your Fathers death, And am most sensible in greefe for it, It shall as leuell to your Iudgement pierce As day do's to your eye.

A noise within. Let her come in.

Enter Ophelia.

Laer. How now? what noise is that? Oh heate drie vp my Braines, teares seuen times salt, Burne out the Sence and Vertue of mine eye. By Heauen, thy madnesse shall be payed by waight, Till our Scale turnes the beame. Oh Rose of May, Deere Maid, kinde Sister, sweet Ophelia: Oh Heauens, is't possible, a yong Maids wits, Should be as mortall as an old mans life? Nature is fine in Loue, and where 'tis fine, It sends some precious instance of it selfe After the thing it loues

Ophe. They bore him bare fac'd on the Beer, Hey non nony, nony, hey nony: And on his graue raines many a teare, Fare you well my Doue

Laer. Had'st thou thy wits, and did'st perswade Reuenge,
it could not moue thus

Ophe. You must sing downe a-downe, and you call him a-downe-a. Oh, how the wheele becomes it? It is the false Steward that stole his masters daughter

Laer. This nothings more then matter

Ophe. There's Rosemary, that's for Remembraunce. Pray loue remember: and there is Paconcies, that's for Thoughts

Laer. A document in madnesse, thoughts & remembrance
fitted

Ophe. There's Fennell for you, and Columbines: ther's Rew for you, and heere's some for me. Wee may call it Herbe-Grace a Sundaies: Oh you must weare your Rew with a difference. There's a Daysie, I would giue you some Violets, but they wither'd all when my Father dyed: They say, he made a good end; For bonny sweet Robin is all my ioy

Laer. Thought, and Affliction, Passion, Hell it selfe:
She turnes to Fauour, and to prettinesse

Ophe. And will he not come againe, And will he not come againe: No, no, he is dead, go to thy Death-bed, He neuer wil come againe. His Beard as white as Snow, All Flaxen was his Pole: He is gone, he is gone, and we cast away mone, Gramercy on his Soule. And of all Christian Soules, I pray God. God buy ye.

Exeunt. Ophelia

Laer. Do you see this, you Gods? King. Laertes, I must common with your greefe, Or you deny me right: go but apart, Make choice of whom your wisest Friends you will, And they shall heare and iudge 'twixt you and me; If by direct or by Colaterall hand They finde vs touch'd, we will our Kingdome giue, Our Crowne, our Life, and all that we call Ours To you in satisfaction. But if not, Be you content to lend your patience to vs, And we shall ioyntly labour with your soule To giue it due content

Laer. Let this be so: His meanes of death, his obscure buriall; No Trophee, Sword, nor Hatchment o're his bones, No Noble rite, nor formall ostentation, Cry to be heard, as 'twere from Heauen to Earth, That I must call in question

King. So you shall: And where th' offence is, let the great Axe fall. I pray you go with me.

Exeunt.

Enter Horatio, with an Attendant.

Hora. What are they that would speake with me?
Ser. Saylors sir, they say they haue Letters for you

Hor. Let them come in, I do not know from what part of the world I should be greeted, if not from Lord Hamlet. Enter Saylor.

Say. God blesse you Sir

Hor. Let him blesse thee too

Say. Hee shall Sir, and't please him. There's a Letter for you Sir: It comes from th' Ambassadours that was bound for England, if your name be Horatio, as I am let to know it is.

Reads the Letter.

Horatio, When thou shalt haue ouerlook'd this, giue these Fellowes some meanes to the King: They haue Letters for him. Ere we were two dayes old at Sea, a Pyrate of very Warlicke appointment gaue vs Chace. Finding our selues too slow of Saile, we put on a compelled Valour. In the Grapple, I boorded them: On the instant they got cleare of our Shippe, so I alone became their Prisoner. They haue dealt with mee, like Theeues of Mercy, but they knew what they did. I am to doe a good turne for them. Let the King haue the Letters I haue sent, and repaire thou to me with as much hast as thou wouldest flye death. I haue words to speake in your eare, will make thee dumbe, yet are they much too light for the bore of the Matter. These good Fellowes will bring thee where I am. Rosincrance and Guildensterne, hold their course for England. Of them I haue much to tell thee, Farewell. He that thou knowest thine, Hamlet. Come, I will giue you way for these your Letters, And do't the speedier, that you may direct me To him from whom you brought them. Enter.

Enter King and Laertes.

King. Now must your conscience my acquittance seal, And you must put me in your heart for Friend, Sith you haue heard, and with a knowing eare, That he which hath your Noble Father slaine, Pursued my life

Laer. It well appeares. But tell me, Why you proceeded not against these feates, So crimefull, and so Capitall in Nature, As by your Safety, Wisedome, all things else, You mainly were stirr'd vp? King. O for two speciall Reasons, Which may to you (perhaps) seeme much vnsinnowed, And yet to me they are strong. The Queen his Mother, Liues almost by his lookes: and for my selfe, My Vertue or my Plague, be it either which, She's so coniunctiue to my life, and soule; That as the Starre moues not but in his Sphere, I could not but by her. The other Motiue, Why to a publike count I might not go, Is the great loue the generall gender beare him, Who dipping all his Faults in their affection, Would like the Spring that turneth Wood to Stone, Conuert his Gyues to Graces. So that my Arrowes Too slightly timbred for so loud a Winde, Would haue reuerted to my Bow againe, And not where I had arm'd them

Laer. And so haue I a Noble Father lost, A Sister driuen into desperate tearmes, Who was (if praises may go backe againe) Stood Challenger on mount of all the Age For her perfections. But my reuenge will come

King. Breake not your sleepes for that, You must not thinke That we are made of stuffe, so flat, and dull, That we can let our Beard be shooke with danger, And thinke it pastime. You shortly shall heare more, I lou'd your Father, and we loue our Selfe, And that I hope will teach you to imagine- Enter a Messenger.

How now? What Newes? Mes. Letters my Lord from Hamlet, This to your Maiesty: this to the Queene

King. From Hamlet? Who brought them?
Mes. Saylors my Lord they say, I saw them not:
They were giuen me by Claudio, he receiu'd them

King. Laertes you shall heare them:
Leaue vs.

Exit Messenger

High and Mighty, you shall know I am set naked on your Kingdome. To morrow shall I begge leaue to see your Kingly Eyes. When I shall (first asking your Pardon thereunto) recount th' Occasions of my sodaine, and more strange returne. Hamlet. What should this meane? Are all the rest come backe? Or is it some abuse? Or no such thing? Laer. Know you the hand? Kin. 'Tis Hamlets Character, naked and in a Postscript here he sayes alone: Can you aduise me? Laer. I'm lost in it my Lord; but let him come, It warmes the very sicknesse in my heart, That I shall liue and tell him to his teeth; Thus diddest thou

Kin. If it be so Laertes, as how should it be so:
How otherwise will you be rul'd by me?
Laer. If so you'l not o'rerule me to a peace

Kin. To thine owne peace: if he be now return'd, As checking at his Voyage, and that he meanes No more to vndertake it; I will worke him To an exployt now ripe in my Deuice, Vnder the which he shall not choose but fall; And for his death no winde of blame shall breath, But euen his Mother shall vncharge the practice, And call it accident: Some two Monthes hence Here was a Gentleman of Normandy, I'ue seene my selfe, and seru'd against the French, And they ran well on Horsebacke; but this Gallant Had witchcraft in't; he grew into his Seat, And to such wondrous doing brought his Horse, As had he beene encorps't and demy-Natur'd With the braue Beast, so farre he past my thought, That I in forgery of shapes and trickes, Come short of what he did

Laer. A Norman was't?
Kin. A Norman

Laer. Vpon my life Lamound

Kin. The very same

Laer. I know him well, he is the Brooch indeed,
And Iemme of all our Nation

Kin. Hee mad confession of you, And gaue you such a Masterly report, For Art and exercise in your defence; And for your Rapier most especiall, That he cryed out, t'would be a sight indeed, If one could match you Sir. This report of his Did Hamlet so envenom with his Enuy, That he could nothing doe but wish and begge, Your sodaine comming ore to play with him; Now out of this

Laer. Why out of this, my Lord? Kin. Laertes was your Father deare to you? Or are you like the painting of a sorrow, A face without a heart? Laer. Why aske you this? Kin. Not that I thinke you did not loue your Father, But that I know Loue is begun by Time: And that I see in passages of proofe, Time qualifies the sparke and fire of it: Hamlet comes backe: what would you vndertake, To show your selfe your Fathers sonne indeed, More then in words? Laer. To cut his throat i'th' Church

Kin. No place indeed should murder Sancturize; Reuenge should haue no bounds: but good Laertes Will you doe this, keepe close within your Chamber, Hamlet return'd, shall know you are come home: Wee'l put on those shall praise your excellence, And set a double varnish on the fame The Frenchman gaue you, bring you in fine together, And wager on your heads, he being remisse, Most generous, and free from all contriuing, Will not peruse the Foiles? So that with ease, Or with a little shuffling, you may choose A Sword vnbaited, and in a passe of practice, Requit him for your Father

Laer. I will doo't. And for that purpose Ile annoint my Sword: I bought an Vnction of a Mountebanke So mortall, I but dipt a knife in it, Where it drawes blood, no Cataplasme so rare, Collected from all Simples that haue Vertue Vnder the Moone, can saue the thing from death, That is but scratcht withall: Ile touch my point, With this contagion, that if I gall him slightly, It may be death

Kin. Let's further thinke of this, Weigh what conuenience both of time and meanes May fit vs to our shape, if this should faile; And that our drift looke through our bad performance, 'Twere better not assaid; therefore this Proiect Should haue a backe or second, that might hold, If this should blast in proofe: Soft, let me see Wee'l make a solemne wager on your commings, I ha't: when in your motion you are hot and dry, As make your bowts more violent to the end, And that he cals for drinke; Ile haue prepar'd him A Challice for the nonce; whereon but sipping, If he by chance escape your venom'd stuck, Our purpose may hold there; how sweet Queene. Enter Queene.

Queen. One woe doth tread vpon anothers heele,
So fast they'l follow: your Sister's drown'd Laertes

Laer. Drown'd! O where? Queen. There is a Willow growes aslant a Brooke, That shewes his hore leaues in the glassie streame: There with fantasticke Garlands did she come, Of Crow-flowers, Nettles, Daysies, and long Purples, That liberall Shepheards giue a grosser name; But our cold Maids doe Dead Mens Fingers call them: There on the pendant boughes, her Coronet weeds Clambring to hang; an enuious sliuer broke, When downe the weedy Trophies, and her selfe, Fell in the weeping Brooke, her cloathes spred wide, And Mermaid-like, a while they bore her vp, Which time she chaunted snatches of old tunes, As one incapable of her owne distresse, Or like a creature Natiue, and indued Vnto that Element: but long it could not be, Till that her garments, heauy with her drinke, Pul'd the poore wretch from her melodious buy, To muddy death

Laer. Alas then, is she drown'd?
Queen. Drown'd, drown'd

Laer. Too much of water hast thou poore Ophelia, And therefore I forbid my teares: but yet It is our tricke, Nature her custome holds, Let shame say what it will; when these are gone The woman will be out: Adue my Lord, I haue a speech of fire, that faine would blaze, But that this folly doubts it. Enter.

Kin. Let's follow, Gertrude: How much I had to doe to calme his rage? Now feare I this will giue it start againe; Therefore let's follow.

Exeunt.

Enter two Clownes.

Clown. Is she to bee buried in Christian buriall, that wilfully seekes her owne saluation? Other. I tell thee she is, and therefore make her Graue straight, the Crowner hath sate on her, and finds it Christian buriall

Clo. How can that be, vnlesse she drowned her selfe in
her owne defence?
Other. Why 'tis found so

Clo. It must be Se offendendo, it cannot bee else: for heere lies the point; If I drowne my selfe wittingly, it argues an Act: and an Act hath three branches. It is an Act to doe and to performe; argall she drown'd her selfe wittingly

Other. Nay but heare you Goodman Deluer

Clown. Giue me leaue; heere lies the water; good: heere stands the man; good: If the man goe to this water and drowne himselfe; it is will he nill he, he goes; marke you that? But if the water come to him & drowne him; hee drownes not himselfe. Argall, hee that is not guilty of his owne death, shortens not his owne life

Other. But is this law?
Clo. I marry is't, Crowners Quest Law

Other. Will you ha the truth on't: if this had not beene a Gentlewoman, shee should haue beene buried out of Christian Buriall

Clo. Why there thou say'st. And the more pitty that great folke should haue countenance in this world to drowne or hang themselues, more then their euen Christian. Come, my Spade; there is no ancient Gentlemen, but Gardiners, Ditchers and Graue-makers; they hold vp Adams Profession

Other. Was he a Gentleman?
Clo. He was the first that euer bore Armes

Other. Why he had none

Clo. What, ar't a Heathen? how doth thou vnderstand the Scripture? the Scripture sayes Adam dig'd; could hee digge without Armes? Ile put another question to thee; if thou answerest me not to the purpose, confesse thy selfe- Other. Go too

Clo. What is he that builds stronger then either the
Mason, the Shipwright, or the Carpenter?
Other. The Gallowes maker; for that Frame outliues a
thousand Tenants

Clo. I like thy wit well in good faith, the Gallowes does well; but how does it well? it does well to those that doe ill: now, thou dost ill to say the Gallowes is built stronger then the Church: Argall, the Gallowes may doe well to thee. Too't againe, Come

Other. Who builds stronger then a Mason, a Shipwright,
or a Carpenter?
Clo. I, tell me that, and vnyoake

Other. Marry, now I can tell

Clo. Too't

Other. Masse, I cannot tell.
Enter Hamlet and Horatio a farre off.

Clo. Cudgell thy braines no more about it; for your dull Asse will not mend his pace with beating; and when you are ask't this question next, say a Graue-maker: the Houses that he makes, lasts till Doomesday: go, get thee to Yaughan, fetch me a stoupe of Liquor.

Sings.

In youth when I did loue, did loue, me thought it was very sweete: To contract O the time for a my behoue, O me thought there was nothing meete

Ham. Ha's this fellow no feeling of his businesse, that
he sings at Graue-making?
Hor. Custome hath made it in him a property of easinesse

Ham. 'Tis ee'n so; the hand of little Imployment hath
the daintier sense

Clowne sings. But Age with his stealing steps hath caught me in his clutch: And hath shipped me intill the Land, as if I had neuer beene such

Ham. That Scull had a tongue in it, and could sing once: how the knaue iowles it to th' grownd, as if it were Caines Iaw-bone, that did the first murther: It might be the Pate of a Polititian which this Asse o're Offices: one that could circumuent God, might it not? Hor. It might, my Lord

Ham. Or of a Courtier, which could say, Good Morrow sweet Lord: how dost thou, good Lord? this might be my Lord such a one, that prais'd my Lord such a ones Horse, when he meant to begge it; might it not? Hor. I, my Lord

Ham. Why ee'n so: and now my Lady Wormes, Chaplesse, and knockt about the Mazard with a Sextons Spade; heere's fine Reuolution, if wee had the tricke to see't. Did these bones cost no more the breeding, but to play at Loggets with 'em? mine ake to thinke on't

Clowne sings. A Pickhaxe and a Spade, a Spade, for and a shrowding-Sheete: O a Pit of Clay for to be made, for such a Guest is meete

Ham. There's another: why might not that bee the Scull of a Lawyer? where be his Quiddits now? his Quillets? his Cases? his Tenures, and his Tricks? why doe's he suffer this rude knaue now to knocke him about the Sconce with a dirty Shouell, and will not tell him of his Action of Battery? hum. This fellow might be in's time a great buyer of Land, with his Statutes, his Recognizances, his Fines, his double Vouchers, his Recoueries: Is this the fine of his Fines, and the recouery of his Recoueries, to haue his fine Pate full of fine Dirt? will his Vouchers vouch him no more of his Purchases, and double ones too, then the length and breadth of a paire of Indentures? the very Conueyances of his Lands will hardly lye in this Boxe; and must the Inheritor himselfe haue no more? ha? Hor. Not a iot more, my Lord

Ham. Is not Parchment made of Sheep-skinnes?
Hor. I my Lord, and of Calue-skinnes too

Ham. They are Sheepe and Calues that seek out assurance in that. I will speake to this fellow: whose Graue's this Sir? Clo. Mine Sir: O a Pit of Clay for to be made, for such a Guest is meete

Ham. I thinke it be thine indeed: for thou liest in't

Clo. You lye out on't Sir, and therefore it is not yours:
for my part, I doe not lye in't; and yet it is mine

Ham. Thou dost lye in't, to be in't and say 'tis thine: 'tis for the dead, not for the quicke, therefore thou lyest

Clo. 'Tis a quicke lye Sir, 'twill away againe from me
to you

Ham. What man dost thou digge it for?
Clo. For no man Sir

Ham. What woman then?
Clo. For none neither

Ham. Who is to be buried in't?
Clo. One that was a woman Sir; but rest her Soule,
shee's dead

Ham. How absolute the knaue is? wee must speake by the Carde, or equiuocation will vndoe vs: by the Lord Horatio, these three yeares I haue taken note of it, the Age is growne so picked, that the toe of the Pesant comes so neere the heeles of our Courtier, hee galls his Kibe. How long hast thou been a Graue-maker? Clo. Of all the dayes i'th' yeare, I came too't that day that our last King Hamlet o'recame Fortinbras

Ham. How long is that since?
Clo. Cannot you tell that? euery foole can tell that:
It was the very day, that young Hamlet was borne, hee
that was mad, and sent into England

Ham. I marry, why was he sent into England?
Clo. Why, because he was mad; hee shall recouer his
wits there; or if he do not, it's no great matter there

Ham. Why?
Clo. 'Twill not be seene in him, there the men are as
mad as he

Ham. How came he mad?
Clo. Very strangely they say

Ham. How strangely?
Clo. Faith e'ene with loosing his wits

Ham. Vpon what ground?
Clo. Why heere in Denmarke: I haue bin sixeteene
heere, man and Boy thirty yeares

Ham. How long will a man lie i'th' earth ere he rot? Clo. Ifaith, if he be not rotten before he die (as we haue many pocky Coarses now adaies, that will scarce hold the laying in) he will last you some eight yeare, or nine yeare. A Tanner will last you nine yeare

Ham. Why he, more then another? Clo. Why sir, his hide is so tan'd with his Trade, that he will keepe out water a great while. And your water, is a sore Decayer of your horson dead body. Heres a Scull now: this Scul, has laine in the earth three & twenty years

Ham. Whose was it?
Clo. A whoreson mad Fellowes it was;
Whose doe you thinke it was?
Ham. Nay, I know not

Clo. A pestilence on him for a mad Rogue, a pour'd a Flaggon of Renish on my head once. This same Scull Sir, this same Scull sir, was Yoricks Scull, the Kings Iester

Ham. This?
Clo. E'ene that

Ham. Let me see. Alas poore Yorick, I knew him Horatio, a fellow of infinite Iest; of most excellent fancy, he hath borne me on his backe a thousand times: And how abhorred my Imagination is, my gorge rises at it. Heere hung those lipps, that I haue kist I know not how oft. Where be your Iibes now? Your Gambals? Your Songs? Your flashes of Merriment that were wont to set the Table on a Rore? No one now to mock your own Ieering? Quite chopfalne? Now get you to my Ladies Chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thicke, to this fauour she must come. Make her laugh at that: prythee Horatio tell me one thing

Hor. What's that my Lord?
Ham. Dost thou thinke Alexander lookt o'this fashion
i'th' earth?
Hor. E'ene so

Ham. And smelt so? Puh

Hor. E'ene so, my Lord

Ham. To what base vses we may returne Horatio. Why may not Imagination trace the Noble dust of Alexander, till he find it stopping a bunghole

Hor. 'Twere to consider: to curiously to consider so

Ham. No faith, not a iot. But to follow him thether with modestie enough, & likeliehood to lead it; as thus. Alexander died: Alexander was buried: Alexander returneth into dust; the dust is earth; of earth we make Lome, and why of that Lome (whereto he was conuerted) might they not stopp a Beere-barrell? Imperiall Caesar, dead and turn'd to clay, Might stop a hole to keepe the winde away. Oh, that that earth, which kept the world in awe, Should patch a Wall, t' expell the winters flaw. But soft, but soft, aside; heere comes the King. Enter King, Queene, Laertes, and a Coffin, with Lords attendant.

The Queene, the Courtiers. Who is that they follow, And with such maimed rites? This doth betoken, The Coarse they follow, did with disperate hand, Fore do it owne life; 'twas some Estate. Couch we a while, and mark

Laer. What Cerimony else?
Ham. That is Laertes, a very Noble youth: Marke

Laer. What Cerimony else? Priest. Her Obsequies haue bin as farre inlarg'd. As we haue warrantie, her death was doubtfull, And but that great Command, o're-swaies the order, She should in ground vnsanctified haue lodg'd, Till the last Trumpet. For charitable praier, Shardes, Flints, and Peebles, should be throwne on her: Yet heere she is allowed her Virgin Rites, Her Maiden strewments, and the bringing home Of Bell and Buriall

Laer. Must there no more be done ? Priest. No more be done: We should prophane the seruice of the dead, To sing sage Requiem, and such rest to her As to peace-parted Soules

Laer. Lay her i'th' earth, And from her faire and vnpolluted flesh, May Violets spring. I tell thee (churlish Priest) A Ministring Angell shall my Sister be, When thou liest howling? Ham. What, the faire Ophelia? Queene. Sweets, to the sweet farewell. I hop'd thou should'st haue bin my Hamlets wife: I thought thy Bride-bed to haue deckt (sweet Maid) And not t'haue strew'd thy Graue

Laer. Oh terrible woer, Fall ten times trebble, on that cursed head Whose wicked deed, thy most Ingenious sence Depriu'd thee of. Hold off the earth a while, Till I haue caught her once more in mine armes:

Leaps in the graue.