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Hamlet, Prince of Denmark by William Shakespeare, 1564-1616

Which was declining on the milky head

Of reverend Priam, seem’d i’ the air to stick:

So, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrhus stood,

And like a neutral to his will and matter,

Did nothing.

But, as we often see, against some storm,

A silence in the heavens, the rack stand still,

The bold winds speechless and the orb below

As hush as death, anon the dreadful thunder

Doth rend the region, so, after Pyrrhus’ pause,

Aroused vengeance sets him new a-work;

And never did the Cyclops’ hammers fall

On Mars’s armour forged for proof eterne

With less remorse than Pyrrhus’ bleeding sword

Now falls on Priam.

Out, out, thou strumpet, Fortune! All you gods,

In general synod ‘take away her power;

Break all the spokes and fellies from her wheel,

And bowl the round nave down the hill of heaven,

As low as to the fiends!’

LORD POLONIUS This is too long.

HAMLET It shall to the barber’s, with your beard. Prithee,

say on: he’s for a jig or a tale of bawdry, or he

sleeps: say on: come to Hecuba.

First Player ‘But who, O, who had seen the mobled queen–‘

HAMLET ‘The mobled queen?’

LORD POLONIUS That’s good; ‘mobled queen’ is good.

First Player ‘Run barefoot up and down, threatening the flames

With bisson rheum; a clout upon that head

Where late the diadem stood, and for a robe,

About her lank and all o’er-teemed loins,

A blanket, in the alarm of fear caught up;

Who this had seen, with tongue in venom steep’d,

‘Gainst Fortune’s state would treason have

pronounced:

But if the gods themselves did see her then

When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious sport

In mincing with his sword her husband’s limbs,

The instant burst of clamour that she made,

Unless things mortal move them not at all,

Would have made milch the burning eyes of heaven,

And passion in the gods.’

LORD POLONIUS Look, whether he has not turned his colour and has

tears in’s eyes. Pray you, no more.

HAMLET ‘Tis well: I’ll have thee speak out the rest soon.

Good my lord, will you see the players well

bestowed? Do you hear, let them be well used; for

they are the abstract and brief chronicles of the

time: after your death you were better have a bad

epitaph than their ill report while you live.

LORD POLONIUS My lord, I will use them according to their desert.

HAMLET God’s bodykins, man, much better: use every man

after his desert, and who should ‘scape whipping?

Use them after your own honour and dignity: the less

they deserve, the more merit is in your bounty.

Take them in.

LORD POLONIUS Come, sirs.

HAMLET Follow him, friends: we’ll hear a play to-morrow.

Exit POLONIUS with all the Players but the First

Dost thou hear me, old friend; can you play the

Murder of Gonzago?

First Player Ay, my lord.

HAMLET We’ll ha’t to-morrow night. You could, for a need,

study a speech of some dozen or sixteen lines, which

I would set down and insert in’t, could you not?

First Player Ay, my lord.

HAMLET Very well. Follow that lord; and look you mock him

not.

Exit First Player

My good friends, I’ll leave you till night: you are

welcome to Elsinore.

ROSENCRANTZ Good my lord!

HAMLET Ay, so, God be wi’ ye;

Exeunt ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN

Now I am alone.

O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I!

Is it not monstrous that this player here,

But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,

Could force his soul so to his own conceit

That from her working all his visage wann’d,

Tears in his eyes, distraction in’s aspect,

A broken voice, and his whole function suiting

With forms to his conceit? and all for nothing!

For Hecuba!

What’s Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,

That he should weep for her? What would he do,

Had he the motive and the cue for passion

That I have? He would drown the stage with tears

And cleave the general ear with horrid speech,

Make mad the guilty and appal the free,

Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed

The very faculties of eyes and ears. Yet I,

A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak,

Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause,

And can say nothing; no, not for a king,

Upon whose property and most dear life

A damn’d defeat was made. Am I a coward?

Who calls me villain? breaks my pate across?

Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face?

Tweaks me by the nose? gives me the lie i’ the throat,

As deep as to the lungs? who does me this?

Ha!

‘Swounds, I should take it: for it cannot be

But I am pigeon-liver’d and lack gall

To make oppression bitter, or ere this

I should have fatted all the region kites

With this slave’s offal: bloody, bawdy villain!

Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain!

O, vengeance!

Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave,

That I, the son of a dear father murder’d,

Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell,

Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words,

And fall a-cursing, like a very drab,

A scullion!

Fie upon’t! foh! About, my brain! I have heard

That guilty creatures sitting at a play

Have by the very cunning of the scene

Been struck so to the soul that presently

They have proclaim’d their malefactions;

For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak

With most miraculous organ. I’ll have these players

Play something like the murder of my father

Before mine uncle: I’ll observe his looks;

I’ll tent him to the quick: if he but blench,

I know my course. The spirit that I have seen

May be the devil: and the devil hath power

To assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhaps

Out of my weakness and my melancholy,

As he is very potent with such spirits,

Abuses me to damn me: I’ll have grounds

More relative than this: the play ‘s the thing

Wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the king.

Exit

Act 3

Scene 1

A room in the castle.

Enter KING CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, POLONIUS, OPHELIA, ROSENCRANTZ, and GUILDENSTERN

KING CLAUDIUS And can you, by no drift of circumstance,

Get from him why he puts on this confusion,

Grating so harshly all his days of quiet

With turbulent and dangerous lunacy?

ROSENCRANTZ He does confess he feels himself distracted;

But from what cause he will by no means speak.

GUILDENSTERN Nor do we find him forward to be sounded,

But, with a crafty madness, keeps aloof,

When we would bring him on to some confession

Of his true state.

QUEEN GERTRUDE Did he receive you well?

ROSENCRANTZ Most like a gentleman.

GUILDENSTERN But with much forcing of his disposition.

ROSENCRANTZ Niggard of question; but, of our demands,

Most free in his reply.

QUEEN GERTRUDE Did you assay him?

To any pastime?

ROSENCRANTZ Madam, it so fell out, that certain players

We o’er-raught on the way: of these we told him;

And there did seem in him a kind of joy

To hear of it: they are about the court,

And, as I think, they have already order

This night to play before him.

LORD POLONIUS ‘Tis most true:

And he beseech’d me to entreat your majesties

To hear and see the matter.

KING CLAUDIUS With all my heart; and it doth much content me

To hear him so inclined.

Good gentlemen, give him a further edge,

And drive his purpose on to these delights.

ROSENCRANTZ We shall, my lord.

Exeunt ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN

KING CLAUDIUS Sweet Gertrude, leave us too;

For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither,

That he, as ’twere by accident, may here

Affront Ophelia:

Her father and myself, lawful espials,

Will so bestow ourselves that, seeing, unseen,

We may of their encounter frankly judge,

And gather by him, as he is behaved,

If ‘t be the affliction of his love or no

That thus he suffers for.

QUEEN GERTRUDE I shall obey you.

And for your part, Ophelia, I do wish

That your good beauties be the happy cause

Of Hamlet’s wildness: so shall I hope your virtues

Will bring him to his wonted way again,

To both your honours.

OPHELIA Madam, I wish it may.

Exit QUEEN GERTRUDE

LORD POLONIUS Ophelia, walk you here. Gracious, so please you,

We will bestow ourselves.

To OPHELIA

Read on this book;

That show of such an exercise may colour

Your loneliness. We are oft to blame in this,–

‘Tis too much proved–that with devotion’s visage

And pious action we do sugar o’er

The devil himself.

KING CLAUDIUS [Aside]

O, ’tis too true!

How smart a lash that speech doth give my conscience!

The harlot’s cheek, beautied with plastering art,

Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it

Than is my deed to my most painted word:

O heavy burthen!

LORD POLONIUS I hear him coming: let’s withdraw, my lord.

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