my mother looks, and my father dy'd within these two hours

Oph. Nay, 'tis twice two months, my Lord.

Ham. So long nay, then let the Devil wear black, for I'll have a fuit of fables. Oh heav'ns! die two months ago, and not forgotten yet! then there's hope, a great man's memory may out-live his life half a year: but, by'r lady, he must build churches then; or elfe thall he fuffer not thinking on, with the hobby-horfe; whofe epitaph is, For oh, for oh, the hobby horfe is forgot.

Hautboys play. The dumb fhew enters,

(38) Enter a Duke and Dutchefs, with regal Coronets, very lovingly; the Dutchess embracing him, and be her. She kneels; he takes her up, and declines his head upon her neck; he lays him down upon a bank of flowers; the Jeeing him afleet, leaves him. Anon comes in a fellow, takes off his Crown, kiffes it, and pours poifon in the Duke's ears, and Exit. The Dutchess returns, finds the Luke dead, and makes paffionate action. The paifoner, with fome two or three mutes, comes in again, fecming to lament with her. The dead body is carried away. The poifoner wooes the Dutchefs with gifts; she feems loth and unwilling a while, but in the end accepts his love.

Oph. What means this, my Lord?

[Exeunt.

Ham. Marry, this is miching Malicho; it meansmifchief.

(39) Enter a King and Queen very lovingly :] Thus have the blun dering and inadvertent editors all along given us this ftage direction, tho' we are exprefsly told by Hamlet anon, that the ftory of this introduced interlude is the murder of Gonzago duke of Vienna. The fource of this mistake is eafily to be accounted for, from the flage's dreffing the characters. Regal coronets being at first order'd by the Poet for the duke and dutchefs, the fucceeding players, who did not ftrictly obferve the quality of the perfons or circumftances of the ftory,miftook 'em for a king and queen; and fo the error was deduced down from thence to the prefent times. Methinks, Mr. Pope might have indulg'd bis private fenje in fo obvious a miflake, without any fear of rahnefs,being imputed to him for the arbitrary correction.

H. 3,

Oph

V

Oph. Belike, this show imports the arguments of the play.

Enter Prologue.

Ham. We fhall know by this fellow: the players cannot keep counfel; they'll tell all.

Oph. Will he tell us, what this fhow meant?

Ham. Ay, or any show that you'll fhew him. Be not you ashamed to fhew, he'll not fhame to tell you what

it means.

Oph. You are naught, you are naught, I'll mark the

play.

Prol. For us, and for our tragedy,

Here ftooping to your clemency,
We beg your bearing patiently.

Ham. Is this a prologue, or the poesy of a ring?
Opb. 'Tis brief, my Lord.

Ham. As woman's love.

Enter Duke, and Dutchefs, Players.

Dake. Full thirty times hath Phoebus, carr gone round
Neptune's falt wash, and Tellus' orbed ground;
And thirty dozen moons with borrowed theen
About the world have time twelve thirties been,
Since love our hearts, and Hymen did our hands,
Unite commutual, in moft facred bands.

Dutch. So many journeys may the fun and moon
Make us again count o'er, ere love be done.
But woe is me, you are fo fick of late,
So far from cheer and from your former ftate,
That I diftruft you; yet though I diftruft,
Difcomfort you, my Lord, it nothing muft:
For women fear too much, ev'n as they love.
And women's fear and love hold quantity;
"Tis either none, or in extremity.

Now, what my love is, proof hath made you know;
And as my love is fiz d, my fear is so. (39)

Where

(39) And as my love is fix'd, my fear is fo.] Mr. Pepe fays I read fix'd, and, indeed, I do fo: because, I observe, the quarto of 1605

reads

Where love is great, the fmalleft doubts are fear;
Where little fears grow great, great love grows there.
Duke. 'Faith, I must leave thee, love, and fhortly too:
My operant powers their functions leave to do,
And thou fhalt live in this fair world behind,
Honour'd, belov'd; and, haply, one as kind
For husband fhalt thou-

Dutch. Oh, confound the reft!

Such love muft needs be treason in my

In fecond husband let me be accurft!

breaft:

None wed the fecond, but who kill the firft.

Ham. Wormwood! wormwood!

Dutch. The inftances that fecond marriage move,
Are bafe refpects of thrift, but none of love.
A fecond time I kill my husband dead,

When fecond hufband kiffes me in bed.

Duke. I do believe, you think what now you speak s But what we do determine, oft we break;

Purpose is but the flave to memory,

Of violent birth, but poor validity:

Which now, like fruits unripe, sticks on the tree,
But fall unhaken, when they mellow be.
Moft neceffary 'tis, that we forget

Το
pay ourfelves what to ourselves is debt:
What to ourselves in paffion we propofe,
The paffion ending, doth the purpose lofe;
The violence of either grief or joy,

Their own enactors with themselves deftroy.
Where joy moft revels, grief doth most lament
Grief joys, joy grieves, on flender accident.
This world is not for aye; nor 'tis not strange,
That ev'n our loves fhould with our fortunes change.

reads ciz'd; that of 1611 cizft; the folio in 1632, fiz; and that in 1623, fized: and becaufe, befides the whole tenour of the context demands this reading. For the lady evidently is talking here of the quantity and proportion of her love and fear, not of their continuance, duration or ftability. Cleopatra expreffes herfelf much in the fame manner, with regard to her grief for the lofs of Antony. -our fixe of forrow,

Proportion'd to our caufe, must be as great
As that which makes it.

H 4

For

For 'tis a queftion left us yet to prove,

Whether love leads fortune, or elfe fortune love.
The great man down, you mark, his fav'rite flies;
The poor advanc'd, makes friends of enemies.
And hitherto doth love on fortune tend,
For who not needs fhall never lack a friend;
And who in want a hollow friend doth try,
Direly feafons him his enemy.
But orderly to end where I begun,
Our wills and fates do fo contrary run,
That our devices ftill are overthrown ;

Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own.
Think ftill, thou wilt no fecond hufband wed;
But die thy thoughts, when thy firft Lord is dead.
Dutch. Nor earth to me give food, nor heaven light!
Sport and repofe lock from me, day and night!
To defperation turn my trust and hope!
An anchor's cheer in prifon be my scope!
Each oppofite, that blanks the face of joy,
Meet what I would have well, and it deftroy!
Both here, and hence, purfue me lasting ftrife!
lf, once a widow, ever I be wife.

Ham, If she should break it now

Duke. 'Tis deeply fworn; fweet,leave me here a while;

My fpirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile

The tedious day with fleep.

Dutch. Sleep rock thy brain,

[Sleeps.

And never come mifchance between us twain! [Exit.

Ham Madam, how like you this play?

Queen. The lady protests too much, methinks.

Ham. Oh, but fhe'll keep her word.

King. Have you heard the argument, is there no offence in't?

Ham. No, no, they do but jeft, poison in jeft, no offence i'th' world.

King. What do you call the play? Ham. The Moufe-Trap; Marry, how? tropically. This play is the image of a murder done in Vienna; Gonzago is the Duke's name, his wife's Baptifa; you shall see anon, 'tis a knavish piece of work;

but

but what o'that? your Majefty, and we that have free fouls, it touches us not; let the gall'd jáde winch, our withers are unwrung.

Enter Lucianus.

This is one Lucianus, nephew to the Duke.
Oph. You are as good as a chorus, my Lord.
Ham. I could interp:et between you and your love;
if I could fee the puppets dallying.

Oph. You are keen, my Lord, you are keen. Ham. It would cost you a groaning to take off my edge.

Opb. Still better and worse. (40).

Ham. So you mistake your husbands.

Begin, murderer.-Leave thy damnable faces and begin..
Come, the croaking raven doth bellow for revenge.
Luc. Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, and time:
agreeing:

Confederate feafon, and no creature feeing:
Thou mixture rank, of mid-night weeds collected,
With Hecate's ban, thrice blafted, thrice infected, (41)

(40) Still worfe and worse.

Thy

'Tis

Ham. So you must take your bufbands,] Surely, this is the moft uncomfortable leffon, that ever was preach'd to the poor ladies: and I can't help wishing, for our own fakes too, it mayn't be true. too foul a blot upon our reputations, that every hufband that a woman takes must be worfe than her former. The Poet, I am pretty certain, intended no fuch scandal upon the fex. But what a precious, collator of copies is Mr. Pope! All the old quarto's and folio's read, Ophel. Still better and wrfe.

Ham. So you miflake hufbands.

Hamlet is talking to her in fuch grofs double entendres, that the is forc'd to parry them by indirect anfwers: and remarks, that tho' his wit befmarter, yet his mearing is more blunt. This, I think, is the fenie of her.Still better and worse. This puts Hamlet in mind of the words in the church fervice of matrimony, and he replies, fo you mistake bufbands, i, e. So you take husbands, and find yourfelves miftaken in them.

(41) With Hecate's bane thrice blafted,] Here again, Mr Pope ap proves himself a worthy collator: for the old quario's and folio's concur in reading as I have reform'd the text,

Witb Hecate's bana thrice blafted