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P. Queen. The instances, that second marriage move, Are base respects of thrift, but none of love; A second time I kill my husband dead, When second husband kisses me in bed.
P. King. I do believe, you think what now you speak; But, what we do determine, oft we break. Purpose is but the slave to memory; Of violent birth, but poor validity: Which now, like fruit unripe, sticks on the tree; But fall, unshaken, when they mellow be. Most necessary 'tis, that we forget To pay ourselves what to ourselves is debt: What to ourselves in passion we propose, The passion ending, doth the purpose lose. The violence of either grief or joy Their own enactures with themselves destroy: Where joy most revels, grief doth most lament; Grief joys, joy grieves, on slender accident. This world is not for aye; nor 'tis not strange, That even our loves should with our fortunes change; For 'tis a question left us yet to prove, Whether love lead fortune, or else fortune love. The great man down, you mark his favourite fies; The poor advanc'd makes friends of enemies. And hitherto doth love on fortune tend: For who not needs, shall never lack a friend; And who in want a hollow friend doth try, Directly seasons him his enemy. But, orderly to end where I begun,Our wills, and fates, do so contráry run, That our devices still are overthrown; Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own:
prison beund hope, night
So think thou wilt no second husband wed;
[To OphelJA. P. King. 'Tis deeply sworn. Sweet, leave me here
a while; My spirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile The tedious day with sleep.
[Sleeps. P. Queen. Sleep rock thy brain; And never come mischance between us twain! [Exit.
Ham. Madam, how like you this play?
King. Have you heard the argument? Is there no offence in't?
Ham. No, no, they do but jest, poison in jest; no offence i’the world.
King. What do you call the play?
Ham. The mouse-trap. Marry, how ? Tropically. This play is the image of a murder done in Vienna: Gonzago is the duke's name; his wife, Baptista: you shall see anon ; 'tis a knavish piece of work: But what of that? your majesty, and we that have free souls, it touches us not: Let the galled jade wince, our withers are unwrung.
Oph. You are as good as a chorus, my lord.
Ham. I could interpret between you and your love, if I could see the puppets dallying.
Oph. You are keen, my lord, you are keen.
Ham. It would cost you a groaning, to take off my edge.
Oph. Still better, and worse.
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
[Pours the poison in the sleeper's ears. Ham. He poisons him i’the garden for his estate. His naine's Gonzago : the story is extant, and written in very choice Italian : You shall see anon, how the murderer gets the love of Gonzago's wife.
Oph. The king rises.
King. Give me some light:-away!
[Exeunt all but Hamlet and HORATIO Ham. Why, let the strucken deer go weep,
The hart ungalled play:
Thus runs the world away.Would not this, sir, and a forest of feathers, (if the rest of my fortunes turn Turk with me,) with two Provencial roses on my razed shoes, get me a fellowship in a cry of players, sir ?
Hor. Half a share.
This realm dismantled was
A very, very—peacock.
Ham. O good Horatio, I'll take the ghost's word for a thousand pound. Didst perceive ?
Hor. Very well, my lord.
Ham. Ah, ha !-Come, some musick; come, the recorders.
For if the king like not the comedy,
Enter ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN. Come, some musick. Guil. Good my lord, vouchsafe me a word with you. Ham. Sir, a whole history.
Guil. The king, sir, —
Ham. Your wisdom should show itself more richer, to signify this to the doctor; for, for me to put him to his purgation, would, perhaps, plunge him into more choler.
Guil. Good my lord, put your discourse into some frame, and start not so wildly from my affair.
Ham. I am tame, sir :-pronounce.
Guil. The queen, your mother, in most great affliction of spirit, hath sent me to you.
Ham. You are welcome. Guil. Nay, good my lord, this courtesy is not of the right breed. If it shall please you to make me a wholesome answer, I will do your mother's commandment: if not, your pardon, and my return, shall be the end of my business.
Ham. Sir, I cannot.
Ham. Make you a wholesome answer; my wit's diseased : But, sir, such answer as I can make, you shall command; or, rather, as you say, my mother: therefore, no more, but to the matter : My mother, you say,
Ros. Then thus she says; Your behaviour hath struck her into amazement and admiration.
Ham. O wonderful son, that can so astonish a mother !—but is there no sequel at the heels of this mother's admiration ? impart.