That I diftruft you; yet though I diftruft,
Difcomfort you, my Lord, it nothing must.
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.

Where love is great, the smallest doubts are fear; Where little fears grow great, great love grows there.

[too:

Duke. 'Faith, I must leave thee, Love, and fhortly My operant powers their functions leave to do, And thou shalt live in this fair world behind, Honour'd, belov'd; and haply one as kind For husband fhalt thou

Duch. Oh, confound the rest! Such love muft needs be treafon in

my

breaft:

In fecond hufband let me be accurs'd!

None wed the second, but who kill the first.
Ham Wormwood, wormwood!

Duch. The inftances that fecond marriage move,

Are base refpects of thrift, but none of love.
A fecond time I kill my husband dead,

When fecond husband kiffes me in bed.

Duke. I do believe you think what now you speak; But what we do determine, oft we break; Purpofe is but the flave to memory,

Of violent birth, but poor validity:

Which now, like fruits unripe, fticks on the tree;
But fall unfhaken, when they mellow be.
Moft neceffary 'tis that we forget:

To pay ourselves what to ourselves is debt:
What to ourselves in paffion we propose,
The paffion ending, doth the purpofe lofe;
The violence of either grief or joy,..

Their own enactors with themselves deftroy,
- Where joy most revels, grief doth most lament;
Grief joys, joy grieves, on flender accident.
This world is not for ay; nor 'tis not strange,
That ev'n our loves fhould with our fortunes change.
For 'tis a question left us yet to prove,

Whether Love leads Fortune, or elfe Fortune Love.

The

The great man down, you mark, his fav'rite flies;
The poor advance'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,
Directly 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 husband wed;
But die thy thoughts when thy fira Lond is dead.
Duch. 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 fcope *!
Each oppofite that blanks the face of joy,
Meet what would have well, and it deftroy!
Both here, and hence, purfue me lafting strife!
If, once a widow, ever I be wife.

Ham. If the fhould break it now

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

while;

My fpirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile

The tedious day with fleep.

Duch. 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 he'll keep her word.

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

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

King. What do you call the play? Ham. The Moufe-trap; Marry, how? trepically. This play is the image of a murther done in Vienna; Gonzago is the Duke's name, his wife's Bapifta; you shall see anon 'tis a knavish piece of work: but what o' that? your Majesty, and we that have free

i. e. may I be as closely and st:altly confined as the most mortified reclufe.

fculs,

fouls, it touches us not; let the gall'd jade 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 interpret 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.

Oph. Still better and worse.

Ham. So you mistake your hufbands. Begin, murtherer.

begin.

Leave thy damnable faces, and

Come, the croaking raven doth bellow for revenge. Luc. Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, and time Confederate feafon, and no creature feeing: [agreeing: Thou mixture rank, of midnight-weeds collected, With Hecate's bane thrice blated, thrice infected, Thy natural magic, and dire property,

On wholfome life ufurp immediately.

[Pours the poifon into his ears. Ham. He poifons him i' th' garden for's eftate; his name's Gonzago; the story is extant, and writ in choice Italian, You fhall fee anon how the murtherer gets the love of Gonzago's wife.

Oph. The King rifes.

Ham. What, frighted with false fire!

Queen. How fares my Lord?

Pol. Give o'er the play.

King: Give me fome light. Away!

All Lights, lights, lights!

SCENE VII.

[Exeunt.

Manent Hamlet and Horatio,

Ham. Why, let the ftrucken deer go weep,

The hart ungalled play;

For fome must watch, whilft fome muft fleep;

So runs the world away.

Would not this, Sir, and a forest of feathers, (if the reft of my fortunes turn Turk with me), with two pro

vincial

vincial rofes on my rayed fhocs, get me a fellowship in

a cry of players *, Sir? Hor. Half a fhare.

Ham A whole one, I.

"For thou doft know, oh Damon dear, "This realm difmantled was

"Of Jove himself, and now reigns here "A very, very, peacock †.

Hor. You might have rhim'd.

Ham Oh, good Horatio, I'll take the ghoft's word for a thousand pounds. Didft perceive?

Hor. Very well, my Lord.

Ham. Upon the talk of the poifoning?

Hor. I did very well note him.

Enter Rofincrantz and Guildenstern.

Ham. Ch, ha! come, fome mufic: come, the re

For if the King like not the comedy;

Why, then, belike, he likes it not, perdy.

Come, fome mufic.

[corders.

[you.

Guil. Good my Lord, vouchfafe me a word with

Ham. Sir, a whole hiftory.

Guil. The King, Sir

Ham. Ay, sir, what of him?

Guil. Is, in his retirement, marvellous diftemper'd— Ham. With drink, Sir?

Guil. No, my Lord, with choler.

Ham. Your wifdem thould fhew itself more rich, to fignify this to his doctor: for, for me to put him to his purgation, would perhaps plunge him into more choler. Guil. Good my Lord, put your difcourfe into fome frame, and ftart not fo wildly from my affair.

Ham. I am tame, Sir; pronounce.

Guil. The Queen your mother, in mot great affliction of fpirit, hath fent me to you.

Ham. You are welcome.

Guil Nay, good my Lord, this courtefy is not of the right breed. If it fhall pleafe you to make me a whol fome answer, I will do your mother's commandment;

*An allufion to a pack of hounds.

This alludes to a fable of the birds chufing a king; inflead of the eagle, a peacock.

if not, your pardon, and my return fhall be the end of my bufinefs.

Ham. Sir, I cannot.

Guil. What, my Lord?

Ham. Make you a wholfome answer: my wit's dif eas'd But, Sir, fuch aniwer as I can make, you shall command; or, rather, as you fay, my mother-therefore no more but to the matter-my mother, you fay-

Rof. Then thus fhe fays: Your behaviour hath ftruck her into amazement, and admiration.

Ham. O wonderful fon, that can fo aftonish a mother! But is there no fequel at the heels of this mother's admiration?

Rof. She defires to speak with you in her closet ere you go to bed.

Ham. We fhall obey, were fhe ten times our mother. Have you any further trade with us?

Rof. My Lord, you once did love me.

Ham. So I do ftill, by these pickers and stealers. Rof. Good my Lord, what is your caufe of diftemper you do furely bar the door of your own liberty, if you deny your griefs to your friend.

Ham. Sir, I lack advancement.

Rof. How can that be, when you have the voice of the King himself for your fucceffion in Denmark ? Ham. Ay, but while the grafs grows the proverb is fomething mufty.

Exter one, with a Recorder.

Oh, the recorders; let me fee one. To withdraw with you why do you go about to recover the wind of me, as if you would drive me into a toil?

Guil. Oh my Lord, if my duty be too bold, my love is too unmannerly.

Ham. I do not well understand that. Will you play upon this pipe?

Guil. My Lord, I cannot.

Ham. I pray you.

Guil. Believe me, I cannot.

Ham. I do beseech you.

Guil. I know no touch of it, my Lord.

Ham.