King. Follow her close, give her good watch, I pray you;

[Exit Horatio. This is the poison of deep grief; it springs All from her father's death. O Gertrude, Gertrude ! When sorrow's come, they come not single spies, But in battalions. First, her father slain ; Next your son gone, and he most violent author Of his own just remove ; the people muddied, Thick and unwholsome in their thoughts and whispers, For good Polonius' death; (we've done but greenly, In privite to inter him); poor Ophelia, Divided from herself, and her fair judgment; (Without the which we're pictures, or mere beats): Lait, and as much containing as all these, Her brother is in secret come from France : Feeds on this wonder, keeps himself in clouds, And wants not buzzers to infect his ear With peftilent speeches of his father's death; Wherein neceflity, of matter beggar'd, Will nothing stick our persons to arraign In ear and ear. O my dear Gertrude, this, Like to a murthering piece, in many places Gives me superfluous death! [ A noise within. Queen. Alack! what noise is this?

S CE NE VI. Enter a Melenger. King. Where are my Switzers ? let them guard the What is the matter?

[door. Mil. Save yourself, my Lord. The ocean, overpeering of his list, Eats not the flats with more impetuous haste, Than young Laertes, in a riotous head, O’erbears your officers; the rabble call him Lord : And as the world were now but to begin, Antiquity forgot, cuitom not known, The ratifiers and

props

of

every ward ; “ Chuse we Laertes for our King.” Caps, hands, and tongues, applaud it to the clouds; “ Laertes thall be King, Laertes King."

Queen. How chearfully on the false trail they cry! Oh, this is counter, you falle Danish dogs. [Noise within.

:

The cry,

2

Enter

Enter Laertes, with a party at the door.
King. The doors are broke.
Laer. Where is this King ? Sirs ! stand you all with-

out.
All. No, let's come in.
Laer. I pray you give me leave. ·
All. We will, we will.

[Exeunt. Laer. I thank you, keep the door. O thou vile King, give me my father.

Queen. Calmly, good Laertes.

Laer. That drop of blood that's calm, proclaims me Cries cuckold to my father; brands the harlot (bastard; Even here, between the chaste and unsmirch'd brow Of my true mother.

King. What is the cause, Laertes, That thy rebellion looks so giant-like? Let him go, Gertrude ; do not fear our person: There's such divinity doth hedge a King, That treason can but peep to what it would, Acts little of its will. 'Tell me, Laertes, Why are you thus incens’d ? Let him go, Gertrude. Speak, man. Laer. Where is

my

father?
King. Dead.
Queen. But not by him.
King Let him demand his fill.

Laer. How came he dead? I'll not be juggled with:
To hell, allegiance! vows, to the blackelt devil!
Conscience and grace, to the profoundest pit!
I dare damnation; to this point I stand,
That both the worlds I give to negligence,
Let come what comes; only I'll be revenge'd
Most throughly for my father.

King. Who shall stay you?

Laer. My will, not all the world ;
And for my means, I'll husband them so well,
They shall go far with little.

King. Good Laertes,
If you defire to know the certainty
Of your

dear father, is't writ in your revenge, (That sweep-stake) you will draw both friend and foe,

Winner and loser ?

Laer: None but his enemies.
King. Will you know them then ?

Laer. To his good friends thus wide I'll ope my arms,
And like the kind life-rend'ring pelican,
Repast them with my blood.

King. Why, now you speak
Like a good child, and a true gentleman,
That I am guiltless of your father's death,
And am molt sensible in grief for it,
It shall as level to your judgment pierce,
As day does to your eye. [A noise within, " Let her

come in.”]
Laer. How now, what noise is that?

S C Ε Ν Ε VII.
Enter Ophelia, fantastically dress’d with straws and

forwers.
O heat, dry up my brains ! tears, seven times falt,
Burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye!
By heav'n, thy madness shall be paid with weight,
Till our scale turn the beam. O rose of May!
Dear maid, kind filter, sweet Ophelia !
O heav'ns, is't pollible a young maid's wits
Should be as mortal as an old man's life!
Nature is fine in love ; and where 'tis fine,
It sends fome precious instance of itself
After the thing it loves.
Oph. They bore him bare face'd on the bier,
Ard on his

grave
rains

many a tear ;
Fare
yoll

dove!
Laer. Hadst thou thy wits, and didnt persuade re-
It could not move thus.

[venge, Oph. You must fing, down a-down, and you call him a-down-a. O how the wheel becomes it! it is the false steward that stole his master's daughter,

Laer. This nothing's more than matter.

Oph. There's rosemary, that's for remembrance ; pray, love, remember; and there's pancies, that's for thoughts.

Laer.

well, my

Laer. A document in madness, thoughts and remembrance fitted.

Oph. There's fennel for you, and columbines; there's rue for you, and here's some for me. We may call it herb of grace o' Sundays: you may wear your rue with a difference. There's a daily; I would give you

some violets, but they withered all when my father dy'd : they fay, he made a good end;

For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy.
Laer. Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself,
She turns to favour, and to prettiness.
Oph. And will he not come again?

And will be not come again?
No, no, he is dead, go to thy death-bed,
He never will come again.
His beard was white as frow,
All flaxen was his pole :
He is gone, he is gone, and we cast away moan,

Gramercy on his soul!
And of all Christian souls! God b'w'ye. [Exit Ophelia,

Laer. Do you see this, you gods?

King. Laertes, I must commune with your grief,
Or you deny me right: go but apart,
Make choice of whom your wiser friends you will,
And they shall hear and judge’twixt you and me.
If by direct or by collateral hand
They find us touch'd, we will our kingdom give,
Our crown, our life, and all that we call ours,
To you in fatisfaction. But, if not,
Be you content to lend your patience to us,
And we shall jointly labour with your soul,
To give it due content.

Laer. Let this be fo.
His means of death, his obfcure funeral,
No trophy, Tword, 'nor hatchment o'er his bones,
'No noble rite, nor formal oftentation,
Cry to be heard, as 't were from heav'n to earth,
That I mult call't in question.
King. So you thiall:

And

And where th’offence is, let the great tax fall.
I pray you go with me.

[Exeunt. SCENE VIII. Enter Horatio with an A1!endant.

Hor: What are they that would speak with me?
Ser. Sailors, Sir; they fay, they have letters for you.
Kor. Let them come in.

[Exit Sertant. I do not know from what part of the work! I should be greeted, if not from Lord Hulet.

Enter Sailors.
Sail. God bless you, Sir.
Hor. Let him bless thee too.

Sail. He shall, Sir, an't please him. There's a letter for you, Sir: it comes from th’ambassador that was bound for England, if your name be Horatio, as I am let to know it is.

Horatio reads the letter. Horatio, when thou phalt have overlook'd this, give these fellowus fone means to the King: they have leiters for him.

Ere we were two days old at fea, a pirate of very warlike appointment gave us chace. Finding ourselves too now of sail, we put on a compelled valour, and in the grapple I boarded them : on the instant they got clear of our ship, so I alone became their prisoner. They have dealt with me like thieves of mercy; but they knew zuhat they did : I am to do a good turn for then.

Let the King have the letters I have sent, and repair thou to me with as much hafte as thou wouldest fly death. I have words to speak in thy ear will make thee dumb, yet are they much for light for the matter. These good fel

too lows will bring thies where I am. Rosincrantz and Guildenstern hold their course for England. Of them I have much to tell thee. Farewel.

He that thou knowest thine, HAMLET.

Come, I will make you way for these your letters;
And do't the speedier, that you may direct me
To him from whom you brought them. [Exeunt.

S CE N E