then, or else shall he suffer not thinking on, with the hobby-horse; whose epitaph is, "For, O, for, O, the hobby-horse is forgot."

Trumpets sound. The Dumb-Shew enters.

Enter a King and Queen, very lovingly; the Queen embracing him. She kneels, and makes shew of protestation unto him. He takes her up, and declines his head upon her neck; lays him down upon a bank of flowers: she, seeing him asleep, leaves him. Anon comes in a fellow, takes off his crown, kisses it, and pours poison in the King's ears, and exit. The Queen returns, finds the King dead, and makes passionate action. The Poisoner, with some two or three Mutes, comes in again, seeming to lament with her. The dead body is carried away. The Poisoner woos the Queen with gifts: she seems loth and unwilling a while; but in the end accepts his love. [Exeunt.

Oph. What means this, my lord?

Ham.

mischief.

Marry, this is miching mallecho; it means

Oph. Belike, this shew imports the argument of the play.

Enter Prologue.

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

Oph. Will he tell us what this shew meant?

Ham. Ay, or any shew that you will shew him : be not you asham'd to shew, he'll not shame to tell you what it means.

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

Prologue. "For us, and for our tragedy,

Here stooping to your clemency,

We beg your hearing patiently."

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

Ham. As woman's love.

P. King.

Enter a King and a Queen.

"Full thirty times hath Phoebus' cart gone round

Neptune's salt wash, and Tellus' orbed ground;
And thirty dozen moons, with borrowed sheen,
About the world have times twelve thirties been;
Since love our hearts, and Hymen did our hands,
Unite commutual in most sacred bands."

P. Queen.

moon

"So many journeys may the sun and

Make us again count o'er, ere love be done.
But, woe is me! you are so sick of late,

So far from cheer, and from your former state,
That I distrust you. Yet, though I distrust,
Discomfort you, my lord, it nothing must;
For women's fear and love hold quantity,
In neither aught, or in extremity.

Now, what my love is, proof hath made you know,
And as my love is siz'd, my fear is so.

[Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear; Where little fears grow great, great love grows there."] P. King. "'Faith, I must leave thee, love, and

shortly too;

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

Such love must needs be treason in my breast :

In second husband let me be accurst;

None wed the second, but who kill'd the first."
Ham. [Aside.] Wormwood, wormwood.

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 flies;
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 contrary run,

That our devices still are overthrown ;
Our thoughts are ours, their ends

own:

none of our

So think thou wilt no second husband wed,

But die thy thoughts, when thy first lord is dead." “Nor earth to me give food, nor heaven

P. Queen.

light!
Sport and repose lock from me, day and night!
[To desperation turn my trust and hope!
An anchor's cheer in prison be my scope!]
Each opposite, that blanks the face of joy,
Meet what I would have well, and it destroy!
Both here, and hence, pursue me lasting strife,
If, once a widow, ever I be wife!"

Ham. If she should break it now,

P. King. "'Tis deeply sworn.

a while :

Sweet, leave me here

My spirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile

The tedious day with sleep."

P. Queen.

[Sleeps.

"Sleep rock thy brain; And never come mischance between us twain !

[Exit.

Ham. Madam, how like you this play?
Queen. The lady protests too much, methinks.
Ham. O, but she'll keep her word.

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' th' world.

King. What do you call the play?

Ham. The mouse-trap. Marry, how? Tropically. This play is the image of a murther 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 gall'd jade wince, our withers are unwrung.

Enter LUCIANUS.

This is one Lucianus, nephew to the King.
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 must take your husband. Begin, murtherer: Pox, leave thy damnable faces, and begin. Come “The croaking raven doth bellow for revenge.”

Lucianus. Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, and time agreeing;

Confederate season, else no creature seeing;
Thou mixture rank, of midnight weeds collected,
With Hecate's ban thrice blasted, thrice infected,
Thy natural magic and dire property,

On wholesome life usurp immediately.

[Pours the poison into the Sleeper's ears. Ham. He poisons him ï' th' garden for his estate. His name's Gonzago: the story is extant, and writ in choice Italian. You shall see anon, how the murtherer gets the love of Gonzago's wife.

Oph. The King rises.

Ham. What! frighted with false fire?

Queen. How fares my lord?

Pol. Give o'er the play.

King. Give me some light! — away!

All. Lights, lights, lights!

[Exeunt all but HAMLET and HORATIO.