Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls,
Repugnant to Command; unequal match'd,-
Pyrrhus at Priam drives, in rage ftrikes wide;
But with the whif and wind of his fell fword
Th' unnerved father falls. Then fenfeless Ilium »
Seeming to feel this blow, with flaming top
Stoops to his Base; and with a hideous crash
Takes prifoner Pyrrhus' ear. For lo, his fword,
Which was declining on the milky head
Of rev'rend Priam, feem'd i' th' air to flick;
So, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrhus flood;
And, like a neutral to his will and matter,
Did nothing.

But as we often see, against some storm,

A filence in the heav'ns, the rack ftand ftill,
The bold winds fpeechlefs, and the orb below
As hufh as death; anon the dreadful thunder
Doth rend the region: So after Pyrrhus' paufe,
A roufed vengeance fets him new a-work :
And never did the Cyclops' hammers fall

On Mars his armour, forg'd for proof eterne,
With lefs remorfe than Pyrrhus bleeding fword.
Now falls on Priam.-

Out, out, thou ftrumpet Fortune! all you Gods,
In general fynod take away her power:

Break all the fpokes and fellies from her wheel,
And bowl the round nave down the hill of heav'n,
As low as to the fiends.

Pol. This is too long.

Ham. It fhall to th' barber's with your beard. Pr'ythee, fay on; he's for a jigg, or a tale of bawdry, or he fleeps. Say on, come to Hecuba.

1 Play. But who, oh who, had feen the mobled Queen,

Ham. The mobled Queen?

Pol. That's good; mobled Queen, is good.

1. Play. Run bare-foot up and down, threatning the

flames

With biffon rheum; a clout upon that head,
Where late the Diadem flood; and for a robe
About her lank and all-o’er-teemed loins,
A blanket in th' alarm of fear caught up:
Who this had feen, with tongue in venom fleep'd,
'Gainft fortune's fate would treafon have pronounc'd:
But if the Gods themselves did fee her then,
When the faw Pyrrhus make malicious fport
In mincing with his fword her hufband's limbs;
The inftant burst of clamour that she made,
(Unless things mortal move them not at all)
Would have made milch the burning eyes of heav'n,
And paffion in the Gods.

Pol. Look, whe're he has not turn'd his colour, and has tears in's eyes. Pr'ythee, no more.

Ham. Tis well, I'll have thee fpeak out the reft of this foon. Good my lord, will you fee the Players well beftow'd? Do you hear, let them be well us'd; for they are the abstract, and brief chronicles of the time. After your death, you were better have a bad Epitaph, than their ill report while you liv'd.

Pol. My lord, I will use them according to their defert.

Ufe

Ham. God's bodikins, man, much better. every man after his defert, and who fhall 'fcape whipping? afe them after your own honour and dignity. The lefs they deferve, the more merit is in your bounty. Take them in.

Pol. Come, Sirs.

[Exit Polonius. Ham. Follow him, Friends: we'll hear a Play tomorrow. Doft thou hear me, old friend, can you play. the murder of Gonzago?

Play. Ay, my lord.

Ham. We'll ha't to-morrow night. You could, for a need, ftudy a speech of fome dozen or fixteen lines, which I would fet down, and infert in't? could ye

not?

Play. Ay, my lord.

Ham...

Ham. Very well. Follow that lord, and, look, you mock him not. My good friends, I'll leave you 'till night, you are welcome to Elfinoor.

Ref. Good my lord.

Ham.

A

SCENE VIII.

Manet Hamlet.

[Exeunts

Y, fo, God b' w' ye: now I am alone.
Oh, what a rogue and peasant slave am I ́

Is it not monftrous that this Player here,
But in a fiЯion, in a dream of paffion,
Could force his foul fo to his own conceit,
That, from her working, all his visage wan'd:
Tears in his eyes, diftraction in his afpect,

A broken voice, and bis whole function fuiting,
With forms, to his conceit? and all for nothing?
For Hecuba?

What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,

That he fhould weep for her? what would he do,
Had he the motive and the cue for paffion,
That I have? he would drown the ftage with tears,
And cleave the gen'ral ear with horrid fpeech;
Make mad the guilty, and appall the free ;
Confound the ign'rant, and amaze, indeed,
The very faculty of eyes and ears.-Yet I,
A dull and muddy-mettled rafcal, peak,
Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my caufe,
And can fay nothing, no not for a King,
Upon whofe property and moft dear life

A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward?
Who calls me villain, breaks my pate a-crofs,
Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face?
Tweaks me by th' nofe, gives me the lie i' th' throat,.
As deep as to the lungs ? who does me this?
Yet I fhould take it-for it cannot be,
But I am pidgeon-liver'd, and lack gall
To make oppreffion bitter; or, ere this,

I' fhould

Ifhould have fatted all the region kites

With this flave's offal. Bloody, bawdy villain!
Remorfelefs, treacherous, lecherous, kindlefs villain!
Why, what an afs am I? this is moft brave,
That I, the fon of a dear father murdered,
Prompted to my revenge by heav'n and hell,
Muft, like a whore, unpack my heart with words,
And fall a curfing like a very drab-

A fcullion,-fie upon't! foh!-about, my brain!
I've heard, that guilty creatures, at a Play,
Have by the very cunning of the Scene
Been ftruck fo to the foul, that presently
They have proclaim'd their malefactions.
For murder, though it have no tongue, will fpeak
With most miraculous organ. I'll have thefe Players
Play fomething like the murder of my father,
Before mine uncle. I'll obferve his looks;
I'll tent him to the quick; if he but blench,
I know my courfe. The fpirit, that I have feen,
May be the Devil; and the Devil hath power
T' affume a pleasing shape; yea, and, perhaps,
Out of my weakness and my melancholy,
(As he is very potent with fuch spirits)
Abuses me to damn me. I'll have grounds
More relative than this: The Play's the thing,
Wherein I'll catch the Conscience of the King. [Exit.

ACT III.

The

SCENE I.

PALACE.

Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rofincrantz,

Guildenftern, and Lords.

KING.

A ND can you by no drift of conference

Get from him why he puts on this confufion,

Grating

Grating fo harfhly all his days of quiet,
With turbulent and dang'rous lunacy?

Rof. He does confefs, he feels himself diftracted;" But from what cause he will by no means fpeak.

Guild. Nor do we find him forward to be founded; But with a crafty madness keeps aloof,

When we would bring him on to fome confeffion Of his true flate.

Queen. Did he receive you well?

Rof. Moft like a gentleman.

*

Guil. But with much forcing of his difpofition. Rof. Moft free of queftion, but of our demands Niggard in his reply.

Queen. Did you assay him to any pastime?

Rof. Madam, it fo fell out, that certain Players + We o'er-rode on the way; of these we told him; And there did feem in him a kind of joy

To hear of it. they are about the Court;
And (as I think) they have already order
This night to play before him.

Pol. 'Tis moft true :

And he befeech'd me to intreat your Majefties
To hear and fee the matter.

King. With all my heart, and it doth much con

tent me

To hear him fo inclin'd.

Good gentlemen, give him a further edge,
And drive his purpose into thefe delights.
Rof. We fhall, my lord.

King. Sweet Gertrude, leave us too;

For we have closely fent for Hamlet hither,

Niggard of queftion, but of our demands

[Exeunt.

Moft free in his reply.- -] Such a Defcription can never pass but at Crofs purposes, Shakespear certainly wrote it juft the other

Way,

+ We o'er-took on the way;] The old Quarto reads o'er-raught cor

urptly, for o'er-rode.

Warb.

Warb.

Thate