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Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls,
Pol. This is too long.
Ham. It shall to th' barber's with your beard. Pr'ythee, say on; he's for a jigg, or a tale of bawdry, or he sleeps. Say on, come 10 Hecuba. i Play. But who, oh! who, had seen 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,
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 rest of this foon. “Good my lord, will you see the Players well bestow'd ? Do you hear, let ibem be well us'd ; for they are the abstract, and brief chronicles of the time. After your
were better have a bad, Epitaph, than their ill report while you liv d.
Pol. My lord, I will use them according to their desert.
Ham. God's bodikins, man, much better. Use every man after his defert, and who shall 'fcape whipping ? use them after your own honour and dignity. The less they deserve, the more merit is in your: bounty. Take them in. Pol. Come, Sirs.
Exit Polonius. Ham. Follow bim, Friends : we'll hear a Play tomorrow. Dost 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 set down, and insert in't? could ye not? Play. Ay, my lord.
Ham. Very well. Follow that lord, and, look, you
Manet Hamlet. Ham.
Oh, what a rogue and peasant slave am I? Is it not monstrous that this Player here, But in a baion, in a dream of paffion, Could force his soul fo to his own conceit, That, from her working, all his visage wan'd: Tears in his eyes, diftra&ion in his aspect, 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 be to Hecuba, That he should weep for her? what would he do, Had he the motive and the cue for passion, That I have? he would drown the Itage with tears, And cleave the gen’ral ear with horrid speech ; 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-metiled rascal, peak, Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause, And can say nothing, -no not for a King, Upon whose property and most dear life A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward ? Who calls me villain, breaks my pate a-cross, Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face? Tweaks me by th'nose, gives me the lie i? th' throat, As deep as to the lungs ? who does me this? Yet I should take it for it cannot be, But I am pidgeon-liver'd, and lack gall To make oppression bitter; or, ere this,
I should have fatted all the region kites
I'll have grounds
A C T III.
S CE N E I.
The P A LA CE.
Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosincrantz,
Guildenstern, and Lords.
N D can you by no drift of conference
Grating so harshly all his days of quiet,
Rof. He does confess, he feels himlelf distracted ;'
Guild. Nor do we find him forward to be founded ;
Queen. Did he receive you well?
Rof. * Most free of question, but of our demands
Queen. Did you aslay him to any paftime ?
Ro), Madam, it fo fell out, that certain Players
Pol. 'Tis most true :
Most free in his reply.- -} Such a Description can never pass but at Cross purposes, Shakespear certainly wrote it just the other Way,
Most free of queslion, but of our demands