Hamlet, Prince of Denmark (Collins edition)
Page 2
Do not for ever with thy vailed lids
Seek for thy noble father in the dust:
Thou know'st 'tis common,--all that lives must die,
Passing through nature to eternity.
Ham.
Ay, madam, it is common.
Queen.
If it be,
Why seems it so particular with thee?
Ham.
Seems, madam! Nay, it is; I know not seems.
'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,
Nor customary suits of solemn black,
Nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath,
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,
Nor the dejected 'havior of the visage,
Together with all forms, moods, shows of grief,
That can denote me truly: these, indeed, seem;
For they are actions that a man might play;
But I have that within which passeth show;
These but the trappings and the suits of woe.
King.
'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet,
To give these mourning duties to your father;
But, you must know, your father lost a father;
That father lost, lost his; and the survivor bound,
In filial obligation, for some term
To do obsequious sorrow: but to persevere
In obstinate condolement is a course
Of impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief;
It shows a will most incorrect to heaven;
A heart unfortified, a mind impatient;
An understanding simple and unschool'd;
For what we know must be, and is as common
As any the most vulgar thing to sense,
Why should we, in our peevish opposition,
Take it to heart? Fie! 'tis a fault to heaven,
A fault against the dead, a fault to nature,
To reason most absurd; whose common theme
Is death of fathers, and who still hath cried,
From the first corse till he that died to-day,
'This must be so.' We pray you, throw to earth
This unprevailing woe; and think of us
As of a father: for let the world take note
You are the most immediate to our throne;
And with no less nobility of love
Than that which dearest father bears his son
Do I impart toward you. For your intent
In going back to school in Wittenberg,
It is most retrograde to our desire:
And we beseech you bend you to remain
Here in the cheer and comfort of our eye,
Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son.
Queen.
Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet:
I pray thee stay with us; go not to Wittenberg.
Ham.
I shall in all my best obey you, madam.
King.
Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply:
Be as ourself in Denmark.--Madam, come;
This gentle and unforc'd accord of Hamlet
Sits smiling to my heart: in grace whereof,
No jocund health that Denmark drinks to-day
But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell;
And the king's rouse the heaven shall bruit again,
Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come away.
[Exeunt all but Hamlet.]
Ham.
O that this too too solid flesh would melt,
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew!
Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd
His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God!
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable
Seem to me all the uses of this world!
Fie on't! O fie! 'tis an unweeded garden,
That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature
Possess it merely. That it should come to this!
But two months dead!--nay, not so much, not two:
So excellent a king; that was, to this,
Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother,
That he might not beteem the winds of heaven
Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth!
Must I remember? Why, she would hang on him
As if increase of appetite had grown
By what it fed on: and yet, within a month,--
Let me not think on't,--Frailty, thy name is woman!--
A little month; or ere those shoes were old
With which she followed my poor father's body
Like Niobe, all tears;--why she, even she,--
O God! a beast that wants discourse of reason,
Would have mourn'd longer,--married with mine uncle,
My father's brother; but no more like my father
Than I to Hercules: within a month;
Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears
Had left the flushing in her galled eyes,
She married:-- O, most wicked speed, to post
With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!
It is not, nor it cannot come to good;
But break my heart,--for I must hold my tongue!
[Enter Horatio, Marcellus, and Bernardo.]
Hor.
Hail to your lordship!
Ham.
I am glad to see you well:
Horatio,--or I do forget myself.
Hor.
The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever.
Ham.
Sir, my good friend; I'll change that name with you:
And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio?--
Marcellus?
Mar.
My good lord,--
Ham.
I am very glad to see you.--Good even, sir.--
But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg?
Hor.
A truant disposition, good my lord.
Ham.
I would not hear your enemy say so;
Nor shall you do my ear that violence,
To make it truster of your own report
Against yourself: I know you are no truant.
But what is your affair in Elsinore?
We'll teach you to drink deep ere you depart.
Hor.
My lord, I came to see your father's funeral.
Ham.
I prithee do not mock me, fellow-student.
I think it was to see my mother's wedding.
Hor.
Indeed, my lord, it follow'd hard upon.
Ham.
Thrift, thrift, Horatio! The funeral bak'd meats
Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.
Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven
Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio!--
My father,--methinks I see my father.
Hor.
Where, my lord?
Ham.
In my mind's eye, Horatio.
Hor.
I saw him once; he was a goodly king.
Ham.
He was a man, take him for all in all,
I shall not look upon his like again.
Hor.
My lord, I think I saw him yesternight.
Ham.
Saw who?
Hor.
My lord, the king your father.
Ham.
The King my father!
Hor.
Season your admiration for awhile
With an attent ear, till I may deliver,
Upon the witness of these gentlemen,
This marvel to you.
Ham.
For God's love let me hear.
Hor.
Two nights together had these gentlemen,
Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch
In the dead vast and middle of the night,
Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your father,
Armed at point exactly, cap-a-pe,
Appears before them and with s
olemn march
Goes slow and stately by them: thrice he walk'd
By their oppress'd and fear-surprised eyes,
Within his truncheon's length; whilst they, distill'd
Almost to jelly with the act of fear,
Stand dumb, and speak not to him. This to me
In dreadful secrecy impart they did;
And I with them the third night kept the watch:
Where, as they had deliver'd, both in time,
Form of the thing, each word made true and good,
The apparition comes: I knew your father;
These hands are not more like.
Ham.
But where was this?
Mar.
My lord, upon the platform where we watch'd.
Ham.
Did you not speak to it?
Hor.
My lord, I did;
But answer made it none: yet once methought
It lifted up it head, and did address
Itself to motion, like as it would speak:
But even then the morning cock crew loud,
And at the sound it shrunk in haste away,
And vanish'd from our sight.
Ham.
'Tis very strange.
Hor.
As I do live, my honour'd lord, 'tis true;
And we did think it writ down in our duty
To let you know of it.
Ham.
Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles me.
Hold you the watch to-night?
Mar. and Ber.
We do, my lord.
Ham.
Arm'd, say you?
Both.
Arm'd, my lord.
Ham.
From top to toe?
Both.
My lord, from head to foot.
Ham.
Then saw you not his face?
Hor.
O, yes, my lord: he wore his beaver up.
Ham.
What, look'd he frowningly?
Hor.
A countenance more in sorrow than in anger.
Ham.
Pale or red?
Hor.
Nay, very pale.
Ham.
And fix'd his eyes upon you?
Hor.
Most constantly.
Ham.
I would I had been there.
Hor.
It would have much amaz'd you.
Ham.
Very like, very like. Stay'd it long?
Hor.
While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred.
Mar. and Ber.
Longer, longer.
Hor.
Not when I saw't.
Ham.
His beard was grizzled,--no?
Hor.
It was, as I have seen it in his life,
A sable silver'd.
Ham.
I will watch to-night;
Perchance 'twill walk again.
Hor.
I warr'nt it will.
Ham.
If it assume my noble father's person,
I'll speak to it, though hell itself should gape
And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all,
If you have hitherto conceal'd this sight,
Let it be tenable in your silence still;
And whatsoever else shall hap to-night,
Give it an understanding, but no tongue:
I will requite your loves. So, fare ye well:
Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve,
I'll visit you.
All.
Our duty to your honour.
Ham.
Your loves, as mine to you: farewell.
[Exeunt Horatio, Marcellus, and Bernardo.]
My father's spirit in arms! All is not well;
I doubt some foul play: would the night were come!
Till then sit still, my soul: foul deeds will rise,
Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes.
[Exit.]
Scene III. A room in Polonius's house.
[ Enter Laertes and Ophelia.]
Laer.
My necessaries are embark'd: farewell:
And, sister, as the winds give benefit
And convoy is assistant, do not sleep,
But let me hear from you.
Oph.
Do you doubt that?
Laer.
For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favour,
Hold it a fashion, and a toy in blood:
A violet in the youth of primy nature,
Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting;
The perfume and suppliance of a minute;
No more.
Oph.
No more but so?
Laer.
Think it no more:
For nature, crescent, does not grow alone
In thews and bulk; but as this temple waxes,
The inward service of the mind and soul
Grows wide withal. Perhaps he loves you now;
And now no soil nor cautel doth besmirch
The virtue of his will: but you must fear,
His greatness weigh'd, his will is not his own;
For he himself is subject to his birth:
He may not, as unvalu'd persons do,
Carve for himself; for on his choice depends
The safety and health of this whole state;
And therefore must his choice be circumscrib'd
Unto the voice and yielding of that body
Whereof he is the head. Then if he says he loves you,
It fits your wisdom so far to believe it
As he in his particular act and place
May give his saying deed; which is no further
Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal.
Then weigh what loss your honour may sustain
If with too credent ear you list his songs,
Or lose your heart, or your chaste treasure open
To his unmaster'd importunity.
Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister;
And keep you in the rear of your affection,
Out of the shot and danger of desire.
The chariest maid is prodigal enough
If she unmask her beauty to the moon:
Virtue itself scopes not calumnious strokes:
The canker galls the infants of the spring
Too oft before their buttons be disclos'd:
And in the morn and liquid dew of youth
Contagious blastments are most imminent.
Be wary then; best safety lies in fear:
Youth to itself rebels, though none else near.
Oph.
I shall th' effect of this good lesson keep
As watchman to my heart. But, good my brother,
Do not, as some ungracious pastors do,
Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven;
Whilst, like a puff'd and reckless libertine,
Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads
And recks not his own read.
Laer.
O, fear me not.
I stay too long:--but here my father comes.
[Enter Polonius.]
A double blessing is a double grace;
Occasion smiles upon a second leave.
Pol.
Yet here, Laertes! aboard, aboard, for shame!
The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail,
And you are stay'd for. There,--my blessing with thee!
[Laying his hand on Laertes's head.]
And these few precepts in thy memory
Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue,
Nor any unproportion'd thought his act.
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.
Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them unto thy soul with hoops of steel;
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
Of each new-h
atch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Beware
Of entrance to a quarrel; but, being in,
Bear't that the opposed may beware of thee.
Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice:
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy:
For the apparel oft proclaims the man;
And they in France of the best rank and station
Are most select and generous chief in that.
Neither a borrower nor a lender be:
For loan oft loses both itself and friend;
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
This above all,--to thine own self be true;
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
Farewell: my blessing season this in thee!
Laer.
Most humbly do I take my leave, my lord.
Pol.
The time invites you; go, your servants tend.
Laer.
Farewell, Ophelia; and remember well
What I have said to you.
Oph.
'Tis in my memory lock'd,
And you yourself shall keep the key of it.
Laer.
Farewell.
[Exit.]
Pol.
What is't, Ophelia, he hath said to you?
Oph.
So please you, something touching the Lord Hamlet.
Pol.
Marry, well bethought:
'Tis told me he hath very oft of late
Given private time to you; and you yourself
Have of your audience been most free and bounteous;
If it be so,--as so 'tis put on me,
And that in way of caution,--I must tell you