The Complete Dramatic and Poetical Works of William Shakespeare

A sister driven into desperate terms,
Whose worth, if praises may go back again,
Stood challenger on mount of all the age

For her perfections: but my revenge will come.
King. Break not your sleeps for that: you must
not think

That we are made of stuff so flat and dull
That we can let our beard be shook with danger
And think it pastime. You shortly shall hear more:
I loved your father, and we love ourself;
And that, I hope, will teach you to imagine —
Enter a Messenger.

How now! what news?
Mess.
Letters, my lord, from Hamlet:
This to your majesty; this to the queen.
King. From Hamlet! who brought them?
Mess. Sailors, my lord, they say; I saw them not:
They were given me by Claudio: he received them
Of him that brought them.

King.
Laertes, you shall hear them.
Leave us.
[Exit Messenger.
[Reads]High and mighty, You shall know I am
set naked on your kingdom. To-morrow shall I beg
leave to see your kingly eyes: when I shall, first
asking your pardon thereunto, recount the occasion
of my sudden and more strange return.
'HAMLET.'

What should this mean? Are all the rest come back?
Or is it some abuse, and no such thing?
Laer. Know you the hand?
King.

'Tis Hamlet's character.

And in a postscript here, he says 'alone.'

Can you advise me?

'Naked!

Laer. I know him well: he is the brooch indeed
And gem of all the nation.

King. He made confession of you,
And gave you such a masterly report
For art and exercise in your defence
And for your rapier most especially,
That he cried out, 't would be a sight indeed,
If one could match you: the scrimers of their nation,
He swore, had neither motion, guard, nor eye,
If you opposed them. Sir, this report of his
Did Hamlet so envenom with his envy
That he could nothing do but wish and beg
Your sudden coming o'er, to play with him.
Now, out of this,-
Laer.
What out of this, my lord?
King. Laertes, was your father dear to you?
Or are you like the painting of a sorrow,
A face without a heart?
Laer.
Why ask you this?
King. Not that I think you did not love your
But that I know love is begun by time; [father;
And that I see, in passages of proof,
Time qualifies the spark and fire of it.
There lives within the very flame of love
A kind of wick or snuff that will abate it;
And nothing is at a like goodness still;
For goodness, growing to a plurisy,
Dies in his own too much: that we would do,
We should do when we would; for this would'
And hath abatements and delays as many [changes
As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents;

Laer. I'm lost in it, my lord. But let him come; And then this should' is like a spendthrift sigh, It warms the very sickness in my heart,

That I shall live and tell him to his teeth,

"Thus didest thou.'

King.

If it be so, Laertes

As how should it be so? how otherwise?—
Will you be ruled by me?

Laer.

Ay, my lord;

So you will not o'errule me to a peace.
King. To thine own peace. If he be now return'd,
As checking at his voyage, and that he means
No more to undertake it, I will work him
To an exploit, now ripe in my device,
Under the which he shall not choose but fall:
And for his death no wind of blame shall breathe,
But even his mother shall uncharge the practice
And call it accident.

Laer.

My lord, I will be ruled;
The rather, if you could devise it so
That I might be the organ.
King.
It falls right.
You have been talk'd of since your travel much,
And that in Hamlet's hearing, for a quality
Wherein, they say, you shine: your sum of parts
Did not together pluck such envy from him
As did that one, and that, in my regard,
Of the unworthiest siege.
Laer.

That hurts by easing. But, to the quick o' the

ulcer:

Hamlet comes back: what would you undertake,
To show yourself your father's son in deed
More than in words?

Laer.
To cut his throat i' the church.
King. No place, indeed, should murder sanc-
tuarize;

[tes,
Revenge should have no bounds. But, good Laer-
Will you do this, keep close within your chamber.
Hamlet return'd shall know you are come home:
We'll put on those shall praise your excellence
And set a double varnish on the fame

The Frenchman gave you, bring you in fine together
And wager on your heads: he, being remiss,
Most generous and free from all contriving,
Will not peruse the foils; so that, with ease,
Or with a little shuffling, you may choose
A sword unbated, and in a pass of practice
Requite him for your father.

Luer.
I will do 't:
And, for that purpose, I 'll anoint my sword.
I bought an unction of a mountebank,
So mortal that, but dip a knife in it,
Where it draws blood no cataplasm so rare,
Collected from all simples that have virtue

What part is that, my lord? Under the moon, can save the thing from death

King. A very riband in the cap of youth,
Yet needful too; for youth no less becomes
The light and careless livery that it wears
Than settled age his sables and his weeds, [since,
Importing health and graveness. Two months
Here was a gentleman of Normandy:-
I've seen myself, and served against, the French,
And they can well on horseback: but this gallant
Had witchcraft in 't; he grew unto his seat;
And to such wondrous doing brought his horse,
As he had been incorpsed and demi-natured
With the brave beast: so far he topp'd my thought,
That I, in forgery of shapes and tricks,
Come short of what he did.
Laer.

A Norman was 't?

That is but scratch'd withal: I'll touch my point
With this contagion, that, if I gall him slightly,
It may be death.

King.
Let's further think of this;
Weigh what convenience both of time and means
May fit us to our shape: if this should fail, [ance,
And that our drift look through our bad perform-
"T were better not assay'd: therefore this project
Should have a back or second, that might hold,
If this should blast in proof. Soft! let me see:
We'll make a solemn wager on your cunnings:
I ha't:

A chalice for the nonce, whereon but sipping, If he by chance escape your venom'd stuck, Our purpose may hold there.

Enter Queen.

How now, sweet queen! Queen. One woe doth tread upon another's heel, So fast they follow: your sister 's drown'd, Laertes. Laer. Drown'd! O, where?

Queen. There is a willow grows aslant a brook, That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream; There with fantastic garlands did she come Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples That liberal shepherds give a grosser name, But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them: There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke; When down her weedy trophies and herself Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide; And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up:

Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes;
As one incapable of her own distress,
Or like a creature native and indued
Unto that element: but long it could not be
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death.
Laer.

Alas, then, she is drown'd?
Queen. Drown'd, drown'd.

Laer. Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia, And therefore I forbid my tears: but yet It is our trick; nature her custom holds, Let shame say what it will: when these are gone, The woman will be out. Adieu, my lord: I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze, But that this folly douts it. [Exit. King. Let's follow, Gertrude: How much I had to do to calm his rage! Now fear I this will give it start again; Therefore let 's follow.

[Exeunt.

SCENE I.-A churchyard.

Enter two Clowns, with spades, &c.

ACT V.

First Clo. Is she to be buried in Christian burial that wilfully seeks her own salvation?

Sec. Clo. I tell thee she is; and therefore make her grave straight: the crowner hath sat on her, and finds it Christian burial.

First Clo. How can that be, unless she drowned herself in her own defence?

Sec. Clo. Why, 't is found so.

First Clo. It must be 'se offendendo;' it cannot be else. For here lies the point: If I drown myself wittingly, it argues an act: and an act hath three branches; it is, to act, to do, and to perform: argal, she drowned herself wittingly.

Sec. Clo. Nay, but hear you, goodman delver,— First Clo. Give me leave. Here lies the water; good: here stands the man; good: if the man go to this water, and drown himself, it is, will he, nill he, he goes, mark you that; but if the water come to him and drown him, he drowns not himself: argal, he that is not guilty of his own death shortens not his own life.

Sec. Clo. But is this law?

First Clo. Ay, marry, is 't; crowner's quest law. Sec. Clo. Will you ha' the truth on 't? If this had not been a gentlewoman, she should have been buried out o' Christian burial.

First Clo. Why, there thou say'st: and the more pity that great folk should have countenance in this world to drown or hang themselves, more than their even Christian. Come, my spade. There is no ancient gentlemen but gardeners, ditchers, and grave-makers: they hold up Adam's profession. Sec. Clo. Was he a gentleman?

First Clo. He was the first that ever bore arms. Sec. Clo. Why, he had none.

First Clo. What, art a heathen? How dost thou understand the Scripture? The Scripture says 'Adam digged:' could he dig without arms? I'll put another question to thee: if thou answerest me not to the purpose, confess thyself—

Sec. Clo. Go to.

First Clo. What is he that builds stronger than either the mason, the shipwright, or the carpenter? Sec. Clo. The gallows-maker; for that frame outlives a thousand tenants.

First Clo. I like thy wit well, in good faith: the gallows does well; but how does it well? it does well to those that do ill: now thou dost ill to say

เ

Enter Hamlet and Horatio, at a distance. First Clo. Cudgel thy brains no more about it, for your dull ass will not mend his pace with beating; and, when you are asked this question next, say a grave-maker: the houses that he makes last till doomsday. Go, get thee to Yaughan: fetch me a stoup of liquor. [Exit Sec. Clo. [He digs, and sings. In youth, when I did love, did love, Methought it was very sweet,

To contract, O, the time, for, ah, my behove, O, methought, there was nothing meet. Ham. Has this fellow no feeling of his business, that he sings at grave-making? [easiness, Hor. Custom hath made it in him a property of Ham. 'Tis e'en so: the hand of little employment hath the daintier sense. First Clo. [Sings]

But age, with his stealing steps,
Hath claw'd me in his clutch,
And hath shipped me intil the land,
As if I had never been such.

[Throws up a skull. Ham. That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once: how the knave jowls it to the ground, as if it were Cain's jaw-bone, that did the first murder! It might be the pate of a politician, which this ass now o'er-reaches; one that would circumvent God, might it not?

Hor. It might, my lord.

Ham. Or of a courtier; which could say 'Good morrow, sweet lord! How dost thou, good lord?? This might be my lord such-a-one, that praised my lord such-a-one's horse, when he meant to beg it; might it not?

Hor. Ay, my lord.

Ham. Why, e'en so: and now my Lady Worm's; chapless, and knocked about the mazzard with a sexton's spade: here's fine revolution, an we had the trick to see 't. Did these bones cost no more the breeding, but to play at loggats with 'em? mine ache to think on 't.

First Clo. [Sings]

A pick-axe, and a spade, a spade,
For and a shrouding sheet:
O, a pit of clay for to be made
For such a guest is meet.

[Throws up another skull.
Ham. There's another: why may not that be
the skull of a lawyer? Where be his quiddities
now, his quillets, his cases, his tenures, and his
tricks? why does he suffer this rude knave now to
knock him about the sconce with a dirty shovel,
and will not tell him of his action of battery?
Hum! This fellow might be in 's time a great
buyer of land, with his statutes, his recognizances,
his fines, his double vouchers, his recoveries: is
this the fine of his fines, and the recovery of his re-
coveries, to have his fine pate full of fine dirt?
will his vouchers vouch him no more of his pur-
chases, and double ones too, than the length and
breadth of a pair of indentures? The very convey-
ances of his lands will hardly lie in this box; and
must the inheritor himself have no more, ha?
Hor. Not a jot more, my lord.

Ham. Is not parchment made of sheep-skins?
Hor. Ay, my lord, and of calf-skins too.
Ham. They are sheep and calves which seek out
assurance in that. I will speak to this fellow.
Whose grave 's this, sirrah?

First Clo. Mine, sir.

[Sings] O, a pit of clay for to be made

For such a guest is meet.

Ham. I think it be thine, indeed; for thou liest in 't.

First Clo. You lie out on 't, sir, and therefore it is not yours: for my part, I do not lie in 't, and yet it is mine.

Ham. Thou dost lie in 't, to be in 't and say it is thine: 't is for the dead, not for the quick; therefore thou liest.

First Clo. 'Tis a quick lie, sir; 't will away again, from me to you.

Ham. What man dost thou dig it for?

First Clo. For no man, sir.

Ham. What woman, then?

First Clo. For none, neither.
Ham. Who is to be buried in 't?

First Clo. One that was a woman, sir; but, rest her soul, she's dead.

Ham. How absolute the knave is! we must speak by the card, or equivocation will undo us. By the Lord, Horatio, these three years I have taken a note of it; the age is grown so picked that the toe of the peasant comes so near the heel of the courtier, he galls his kibe. How long hast thou been a grave-maker?

First Clo. Of all the days i' the year, I came to 't that day that our last king Hamlet overcame Fortinbras.

Ham. How long is that since?

First Clo. Cannot you tell that? every fool can tell that it was the very day that young Hamlet was born; he that is mad, and sent into England.

Ham. Ay, marry, why was he sent into England? First Clo. Why, because he was mad: he shall recover his wits there; or, if he do not, it's no great matter there.

Ham. Why?

First Clo. I'faith, if he be not rotten before he die as we have many pocky corses now-a-days, that will scarce hold the laying in - he will last you some eight year or nine year: a tanner will last you nine year.

Ham. Why he more than another?

First Clo. Why, sir, his hide is so tanned with his trade, that he will keep out water a great while; and your water is a sore decayer of your whoreson dead body. Here's a skull now; this skull has lain in the earth three and twenty years. Ham. Whose was it?

First Clo. A whoreson mad fellow's it was: whose do you think it was?

Ham. Nay, I know not.

First Clo. A pestilence on him for a mad rogue! a' poured a flagon of Rhenish on my head once. This same skull, sir, was Yorick's skull, the king's jester.

Ham. This?

First Clo. E'en that.

Ham. Let me see. [Takes the skull.] Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio: a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashies of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen? Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come; make her laugh at that. Prithee, Horatio, tell me one thing.

Hor. What's that, my lord?

Ham. Dost thou think Alexander look'd o' this fashion i' the earth?

Hor. E'en so.

Ham. And smelt so? pah!

Hor. E'en so, my lord.

[Puts down the skull.

Ham. To what base uses we may return, Horatio! Why may not imagination trace the noble dust of Alexander, till he find it stopping a bunghole?

Hor. 'T were to consider too curiously, to consider so.

Ham. No, faith, not a jot; but to follow him thither with modesty enough, and likelihood to lead it: as thus: Alexander died, Alexander was buried, Alexander returneth into dust; the dust is earth; of earth we make loam; and why of that loam, whereto he was converted, might they not stop a beer-barrel?

Imperious Cæsar, dead and turn'd to clay,
Might stop a hole to keep the wind away:
O, that that earth, which kept the world in awe,
Should patch a wall to expel the winter's flaw!
But soft! but soft! aside: here comes the king.
Enter Priests, &c. in procession; the Corpse of Ophelia,
Laertes and Mourners following; King, Queen,
their trains, &c.

The queen, the courtiers: who is this they follow?
And with such maimed rites? This doth betoken
The corse they follow did with desperate hand

First Clo. Twill not be seen in him there; there Fordo its own life: 't was of some estate.

the men are as mad as he.

Ham. How came he mad?

First Clo. Very strangely, they say.

Ham. How strangely?

First Clo. Faith, e'en with losing his wits.

Ham. Upon what ground?

First Clo. Why, here in Denmark: I have been sexton here, man and boy, thirty years. [rot? Ham. How long will a man lie i' the earth ere he

Couch we awhile, and mark.

[Retiring with Horatio. Laer. What ceremony else? Ham.

A very noble youth: mark.

That is Laertes,

[larged

Laer. What ceremony else?
First Priest. Her obsequies have been as far en-
As we have warrantise: her death was doubtful;
And, but that great command o'ersways the order,

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The Complete Dramatic and Poetical Works of William Shakespeare, Volume 2