The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark

Scene IV. Elsinore. The platform before the Castle

Enter Hamlet, Horatio, and Marcellus.

Ham. The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold. Hor. It is a nipping and an eager air. Ham. What hour now? Hor. I think it lacks of twelve. Mar. No, it is struck. Hor. Indeed? I heard it not. It then draws near the season Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk. A flourish of trumpets, and two pieces go off. What does this mean, my lord? Ham. The King doth wake to-night and takes his rouse, Keeps wassail, and the swagg'ring upspring reels, And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down, The kettledrum and trumpet thus bray out The triumph of his pledge. Hor. Is it a custom? Ham. Ay, marry, is't; But to my mind, though I am native here And to the manner born, it is a custom More honour'd in the breach than the observance. This heavy-headed revel east and west Makes us traduc'd and tax'd of other nations; They clip us drunkards and with swinish phrase Soil our addition; and indeed it takes From our achievements, though perform'd at height, The pith and marrow of our attribute. So oft it chances in particular men That, for some vicious mole of nature in them, As in their birth, – wherein they are not guilty, Since nature cannot choose his origin, - By the o'ergrowth of some complexion, Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason, Or by some habit that too much o'erleavens The form of plausive manners, that these men Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect, Being nature's livery, or fortune's star, Their virtues else- be they as pure as grace, As infinite as man may undergo- Shall in the general censure take corruption From that particular fault. The dram of e'il Doth all the noble substance often dout To his own scandal.

Enter Ghost.

Hor. Look, my lord, it comes! Ham. Angels and ministers of grace defend us! Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn'd, Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell, Be thy intents wicked or charitable, Thou com'st in such a questionable shape That I will speak to thee. I'll call thee Hamlet, King, father, royal Dane. O, answer me? Let me not burst in ignorance, but tell Why thy canoniz'd bones, hearsed in death, Have burst their cerements; why the sepulchre Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd, Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws To cast thee up again. What may this mean That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel, Revisits thus the glimpses of the moon, Making night hideous, and we fools of nature So horridly to shake our disposition With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls? Say, why is this? wherefore? What should we do? Ghost beckons Hamlet. Hor. It beckons you to go away with it, As if it some impartment did desire To you alone. Mar. Look with what courteous action It waves you to a more removed ground. But do not go with it! Hor. No, by no means! Ham. It will not speak. Then will I follow it. Hor. Do not, my lord! Ham. Why, what should be the fear? I do not set my life at a pin's fee; And for my soul, what can it do to that, Being a thing immortal as itself? It waves me forth again. I'll follow it. Hor. What if it tempt you toward the flood, my lord, Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff That beetles o'er his base into the sea, And there assume some other, horrible form Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason And draw you into madness? Think of it. The very place puts toys of desperation, Without more motive, into every brain That looks so many fadoms to the sea And hears it roar beneath. Ham. It waves me still. Go on. I'll follow thee. Mar. You shall not go, my lord. Ham. Hold off your hands! Hor. Be rul'd. You shall not go. Ham. My fate cries out And makes each petty artire in this body As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve. [Ghost beckons.] Still am I call'd. Unhand me, gentlemen. By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me! - I say, away! – Go on. I'll follow thee.Exeunt Ghost and Hamlet Hor. He waxes desperate with imagination. Mar. Let's follow. 'Tis not fit thus to obey him. Hor. Have after. To what issue wail this come? Mar. Something is rotten in the state of Denmark. Hor. Heaven will direct it. Mar. Nay, let's follow him.Exeunt

Scene V. Elsinore. The Castle. Another part of the fortifications

Enter Ghost and Hamlet.

Ham. Whither wilt thou lead me? Speak! I'll go no further. Ghost. Mark me. Ham. I will. Ghost. My hour is almost come, When I to sulph'rous and tormenting flames Must render up myself. Ham. Alas, poor ghost! Ghost. Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing To what I shall unfold. Ham. Speak. I am bound to hear. Ghost. So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear. Ham. What? Ghost. I am thy father's spirit, Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night, And for the day confin'd to fast in fires, Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature Are burnt and purg'd away. But that I am forbid To tell the secrets of my prison house, I could a tale unfold whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres, Thy knotted and combined locks to part, And each particular hair to stand an end Like quills upon the fretful porpentine. But this eternal blazon must not be To ears of flesh and blood. List, list, O, list! If thou didst ever thy dear father love- Ham. O God! Ghost. Revenge his foul and most unnatural murther. Ham. Murther? Ghost. Murther most foul, as in the best it is; But this most foul, strange, and unnatural. Ham. Haste me to know't, that I, with wings as swift As meditation or the thoughts of love, May sweep to my revenge. Ghost. I find thee apt; And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed That rots itself in ease on Lethe wharf, Wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear. 'Tis given out that, sleeping in my orchard, A serpent stung me. So the whole ear of Denmark Is by a forged process of my death Rankly abus'd. But know, thou noble youth, The serpent that did sting thy father's life Now wears his crown. Ham. O my prophetic soul! My uncle? Ghost. Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast, With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts- O wicked wit and gifts, that have the power So to seduce! – won to his shameful lust The will of my most seeming-virtuous queen. O Hamlet, what a falling-off was there, From me, whose love was of that dignity That it went hand in hand even with the vow I made to her in marriage, and to decline Upon a wretch whose natural gifts were poor To those of mine! But virtue, as it never will be mov'd, Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven, So lust, though to a radiant angel link'd, Will sate itself in a celestial bed And prey on garbage. But soft! methinks I scent the morning air. Brief let me be. Sleeping within my orchard, My custom always of the afternoon, Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole, With juice of cursed hebona in a vial, And in the porches of my ears did pour The leperous distilment; whose effect Holds such an enmity with blood of man That swift as quicksilverr it courses through The natural gates and alleys of the body, And with a sudden vigour it doth posset And curd, like eager droppings into milk, The thin and wholesome blood. So did it mine; And a most instant tetter bark'd about, Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust All my smooth body. Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand Of life, of crown, of queen, at once dispatch'd; Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin, Unhous'led, disappointed, unanel'd, No reckoning made, but sent to my account With all my imperfections on my head. Ham. O, horrible! O, horrible! most horrible! Ghost. If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not. Let not the royal bed of Denmark be A couch for luxury and damned incest. But, howsoever thou pursuest this act, Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive Against thy mother aught. Leave her to heaven, And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once. The glowworm shows the matin to be near And gins to pale his uneffectual fire. Adieu, adieu, adieu! Remember me. Exit. Ham. O all you host of heaven! O earth! What else? And shall I couple hell? Hold, hold, my heart! And you, my sinews, grow not instant old, But bear me stiffly up. Remember thee? Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat In this distracted globe. Remember thee? Yea, from the table of my memory I'll wipe away all trivial fond records, All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past That youth and observation copied there, And thy commandment all alone shall live Within the book and volume of my brain, Unmix'd with baser matter. Yes, by heaven! O most pernicious woman! O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain! My tables! Meet it is I set it down That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain; At least I am sure it may be so in Denmark. [Writes.] So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word: It is 'Adieu, adieu! Remember me.' I have sworn't. Hor. (within) My lord, my lord!

Enter Horatio and Marcellus.

Mar. Lord Hamlet! Hor. Heaven secure him! Ham. So be it! Mar. Illo, ho, ho, my lord! Ham. Hillo, ho, ho, boy! Come, bird, come. Mar. How is't, my noble lord? Hor. What news, my lord? Mar. O, wonderful! Hor. Good my lord, tell it. Ham. No, you will reveal it. Hor. Not I, my lord, by heaven! Mar. Nor I, my lord. Ham. How say you then? Would heart of man once think it? But you'll be secret? Both. Ay, by heaven, my lord. Ham. There's neer a villain dwelling in all Denmark But he's an arrant knave. Hor. There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave To tell us this. Ham. Why, right! You are in the right! And so, without more circumstance at all, I hold it fit that we shake hands and part; You, as your business and desires shall point you, For every man hath business and desire, Such as it is; and for my own poor part, Look you, I'll go pray. Hor. These are but wild and whirling words, my lord. Ham. I am sorry they offend you, heartily; Yes, faith, heartily. Hor. There's no offence, my lord. Ham. Yes, by Saint Patrick, but there is, Horatio, And much offence too. Touching this vision here, It is an honest ghost, that let me tell you. For your desire to know what is between us, O'ermaster't as you may. And now, good friends, As you are friends, scholars, and soldiers, Give me one poor request. Hor. What is't, my lord? We will. Ham. Never make known what you have seen to-night. Both. My lord, we will not. Ham. Nay, but swear't. Hor. In faith, My lord, not I. Mar. Nor I, my lord- in faith. Ham. Upon my sword. Mar. We have sworn, my lord, already. Ham. Indeed, upon my sword, indeed.

Ghost cries under the stage.

Ghost. Swear. Ham. Aha boy, say'st thou so? Art thou there, truepenny? Come on! You hear this fellow in the cellarage. Consent to swear. Hor. Propose the oath, my lord. Ham. Never to speak of this that you have seen. Swear by my sword. Ghost. [beneath] Swear. Ham. Hic et ubique? Then we'll shift our ground. Come hither, gentlemen, And lay your hands again upon my sword. Never to speak of this that you have heard: Swear by my sword. Ghost. [beneath] Swear by his sword. Ham. Well said, old mole! Canst work i' th' earth so fast? A worthy pioner! Once more remove, good friends." Hor. O day and night, but this is wondrous strange! Ham. And therefore as a stranger give it welcome. There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy. But come! Here, as before, never, so help you mercy, How strange or odd soe'er I bear myself (As I perchance hereafter shall think meet To put an antic disposition on), That you, at such times seeing me, never shall, With arms encumb'red thus, or this head-shake, Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase, As 'Well, well, we know,' or 'We could, an if we would,' Or 'If we list to speak,' or 'There be, an if they might,' Or such ambiguous giving out, to note That you know aught of me- this is not to do, So grace and mercy at your most need help you, Swear. Ghost. [beneath] Swear. [They swear.] Ham. Rest, rest, perturbed spirit! So, gentlemen, With all my love I do commend me to you; And what so poor a man as Hamlet is May do t' express his love and friending to you, God willing, shall not lack. Let us go in together; And still your fingers on your lips, I pray. The time is out of joint. O cursed spite That ever I was born to set it right! Nay, come, let's go together.Exeunt

Act II. Scene I. Elsinore. A room in the house of Polonius

Enter Polonius and Reynaldo.

Pol. Give him this money and these notes, Reynaldo. Rey. I will, my lord. Pol. You shall do marvell's wisely, good Reynaldo, Before You visit him, to make inquire Of his behaviour. Rey. My lord, I did intend it. Pol. Marry, well said, very well said. Look you, sir, Enquire me first what Danskers are in Paris; And how, and who, what means, and where they keep, What company, at what expense; and finding By this encompassment and drift of question That they do know my son, come you more nearer Than your particular demands will touch it. Take you, as 'twere, some distant knowledge of him; As thus, 'I know his father and his friends, And in part him.' Do you mark this, Reynaldo? Rey. Ay, very well, my lord. Pol. 'And in part him, but,' you may say, 'not well. But if't be he I mean, he's very wild Addicted so and so'; and there put on him What forgeries you please; marry, none so rank As may dishonour him- take heed of that; But, sir, such wanton, wild, and usual slips As are companions noted and most known To youth and liberty. Rey. As gaming, my lord. Pol. Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing, quarrelling, Drabbing. You may go so far. Rey. My lord, that would dishonour him. Pol. Faith, no, as you may season it in the charge. You must not put another scandal on him, That he is open to incontinency. That's not my meaning. But breathe his faults so quaintly That they may seem the taints of liberty, The flash and outbreak of a fiery mind, A savageness in unreclaimed blood, Of general assault. Rey. But, my good lord- Pol. Wherefore should you do this? Rey. Ay, my lord, I would know that. Pol. Marry, sir, here's my drift, And I believe it is a fetch of warrant. You laying these slight sullies on my son As 'twere a thing a little soil'd i' th' working, Mark you, Your party in converse, him you would sound, Having ever seen in the prenominate crimes The youth you breathe of guilty, be assur'd He closes with you in this consequence: 'Good sir,' or so, or 'friend,' or 'gentleman'- According to the phrase or the addition Of man and country- Rey. Very good, my lord. Pol. And then, sir, does 'a this- 'a does- What was I about tosay? By the mass, I was about to say something! Where did I leave? Rey. At 'closes in the consequence,' at 'friend or so,' and gentleman.' Pol. At 'closes in the consequence'– Ay, marry! He closes thus: 'I know the gentleman. I saw him yesterday, or t'other day, Or then, or then, with such or such; and, as you say, There was 'a gaming; there o'ertook in's rouse; There falling out at tennis'; or perchance, 'I saw him enter such a house of sale,' Videlicet, a brothel, or so forth. See you now- Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth; And thus do we of wisdom and of reach, With windlasses and with assays of bias, By indirections find directions out. So, by my former lecture and advice, Shall you my son. You have me, have you not Rey. My lord, I have. Pol. God b' wi' ye, fare ye well! Rey. Good my lord! [Going.] Pol. Observe his inclination in yourself. Rey. I shall, my lord. Pol. And let him ply his music. Rey. Well, my lord. Pol. Farewell!Exit Reynaldo

Enter Ophelia.

How now, Ophelia? What's the matter? Oph. O my lord, my lord, I have been so affrighted! Pol. With what, i' th' name of God I Oph. My lord, as I was sewing in my closet, Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbrac'd, No hat upon his head, his stockings foul'd, Ungart'red, and down-gyved to his ankle; Pale as his shirt, his knees knocking each other, And with a look so piteous in purport As if he had been loosed out of hell To speak of horrors- he comes before me. Pol. Mad for thy love? Oph. My lord, I do not know, But truly I do fear it. Pol. What said he? Oph. He took me by the wrist and held me hard; Then goes he to the length of all his arm, And, with his other hand thus o'er his brow, He falls to such perusal of my face As he would draw it. Long stay'd he so. At last, a little shaking of mine arm, And thrice his head thus waving up and down, He rais'd a sigh so piteous and profound As it did seem to shatter all his bulk And end his being. That done, he lets me go, And with his head over his shoulder turn'd He seem'd to find his way without his eyes, For out o' doors he went without their help And to the last bended their light on me. Pol. Come, go with me. I will go seek the King. This is the very ecstasy of love, Whose violent property fordoes itself And leads the will to desperate undertakings As oft as any passion under heaven That does afflict our natures. I am sorry. What, have you given him any hard words of late? Oph. No, my good lord; but, as you did command,

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