Marcellus. [with Bernardo] We do, my lord.
Hamlet. Arm'd, say you?
Marcellus. [with Bernardo] Arm'd, my lord. 440
Hamlet. From top to toe?
Marcellus. [with Bernardo] My lord, from head to foot.
Hamlet. Then saw you not his face?
Horatio. O, yes, my lord! He wore his beaver up.
Hamlet. What, look'd he frowningly. 445
Horatio. A countenance more in sorrow than in anger.
Hamlet. Pale or red?
Horatio. Nay, very pale.
Hamlet. And fix'd his eyes upon you?
Horatio. Most constantly. 450
Hamlet. I would I had been there.
Horatio. It would have much amaz'd you.
Hamlet. Very like, very like. Stay'd it long?
Horatio. While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred.
Marcellus. [with Bernardo] Longer, longer. 455
Horatio. Not when I saw't.
Hamlet. His beard was grizzled- no?
Horatio. It was, as I have seen it in his life,
A sable silver'd.
Hamlet. I will watch to-night. 460
Perchance 'twill walk again.
Horatio. I warr'nt it will.
Hamlet. 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, 465
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 you well. 470
Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve,
I'll visit you.
All. Our duty to your honour.
Hamlet. Your loves, as mine to you. Farewell.
[Exeunt [all but Hamlet].] 475
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.
Act I, Scene 3.
Elsinore. A room in the house of Polonius.
Enter Laertes and Ophelia.
Laertes. 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. 485
Ophelia. Do you doubt that?
Laertes. 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; 490
The perfume and suppliance of a minute;
No more.
Ophelia. No more but so?
Laertes. Think it no more.
For nature crescent does not grow alone 495
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, 500
His greatness weigh'd, his will is not his own;
For he himself is subject to his birth.
He may not, as unvalued persons do,
Carve for himself, for on his choice depends
The safety and health of this whole state, 505
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 510
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 515
To his unmast'red 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 520
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 525
Contagious blastments are most imminent.
Be wary then; best safety lies in fear.
Youth to itself rebels, though none else near.
Ophelia. I shall th' effect of this good lesson keep
As watchman to my heart. But, good my brother, 530
Do not as some ungracious pastors do,
Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven,
Whiles, like a puff'd and reckless libertine,
Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads
And recks not his own rede. 535
Laertes. O, fear me not!
[Enter Polonius. ]
I stay too long. But here my father comes.
A double blessing is a double grace;
Occasion smiles upon a second leave. 540
Polonius. 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!
And these few precepts in thy memory
Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue, 545
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 550
Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Beware
Of entrance to a quarrel; but being in,
Bear't that th' opposed may beware of thee.
Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice;
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment. 555
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. 560
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, 565
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
Farewell. My blessing season this in thee!
Laertes. Most humbly do I take my leave, my lord.
Polonius. The time invites you. Go, your servants tend.
Laertes. Farewell, Ophelia, and remember well 570
What I have said to you.
Ophelia. 'Tis in my memory lock'd,
And you yourself shall keep the key of it.
Laertes. Farewell. Exit.
Polonius. What is't, Ophelia, he hath said to you? 575
Ophelia. So please you, something touching the Lord Hamlet.
Polonius. 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. 580
If it be so- as so 'tis put on me,
And that in way of caution- I must tell you
You do not understand yourself so clearly
As it behooves my daughter and your honour.
What is between you? Give me up the truth. 585
Ophelia. He hath, my lord, of late made many tenders
Of his affection to me.
Polonius. Affection? Pooh! You speak like a green girl,
Unsifted in such perilous circumstance.
Do you believe his tenders, as you call them? 590
Ophelia. I do not know, my lord, what I should think,
Polonius. Marry, I will teach you! Think yourself a baby
That you have ta'en these tenders for true pay,
Which are not sterling. Tender yourself more dearly,
Or (not to crack the wind of the poor phrase, 595
Running it thus) you'll tender me a fool.
Ophelia. My lord, he hath importun'd me with love
In honourable fashion.
Polonius. Ay, fashion you may call it. Go to, go to!
Ophelia. And hath given countenance to his speech, my lord, 600
With almost all the holy vows of heaven.
Polonius. Ay, springes to catch woodcocks! I do know,
When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul
Lends the tongue vows. These blazes, daughter,
Giving more light than heat, extinct in both 605
Even in their promise, as it is a-making,
You must not take for fire. From this time
Be something scanter of your maiden presence.
Set your entreatments at a higher rate
Than a command to parley. For Lord Hamlet, 610
Believe so much in him, that he is young,
And with a larger tether may he walk
Than may be given you. In few, Ophelia,
Do not believe his vows; for they are brokers,
Not of that dye which their investments show, 615
But mere implorators of unholy suits,
Breathing like sanctified and pious bawds,
The better to beguile. This is for all:
I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth
Have you so slander any moment leisure 620
As to give words or talk with the Lord Hamlet.
Look to't, I charge you. Come your ways.
Ophelia. I shall obey, my lord.
Exeunt.
Act I, Scene 4.
Elsinore. The platform before the Castle.
Enter Hamlet, Horatio, and Marcellus.
Hamlet. The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold.
Horatio. It is a nipping and an eager air.
Hamlet. What hour now?
Horatio. I think it lacks of twelve.
Marcellus. No, it is struck. 630
Horatio. 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?
Hamlet. The King doth wake to-night and takes his rouse, 635
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.
Horatio. Is it a custom? 640
Hamlet. 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 645
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. 650
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, 655
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, 660
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. 665
Enter Ghost.
Horatio. Look, my lord, it comes!
Hamlet. 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, 670
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 675
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 680
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? 685
Say, why is this? wherefore? What should we do?
Ghost beckons Hamlet.
Horatio. It beckons you to go away with it,
As if it some impartment did desire
To you alone. 690
Marcellus. Look with what courteous action
It waves you to a more removed ground.
But do not go with it!
Horatio. No, by no means!
Hamlet. It will not speak. Then will I follow it. 695
Horatio. Do not, my lord!
Hamlet. 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? 700
It waves me forth again. I'll follow it.
Horatio. 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 705
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 710
And hears it roar beneath.
Hamlet. It waves me still.
Go on. I'll follow thee.
Marcellus. You shall not go, my lord.
Hamlet. Hold off your hands! 715
Horatio. Be rul'd. You shall not go.
Hamlet. My fate cries out
And makes each petty artire in this body
As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve.
[Ghost beckons.] 720
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.
Horatio. He waxes desperate with imagination. 725
Marcellus. Let's follow. 'Tis not fit thus to obey him.
Horatio. Have after. To what issue will this come?
Marcellus. Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.
Horatio. Heaven will direct it.
Marcellus. Nay, let's follow him. 730
Exeunt.
Act I, Scene 5.
Elsinore. The Castle. Another part of the fortifications.
Enter Ghost and Hamlet.
Hamlet. Whither wilt thou lead me? Speak! I'll go no further.
Father's Ghost. Mark me.
Hamlet. I will. 735
Father's Ghost. My hour is almost come,
When I to sulph'rous and tormenting flames
Must render up myself.
Hamlet. Alas, poor ghost!
Father's Ghost. Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing 740
To what I shall unfold.
Hamlet. Speak. I am bound to hear.
Father's Ghost. So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear.
Hamlet. What?
Father's Ghost. I am thy father's spirit, 745
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, 750
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 on end 755
Like quills upon the fretful porcupine.
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-
Hamlet. O God! 760
Father's Ghost. Revenge his foul and most unnatural murther.
Hamlet. Murther?
Father's Ghost. Murther most foul, as in the best it is;
But this most foul, strange, and unnatural.
Hamlet. Haste me to know't, that I, with wings as swift 765
As meditation or the thoughts of love,
May sweep to my revenge.
Father's Ghost. I find thee apt;
And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed
That rots itself in ease on Lethe wharf, 770
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, 775
The serpent that did sting thy father's life
Now wears his crown.
Hamlet. O my prophetic soul!
My uncle?
Father's Ghost. Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast, 780
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, 785
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! 790
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. 795
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, 800
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 quicksilver it courses through
The natural gates and alleys of the body, 805
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 810
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, 815
No reckoning made, but sent to my account
With all my imperfections on my head.
Hamlet. O, horrible! O, horrible! most horrible!
Father's Ghost. If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not.
Let not the royal bed of Denmark be 820
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 825
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.
Hamlet. O all you host of heaven! O earth! What else? 830
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? 835
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 840
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 845
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. 850
Horatio. [within] My lord, my lord!
Enter Horatio and Marcellus.
Marcellus. Lord Hamlet!
Horatio. Heaven secure him!
Hamlet. So be it! 855
Marcellus. Illo, ho, ho, my lord!
Hamlet. Hillo, ho, ho, boy! Come, bird, come.
Marcellus. How is't, my noble lord?
Horatio. What news, my lord?
Marcellus. O, wonderful! 860
Horatio. Good my lord, tell it.
Hamlet. No, you will reveal it.
Horatio. Not I, my lord, by heaven!
Marcellus. Nor I, my lord.
Hamlet. How say you then? Would heart of man once think it? 865
But you'll be secret?
Marcellus. [with Horatio] Ay, by heaven, my lord.
Hamlet. There's neer a villain dwelling in all Denmark
But he's an arrant knave.
Horatio. There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave 870
To tell us this.
Hamlet. 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, 875
For every man hath business and desire,
Such as it is; and for my own poor part,
Look you, I'll go pray.
Horatio. These are but wild and whirling words, my lord.
Hamlet. I am sorry they offend you, heartily; 880
Yes, faith, heartily.
Horatio. There's no offence, my lord.
Hamlet. Yes, by Saint Patrick, but there is, Horatio,