And of all christian souls! I pray God. wi' you!

God be [Exit OPHELIA. Laer. Do you see this, O God? King. Laertes, I must common with your grief, Or you deny me right. Go but apart,

Make choice of whom your wisest friends you will,
And they shall hear and judge 'twixt you and me;
If by direct or by collateral hand

They find us touch'd, we will our kingdom give,
Our crown, our life, and all that we call ours,
To you in satisfaction; but, if not,

Be you content to lend your patience to us,
And we shall jointly labour with your soul
To give it due content.

Let this be so;

Laer.
His means of death, his obscure burial-

No trophy, sword, nor hatchment, o'er his bones,
No noble rite, nor formal ostentation,-

Cry to be heard, as 'twere from heaven to earth, That I must call❜t in question.

King.
So you shall;
And, where the offence is, let the great axe fall:
I pray you, go with me.
[Exeunt.

SCENE.-Another Room in the same.
Enter KING and LAERTES.

King. Now must your conscience my acquittance seal,

And you must put me in your heart for friend;
Sith you have heard, and with a knowing ear,
That he, which hath your noble father slain,
Pursu'd my life.

Laer. It well appears.-But my revenge

come.

will

Enter a Messenger. 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 to me by Claudio, he receiv'd 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 occasions of my sudden and more strange return.

HAMLET.

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 rul'd: 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.
What part is that, my lord?
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,
Importing health and graveness.-Some two
months hence,

Here was a gentleman of Normandy,-
And gave you such a masterly report,
For art and exercise in your defence,
And for your rapier most especially,
That he cried out, 'twould be a sight indeed,
If one could match you. 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.
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.

Laer.

I will do't:

And, for that purpose, I'll anoint my sword.
So mortal, that but dip a knife in it,
I bought an unction of a mountebank,
Where it draws blood, no cataplasm so rare,
Collected from all simples that have virtue
Under the moon, can save the thing from death,
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,
When in your motion you are hot and dry
(As make your bouts more violent to that end),
And that he calls for drink, I'll have prepar'd him
A chalice for the nonce; whereon but sipping,
If he by chance escape your venom'd stuck,
Our purpose may hold there.

Hor. Not a jot more, my lord.
I will speak to this fellow :-
Whose grave's this, sir?
1 Clo. Mine sir.-

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.

1 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: 'tis for the dead, not for the quick; therefore thou liest.

1 Clo. 'Tis a quick lie, sir; 'twill away again, from me to you.

Ham. What man dost thou dig it for? 1 Clo. For no man, sir.

Ham. What woman, then?

1 Clo. For none neither.

Ham. Who is to be buried in't?

1 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 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?

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

Ham. How long is that since?

1 Clo. Cannot you tell that? every fool can tell that: It was the very day that young Hamlet was born: he that was mad, and sent into England.

Ham. Ay, marry, why was he sent to England? 1 Clo. Why, because he was mad: he shall recover his wits there; or, if he do not, it's no great matter there.

Ham. This?

1 Clo. E'en that.

Ham. Let me see. 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 my imagination is! my gorge rises at it. Here hung those Ips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now to mock your own jeerings. 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.-Pritheee, IIoratio, tell me one thing. Hor. What's that, my lord?

Favour means likeness.

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

Hor. E'en so.

[Throws down the scull. 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 bung-hole? Hor. 'Twere 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?

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 that they follow?
And with such maimed rites! This doth betoken,
The corse they follow did with desperate hand
Fordo its own life. 'Twas of some estate:
Couch we awhile, and mark.

[Retiring with HORATIO.

Laer. What ceremony else?
Ham.

A very noble youth; Mark.

Laer. What ceremony clee?

That is Laertes,

1 Priest. Her obsequies have been as far enlarg'd As we have warranties: Her death was doubtful; And, but that great command o'ersways the order, She should in ground unsanctified have lodg'd Till the last trumpet; for charitable prayers, Shards, flints, and pebbles, should be thrown on her,

Yet here she is allowed her virgin rites,
Her maiden strewments, and the bringing home
Of bell and burial.

Laer. Must there no more be done?
1 Priest.
No more be done!
We should profane the service of the dead,
To sing sage requiem, and such rest to her,
As to peace-parted souls.

Laer.

Lay her 'i the earth; And from her fair and unpolluted flesh May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest, A minist'ring angel shall my sister be, When thou liest howling.

Ham. What, the fair Ophelia ! Queen, Sweets to the sweet: Farewell! [Scattering flowers. I hop'd thou shouldst have been my Hamlet's wife; I thought thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid, And not t'have strew'd thy grave.

Laer. O, treble woe Fall ten times treble on that cursed head, Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense Deprived thee of!-Hold off the earth awhile, Till I have caught her once more in mine arms:

[Leaps into the grave.

Ham. [Advancing.] What is he, whose grief Bears such an emphasis? whose phrase of sorrow Conjures the wandering stars, and makes them stand

Like wonder-wounded hearers? this is I, Hamlet the Dane. [Leaps into the grave.

King. Pluck them asunder.

Queen. Gentlemen.

Hamlet, Hamlet! Good my lord, be quiet. [The Attendants part them, and they come out of the grave.

Ham. I lov'd Ophelia; forty thousand brothers Could not, with all their quantity of love, Make up my sum.-What wilt thou do for her? King. O, he is mad, Laertes.

Queen. For love of God, forbear him.
Ham. Come, show me what thou'lt do:
Woul't weep? woul't fight? woul't fast?
tear thy self?

Woul't drink up Esil? eat a crocodile ?
I'll do't.-Dost thou come here to whine?
To outface me with leaping in her grave?
Be buried quick with her, and so will I.
This is mere madness:

woul't

Queen.
And thus a while the fit will work on him;
Anon, as patient as the female dove,
When that her golden couplets are disclos'd,*
His silence will sit drooping.

King. I pray you, good Horatio, wait upon
him.

Strengthen your patience in our last night's speech: [To LAERTES. We'll put the matter to the present push.Good Gertrude, set some watch over your son.This grave shall have a living monument: An hour of quiet shortly shall we see:

Till then, in patience our proceeding be. [Exeunt. SCENE.-A Hall in the Castle. Enter HAMLET and HORATIO. Enter KING, QUEEN, LAERTES, Lords, OSRIC, and Attendants, with foils, &c. King. Come, Hamlet, come, and take this hand from me. [The KING puts the hand of LAERTES into that of HAMLET. Ham. Give me your pardon, sir: I have done you wrong;

But pardon't, as you are a gentleman.
This presence knows, and you must needs have
heard,

How I am punish'd with a sore distraction.
What I have done,

That might your nature, honour, and exception,
Roughly awake, I here proclaim was madness.
Laer.
I am satisfied in nature,
Whose motive, in this case, should stir me most
To my revenge: But in my terms of honour,
I stand aloof, and will no reconcilement,
Till by some elder masters of known honour,
I have a voice and precedent of peace,

To keep my name ungor'd: But till that time,
I do receive your offer'd love like love,
And will not wrong it.

King. Give them the foils, young Osric. Cousin
Hamlet,

You know the wager?

Very well, my lord:

Ham. Your grace hath laid the odds on the weaker side. King. I do not fear it: I have seen you both, But since he's better'd, we have therefore odds. Laer. This is too heavy, let me see another. Ham. This likes me well: These foils have all a length? [They prepare to play. Osr. Ay, my good lord.

* Means hatched.

King. Set me the stoups of wine upon that table: If Hamlet give the first or second hit, Or quit in answer of the third exchange, Let all the battlements their ordnance fire; The king shall drink to Hamlet's better breath; And in the cup an union shall he throw, Richer than that which four successive kings In Denmark's crown have worn. Give me the cups; And let the kettle to the trumpet speak,

The trumpet to the cannoneer without,

The cannons to the heavens, the heaven to earth, Now the king drinks to Hamlet.-Come, begin:— And you, the judges, bear a wary eye.

Ham. Come on, sir.

Unbated, and envenom'd: the foul practice
Hath turn'd itself on me; lo, here I lie,
Never to rise again: Thy mother's poison'd:
I can no more; the king, the king's to blame.
Ham. The point

Envenom'd too!-Then, venom, to thy work.
[Stabs the KING.
Osr. § Lords. Treason! treason! [KING dies.
Laer.
He is justly served;

It is a poison temper'd by himself.
Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet:
Mine and my father's death come not upon thee,
Nor thine on me!

[Dies.

Ham. Heaven make thee free of it! I follow thee.

I am dead, Horatio:-Wretched queen, adieu!
You that look pale, and tremble at this chance,
That are but mutes or audience to this act,
Had I but time (as this fell sergeant, death,
Is strict in his arrest), O, I cou tell you,-
But let it be-Horatio, I am dead;
Thou liv'st; report me and my cause aright
To the unsatisfied.

As thou art a man,

Ham.
Give me the cup: let go by heaven I'll have it.
O, good Horatio, what a wounded name,
Things standing thus unknown, shall live behind
me!

If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart,
Absent thee from felicity awhile,

And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain,
To tell my story. [March afar off, and shot within.
What warlike noise is this?
Osr. Young Fortinbras, with conquest come
from Poland,

To the ambassadors of England gives
This warlike volley.

Ham.

O, I die, Horatio : The potent poison quite o'er-crows my spirit; I cannot live to hear the news from England; But I do prophecy the election lights On Fortinbras; he has my dying voice; So tell him, with the occurrents, more or less, Which have solicited.-The rest is silence. [Dies. Hor. Now cracks a noble heart. Good night, sweet prince!

And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!

[Curtain falls.

SCENE.-Rome. A Street.

Enter FLAVIUS, MARULLUS, and a rubble of

Citizens.

Flav. Hence: home, you idle creatures, get you home;

Is this a holiday? What! know you not,
Being mechanical, you ought not walk,
Upon a labouring day, without the sign

Of your profession ?-Speak, what trade art thou? 1 Cit. Why, sir, a carpenter.

Mar. Where is thy leather apron, and thy rule? What dost thou with thy best apparel on?

You, sir, what trade are you?

2 Cit. Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, as you would say, a cobbler.

Flav. But wherefore art not in thy shop to-day?

Why dost thou lead these men about the streets? 2 Cit. Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get myself into more work. But, indeed, sir, we make holiday to see Cæsar, and to rejoice in his triumph.

Mar. Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he home?

What tributaries follow him to Rome,