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The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark
Enter Hamlet, reading on a book.
Queen. But look where sadly the poor wretch comes reading. Pol. Away, I do beseech you, both away I'll board him presently. O, give me leave. Exeunt King and Queen, [with Attendants]. How does my good Lord Hamlet? Ham. Well, God-a-mercy. Pol. Do you know me, my lord? Ham. Excellent well. You are a fishmonger. Pol. Not I, my lord. Ham. Then I would you were so honest a man. Pol. Honest, my lord? Ham. Ay, sir. To be honest, as this world goes, is to be oneman pick'd out of ten thousand. Pol. That's very true, my lord. Ham. For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a god kissing carrion- Have you a daughter? Pol. I have, my lord. Ham. Let her not walk i' th' sun. Conception is a blessing, butnot as your daughter may conceive. Friend, look to't. Pol. [aside] How say you by that? Still harping on my daughter.Yet he knew me not at first. He said I was a fishmonger. He isfar gone, far gone! And truly in my youth I suff'red muchextremity for love- very near this. I'll speak to him again. – What doyou read, my lord? Ham. Words, words, words. Pol. What is the matter, my lord? Ham. Between who? Pol. I mean, the matter that you read, my lord. Ham. Slanders, sir; for the satirical rogue says here that oldmen have grey beards; that their faces are wrinkled; their eyes purging thick amber and plum-tree gum; and that they have a plentiful lack of wit, together with most weak hams. Allwhich, sir, though I most powerfully and potently believe, yet Ihold it not honesty to have it thus set down; for you yourself, sir, should be old as I am if, like a crab, you could go backward. Pol. [aside] Though this be madness, yet there is a methodin't. - Will You walk out of the air, my lord? Ham. Into my grave? Pol. Indeed, that is out o' th' air. [Aside] How pregnantsometimes his replies are! a happiness that often madness hits on,which reason and sanity could not so prosperously be delivered of.I will leave him and suddenly contrive the means of meetingbetween him and my daughter. – My honourable lord, I will most humblytake my leave of you. Ham. You cannot, sir, take from me anything that I will more willingly part withal- except my life, except my life, exceptmy life,Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.
Pol. Fare you well, my lord. Ham. These tedious old fools! Pol. You go to seek the Lord Hamlet. There he is. Ros. [to Polonius] God save you, sir!Exit [Polonius]Guil. My honour'd lord! Ros. My most dear lord! Ham. My excellent good friends! How dost thou, Guildenstern? Ah, Rosencrantz! Good lads, how do ye both? Ros. As the indifferent children of the earth. Guil. Happy in that we are not over-happy. On Fortune's cap we are not the very button. Ham. Nor the soles of her shoe? Ros. Neither, my lord. Ham. Then you live about her waist, or in the middle of her favours? Guil. Faith, her privates we. Ham. In the secret parts of Fortune? O! most true! she is a strumpet. What news? Ros. None, my lord, but that the world's grown honest. Ham. Then is doomsday near! But your news is not true. Let me question more in particular. What have you, my good friends, deserved at the hands of Fortune that she sends you to prison hither? Guil. Prison, my lord? Ham. Denmark's a prison. Ros. Then is the world one. Ham. A goodly one; in which there are many confines, wards, and dungeons, Denmark being one o' th' worst. Ros. We think not so, my lord. Ham. Why, then 'tis none to you; for there is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so. To me it is a prison. Ros. Why, then your ambition makes it one. 'Tis too narrow for your mind. Ham. O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams. Guil. Which dreams indeed are ambition; for the very substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream. Ham. A dream itself is but a shadow. Ros. Truly, and I hold ambition of so airy and light a quality that it is but a shadow's shadow. Ham. Then are our beggars bodies, and our monarchs and outstretch'd heroes the beggars' shadows. Shall we to th' court? for, by my fay, I cannot reason. Both. We'll wait upon you. Ham. No such matter! I will not sort you with the rest of my servants; for, to speak to you like an honest man, I am most dreadfully attended. But in the beaten way of friendship, what make you at Elsinore? Ros. To visit you, my lord; no other occasion. Ham. Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks; but I thank you; and sure, dear friends, my thanks are too dear a halfpenny. Were you not sent for? Is it your own inclining? Is it a free visitation? Come, deal justly with me. Come, come! Nay, speak. Guil. What should we say, my lord? Ham. Why, anything- but to th' purpose. You were sent for; and there is a kind of confession in your looks, which your modesties have not craft enough to colour. I know the good King and Queen have sent for you. Ros. To what end, my lord? Ham. That you must teach me. But let me conjure you by the rights of our fellowship, by the consonancy of our youth, by the obligation of our ever-preserved love, and by what more dear a better proposer could charge you withal, be even and direct with me, whether you were sent for or no. Ros. [aside to Guildenstern] What say you? Ham. [aside] Nay then, I have an eye of you. – If you love me, hold not off. Guil. My lord, we were sent for. Ham. I will tell you why. So shall my anticipation prevent your discovery, and your secrecy to the King and Queen moult no feather. I have of late- but wherefore I know not- lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises; and indeed, it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory; this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire- why, it appeareth no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculties! in form and moving how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals! And yet to me what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me- no, nor woman neither, though by your smiling you seem to say so. Ros. My lord, there was no such stuff in my thoughts. Ham. Why did you laugh then, when I said 'Man delights not me'? Ros. To think, my lord, if you delight not in man, what lenten entertainment the players shall receive from you. We coted them on the way, and hither are they coming to offer you service. Ham. He that plays the king shall be welcome- his Majesty shall have tribute of me; the adventurous knight shall use his foil and target; the lover shall not sigh gratis; the humorous man shall end his part in peace; the clown shall make those laugh whose lungs are tickle o' th' sere; and the lady shall say her mind freely, or the blank verse shall halt fort. What players are they? Ros. Even those you were wont to take such delight in, the tragedians of the city. Ham. How chances it they travel? Their residence, both in reputation and profit, was better both ways. Ros. I think their inhibition comes by the means of the late innovation. Ham. Do they hold the same estimation they did when I was in the city? Are they so follow'd? Ros. No indeed are they not. Ham. How comes it? Do they grow rusty? Ros. Nay, their endeavour keeps in the wonted pace; but there is, sir, an eyrie of children, little eyases, that cry out on the top of question and are most tyrannically clapp'd fort. These are now the fashion, and so berattle the common stages (so they call them) that many wearing rapiers are afraid of goosequills and dare scarce come thither. Ham. What, are they children? Who maintains 'em? How are they escoted? Will they pursue the quality no longer than they can sing? Will they not say afterwards, if they should grow themselves to common players (as it is most like, if their means are no better), their writers do them wrong to make them exclaim against their own succession. Ros. Faith, there has been much to do on both sides; and the nation holds it no sin to tarre them to controversy. There was, for a while, no money bid for argument unless the poet and the player went to cuffs in the question. Ham. Is't possible? Guil. O, there has been much throwing about of brains. Ham. Do the boys carry it away? Ros. Ay, that they do, my lord- Hercules and his load too. Ham. It is not very strange; for my uncle is King of Denmark, and those that would make mows at him while my father lived give twenty, forty, fifty, a hundred ducats apiece for his picture in little. 'Sblood, there is something in this more than natural, if philosophy could find it out.
Flourish for the Players.
Guil. There are the players. Ham. Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinore. Your hands, come!Th' appurtenance of welcome is fashion and ceremony. Let mecomply with you in this garb, lest my extent to the players (which I tell you must show fairly outwards) should more appear like entertainment than yours. You are welcome. But myuncle-father and aunt-mother are deceiv'd. Guil. In what, my dear lord? Ham. I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerlyI know a hawk from a handsaw.Enter Polonius.
Pol. Well be with you, gentlemen! Ham. Hark you, Guildenstern- and you too- at each ear a hearer! That great baby you see there is not yet out of his swaddling clouts. Ros. Happily he's the second time come to them; for they say anold man is twice a child. Ham. I will prophesy he comes to tell me of the players. Markit. - You say right, sir; a Monday morning; twas so indeed. Pol. My lord, I have news to tell you. Ham. My lord, I have news to tell you. When Roscius was anactor in Rome- Pol. The actors are come hither, my lord. Ham. Buzz, buzz! Pol. Upon my honour- Ham. Then came each actor on his ass- Pol. The best actors in the world, either for tragedy, comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral-comical, historical-pastoral, tragical-historical, tragical-comical-historical-pastoral;scene individable, or poem unlimited. Seneca cannot be too heavy,nor Plautus too light. For the law of writ and the liberty, theseare the only men. Ham. O Jephthah, judge of Israel, what a treasure hadst thou! Pol. What treasure had he, my lord? Ham. Why, 'One fair daughter, and no more, The which he loved passing well.' Pol. [aside] Still on my daughter. Ham. Am I not i' th' right, old Jephthah? Pol. If you call me Jephthah, my lord, I have a daughter that I love passing well. Ham. Nay, that follows not. Pol. What follows then, my lord? Ham. Why,'As by lot, God wot,'and then, you know,'It came to pass, as most like it was.' The first row of the pious chanson will show you more; forlook where my abridgment comes.Enter four or five Players.
You are welcome, masters; welcome, all. – I am glad to seethee well. – Welcome, good friends. – O, my old friend? Why, thyface is valanc'd since I saw thee last. Com'st' thou to' beard me in Denmark? – What, my young lady and mistress? By'r Lady, your ladyship is nearer to heaven than when I saw you last by the altitude of a chopine. Pray God your voice, like a piece of uncurrent gold, be not crack'd within the ring. – Masters, youare all welcome. We'll e'en to't like French falconers, fly at anything we see. We'll have a speech straight. Come, give usa taste of your quality. Come, a passionate speech. 1. Play. What speech, my good lord? Ham. I heard thee speak me a speech once, but it was neveracted; or if it was, not above once; for the play, I remember,pleas'd not the million, 'twas caviary to the general; but it was (asI receiv'd it, and others, whose judgments in such matterscried in the top of mine) an excellent play, well digested in thescenes, set down with as much modesty as cunning. I remember one said there were no sallets in the lines to make the mattersavoury, nor no matter in the phrase that might indict the author of affectation; but call'd it an honest method, as wholesome as sweet, and by very much more handsome than fine. One speechin't I chiefly lov'd. 'Twas AEneas' tale to Dido, and thereaboutof it especially where he speaks of Priam's slaughter. If it livein your memory, begin at this line- let me see, let me see:'The rugged Pyrrhus, like th' Hyrcanian beast-''Tis not so; it begins with Pyrrhus: 'The rugged Pyrrhus, he whose sable arms, Black as his purpose, did the night resemble When he lay couched in the ominous horse, Hath now this dread and black complexion smear'd With heraldry more dismal. Head to foot Now is be total gules, horridly trick'd With blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, sons, Bak'd and impasted with the parching streets, That lend a tyrannous and a damned light To their lord's murther. Roasted in wrath and fire, And thus o'ersized with coagulate gore, With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus Old grandsire Priam seeks.' So, proceed you. Pol. Fore God, my lord, well spoken, with good accent and good discretion. 1. Play. 'Anon he finds him, Striking too short at Greeks. His antique sword, Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls, Repugnant to command. Unequal match'd, Pyrrhus at Priam drives, in rage strikes wide; But with the whiff and wind of his fell sword Th' unnerved father falls. Then senseless Ilium, Seeming to feel this blow, with flaming top Stoops to his base, and with a hideous crash Takes prisoner Pyrrhus' ear. For lo! his sword, Which was declining on the milky head Of reverend Priam, seem'd i' th' air to stick. So, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrhus stood, And, like a neutral to his will and matter, Did nothing. But, as we often see, against some storm, A silence in the heavens, the rack stand still, The bold winds speechless, and the orb below As hush as death- anon the dreadful thunder Doth rend the region; so, after Pyrrhus' pause, Aroused vengeance sets him new awork; And never did the Cyclops' hammers fall On Mars's armour, forg'd for proof eterne, With less remorse than Pyrrhus' bleeding sword Now falls on Priam. Out, out, thou strumpet Fortune! All you gods, In general synod take away her power; Break all the spokes and fellies from her wheel, And bowl the round nave down the hill of heaven, As low as to the fiends! Pol. This is too long. Ham. It shall to the barber's, with your beard. – Prithee sayon. He's for a jig or a tale of bawdry, or he sleeps. Say on;come to Hecuba.1. Play. 'But who, O who, had seen the mobled queen-' Ham. 'The mobled queen'? Pol. That's good! 'Mobled queen' is good. 1. Play. 'Run barefoot up and down, threat'ning the flames With bisson rheum; a clout upon that head Where late the diadem stood, and for a robe, About her lank and all o'erteemed loins, A blanket, in the alarm of fear caught up- Who this had seen, with tongue in venom steep'd 'Gainst Fortune's state would treason have pronounc'd. But if the gods themselves did see her then, When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious sport In Mincing with his sword her husband's limbs, The instant burst of clamour that she made (Unless things mortal move them not at all) Would have made milch the burning eyes of heaven And passion in the gods.' Pol. Look, whe'r he has not turn'd his colour, and has tearsin's eyes. Prithee no more! Ham. 'Tis well. I'll have thee speak out the rest of thissoon. - Good my lord, will you see the players well bestow'd? Do you hear? Let them be well us'd; for they are the abstract andbrief chronicles of the time. After your death you were better havea bad epitaph than their ill report while you live. Pol. My lord, I will use them according to their desert. Ham. God's bodykins, man, much better! Use every man after his desert, and who should scape whipping? Use them after yourown honour and dignity. The less they deserve, the more merit isin your bounty. Take them in. Pol. Come, sirs. Ham. Follow him, friends. We'll hear a play to-morrow.Exeunt Polonius and Players [except the First] Dost thou hear me, old friend? Can you play 'The Murther of Gonzago'? 1. Play. Ay, my lord. Ham. We'll ha't to-morrow night. You could, for a need, study a speech of some dozen or sixteen lines which I would set downand insert in't, could you not? 1. Play. Ay, my lord. Ham. Very well. Follow that lord- and look you mock him not.[Exit First Player.] My good friends, I'll leave you till night. You are welcometo Elsinore. Ros. Good my lord! Ham. Ay, so, God b' wi' ye![Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Now I am alone. O what a rogue and peasant slave am I! Is it not monstrous that this player here, But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, Could force his soul so to his own conceit That, from her working, all his visage wann'd, Tears in his eyes, distraction in's aspect, A broken voice, and his whole function suiting With forms to his conceit? And all for nothing! For Hecuba! What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, That he should weep for her? What would he do, Had he the motive and the cue for passion That I have? He would drown the stage with tears And cleave the general ear with horrid speech; Make mad the guilty and appal the free, Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed The very faculties of eyes and ears. Yet I, A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause, And can say nothing! No, not for a king, Upon whose property and most dear life A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward? Who calls me villain? breaks my pate across? Plucks off my beard and blows it in my face? Tweaks me by th' nose? gives me the lie i' th' throat As deep as to the lungs? Who does me this, ha? 'Swounds, I should take it! for it cannot be But I am pigeon-liver'd and lack gall To make oppression bitter, or ere this I should have fatted all the region kites With this slave's offal. Bloody bawdy villain! Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain! O, vengeance! Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave, That I, the son of a dear father murther'd, Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell, Must (like a whore) unpack my heart with words And fall a-cursing like a very drab, A scullion! Fie upon't! foh! About, my brain! Hum, I have heard That guilty creatures, sitting at a play, Have by the very cunning of the scene Been struck so to the soul that presently They have proclaim'd their malefactions; For murther, though it have no tongue, will speak With most miraculous organ, I'll have these Players Play something like the murther of my father Before mine uncle. I'll observe his looks; I'll tent him to the quick. If he but blench, I know my course. The spirit that I have seen May be a devil; and the devil hath power T' assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhaps Out of my weakness and my melancholy, As he is very potent with such spirits, Abuses me to damn me. I'll have grounds More relative than this. The play's the thing Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the King. Exit.ACT III. Scene I. Elsinore. A room in the Castle
Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and Lords.
King. And can you by no drift of circumstance Get from him why he puts on this confusion, Grating so harshly all his days of quiet With turbulent and dangerous lunacy? Ros. He does confess he feels himself distracted, But from what cause he will by no means speak. Guil. Nor do we find him forward to be sounded, But with a crafty madness keeps aloof When we would bring him on to some confession Of his true state. Queen. Did he receive you well? Ros. Most like a gentleman. Guil. But with much forcing of his disposition. Ros. Niggard of question, but of our demands Most free in his reply. Queen. Did you assay him To any pastime? Ros. Madam, it so fell out that certain players We o'erraught on the way. Of these we told him, And there did seem in him a kind of joy To hear of it. They are here about the court, And, as I think, they have already order This night to play before him. Pol. 'Tis most true; And he beseech'd me to entreat your Majesties To hear and see the matter. King. With all my heart, and it doth much content me To hear him so inclin'd. Good gentlemen, give him a further edge And drive his purpose on to these delights. Ros. We shall, my lord.Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern King. Sweet Gertrude, leave us too; For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither, That he, as 'twere by accident, may here Affront Ophelia. Her father and myself (lawful espials) Will so bestow ourselves that, seeing unseen, We may of their encounter frankly judge And gather by him, as he is behav'd, If't be th' affliction of his love, or no, That thus he suffers for. Queen. I shall obey you; And for your part, Ophelia, I do wish That your good beauties be the happy cause Of Hamlet's wildness. So shall I hope your virtues Will bring him to his wonted way again, To both your honours. Oph. Madam, I wish it may.[Exit Queen.] Pol. Ophelia, walk you here. – Gracious, so please you, We will bestow ourselves. – [To Ophelia] Read on this book, That show of such an exercise may colour Your loneliness. – We are oft to blame in this, 'Tis too much prov'd, that with devotion's visage And pious action we do sugar o'er The Devil himself. King. [aside] O, 'tis too true! How smart a lash that speech doth give my conscience! The harlot's cheek, beautied with plast'ring art, Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it Than is my deed to my most painted word. O heavy burthen! Pol. I hear him coming. Let's withdraw, my lord.Exeunt King and Polonius]Enter Hamlet.
Ham. To be, or not to be- that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them. To die- to sleep- No more; and by a sleep to say we end The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consummation Devoutly to be wish'd. To die- to sleep. To sleep- perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub! For in that sleep of death what dreams may come When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause. There's the respect That makes calamity of so long life. For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay, The insolence of office, and the spurns That patient merit of th' unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin? Who would these fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after death- The undiscover'd country, from whose bourn No traveller returns- puzzles the will, And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all, And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, And enterprises of great pith and moment With this regard their currents turn awry And lose the name of action. – Soft you now! The fair Ophelia! – Nymph, in thy orisons Be all my sins rememb'red. Oph. Good my lord, How does your honour for this many a day? Ham. I humbly thank you; well, well, well. Oph. My lord, I have remembrances of yours That I have longed long to re-deliver. I pray you, now receive them. Ham. No, not I! I never gave you aught. Oph. My honour'd lord, you know right well you did, And with them words of so sweet breath compos'd As made the things more rich. Their perfume lost, Take these again; for to the noble mind Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind. There, my lord. Ham. Ha, ha! Are you honest? Oph. My lord? Ham. Are you fair? Oph. What means your lordship? Ham. That if you be honest and fair, your honesty should admitno discourse to your beauty. Oph. Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than withhonesty? Ham. Ay, truly; for the power of beauty will sooner transform honesty from what it is to a bawd than the force of honestycan translate beauty into his likeness. This was sometime aparadox, but now the time gives it proof. I did love you once. Oph. Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so. Ham. You should not have believ'd me; for virtue cannot so inoculate our old stock but we shall relish of it. I lovedyou not. Oph. I was the more deceived. Ham. Get thee to a nunnery! Why wouldst thou be a breeder of sinners? I am myself indifferent honest, but yet I couldaccuse me of such things that it were better my mother had not borneme. I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious; with more offences atmy beck than I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them shape, or time to act them in. What should such fellowsas I do, crawling between earth and heaven? We are arrant knavesall; believe none of us. Go thy ways to a nunnery. Where's your father? Oph. At home, my lord. Ham. Let the doors be shut upon him, that he may play the fool nowhere but in's own house. Farewell. Oph. O, help him, you sweet heavens! Ham. If thou dost marry, I'll give thee this plague for thydowry: be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt notescape calumny. Get thee to a nunnery. Go, farewell. Or if thou wilt needs marry, marry a fool; for wise men know well enough what monsters you make of them. To a nunnery, go; and quickly too. Farewell. Oph. O heavenly powers, restore him! Ham. I have heard of your paintings too, well enough. God hath given you one face, and you make yourselves another. You jig,you amble, and you lisp; you nickname God's creatures and makeyour wantonness your ignorance. Go to, I'll no more on't! it hathmade me mad. I say, we will have no more marriages. Those that are married already- all but one- shall live; the rest shall keepas they are. To a nunnery, go. Exit. Oph. O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown! The courtier's, scholar's, soldier's, eye, tongue, sword, Th' expectancy and rose of the fair state, The glass of fashion and the mould of form, Th' observ'd of all observers- quite, quite down! And I, of ladies most deject and wretched, That suck'd the honey of his music vows, Now see that noble and most sovereign reason, Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh; That unmatch'd form and feature of blown youth Blasted with ecstasy. O, woe is me T' have seen what I have seen, see what I see!Enter King and Polonius.
