make her laugh at that.-Pr'ythee, 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! [Throws down the scull. Hor. E'en so, my lord.

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 to 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 OPHE-
LIA, LAERTES and Mourners following it; 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
Fordo 122 its own life. 'Twas of some estate:
Couch we a while, and mark. [Retiring with Horatio.
Laer. What ceremony else?

Ham.

A very noble youth: Mark.

Laer. What ceremony else?

That is Laertes,

1 Priest. Her obsequies have been as far enlarg'd
As we have warranty: her death was doubtful;
And, but that great command o'ersways the order,
She should in ground unsanctify'd have lodg'd
Till the last trumpet; for charitable prayers,
Shards, flints, and pebbles, should be thrown on her:
Yet here she is allow'd her virgin crants 193,

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 a 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.

Queen. Sweets to the sweet: Farewell!

What, the fair Ophelia!

[Scattering flowers.

I hop'd, thou should'st have been my Hamlet's wife;

I thought, thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid, And not have strew'd thy grave.

Laer.
O, treble woe
Fall ten times treble on that cursed head,
Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense
Depriv'd thee of!-Hold off the earth a while,
Till I have caught her once more in mine arms:
[Leaps into the grave.

Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead;
Till of this flat a mountain you have made,
To o'er-top old Pelion, or the skyish head
Of blue Olympus.

Ham. [Advancing.] What is he, whose grief Bears such an emphasis? whose phrase of sorrow Conjures the wand'ring stars, and makes them stand Like wonder-wounded hearers? this is I,

Hamlet the Dane.

Laer.

[Leaps into the grave.

Ham. Thou pray'st not well.

I pr'ythee, take thy fingers from my throat;
For, though I am not splenetive and rash,
Yet have I in me something dangerous,

Which let thy wisdom fear: Hold off thy hand.
King. Pluck them asunder.

Queen.

All. Gentlemen,

Hor.

Hamlet, Hamlet!

Good my lord, be quiet.

[The Attendants part them, and they come out of the

grave.

Ham. Why, I will fight with him upon this theme, Until my eyelids will no longer wag.

Queen. O my son! what theme?

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. 'Zounds, show me what thou'lt do:

Woul't weep? woul't fight? woul't fast? woul't tear thyself?

Woul't drink up Esil 124? 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 :
And, if thou prate of mountains, let them throw
Millions of acres on us; till our ground,
Singeing his pate against the burning zone,

Make Ossa like a wart!

I'll rant as well as thou.

Queen.

Nay, an thou'lt mouth,

This is mere madness:

And thus awhile the fit will work on him;

Anon, as patient as the female dove,

When that her golden couplets are disclos'd 125,

His silence will sit drooping.

Ham.

Hear you, sir ;

What is the reason that you use me thus?

I lov'd you ever: But it is no matter;

Let Hercules himself do what he may,

The cat will mew, and dog will have his day. [Exit.

King. I pray thee, good Horatio, wait upon him.[Exit Horatio. 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.

SCENE II.

A Hall in the Castle.

Enter HAMLET and HORATIO.

[Exeunt.

Ham. So much for this, sir: now shall you see the

other;

You do remember all the circumstance?

Hor. Remember it, my lord!

Ham. Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fight

ing,

That would not let me sleep; methought, I lay

Worse than the mutines in the bilboes 126. 127 Rashly,

And prais'd be rashness for it,-Let us know,

Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well,

When our deep plots do pall: and that should teach

us,

There's a divinity that shapes our ends,

Rough-hew them how we will.

Hor.

That is most certain.