Serv. Sailors, sir: they say they have letters for you.

Hor. Let them come in.

Exit Servant.
I do not know from what part of the world
I should be greeted, if not from Lord Hamlet.
Enter Sailors.

First Sail. God bless you, sir.
Hor. Let him bless thee too.

Second Sail. He shall, sir, an 't please him. There's a letter for you, sir ;-it comes from the ambassador that was bound for England;-if your name be Horatio, as I am let to know it is. Hor. Horatio, when thou shalt have overlooked this, give these fellows some means to the king: they have letters for him. Ere we were two days old at sea, a pirate of very war-like appointment gave us chase. Finding ourselves too slow of sail, we put on a compelled valour, and in the grapple I boarded them: on the instant they got clear of our ship, so I alone became their prisoner. They have dealt with me like thieves of mercy; but they knew what they did; I am to do a good turn for them. Let the king have the letters I have sent; and repair thou to me with as much haste as thou would'st fly death. I have words to speak in thine ear will make thee dumb; yet are they much too light for the bore of the matter. These good fellows will bring thee where I am. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern hold their course for England: of them I have much to tell thee. Farewell.

He that thou knowest thine,

HAMLET.

Exeunt.

back?

Or is it some abuse and no such thing?
Laer. Know you the hand?
King.

'Tis Hamlet's character. 'Naked,' And in a postscript here, he says 'alone.' Can you advise me?

51

And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up;
Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes,
As one incapable of her own distress,
Or like a creature native and indu'd
Unto that element; but long it could not be
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death.

Laer.

says Adam digged; could he dig without arms? I'll put another question to thee; if thou answerest me not to the purpose, confess thyself

Second Clo. Go to.

43

Ophelia,

184

poor

And therefore I forbid my tears; but yet
It is our trick, nature her custom holds,
Let shame say what it will; when these are gone
The woman will be out. Adieu, my lord!
I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze,
But that this folly douts it.

King.

Exit. Let's follow, Gertrude. How much I had to do to calm his rage! Now fear I this will give it start again; Therefore let 's follow.

ACT V.

SCENE I.-A Churchyard.

192

Exeunt.

Enter two Clowns, with spades and mattocks. First Clo. Is she to be buried in Christian burial that wilfully seeks her own salvation?

Second Clo. I tell thee she is; and therefore make her grave straight: the crowner hath sat on her, and finds it Christian burial.

First Clo. How can that be, unless she drowned herself in her own defence?

Second Clo. Why, 'tis found so.

First Clo. It must be se offendendo; it cannot be else. For here lies the point: if I drown myself wittingly it argues an act; and an act hath three branches; it is, to act, to do, and to perform argal, she drowned herself wittingly. Second Clo. Nay, but hear you, goodman delver,

15

First Clo. Ay, marry, is 't; crowner's quest law. Second Clo. Will you ha' the truth on 't? If this had not been a gentlewoman she should have been buried out o' Christian burial.

First Clo. Why, there thou sayest; and the more pity that great folk shall have countenance in this world to drown or hang themselves more than their even Christian. Come, my spade. There is no ancient gentlemen but gardeners, ditchers, and grave makers; they hold up Adam's profession. 34

Second Clo. Was he a gentleman ?

First Clown digs, and sings.

In youth, when I did love, did love,
Methought it was very sweet,

To contract, O! the time, for, ah! my behove, 70
O! methought there was nothing meet.
Ham. Hath this fellow no feeling of his busi-
ness, that he sings at grave-making?

Hor. Custom hath made it in him a property of easiness.

Ham. 'Tis e'en so; the hand of little employment hath the daintier sense.

First Clo. But age, with his stealing steps, Hath claw'd me in his clutch, And hath shipp'd me intil the land, As if I had never been such.

81

Hor. Ay, my lord.

93

First Clo. A' was the first that ever bore arms. Second Clo. Why, he had none.

199

First Clo. A pick-axe, and a spade, a spade,

For and a shrouding sheet;
O! a pit of clay for to be made
For such a guest is meet.

Throws up another skull.

Ham. There's another; why may not that be the skull of a lawyer? Where be his quiddities now, his quillets, his cases, his tenures, and his tricks? why does he suffer this rude knave now to knock him about the sconce with a dirty shovel, and will not tell him of his action of battery? Hum! This fellow might be in's time a great buyer of land, with his statutes, his recognizances, his fines, his double vouchers, his recoveries; is this the fine of his fines, and the recovery of his recoveries, to have his fine pate full of fine dirt? will his vouchers vouch him no more of his purchases, and double ones too, than the length and breadth of a pair of indentures? The very conveyances of his lands will hardly lie in this box, and must the inheritor himself have no more, ha?

Hor. Not a jot more, my lord.

121

Ham. I think it be thine, indeed; for thou liest in 't.

First 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.

First Clo. 'Tis a quick lie, sir; 'twill away again, from me to you. 140

Ham. What man dost thou dig it for?

Ham. What woman, then?

First Clo. For no man, sir.

First Clo. For none, neither.

Ham. Who is to be buried in 't?

First Clo. Faith, if he be not rotten before he die, as we have many pocky corpses now-a-days, that will scarce hold the laying in, he will last you some eight year or nine year; a tanner will last you nine year.

Ham. Why he more than another?

First Clo. Why, sir, his hide is so tanned with his trade that he will keep out water a great while, and your water is a sore decayer of your whoreson dead body. Here's a skull now; this skull hath lain i' the earth three-and-twenty years.

Ham. Whose was it?

192

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 in my imagination it is! my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips 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 grinning? quite chapfallen? Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let ber paint an inch thick, to this favour she must

tell me one thing.

Hor. What's that, my lord?

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

Hor. E'en so.

Ham. And smelt so? pah!

Hor. E'en so, my lord.

Puts down the skull.

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?