But I have that within, which passeth show;
These, but the trappings and the suits of woe.
King. 'Tis sweet and commendable in your
nature, Hamlet,
To give these mourning duties to your father:
But you must know, your father lost a father:
That father lost, lost his; and the survivor bound
In filial obligation, for some term
To do obsequious sorrow: But to perséver
In obstinate condolement, is a course
Of impious stubbornness, 'tis unmanly grief:
It shows a will most incorrect to heaven;
A heart unfortified, or mind impatient;
An understanding simple and unschool'd:
For what, we know, must be, and is as common
As any the most vulgar thing to sense,
Why should we, in our peevish opposition,
Take it to heart? Fie! 'tis a fault to heaven”,
A fault against the dead, a fault to nature,
To reason most absurd; whose common theme
Is death of fathers, and who still hath cry'd,
From the first corse, till he that died to-day,'
This must be so. We pray you throw to earth
This unprevailing woe; and think of us
As of a father: for let the world take note,
You are the most immediate to our throne;
And, with no less nobility of love,
Than that which dearest father bears his son
Do I impart toward you. For your intent
In going back to school in Wittenberg.
It is most retrograde to our desire:
And, we beseech you, bend you to remain
Here in the cheer and comfort of our eye,
Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son,
Queen. Let not thy mother lose her prayers,
Hamlet;
I pray thee, stay with us, go not to Wittenberg.
Ham. I shall in all my best obey you, Madam.
King. Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply;
Be as ourself in Denmark. · - Madam, come;
This gentle and unforc'd accord of Hamlet
Sits smiling to my heart: in grace whereof,
No jocund health, that Denmark drinks to-day,
But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell;
And the King's rouse the heaven shall bruit again,
Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come away.
[Exeunt King, Queen, Lords, &c. POLONIUS, and LAERTES. Ham. O, that this too too solid flesh would melt,
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew!
Or that the everlasting had not fix'd
His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God!
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable
Seem to me all the uses of this world!
Fie on't! O fie! 'tis an unweeded garden,
That grows to seed; things rank, and gross in na-
Possess it merely. That it should come to this! But two months dead!nay, not so much, not
So excellent a King; that was, to this,
Hyperion to a satyr: so loving to my mother, That he might not beteem the winds of heaven Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth! Must remember? why, she would hang on him, As if increase of appetite had grown
By what it fed on: And yet, within a month,Let me not think on't; Frailty, thy name is
A little month; or ere those shoes were old, With which she follow'd my poor father's body,
Like Niobe, all tears; why she, even she,-
O heaven! a beast, that wants discourse of reason,
Would have mourn'd longer, marry'd with my
uncle,
My father's brother; but no more like my father,
Than I to Hercules: Within a month;
Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears
Had left the flushing in her galled eyes,
She marry'd:-O most wicked speed, to post
With such dexterity to incestous sheets!
It is not, nor it cannot come to, good;
But break, my heart: for I must hold my tongue!
Enter HORATIO, BERNARDO, and MARCELLUS.
Hor. Hail to your Lordship!
Ham. I am glad to see you well: Horatio, or I do forget myself.
Hor. The same, my Lord, and your poor
Ham. Sir, my good friend; I'll change that
name with you.
And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio?
Marcellus ?
Mar. My good Lord,
Ham. I am very glad to see you; good even,
Sir.
But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg ?
Hor. A truant disposition, good my Lord.
Ham. I would not hear your enemy say so;
Nor shall you do mine ear that violence,
To make it truster of your own report
Against yourself: I know, yon are no truant.
But what is your affair in Elsinore?
We'll teach you to drink deep, ere you depart. Hor. My Lord, I came to see your father's fu neral.
Ham. I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow
I think, it was to see my mother's wedding. -
Hor. Indeed, my Lord, it follow'd hard upon.
Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio! the funeral bak'd
meats
Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.
'Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven
Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio!
My father, Methinks, I see my father.
Hor. Where,
Ham. In my mind's eye, Horatio.
Hor. I saw him once, he was a goodly King. Ham. He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again.
Hor. My Lord, I think I saw him yesternight. Ham. Saw! who?
Hor. My Lord, the King your father.
Ham. The King my father!
Hor. Season your admiration for a while With an attent ear; till I may deliver, Upon the witness of these gentlemen,
This marvel to you.
Ham. For God's love, let me hear.
Hor. Two nights together had these gentlemen, Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch, In the dead waist and middle of the night, Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your father, Armed at point, exactly, cap-à-pé,
Appears before them, and, with solemn march,
Goes slow and stately by them thrice he walk'd,"
By their oppress'd and fear-surprized eyes,
Within his truncheon's length; whilst they, distill'd
Almost to jelly with the act of fear,
Stand dumb and speak not to him. This to me
In dreadful secrecy impart they did:
And I with them, the third night, kept the watch:
Where, as they had deliver'd, both in time,
Form of the thing, each word made true and good,
The apparition comes: I knew your father;
These hands are not more like.
Ham. But where was this?
Mar. My Lord, upon the platform where we watch'd.
Ham. Did you not speak to it?
Hor. My Lord, I did;
But answer made it none: yet once, methought,
It lifted up its head, and did address
Itself to motion, like as it would speak:
But, even then, the morning cock crew loud;
And at the sound it shrunk in haste away,
And vanish'd from our sight.
Ham. 'Tis very strange.
Hor. As I do live, my honour'd Lord, tis true;
And we did think it writ down in our duty,
To let you know of it.
Ham. Indeed, indeed, Sirs, but this troubles
Hold you the watch to-night?
All. We do, my Lord.
Ham. Arm'd, say you?
All. Arm'd, my Lord.
Ham. From top to toe?
All. My Lord, from head to foot.
Ham. Then saw you not
Hor. O, yes, my Lord: he wore his beaver up. Ham. What, look'd he frowningly?
Hor. A countenance more
In sorrow than in anger.
|