the right breed. If it fhall please you to make me a wholesome anfwer, I will do your mother's commandment: if not, your pardon, and my return fhall be the end of my bufinefs.

Ham. Sir, I cannot.

Guil. What, my lord?

Ham. Make you a wholesome answer; my wit's difeas'd: But, fir, fuch answer as I can make, you fhall command; or rather, as you say, my mother: therefore no more, but to the matter: My mother, you fay

Rof. Then thus fhe fays; your behaviour hath ftruck her into amazement and admiration.

Ham. O wonderful fon, that can fo aftonish a mother!-But is there no fequel at the heels of this mother's admiration? impart.

Rof. She defires to fpeak with you in her closet, ere you go to bed.

Ham. We fhall obey, were the ten times our moHave you any further trade with us?

Rof. My lord, you once did love me.

[ther.

Ham. And do ftill, by these pickers and stealers. Rof. Good my lord, what is your cause of diftemper? You do, furely, bar the door upon your own liberty, if you deny your griefs to your friend.

Ham. Sir, I lack advancement.

Rof. How can that be, when you have the voice of the king himself for your fucceffion in Denmark? Ham. Ay, fir, but While the grafs grows,—the proverb is fomething musty.

Enter the Players, with Recorders.

O, the recorders!-let me fee one.—To withdraw with you-Why do you go about to recover the

1

B

wind of me, as if you would drive me into a toil? Guil. O, my lord, if my duty be too bold, my love is too unmannerly.

Ham. I do not well understand that. Will you play upon this pipe?

Guil. My lord, I cannot.

Ham. I pray you.

Guil. Believe me, I cannot.
Ham. I do befeech you.

Guil. I know no touch of it, my lord.

Ham. 'Tis as eafy as lying: govern thefe ventages with your fingers and thumb, give it breath with your mouth, and it will discourse most eloquent mufick Look you, these are the stops.

Guil. But thefe cannot I command to any utterance of harmony; I have not the skill.

Ham. Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me? You would play upon me; you would seem to know my ftops; you would pluck out the heart of my mystery; you would found me from my lowest note to the top of my compass: and there is much mufick, excellent voice in this little organ; yet cannot you make it speak. Why, do you think, that I am easier to be played on than a pipe? Call me what inftrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me.

Enter POLONIUS.

God blefs you, fir?

Pol. My lord, the queen would fpeak with you, and presently.

Ham. Do you fee yonder cloud, that's almost in shape of a camel ?

Pol. By the mass, and 'tis like a camel, indeed.

G 2

Ham.

Ham. Methinks it is like a weazel.

Pol. It is back'd like a weazel.
Ham. Or like a whale ?

Pol. Very like a whale.

Ham. Then will I come to my mother by and by-They fool me to the top of my bent.-1 will come by and by.

Pol. I will fay fo.

Ham. By and by is eafily faid.-Leave me, friends.

[Exeunt Ros. GUIL. HOR. &c. 'Tis now the very witching time of night;

When church-yards yawn, and hell itself breathes

out

Contagion to this world: Now could I drink hot And do fuch business as the bitter day

[blood, Would quake to look on. Soft; now to my mo

ther.

O, heart, lofe not thy nature; let not ever
The foul of Nero enter this firm bofom :
Let me be cruel, not unnatural;

I will speak daggers to her, but ufe none;
My tongue and foul in this be hypocrites:
How in my words foever she be shent,
To give them feals, never, my foul, confent!

SCENE III. A Room in the Palace.

Enter the King, ROSENCRANTZ, and GUILDENSTERN.
King. I like him not; nor stands it safe with us,
To let his madness range. Therefore prepare you;
I your commiffion will forthwith dispatch,
And he to England shall along with you :
The terms of our estate may not endure
Hazard fo near us, as doth hourly grow

Out

Out of his lunes.

Guil. We will ourselves provide :
Moft holy and religious fear it is
To keep thofe many bodies fafe,
2nd That live, and feed, upon your majefty.
Rof. The fingle and peculiar life is bound,
With all the ftrength and armour of the mind,
To keep itself from 'noyance; but much more,
ends That spirit, upon whose weal depend and rest
The lives of many. The cease of majesty
Dies not alone; but, like a gulf, doth draw
the What's near it, with it: It is a maffy wheel,
Fix'd on the fummit of the highest mount,
To whofe huge fpokes ten thousand leffer things
Are mortis'd and adjoin'd; which, when it falls,
Each small annexment, petty confequence,
Attends the boisterous ruin. Never alone

Did the king figh, but with a general groan.
King. Arm you, I pray you, to this speedy voy-
For we will fetters put upon this fear,
Which now goes too free-footed.

[age;

Both. We will hafie us. [Exeunt Ros. and GUIL.

Enter POLONIUS.

Pol. My lord, he's going to his mother's closet: Behind the arras I'll convey myfelf,

To hear the procefs; I'll warrant, she'll tax him And, as you faid, and wifely was it faid,

[home; 'Tis meet, that fome more audience than a mother, Since nature makes them partial, should o'er-hear The fpeech, of vantage. Fare you well, my liege: I'll call upon you ere you go to bed, And tell you what I know.

King. Thanks, dear my lord.

G G3

[Exit.

0.

O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven;
It hath the primal, eldest curse upon't,
A brother's murder !-Pray can I not,
Though inclination be as fharp as will;
My ftronger guilt defeats my strong intent;
And, like a man to double bufinefs bound,
I ftand in paufe where I shall first begin,
And both neglect. What if this curfed hand
Were thicker than itself with brother's blood;
Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens
To wash it white as fnow? Whereto ferves mercy
But to confront the vifage of offence?

And what's in prayer, but this two-fold force,-
To be foreftalled, ere we come to fall,

Or pardon'd, being down? Then I'll look up;
My fault is paft. But, O, what form of prayer
Can ferve my turn? Forgive me my
foul murder!
That cannot be, fince I am still poffefs'd
Of those effects for which I did the murder,
My crown, mine own ambition, and my queen,
May one be pardon'd and retain the offence?
In the corrupted currents of this world,
Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice;
And oft 'tis feen, the wicked prize itself
Buys out the law: but 'tis not fo above.
There is no fhuffling, there the action lies
In his true nature; and we ourselves compell'd,
Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults,
To give in evidence. What then? what refts?
Try what repentance can: What cannot it not?
Yet what can it, when one cannot repent!
O wretched state! O bofom, black as death!
O limed foul! that, ftruggling to be free,
Art more engag'd! Help, angels, make affay!.

Bow,