and moving how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehenfion how like a God! the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals! and yet to me, what is this quinteffence of duft? man delights not me, nor woman neither; though by your fmiling you feem to fay fo.

Rof. My lord, there was no fuch ftuff in my thoughts. Ham. Why did you laugh, when I faid, man delights

Rot me?

Rof. To think, my lord, if you delight not in man, what lenten entertainment the Players fhall receive from you; we accosted them on the way, and hither are they coming to offer you service.

Ham. He that plays the King fhall be welcome; his Majefty fhall have tribute of me; the adventurous Knight fhall ufe his foyl and target the lover fhall not figh gratis; the humourous man fhall end his part in peace; and the lady fhall fay her mind freely, or the blank verfe fhall halt for't. What Players are they?

Rof. Even thofe you were wont to take delight in, the Tragedians of the city.

Ham. How chances it, they travel? their refidence both in reputation and profit was better, both ways.

Raf. I think, their inhibition comes by the means of the late innovation.

Ham. Do they hold the fame eftimation they did, when I was in the city? are they fo follow'd?

Rof. No, indeed, they are not.

Ham. How comes it ? do they grow rufty?

Rof. Nay, their endeavour keeps in the wonted pace; but there is, Sir, an Aiery of Children, little Eyafes, (15).

that

(15) But there is, Sir, an Aiery of Children, little Yafes, that cry out on the Top of Question] The Poet here fteps out of his Subject to give a Lash at home, and fneer at the prevailing Fahion of following Plays perform'd by the Children of the Chapel, and abandoning the establish'd Theatres. But why are they call'd little Yafes? I wish, fome of the Editors would have expounded this fine new Word to us; or, at least, told us where we might meet with it. 'Till then, I shall make

bold

that cry out on the top of queftion; and are moft tyrannically clapt for't; thefe are now the fashion, and fo berattle the common ftages, (fo they call them) that many wearing rapiers are afraid of goofe-quills, and dare fcarce come thither.

Ham. What, are they children? who maintains 'em? how are they escoted? will they pursue the Quality, no longer than they can fing? will they not fay afterwards, if they should grow themselves to common players, (as it is moft like, if their means are no better:) their writers do them wrong to make them exclaim against their own fucceffion ?

Rof. Faith, there has been much to do on both fides; and the nation holds it no fin, to tarre them on to controverfy. There was, for a while, no mony bid for argument, unless the poet and the player went to cuffs in the question.

Ham. Is't poffible?

Guil. Oh, there has been much throwing about of brains.

Ham. Do the Boys carry it away ? Rof. Ay, that they do, my lord, Hercules and his load too.

Ham. It is not ftrange; for mine uncle is King of Denmark; and thofe, that would make mowes at him while my father lived, give twenty, forty, fifty, an hundred ducates a-piece, for his picture in little. There is fomething in this more than natural, if philofophy could find it out. [Flourish for the Players.

Guil. There are the Players. Ham. Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elfinoor; your hands: come then, the appurtenance of welcome is fafhion and ceremony. Let me comply with you in this

bold to fufpect it; and, without overftraining Sagacity, attempt to retrieve the true Word. As he first calls 'em an Aiery of Children, (now, an Aiery or Eyery is a Hawk's or Eagle's Neft;) there is not the least Question but we ought to reftore- · little Eyases; i. c. Young Neftlings, Creatures just out of the Egg,

garbe,

garbe, left my extent to the players (which, I tell you, muft fhew fairly outward) should more appear like entertainment than yours. You are welcome; but my Uncle-father and Aunt-mother are deceiv'd.

Guil. In what, my dear lord?

Ham. I am but mad north, north-weit: when the wind is foutherly, I know a hawk from a handfaw. Enter Polonius.

Pol. Well be with you, gentlemen.

Ham. Hark you, Guildenstern, and you too, at each ear a hearer; that great Baby, you fee there, is not yet out of his fwathling-clouts.

Rof. Haply, he's the fecond time come to them; for they fay, an old man is twice a child.

Ham. I will prophefy, he comes to tell me of the players. Mark it; you fay right, Sir; for on Monday morning 'twas fo, indeed.

Pol. My lord, I have news to tell you.
Ham. My lord, I have news to tell you.
When Rofcius was an Actor in Rome

Pol. The Actors are come hither, my lord,
Ham. Buzze, buzze.

Pol. Upon mine honour

Ham. Then came each Actor on his afs

Pol. The best Actors in the world, either for tragedy comedy, hiftory, paftoral, paftoral-comical, hiftorical, paftoral, fcene undivideable, or Poem unlimited: Seneca cannot be too heavy, nor Plautus too light. For the law of wit, and the Liberty, these are the only men.

Ham. Oh, Jephtha, judge of Ifrael, what a treasure hadft Thou!

Pol. What a treasure had he, my lord?

Ham. Why, one fair daughter, and no more,

The which he loved paffing well.

Pol. Still on my daughter.

Ham. Am I not i'th right, old Jephtha?

Pol. If you call me Jephtha, my lord, I have a daughter that I love paffing well.

Ham. Nay, that follows not.

G 3

Pol.

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 firft row of the rubrick will fhew you more. For, look, where my abridgements come.

Enter four or five Players.

Y'are welcome, mafters, welcome all. I am glad to fee thee well; welcome, good friends. Oh! old friend! thy face is valanc'd, fince I faw thee laft: com'ft thou to beard me in Denmark? What! my young lady and miftrefs? b'erlady, your ladyship is nearer heaven than when I faw you laft, by the altitude of a chioppine. Pray God, your voice, like a piece of uncurrent gold, be not crack'd within the ring.- -Mafters, you are all welcome; we'll e'en to't like friendly faulconers, fly at any thing we fee; we'll have a speech ftraight. Come, give us a tafte of your quality; come, a paffionate fpeech.

I Play. What fpeech, my good lord?

Ham. I heard thee fpeak me a fpeech once; but it was never acted or if it was, not above once; for the Play, I remember, pleas'd not the million, 'twas Caviar to the general; but it was (as I receiv'd it, and others, whofe judgment in fuch matters cried in the top of mine) an excellent Play; well digested in the fcenes, fet down with as much modefty as cunning. I remember, one faid, there was no falt in the lines, to make the matter favoury; nor no matter in the phrase, that might indite the author of affection; but call'd it, an honeft method. One fpeech in it I chiefly lov'd; 'twas Eneas's tale to Dido; and thereabout of it especially, where he fpeaks of Priam's laughter. If it live in your memory, begin at this line, let me fee, let me fee The rugged Pyrrhus, like th' Hyrcanian beaft,-It is not fo; it begins with Pyrrhus.

The rugged Pyrrhus, he, whofe fable arms,
Black as his purpose, did the Night resemble
When he lay couched in the ominous horfe;
Hath now his dread and black complexion fmear'd

--

With heraldry more difmal; head to foot,
Now is he total geules; horridly trickt
With blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, fons,
Bak'd and impafted with the parching fires,
That lend a tyrannous and damned light
To murthers vile. Roafted in wrath and fire,
And thus o'er-fized with coagulate gore,
With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus
Old grandfire Priam feeks.

Pol 'Fore God, my lord, well fpoken, with good accent, and good discretion.

1 Play. Anon he finds him,

Striking, too fhort, at Greeks. His antique fword,
Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls,
Repugnant to Command; unequal match'd,
Pyrrhus at Priam drives, in rage ftrikes wide;
But with the whif and wind of his fell fword
Th' unnerved father falls. Then fenfelefs Ilium,
Seeming to feel this blow, with flaming top
Stoops to his Bafe; and with a hideous crash
Takes prifoner Pyrrhus' ear. For lo, his fword,
Which was declining on the milky head
Of rev'rend Priam, feem'd i' th' air to ftick :
So, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrhus stood;
And, like a neutral to his will and matter,
Did nothing.

But as we often fee, against some storm,

A filence in the heav'ns, the rack ftand ftill,
The bold winds speechlefs, and the orb below
As hush as death: anon the dreadful thunder
Doth fend the region: So after Pyrrhus' paufe,
A roused vengeance fets him new a-work :
And never did the Cyclops' hammers fall
On Mars his armour, forg'd for proof eterne,
With less remorfe than Pyrrhus' bleeding fword
Now falls on Priam.

Out, out, thou ftrumpet Fortune! all you Gods,
In general fynod take away her power:

Break all the fpokes and fellies from her wheel,
And bowl the round nave down the hill of heav'n,