As low as to the fiends. Pol. This is too long. Ham. It fhall to th' barber's with your beard. Pr'ythee, fay on; he's for a jigg, or a tale of bawdry, or he fleeps. Say on, come to Hecuba. 1 Play. But who, oh! who, had feen the mobled Queen, Ham. The mobled Queen ? Pol. That's good; mobled Queen, is good. 1 Play. Run bare-foot up and down, threatning the flames With biffon rheum; a clout upon that head, Pol. Look, whe're he has not turn'd his colour, and has tears in's eyes. Pr'ythee, no more. Ham. 'Tis well, I'll have thee fpeak out the reft of this foon. Good my lord, will you fee the Players well bestow'd? Do ye hear, let them be we'l us'd; for they are the abstract, and brief chronicles of the time. After your death, you were better have a bad Epitaph; than their ill report while you liv'd. Pol. My lord, I will use them according to their defert. Ham. God's-bodikins, man, much better. Ufe every man after his defert, and who fhall 'fcape whipping? use them after your own honour and dignity. The lefs they deserve, the more merit is in your bounty. Take them in. Pol. Come, Sirs. [Exit Polonius. Ham. Ham. Follow him, Friends: we'll hear a Play to morTow. Doft thou hear me, old friend, can you play the murther of Gonzago? Pol. Ay, my lord. Ham. We'll ha't to morrow night. You could, for a need, ftudy a speech of fome dozen or fixteen lines, which I would fet down, and infert in't? could ye not? Play. Ay, my lord. Ham. Very well. Follow that lord, and, look, you mock him not. My good friends, I'll leave you 'till night, you are welcome to Elfinoor. Rof. Good my lord. Manet Hamlet. [Exeunt. Ham. Ay, fo, God b'w' ye: now I am alone. A broken voice, and his whole function fuiting, What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, That he should weep for her? what would he do, That I have? he would drown the stage with tears,. As deep as to the lungs? who does me this ? Muft, like a whore, unpack my heart with words, (16) A cullion, fye upon't! foh!-about, my brain!- For murther, though it have no tongue, will fpeak (16) And fall a curfing like a very Drab A Stallion, -] But why a Stallion? The two old Folio's have it, a Scullion: but that too is wrong. I am per fuaded, Shakespeare wrote as I have reform'd the Text, a cullion, i e. a ftupid, heartlefs, faint-hearted, white-liver'd Fellow; one good for nothing, but curfing and talking big. ACT SCENE, the PALACE. Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rofincrantz, Guildenstern, and Lords. A KING. ND can you by no drift of conference With turbulent and dang'rous lunacy? Rof. He does confefs, he feels himself distracted; When we would bring him on to fome confeffion Queen. Did he receive you well ? Rof. Moft like a gentleman. Guil. But with much forcing of his difpofition. Ref. Niggard of queftion, but of our demands Moft free in his reply. Queen. Did you affay him to any pastime? Rof. Madam, it fo fell out, that certain Players Pol. "Tis moft true: And he befeech'd me to entreat your Majesties King. With all my heart, and it doth much content me To hear him fo inclin'd. Good Good gentlemen, give him a further edge, King. Sweet Gertrude, leave us too; Queen. I fhall obey you: And for my part, Ophelia, I do wish, [Exeunt. Of Hamlet's wildness: So fhall I hope, your virtues To both your honours. Oph. Madam, I wish it may. [Exit Queen. Pol. Ophelia, walk you here. Gracious, fo please ye, We will bestow our felves Read on this book; That fhew of fuch an exercise may colour Your lonelieness. We're oft to blame in this, 'Tis too much prov'd, that with devotion's visage, And pious action, we do fugar o'er The devil himself. King. Oh, 'tis too true. How fmart a lash that speech doth give my confcience The harlot's cheek, beautied with plaftring art, [Afide Pol. I hear him coming; let's withdraw, my lord. [Exeunt all but Ophelia. Enter Hamlet. Ham. To be, or not to be? that is the queftion. Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to fuffer The flings and arrows of outragious fortune; |