Of habits evil, is angel yet in this;
That to the use of actions fair and good
He likewife gives a frock, or livery,
That aptly is put on: Refrain to night;
And That fhall lend a kind of eafinefs
To the next abftinence; the next, more easy;
For use can almost change the stamp of Nature,
And mafter ev❜n the Devil, or throw him out
With wondrous potency. Once more, good night!
And when you are defirous to be bleft,

I'll Bleffing beg of you. For this fame lord,

[Pointing to Polonius.
I do repent: but heav'n hath pleas'd it fo,
To punish me with this, and this with me,
That I must be their fcourge and minister.
I will bestow him, and will answer well
The death I gave him; fo, again, good night!
I must be cruel, only to be kind;

Thus bad begins, and worfe remains behind.
Queen. What fhall I do?

Ham. Not this by no means, that I bid you do.
Let the fond King tempt you again to bed;
Pinch wanton on your cheek; call you his mouse;
And let him, for a pair of reechy kiffes,

Or padling in your neck with his damn'd fingers,
Make you to ravel all this matter out,
That I effentially am not in madness,

He likewife gives a Frock or Livery, ·

That aptly is put on.] This Paffage is left out in the two elder Folio's: It is certainly corrupt, and the Players did the difcreet part to ftife what they did not understand. Habit's Devil certainly arofe from fome conceited Tamperer with the Text, who thought it was neceffary, in Contraft to Angel. The Emendation of the Text I owe to the Sagacity of Dr. Thirlby.

That Monster Custom, who all Senfe doth eat

of Habits evil, is Angel, &c.

i. e. Custom, which by inuring us to ill Habits, makes us lofe the Apprehenfion of their being really ill, as easily will reconcile us to the Practice of good Actions,

But

But mad in craft. 'Twere good, you let him know.
For who that's but à Queen, fair, fober, wife,
Would from a paddock, from a bat, a gibbe,
Such dear concernings hide? who would do fo?
No, in defpight of fense and secrecy,
Unpeg the basket on the house's top,
Let the birds fly, and, like the famous ape,
To try conclufions, in the basket creep;
And break your own neck down.

Queen. Be thou affur'd, if words be made of breath,
And breath of Life, I have no life to breathe
What thou haft faid to me.

Ham. I muft to England, you know that?

Queen. Alack, I had forgot; 'tis fo concluded on.
Ham. There's letters feal'd, and my two fchool-
fellows,

(Whom I will truft, as I will adders fang'd ;)
They bear the mandate; they must sweep my way,
And marshal me to knavery: let it work.
For 'tis the sport, to have the engineer

Hoift with his own petar: and't fhall go hard,
But I will delve one yard below their mines,
And blow them at the moon.

O, 'tis moft sweet,

When in one line two crafts directly meet!
This man fhall fet me packing;

I'll lug the guts into the neighbour room;
Mother, good night.-Indeed, this Counsellor
Is now moft ftill, moft fecret, and most grave,
Who was in life a foolish prating knave.
Come, Sir, to draw toward an end with you.
Good night, mother.

[Exit Hamlet, tugging in Polonius.

ACT

SCENE, A Royal Apartment.

Enter King and Queen, with Rofincrantz, and
Guildenstern.

KING.

HERE's matter in these fighs; these profound heaves

TH

You must tranflate; 'tis fit, we understand them. Where is your fon?

Queen. Beftow this place on us a little while.

[To Rof. and Guild, who go out.

Ah, my good lord, what have I feen to night?

King. What, Gertrude? How does Hamlet?

Queen. Mad as the feas, and wind, when both contend Which is the mightier; in his lawless fit,

Behind the arras hearing fomething ftir,
He whips his rapier out, and cries, a rat!
And, in this brainish apprehenfion, kills
The unfeen good old man.

King. O heavy deed!

It had been fo with us, had we been there :
His liberty is full of threats to all,

To you your felf, to us, to every one.

Alas! how fhall this bloody deed be answer'd?

It will be laid to us, whofe providence

Should have kept short, restrain'd, and out of haunt,.
This mad young man.
But fo much was our love,
We would not understand what was moft fit;
But, like the owner of a foul disease,
To keep it from divulging, let it feed
Ev'n on the pith of life. Where is he gone ?
Queen. To draw apart the body he hath kill'd,
O'er whom his very madness, like fome ore

Among

Among a mineral of metals base,

Shews it felf pure. He weeps for what is done.
King. O Gertrude, come away ::

The fun no fooner fhall the mountains touch,
But we will ship him hence; and this vile deed
We muft, with all our Majesty and Skill,
Both countenance and excufe. Ho! Guildenstern!
Enter Rofincrantz and Guildenstern.

Friends both, go join you with fome further aid :
Hamlet in madness hath Polonius flain,
And from his mother's closet hath he drag'd him.
Go feek him out, fpeak fair, and bring the body
Into the chappel. Pray you, hafte in this.

[Ex. Rof. and Guil. Come, Gertrude, we'll call up our wifeft friends, (26)

(26) Gertrude, We'll call up our wifeft Friends,

And let them know both what we mean to do,
And what's untimely done.

Whose Whisper o'er the World's Diameter,
As level as the Cannon to his blank,

And

Tranfports its poifon'd Shot, may mifs our Name, And hit the woundless Air. O, come away ;] Mr. Pope takes notice, that I replace fome Verfes that were im perfect, (and, tho' of a modern Date, feem to be genuine ;) by inferting two Words. But to fee, what an accurate and faithful Collator he is! I produc'd these Verfes in my SHAKESPEARE reftor'd, from a Quarto Edition of Hamlet printed in 1637, and happen'd to fay, that they had not the Authority of any earlier Date in Print, that I knew of, than that Quarto. Upon the Strength of this Mr. Pope comes and calls the Lines modern, tho' they are in the Quarto's of 1605 and 1611, which I had not then feen, but both of which Mr. Pope pretends to have collated. The Verfes carry the very Stamp of Shakespeare upon them. The Coin, indeed, has been clipt from our first receiving it; but it is not so diminish'd, but that with a small Affiftance we may hope to make it pafs current. We have not, 'tis true, fo much as the Footsteps, or Traces, of a cor rupted Reading, to lead us to an Emendation; nor any means of restoring what is loft, but Conjecture. I am far from af

fioning,

And let them know both what we mean to do, And what's untimely done. For, haply, Slander (Whose whisper o'er the world's diameter,

As level as the cannon to his blank,

Transports its poyfon'd fhot;) may miss our Name,
And hit the woundlefs air.-O, come away;

My foul is full of discord and dismay.

Enter Hamlet.

Ham. Safely ftowed.

Gentlemen within. Hamlet! lord Hamlet! Ham. What noife? who calls on Hamlet ? Oh, here they come.

Enter Rofincrantz, and Guildenstern.

[Exeunt.

Rof. What have you done, my lord, with the dead body?

Ham. Compounded it with duft, whereto 'tis kin.

Rof. Tell us where 'tis, that we may take it thence, And bear it to the chappel.

Ham. Do not believe it..

Rof. Believe what?

Ham. That I can keep your counsel, and not mine own. Befides, to be demanded of a fpunge, what replication fhould be made by the fon of a King?

Rof. Take you me for a fpunge, my lord?

Ham. Ay, Sir, that fokes up the King's countenance, his rewards, his authorities; but fuch officers do the King beft service in the end; he keeps them, like an apple, in the corner of his jaw; first mouth'd, to be

firming, therefore, that I have given the Poet's very Words; but the Supplement is fuch as the Sentiment naturally seems to demand. The Poet has the fame Thought, concerning the diffufive Pow'rs of Slander in another of his Plays.

No, 'tis Slander;

Whofe Edge is sharper than the Sword, whofe Tongue
Out-venomes all the Worms of Nile, whofe Breath
Rides on the pofting Winds, and doth belie
All Corners of the World.

Cymbeline. laft