If you oppos'd'em.Sir, this Report of his
Did Hamlet fo envenom with his envy,
That he could nothing do, but wifh and beg
Your fudden coming o'er to play with him.
Now out of this

Laer. What out of this, my lord?

King. Laertes, was your father dear to you?
Or are you like the painting of a forrow,
A face without a heart?

Laer. Why ask

you this?

King. Not that I think, you did not love your father, But that I know, love is begun by time;

And that I fee in paffages of proof,

Time qualifies the fpark and fire of it:
There lives within the very flame of love
A kind of wick, or fnuff, that will abate it,
And nothing is at a like goodnefs ftill;
For goodness, growing to a pleurifie,

Dies in his own too much; what we would do,
We should do when we would; for this would changes,
And hath abatements and delays as many

As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents;
And then this should is like a fpend-thrift figh
That hurts by eafing; but to th' quick o'th' ulcer
Hamlet comes back; what would you undertake
To fhew your felf your father's Son indeed

More than in words?

Laer. To cut his throat i'th' church.

King. No place, indeed, fhould murther fanctuarife;
Revenge fhould have no bounds; but, good Laertes,
Will you do this? keep clofe within your chamber;
Hamlet, return'd, fhall know you are come home:
We'll put on thofe fhall praise your excellence,
And fet a double varnish on the fame

The Frenchman gave you; bring you in fine together,
And
wager on your heads. He being remifs,
Moft generous, and free from all contriving,
Will not perufe the foils; fo that with cafe,
Or with a little fhuffling, you may chufe
A fword unbated, and in a pafs of practice

Requite

Requite him for your father.

Laer. I will do't;

And for the purpose I'll anoint my fword:
I bought an unction of a Mountebank,
So mortal, that but dip a knife in it,
Where it draws blood, no Cataplafm fo rare,
Collected from all Simples that have virtue
Under the Moon, can fave the thing from death,
That is but scratch'd withal; I'll touch my point
With this contagion, that if I gall him slightly,
may be death.

It

King. Let's farther think of this;

Weigh, what convenience both of time and means
May fit us to our shape. If this should fail,

And that our drift look through our bad performance,
'Twere better not affay'd; therefore this project
Should have a back, or fecond, that might hold,
If this fhould blaft in proof. Soft-let me fee.
We'll make a folemn wager on your cunnings;
I ha't-

when in your motion you are hot,

(As make your bouts more violent to that end,)
And that he calls for Drink, I'll have prepar'd him
A Chalice for the nonce; whereon but fipping,
If he by chance escape your venom'd tuck,
Our purpose may hold there.

Enter Queen.

How now, fweet Queen?

Queen. One woe doth tread upon another's heel,
So falt they follow: your fifter's drown'd, Laertes.
Laer. Drown'd! oh where ?

Queen. There is a willow grows aflant a Brook,
That fhews his hoar leaves in the glaffie ftream:
There with fantaftick garlands did she come,
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daifies, and long purples,
(That liberal fhepherds give a groffer name;
But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them;)
There on the pendant boughs, her coronet weeds
Clambring to hang, an envious fliver broke;
When down her weedy trophies and her felf

Fell

Fell in the weeping brook; her cloaths fpread wide,
And mermaid-like, a while they bore her up;
Which time the chaunted fnatches of old tunes,
As one incapable of her own diftrefs;

Or like a creature native, and indued

Unto that element: but long it could not be,
'Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death.

Laer. Alas then, she is drown'd!
Queen. Drown'd, drown'd.

Laer. Too much of water haft thou, poor Ophelia, And therefore I forbid my tears: but yet

It is our trick; Nature her cuftom holds,

Let Shame fay what it will; when thefe are gone,
The woman will be out: adieu, my lord!

I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze,
But that this fol,y drowns it.

King. Follow, Gertrude :

How much had I to do to calm his rage!
Now fear I, this will give it start again;
Therefore, let's follow.

[Exit.

[Exeunt,

I

A C C TV.

SCENE, A CHURCH.

Enter two Clowns, with Spades and mattocks.

I CLOW N.

S the to be buried in chriftian burial, that wilfully feeks her own falvation?

2 Clown. I tell thee, fhe is, therefore make her Grave ftraight; the crowner hath fate on her, and finds it chriftian burial.

1 Clown.

1 Clown. How can that be, unless fhe drowned her felf in her own defence?

2 Clown. Why, 'tis found fo.

1 Clown. It must be fe offendendo, it cannot be else. For here lyes the point; if I drown my felf wittingly, it argues an act; and an act hath three branches; It is to act, to do, and to perform; argal, she drown'd her felf wittingly.

2 Clown. Nay, but hear you, goodman Delver.

1 Clown. Give me leave; here lies the water, good: here stands the man, good: if the man go to this water, and drown himself, it is, will he, nill he, he goes; mark you that: but if the water come to him, and drown him, he drowns not himself. Argal, he, that is not guilty of his own death, shortens not his own life.

2 Clown. But is this law?

1 Clown. Ay, marry is't, crowner's queft-law.

2 Clown. Will you ha' the truth on't? if this had not been a gentlewoman, she should have been buried out of chriftian burial.

1 Clown. Why, there thou fay'ft. And the more pity, that great folk fhould have countenance in this world to drown or hang themfelves, more than other chriftians. Come, my fpade; there is no ancient gentlemen but gardeners, ditchers, and grave-makers; they hold up Adam's profeffion.

2 Clown. Was he a gentleman ?

1 Clown. He was the first, that ever bore arms. 2 Clown. Why, he had none.

1 Clown. What, art a heathen? how doft thou underftand the Scripture? the Scripture fays, Adam digg'd; could he dig without arms? I'll put another question to thee; if thou answerest me not to the purpose, confefs thy felf

2 Clown. Go to.

1 Clown. What is he that builds ftronger than either the mason, the fhip-wright, or the carpenter ?

2 Clown. The gallows-maker; for that frame outlives a thousand tenants.

1 Clown.

1 Clown. I like thy wit well, in good faith; the gallows does well; but how does it well? it does well to those that do ill now thou doft ill, to fay the gallows is built fronger than the church; argal, the gallows may do well to thee. To't again, come.

2 Clown. Who builds ftronger than a mafon, a hipwright, or a carpenter?

1 Clown. Ay, tell me that, and unyoke.

2 Clown. Marry, now I can tell.

1 Clown. Tolt.

2 Clown. Mafs, I cannot tell.

Enter Hamlet and Horatio, at a difance.

1 Clown. Cudgel thy brains no more about it; for your dull afs will not mend his pace with beating; and, when you are ask'd this question next, fay, a gravemaker. The houses, he makes, laft 'till dooms-day: go, get thee to Youghan, and fetch me a ftoup of liquor. [Exit 2 Clown.

He digs, and fings.

In youth when I did love, did love, (28)
Methought, it was very sweet;

To contract, oh, the time for, a, my bebove,
Oh, methought, there was nothing meet.

Ham. Has this fellow no feeling of his business, that he fings at Grave-making ?

Har. Cuftom hath made it to him a property of eafinefs.

Ham. 'Tis c'en fo; the hand of little imployment hath the daintier fenfe.

(28) In Youth, when I did love, &c.] The Three Stanza's, fung here by the Grave-digger, are extracted, with a flight Variation, from a little Poem, call'd, The Aged Lover renounceth Love: written by Henry Howard Earl of Surrey, who flourish'd in the Reign of King Henry VIII. and who was beheaded in 1517, on a train'd Accufation of Treafon.

Clown