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To pay

Or for some frontier ?

Cap. Truly to speak, sir, and with no addition,
We go to gain a little patch of ground,
That hath in it no profit but the name.

five ducats, five, I would not farm it;
Nor will it yield to Norway, or the Pole,
A ranker rate, should it be sold in fee.

Ham. Why, then the Polack' never will defend it.
Cup. Yes, 'tis already garrison'd.
Ham. Two thousand souls, and twenty thousand

ducats,
Will not debate the question of this straw:
This is the imposthume of much wealth and peace;
That inward breaks, and shows no cause without
Why the man dies. I humbly thank you, sir.
Cap. God be wi'you, sir.

[Exit Captain. Ros.

Will't please you go, my lord? Ham. I will be with you straight. Go a little before.

[Exeunt Ros, and GUIL. How all occasions do inform against me, And spur my dull revenge! What is a man, If his chief good, and market 2 of his time, Be but to sleep, and feed ? a beast, no more. Sure, he, that made us with such large discourse, Looking before, and after, gave us not That capability and godlike reason To fust 4 in us unus'd. Now, whether it be Bestial oblivion, or some cravens scruple Of thinking too precisely on the event, A thought, which, quarter'd, hath but one part wisdom,

i Polander. 2 Profit.

4 Grow mouldy.

3 Power of comprehension.

s Cowardly.

of such mass,

And, ever, three parts coward,-I do not know
Why yet I live to say, This thing's to do;
Sitho I have cause, and will, and strength, and means,
To do't. Examples, gross as earth, exhort me:
Witness, this
army

and charge,
Led by a delicate and tender prince;.
Whose spirit, with divine ambition puff’d,
Makes mouths at the invisible event;
Exposing what is mortal, and unsure,
To all that fortune, death, and danger, dare,
Even for an egg-shell. Rightly to be great,
Is, not to stir without great argument;
But greatly to find quarrel in a straw,
When honour's at the stake. How stand I then,
That have a father kill'd, a mother stain’d,
Excitements of
my reason, and

my

blood, And let all sleep? while, to my shame, I see The imminent death of twenty thousand men, That, for a fantasy, and trick of fame, Go to their graves like beds; fight for a plot Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause, Which is not tomb enough, and continent, To hide the slain ?-0, from this time forth, My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth ! [Exit.

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Enter Queen and HORATIO.
Queen. -I will not speak with her.
Hor. She is importunate; indeed, distract;

6 Since.

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Her mood will needs be pitied.
Queen.

What would she have ? Hor. She speaks much of her father; says, she hears, There's tricks i’the world; and hems, and beats her

heart; Spurns enviously at straws ; speaks things in doubt, That carry but half sense : her speech is nothing, Yet the unshaped use of it doth move The hearers to collection; they aimi at it, And botch the words up fit to their own thoughts ; Which, as her winks, and nods, and gestures yield

them, Indeed would make one think, there might be thought, Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily. Queen. 'Twere good, she were spoken with; for she

may strew Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds : Let her come in.

[Exit HORATIO. To

my sick soul, as sin's true nature is,
Each toy seems prologue to some great amiss :
So full of artless jealousy is guilt,
It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.

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Re-enter HOŘATIO, with OPHELIA.
Oph. Where is the beauteous majesty of Denmark?
Queen. How now, Ophelia?
Oph. How should I your true love know

From another one?
By his cockle hat and staff,
And his sandal shoon.'

[Singing.

7 Guess.

9 Shoe.

8 Trifle.
R

VOL. X.

Queen. Alas, sweet lady, what imports this song?
Oph. Say you? nay, pray you, mark.
He is dead and gone, lady,

[Sings. He is dead and

gone;
At his head a grass-green turf,

At his heels a stone. 0, ho!

Qucen. Nay, but Ophelia,
Oph.

Pray you, mark.
White his shroud as the mountain snow,

[Sings,

Enter King.
Queen. Alas, look here, my lord.
Oph.

Larded' all with sweet flowers;
TVhich bewept to the grave

With true-love showers.

did go,

King. How do you, pretty lady?

Oph. Well, God'ield you! They say, the owl was a baker's daughter. Lord, we know what we are, but know not what we may be. God be at your table! King. Conceit

upon

her father. Oph. Pray, let us have no words of this; but when they ask you, what it means, say you this :

Good morrow, 'tis Saint Valentine's day,

All in the morning betime,
And I a maid at your window,
To be

your " Valentine:

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Then

up
he rose,

and don'd3 his clothes,
And dupp'd 4 the chamber door;
Let in the maid, that out a maid

Never departed more.
King. Pretty Ophelia !
Oph. Indeed, without an oath, I'll make an end

on't:
By Gis, and by Saint Charity,5

Alack, and tye for shame!
Young men will do't, if they come to't;

By cock, they are to blame.
Quoth she, before you tumbled me,
You promised me to wed:

[He answers.]
So would I ha' done, by yonder sun,
An thou hadst not come to my

bed. King. How long hath she been thus? Oph. I hope, all will be well.

We must be patient: but I cannot choose but weep, to think, they should lay him i’the cold ground: My brother shall know of it, and so I thank you for your good counsel. Come; my coach! Good night, ladies; good night, sweet ladies: good night, good night. [Exit. King. Follow her close; give her good watch, I pray you.

[Exit HORATIO. O! this is the poison of deep grief; it springs All from her father's death: And now behold, O Gertrude, Gertrude,

4 Do up:

3 Do

on,

i.e.

e. put on.
5 Sainis in the Roman Catholick Calendar.

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