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Or for some frontier ?
Cap. Truly to speak, sir, and with no addition,
five ducats, five, I would not farm it;
Ham. Why, then the Polack' never will defend it.
[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.
of such mass,
And, ever, three parts coward,-I do not know
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.
Enter Queen and HORATIO.
Her mood will needs be pitied.
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,
Re-enter HOŘATIO, with OPHELIA.
From another one?
Queen. Alas, sweet lady, what imports this song?
[Sings. He is dead and
At his heels a stone. 0, ho!
Qucen. Nay, but Ophelia,
Pray you, mark.
Larded' all with sweet flowers;
With true-love showers.
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
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,
your " Valentine:
and don'd3 his clothes,
Never departed more.
Alack, and tye for shame!
By cock, they are to blame.
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:
e. put on.