Queen. What have I done, that thou dar ft wag thy In noife fo rude against me?

Ham. Such an act,

[tongue

That blurs the grace and blush of modefty;
Calls virtue hypocrite; takes off the rofe
From the fair torehead of an innocent love,
And fets a blifter there; makes marriage vows
As falfe as dicers' oaths. Oh, such a deed,
As from the body of contraction * plucks
The very foul, and fweet religion makes
A rhapsody of words Heav'n's face doth glow
O'er this folidity and compound mass

With triftful vilage and, as 'gainst the doom,
Is thought-fick at the act.

Queen Ay me! what act?

Ham. That roars fo loud, it thunders to the Indies. Look here upon this picture, and on this, The counterfeit prefentment of two brothers. "See, what a grace was feated on this brow;

Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself †; "An eye, like Mars, to threaten or command; "A ftation, like the herald Mercury "New lighted on a heaven kiffing hill; "A combination, and a form indeed, "Where every god did feem to fet his feal, "To give the world affurance of a man.

"This was your husband.- Look you now, what fol"Here is your husband, like a mildew'd ear, [lows; "Blafting his wholefome brother. Have you eyes? Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed, And batten on this moor? ha! have you eyes? You cannot call it love; for, at your age, The hey-day in the blood is tame, 'tis humble, And waits upon the judgment; and what judgment Would step from this to this? Senfe, fure, you have, Elfe could you not have notion: but, fure, that fenfe Is apoplex'd for madnefs would not err;

Contraction, for marriage-contract.

Aliading to the defcription of Phidias's Jup'ter from Homer. # Station here fignifies an attitude, a filent pofture, fixed demean> er of perfon, in opposition to an active behaviour.

Nor sense to ecstasy was ne'er so thrall'd,

But it referv'd fome quantity of choice
To ferve in fuch a diff'rent.- -What devil was't
That thus bath cozen'd you at hoodman blind ?
Eyes without feeling, feeling without fight,
Ears without hands or eyes, felling fans all,
Or but a fickly part of one true fenfe
Could not fo mope..

O fhame! where is thy blufh? rebellious hell,
If thou canst mutiny in a matron's bones;
To flaming youth let virtue be as wax,

And melt in her own fire

Proclaim no fhame,

When the compulsive ardour gives the charge;
Since frost itself as actively doth burn,

And reafon panders will,

Queen. O Hamlet, fpeak no more.

Thou turn't mine eyes into my very foul,
And there I fee fuch black and grained spots,
As will not leave their tin&t.

Ham. Nay, but to live

3

In the rank fweat of an inceftuon's bed,
Stew'd in corruption, honeying and making love
Over the nafty ity--

Queen. Oh, fpeak no more;

Thefe words like daggers enter in mine ears.
No more, fweet Hamlet.

Ham. A murtherer, and a villain !

A flave, that is not twentieth part the tithe
Of your precedent lord. A vice of Kings;
A cutpurfe of the empire and the rule,
That from his fhelf the precious diadem stole,
And put it in his pocket.

Queen. No more.

Enter Ghaft.

Ham. A king of fhreds and patches

Save me! and hover o'er me with your wings,

[Starting up.

"You heav'nly guards!-What would your gracious

figure?

Queen. Alas, he's mad.

Ham. "Do you not come your tardy fon to chide,

"That laps'd in time and paffion, lets go by
"Th' important acting of your dread command?
"Q fay !”

Ghost. Do not forget this vifitation

Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose,
But look; amazement on thy mother fits;
Oftep between her and her fighting foul ::
Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works.
Speak to her, Hamlet.

Ham. How is it with you, Lady?
Queen. Alas, how is't with you ?

That thus you bend your eye on vacancy,
And with th' incorporal air do hold discourse ?`
Forth at your eyes your fpirits wildly peep,
And, as the fleeping foldiers in th' alarm,
Your bedded hairs, like life in excrements
Start up, and stand on end. O gentle fon,-
Upon the heat and flime of thy distemper
Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look!

Ham." On him! on him! -look you, how pale "he glares!

"His form and caufe conjoin'd, preaching to ftones,
"Would make them capable, Do not look on me,
"Left with this piteous action you convert

"My stern effects; then what I have to do,
Will want true.colour; tears, perchance, for blood.
Queen. To who.n do you speak this?.

Ham. Do you fee nothing there?:

1

[Pointing to the Ghoft

Queen. Nothing at all; yet all that is, I fee.

Ham. Nor did you nothing hear?

Queen. No, nothing but ourselves.

Ham. Why, look you there! look how it steals a-

My father in his habit as he lived!

Look where he goes ev'n now, out at the portal.

[way !!

[Exit: Gheft. Queen This is the very coinage of your brain,. This bodilefs creation ecftafy

Is very cunning in...

The hairs are excrementitious, that is, without life or fenfat tion: yet thofe very hairs, as if they had life, ftart up, &c.

Ham. What ecstasy?

My pulfe, as your's, doth temp'rately keep time. "And make as healthful mufic. 'Tis not madness "That I have utter'd; bring me to the teft,

And the matter will re-word; which madness "Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace, Lay not that flattering unction to your foul, That not your trefpaís, but my madnets fpeaks. It will but skin and film the ulcerous place; Whilst rank corruption, mining all within, Infects unfeen. Confefs yourfelf to heav'n; Repent what's paft, avoid what is to come; And do not spread the compolt on the weeds To make them ranker. Forgive me this my virtue; For, in the fatnefs of thefe purfy times,

Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg,

Yea, courb, and wooe, for leave to do it good. Queen, Oh Hamlet! thou haft cleft my heart in twain.

Ham. Q, throw away the worfer part of it,

And live the purer with the other half.
Good night; but go not to mine uncle's bed.
Afiume a virtue, if you have it not.

That monfter Cuftem, who all fenfe doth eat
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 eafiness

To the next abftinence: the next, more eafy;
For ufe can almost change the ftamp of nature,
And mafier ev n the devil, or throw him out
With wondrous potency. Once more, good night!
And when you are defirous to be bless'd,
I'll blefling 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 beftow 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 worse remains behind.
Queen. What shall I do?

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

Or padling in your neck with his dama'd fingers,
Make you to revel all this matter out,

That I effentially am not in madness,

But mad in craft. "Twere good you let him know.
For who that's but a 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 fenfe and fecrecy,

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 forgót; 'tis fo concluded on.
Ham. There's letters feal'd, and my two fchool-fel-

(Whom I will truft, as I will adders fang'd), [lows,
They bear the mandate: they must sweep my way,
And marshal me to knavery; let it work.
"For 'tis the fport, 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 most 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 counfellor
Is now molt Hill, 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.