F-ham.txt

All	#F-ham-all	6	Longer, longer. Our duty to your Honour. Lights, Lights, Lights. No, let's come in. We will, we will. Treason, Treason. 
Ambassador	#F-ham-amb	1	The sight is dismall, And our affaires from England come too late, The eares are senselesse that should giue vs hearing, To tell him his command'ment is fulfill'd, qq That  The Tragedie of Hamlet.  That Rosincrance and Guildensterne are dead: Where should we haue our thankes? 
Bernardo, sentinel	#F-ham-ber	17	Long liue the King. He. 'Tis now strook twelue, get thee to bed Francisco. Haue you had quiet Guard? Well, goodnight. If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, the Riuals of my Watch, bid them make hast. Say, what is Horatio there? Welcome Horatio, welcome good Marcellus. I haue seene nothing. Sit downe a‑while, And let vs once againe assaile your eares, That are so fortified against our story, What we two Nights haue seene. Last night of all, When yond same Starre that's Westward from the Pole Had made his course t'illume that part of Heauen  Where now it burnes, Marcellus and my selfe, The Bell then beating one. In the same figure, like the King that's dead. Lookes it not likA hole in the page partially obscures this k.e the King? Marke it Horatio. It would be spoke too. See, it stalkes away. How now Horatio? You tremble & look pale: Is not this something more then Fantasie? What thinke you on't? 'Tis heere. It was about to speake, when the Cocke crew. 
Norwegian Captain	#F-ham-cap	1	I will doo't, my Lord. 
Claudius, King of Denmark	#F-ham-cla	104	Though yet of Hamlet our deere Brothers death The memory be greene: and that it vs befitted To beare our hearts in greefe, and our whole Kingdome To becontracted in one brow of woe: Yet so farre hath Discretion fought with Nature, That we with wisest sorrow thinke on him, Together with remembrance of our selues. Therefore our sometimes Sister, now our Queen, Th'Imperiall Ioyntresse of this warlike State, Haue we, as 'twere, with a defeated ioy, With one Auspicious, and one Dropping eye, With mirth in Fanerall, and with Dirge in Marriage, In equall Scale weighing Delight and Dole Taken to Wife; nor haue we heerein barr'd Your better Wisedomes, which haue freely gone With this affaire along, for all our Thankes. Now followes, that you know young Fortinbras,There is an ink mark at the end of this line. Holding a weake supposall of our worth; Or thinking by our late deere Brothers death, Our State to be disioynt, and out of Frame, Colleagued with the dreame of his Aduantage; He hath not fayl'd to pester vs with Message, Importing the surrender of those Lands Lost by his Father: with all Bonds of Law To our most valiant Brother. So much for him. Enter Voltemand and Cornelius. Now for our selfe, and for this time of meeting Thus much the businesse is. We haue heere writ To Norway, Vncle of young Fortirbras, Who Impotent and Bedrid, scarsely heares Of this his Nephewes purpose, to suppresse His further gate heerein. In that the Leuies, The Lists, and full proportions are all made Out of his subiect: and we heere dispatch You good Cornelius, and you Voltemand, For bearing of this greeting to old Norway, Giuing to you no further personall power To businesse with the King, more then the scope Of these dilated Articles allow: Farewell, and let your hast commend your duty. We doubt it nothing, heartily farewell. Exit Voltemand and Cornelius. And now Laertes, what's the newes with you? You  The Tragedie of Hamlet.  You told vs of some suite. What is't Laertes? You cannot speake of Reason to the Dane, And loose your voyce.What would'st thou beg Laertes, That shall not be my Offer, not thy Asking? The Head is not more Natiue to the Heart, The Hand more Instrumentall to the Mouth, Then is the Throne of Denmarke to thy Father. What would'st thou haue Laertes? Haue you your Fathers leaue? What sayes Pollonius? Take thy faire houre, Laertes, time be thine, And thy best graces spend it at thy will: But now my Cosin Hamlet, and my Sonne? How is it that the Clouds still hang on you? 'Tis sweet and commendable In your Nature Hamlet, To giue these mourning duties to your Father: But you must know, your Father lost a Father, That Father lost, lost his, and the Suruiuer bound In filiall Obligation, for some terme To do obsequious Sorrow. But to perseuer In obstinate Condolement, is a course Of impious stubbornnesse. 'Tis vnmanly greefe, It shewes a will most incorrect to Heauen, A Heart vnfortified, a Minde impatient, An Vnderstanding simple, and vnschool'd: For, what we know must be, and is as common As any the most vulgar thing to sence, Why should we in our peeuish Opposition Take it to heart? Fye,'tis a fault to Heauen, A fault against the Dead, a fault to Nature, To Reason most absurd, whose common Theame Is death of Fathers, and who still hath cried, From the first Coarse, till he that dyed to day, This must be so. We pray you throw to earth  This vnpreuayling woe, and thinke of vs As of a Father; For let the world take note, You arc the most immediate to our Throne, And with no lesse Nobility of Loue, Then that which deerest Father beares his Sonne, Do I impart towards you. For your intent In going backe to Schoole in Wittenberg, It is most retrograde to our desire: And we beseech you, bend you to remaine Heere in the cheere and comfort of our eye, Our cheefest Courtier Cosin, and our Sonne. Why 'tis a louing, and a faire Reply, Be as our selfe in Denmarke. Madam come, This gentle and vnforc'd accord of Hamlet Sits smiling to my heart; in grace whereof, No iocond health that Denmarke drinkes to day, But the great Cannon to the Clowds shall tell, And the Kings Rouce, the Heauens shall bruite againe, Respeaking earthly Thunder. Come away. Welcome deere Rosincrance and Guildensterne. Moreouer, that we much did long to see you, The neede we haue to vse you, did prouoke Our hastie sending. Something haue you heard Of Hamlets transformation: so I call it, Since not th'exterior, nor the inward man Resembles that it was. What it should bee More then his Fathers death, that thus hath put him So much from th'vnderstanding of himselfe, I cannot deeme of. I intreat you both, That being of so young dayes brought vp with him: And since so Neighbour'd to his youth, and humour, That you vouchsafe your rest heere in our Court Some little time: so by your Companies To draw him on to pleasures, and to gather So much as from Occasions you may gleane, That open'd lies within our remedie. Thankes Rosincrance, and gentle Guildensterne. Thou still hast bin the Father of good Newes. Oh speake of that, that I do long to heare. Thy selfe do grace to them, and bring them in. He tels me my sweet Queene, that he hath found The head and sourse of all your Sonnes distemper. Well, we shall sift him. Welcome good Frends: Say Voltumand, what from our Brother Norwey? It likes vs well: And at our more consider'd time wee'l read, Answer, and thinke vpon this Businesse. Meane time we thanke you, for your well‑tooke Labour. Go to your rest, at night wee'l Feast together. Most welcome home. But how hath she receiu'd his Loue? As of a man, faithfull and Honourable. Do you thinke 'tis this? Not that I know. How may we try it further? We will try it. And can you by no drift of circumstance Get from him why he puts on this Confusion: Grating so harshly all his dayes of quiet With  The Tragedie of Hamlet.  With turbulent and dangerous Lunacy. With all my heart, and it doth much content me To heare him so inclin'd. Good Gentlemen, Giue him a further edge, and driue his purpose on To these delights. Sweet Gertrude leaue vs too, For we haue closely sent for Hamlet hither, That he, as 'twere by accident, may there Affront Ophelia. Her Father.and my selfe (lawful espials) Will so bestow our selues, that seeing vnseene We may of their encounter frankely iudge, And gather by him, as he is behaued, If't be th'affliction of his loue, or no. That thus he suffers for. Oh'tis true: How smart a lash that speech doth giue my Conscience? The Harlots Cheeke beautied with plaist'ring Art Is not more vgly to the thing that helpes it, Then is my deede, to my most painted word. Oh heauie burthen! Loue? His affections do not that way tend, Nor what he spake, though it lack'd Forme a little, Was not like Madnesse. There's something in his soule? O're which his Melancholly sits on brood, And I do doubt the hatch, and the disclose Will be some danger, which to preuent I haue in quicke determination Thus set it downe. He shall with speed to England For the demand of our neglected Tribute: Haply the Seas and Countries different With variable Obiects, shall expell This something setled matter in his heart: Whereon his Braines still beating, puts him thus From fashion of himselfe. What thinke youon't? It shall be so: Madnesse in great Ones, must not vnwatch'd go. How fares our Cosin Hamlet? I haue nothing with this answer Hamlet, these words are not mine. Full thirtie times hath Phœbus Cart gon round, Neptunes salt Wash, and Tellus Orbed ground: And thirtie dozen Moones with borrowed sheene, About the World haue times twelue thirties beene, Since loue our hearts, and Hymen did our hands Vnite comutuall, in most sacred Bands. Faith I must leaue thee Loue, and shortly too: My operant Powers my Functions leaue to do: And thou shalt liue in this faire world behinde, Honour'd, belou'd, and haply, one as kinde. For Husband shalt thou⸺ I do beleeue you. Think what now you speak: But what we do determine, oft we breake: Purpose is but the slaue to Memorie, Of violent Birth, but poore validitie: Which now like Fruite vnripe stickes on the Tree, But fall vnshaken, when they mellow bee. Most necessary 'tis, that we forget To pay our selues, what to our selues is debt: What to our selues in passion we propose, The passion ending, doth the purpose lose. The violence of other Greefe or Ioy, Their owne ennactors with themselues destroy: Where Ioy most Reuels, Greefe doth most lament; Greefe ioyes, Ioy greeues on slender accident. This world is not for aye, nor 'tis not strange That euen our Loues should with our Fortunes change. For 'tis a question left vs yet to proue, Whether Loue lead Fortune, or else Fortune Loue. The great man downe you marke his fauourites flies, The poore aduanc'd, makes Friends of Enemies: And hitherto doth Loue on Fortune tend, For who not needs, shall neuer lacke a Frend: And who in want a hollow Friend doth try, Directly seasons him his Enemie. But orderly to end, where I begun, Our Willes and Fates do so contrary run, That our Deuices still are ouerthrowne, Our thoughts are ours, their ends, none of our owne. So thinke thou wilt no second Husband wed. But die thy thoughts, when thy first Lord is dead. 'Tis deepely sworne: Sweet, leaue me heere a while, My spirits grow dull, and faine I would beguile The tedious day with sleepe. Haue you heard the Argument, is there no Offence in't? What do you call the Play? Giue me some Light. Away. I like him not, nor stands it safe with vs, To let his madnesse range. Therefore prepare you, I your Commission will forthwith dispatch, And he to England shall along with you: The termes of our estate, may not endure Hazard so dangerous as doth hourely grow Out of his Lunacies. Arme you, I pray you to this speedie Voyage; For we will Fetters put vpon this feare, pp Which  The Tragedie of Hamlet.  Which now goes too free‑footed. Thankes deere my Lord. Oh my offence is ranke, it smels to heauen. It hath the primall eldest curse vpon't, A Brothers murther. Pray can I not, Though inclination be as sharpe as will: My stronger guilt, defeats my strong intent, And like a man to double businesse bound, I stand in pause where I shall first begin, And both neglect; what if this cursed hand Were thicker then it selfe with Brothers blood, Is there not Raine enough in the sweet Heaues To wash it white as Snow? Whereto serues mercy, But to confront the visage of Offence? And what's in Prayer, but this two‑fold force, To be fore‑stalled ere we come to fall, Or pardon'd being downe? Then Ile looke vp, My fault is past. But oh, what forme of Prayer Can serue my turne? Forgiue me my foule Murther: That cannot be, since I am still possest Of those effects for which I did the Murther. My Crowne, mine owne Ambition, and my Queene: May one be pardon'd, and retaine th'offence? In the corrupted currants of this world, Offences gilded hand may shoue by Iustice, And oft 'tis seene, the wicked prize it selfe Buyes out the Law; but 'tis not so aboue, There is no shuffling, there the Action lyes In his true Nature, and we our selues compell'd Euen to the teeth and forehead of our faults, To giue in euidence. What then? What rests? Try what Repentance can. What can it not? Yet what can it, when one cannot repent? Oh wretched state! Oh bosome, blacke as death! Oh limed soule, that strugling to be free, Art more ingag'd: Helpe Angels, make assay: Bow stubborne knees, and heart with strings of Steele, Be soft as sinewes of the new‑borne Babe, All may be well. My words flye vp, my thoughts remain below, Words without thoughts, neuer to Heauen go. There's matters in these sighes. These profound heaues You must translate; Tis fit we vnderstand them. Where is your Sonne? What Gertrude? How do's Hamlet? Oh heauy deed: It had bin so with vs had we beene there: His Liberty is full of threats to all, To you your selfe, to vs, to euery one. Alas, how shall this bloody deede be answered? It will be laide to vs, whose prouidence Should haue kept short, restrain'd, and out of haunt, This mad yong man. But so much was our loue, We would not vnderstand what was most fit, But like the Owner of a foule disease, To keepe it from divulging, let's it feede Euen on the pith of life. Where is he gone? Oh Gertrude, come away: The Sun no sooner shall the Mountaines touch, But we will ship him hence, and this vilde deed, We must with all our Maiesty and Skill Both countenance, and excuse. Enter Ros. & Guild. Ho Guildenstern: Friends both go ioyne you with some further ayde: Hamlet in madnesse hath Polonius slaine, And from his Mother Clossets hath he drag'd him. Go seeke him out, speake faire, and bring the body Into the Chappell. I pray you hast in this. Exit Gent. Come Gertrude, wee'l call vp our wisest friends,  To let them know both what we meane to do, And what's vntimely done. Oh come away, My soule is full of discord and dismay. I haue sent to seeke him, and to find the bodie: How dangerous is it that this man goes loose: Yet must not we put the strong Law on him: Hee's loued of the distracted multitude, Who like not in their iudgement, but their eyes: And where 'tis so, th'Offenders scourge is weigh'd But neerer the offence: to beare all smooth, and euen, This sodaine sending him away, must seeme Deliberate pause, diseases desperate growne, By desperate appliance are releeued, Or not at all. Enter Rosincrane Rosincrance . How now? What hath befalne? But where is he? Bring him before vs. Now Hamlet, where's Polonius? At Supper? Where? What dost thou meane by this? Where is Polonius. Go seeke him there. Hamlet, this deed of thine, for thine especial safety Which we do tender, as we deerely greeue For that which thou hast done, must send thee hence With fierie Quicknesse. Therefore prepare thy selfe, The Barke is readie, and the winde at helpe, Th'Associates tend, and euery thing at bent For England. I Hamlet. So is it, if thou knew'st our purposes. Thy louing Father Hamlet. Follow him at foote, Tempt him with speed aboord: Delay it not, Ile haue him hence to night. Away, for euery thing is Seal'd and done That else leanes on th'Affaire, pray you make hast. And England, if my loue thou holdst at ought, As my great power thereof may giue thee sense, Since yet thy Cicatrice lookes raw and red After the Danish Sword, and thy free awe Payes homage to vs; thou maist not coldly set Our Soueraigne Processe, which imports at full By Letters coniuring to that effect The present death of Hamlet. Do it England, For like the Hecticke in my blood he rages, And thou must cure me: Till I know 'tis done, How ere my happes, my ioyes were ne're begun. How do ye, pretty Lady? Conceit vpon her Father. Pretty Ophelia. How long hath she bin this? Follow her close, Giue her good watch I pray you: Oh this is the poyson of deepe greefe, it springs All from her Fathers death. Oh Gertrude, Gertrude, When sorrowes comes, they come not single spies, But in Battaliaes. First, her Father slaine, Next your Sonne gone, and he most violent Author Of his owne iust remoue: the people muddied, Thicke and vnwholsome in their thoughts, and whispers For good Polonius death; and we haue done but greenly In hugger mugger to interre him. Poore Ophelia Diuided from her selfe, and her faire Iudgement, pp3 Without  The Tragedie of Hamlet.  Without the which we are Pictures, or meere Beasts. Last, and as much containing as all these, Her Brother is in secret come from France, Keepes on his wonder, keepes himselfe in clouds, And wants not Buzzers to infect his eare With pestilent Speeches of his Fathers death, Where in necessitie of matter Beggard, Will nothing sticke our persons to Arraigne In eare and eare. O my deere Gertrude, this, Like to a murdering Peece in many places, Giues me superfluous death. Where are my Switzers? Let them guard the doore. What is the matter? The doores are broke. What is the cause Laertes, That thy Rebellion lookes so Gyant‑like? Let him go Gertrude: Do not feare our person: There's such Diuinity doth hedge a King, That Treason can but peepe to what it would, Acts little of his will. Tell me Laertes, Why thou art thus Incenst? Let him go Gertrude. Speake man. Dead. Let him demand his fill. Who shall stay you? Good Laertes: If you desire to know the certaintie Of your deere Fathers death, if writ in your reuenge, That Soop‑stake you will draw both Friend and Foe, Winner and Looser. Will you know them then. Why now you speake Like a good Childe, and a true Gentleman. That I am guiltlesse of your Fathers death, And am most sensible in greefe for it, It shall as leuell to your Iudgement pierce As day do's to your eye. A noise within. Let her come in. Laertes, I must common with your greefe, Or you deny me right: go but apart, Make  The Tragedie of Hamlet.  Make choice of whom your wisest Friends you will, And they shall heare and iudge 'twixt you and me; If by direct or by Colaterall hand They finde vs touch'd, we will our Kingdome giue, Our Crowne, our Life, and all that we call Ours To you in satisfaction. But if not, Be you content to lend your patience to vs, And we shall ioyntly labour with your soule To giue it due content. So you shall: And where th'offence is, let the great Axe fall. I pray you go with me. Now must your conscience my acquittance seal, And you must put me in your heart for Friend, Sith you haue heard, and with a knowing eare, That he which hath your Noble Father slaine, Pursued my life. O for two speciall Reasons, Which may to you (perhaps) seeme much vnsinnowed, And yet to me they are strong. The Queen his Mother, Liues almost by his looks: and for my selfe, My Vertue or my Plague, be it either which, She's so coniunctiue to my life and soule; That as the starre moues not but in his Sphere, I could not but by her. The other Motiue, Why to a publike count I might not go, Is the great loue the generall gender beare him, Who dipping all his Faults in their affection, Would like the Spring that turneth Wood to Stone, Conuert his Gyues to Graces. So that my Arrowes Too slightly timbred for so loud a Winde, Would haue reuerted to my Bow againe, And not where I had arm'd them. Breake not your sleepes for that, You must not thinke That we are made of stuffe, so flat, and dull, That we can let our Beard be shooke with danger, And thinke it pastime. You shortly shall heare more, I lou'd your Father, and we loue our Selfe, And that I hope will teach you to imagine⸺ Enter a Messenger. How now? What Newes? From Hamlet? Who brought them? Laertes you shall heare them: Leaue vs. Exit Messenger High and Mighty, you shall know I am set naked on yourKingdome. To morrow shall I begge leaue to see your KinglyEyes. When I shall (first asking your Pardon thereunto) recount th'Occasions of my sodaine, and more strange returne. Hamlet. What should this meane? Are all the rest come backe? Or is it some abuse? Or no such thing? 'TisHamletsCharacter, naked and in a Postscript here he sayes alone: Can you aduise me? If it be so Laertes, as how should it be so: How other wise will you be rul'd by me? To thine owne peace: if he be now return'd, As checking at his Voyage, and that he meanes No more to vndertake it; I will worke him To an exploit now ripe in my Deuice, Vnder the which he shall not choose but fall; And for his death no winde of blame shall breath, But euen his Mother shall vncharge the practice, And call it accident: Some two Monthes hence Here was a Gentleman of Normandy, I'ue seene my selfe, and seru'd against the French, And they ran well on Horsebacke; but this Gallant Had  The Tragedie of Hamlet.  Had witchcraft in't; he grew into his Seat, And to such wondrous doing brought his Horse, As had he beene encorps't and demy‑Natur'd With the braue Beast, so farre he past my thought, That I in forgery of shapes and trickes, Come short of what he did. A Norman. The very same. Hee mad confession of you, And gaue you such a Masterly report, For Art and exercise in your defence; And for your Rapier most especiallyͤ, That he cryed out, t'would be a sight indeed, If one could match you Sir. This report of his Did Hamlet so envenom with his Enuy, That he could nothing doe but wish and begge, Your sodaine comming ore to play with him; Now out of this. Laertes was your Father deare to you? Or are you like the painting of a sorrow, A face without a heart? Not that I thinke you did not loue your Father, But that I know Loue is begun by Time: And that I see in passages of proofe, Time qualifies the sparke and fire of it: Hamlet comes backe: what would you vndertake, To show your selfe your Fathers sonne indeed, More then in words? No place indeed should murder Sancturize; Reuenge should haue no bounds: but good Laertes Will you doe this, keepe close within your Chamber, Hamlet return'd, shall know you are come home: Wee'l put on those shall praise your excellence, And set a double varnish on the fame The Frenchman gaue you, bring you in fine together, And wager on your heads, he being remisse, Most generous, and free from all contriuing, Will not peruse the Foiles? So that with ease, Or with a little shuffling, you may choose A Sword vnbaited, and in a passe of practice, Requit him for your Father. Let's further thinke of this, Weigh what conuenience both of time and meanes May fit vs to our shape, if this should faile; And that our drift looke through our bad performance, 'Twere better not assaid; therefore this Project Should haue a backe or second, that might hold, If this should blast in proofe: Soft, let me see Wee'l make a solemne wager on your commings,  I ha't: when in your motion you are hot and dry, As make your bowts more violent to the end, And that he cals for drinke; Ile haue prepar'd him A Challice for the nonce; whereon but sipping, If he by chance escape your venom'd stuck, Our purpose may hold there; how sweet Queene. Let's follow, Gertrude: How much I had to doe to calme his rage? Now feare I this will giue it start againe; Therefore let's follow. Pluck them asunder. Oh he is mad Laertes, This is meere Madnesse; And thus awhile the fit will worke on him: Anon as patient as the female Doue, When that her golden Cuplet are disclos'd; His silence will sit drooping. I pray you good Horatio wait vpon him, Strengthen you patience in our last nights speech, Wee'l put the matter to the present push: Good Gertrude set some watch ouer your Sonne, This Graue shall haue a liuing Monument: An houre of quiet shortly shall we see; Till then, in patience our proceeding be. Come Hamlet, come, and take this hand from me. Giue them the Foyles yong Osricke, Cousen Hamlet, you know the wager. I do not feare it, I haue seene you both: But since he is better'd, we haue therefore oddes. Set me the Stopes of wine vpon that Table: If Hamlet giue the first, or second hit, Or quit in answer of the third exchange, Let all the Battlements their Ordinance fire, The King shal drinke to Hamlets better breath, And in the Cup an vnion shal he throw Richer then that, which foure successiue Kings In Denmarkes Crowne haue worne. Giue  The Tragedie of Hamlet.  Giue me the Cups, And let the Kettle to the Trumpets speake, The Trumpet to the Cannoneer without, The Cannons to the Heauens, the Heauen to Earth, Now the King drinkes to Hamlet. Come, begin, And you the Iudges beare a wary eye. Stay, giue me drinke. Hamlet, this Pearle is thine, Here's to thy health. Giue him the cup. Our Sonne shall win. Gertrude, do not drinke. It is the poyson'd Cup, it is too late. I do not thinke't. Part them, they are incens'd. She sounds to see them bleede. O yet defend me Friends, I am but hurt. 
First Clown	#F-ham-clo.1	33	Is she to bee buried in Christian buriall, that wilfully seeks her owne saluation? How can that be, vnlesse she drowned her selfe in her owne defence? It must beSe offindendo,it cannot bee else: forheere lies the point; If I drowne my selfe wittingly, it argues an Act: and an Act hath three branches. It is anAct to doe and to performe; argall she drown'd her selfewittingly. Giue me leaue; heere lies the water; good:heere stands the man; good: If the man goe to this water and drowne himselfe; it is will he nill he, he goes;marke you that? But if the water come to him & drownehim; hee drownes not himselfe. Argall, hee that is notguilty of his owne death, shortens not his owne life. I marry is't, Crowners Quest Law. Why there thou say'st. And the more pitty thagreat folke should haue countenance in this world todrowne or hang themselves, more then their euen Christian. Come, my Spade; there is no ancient Gentlemen,but Gardiners, Ditchers and Graue‑makers; they hold vpAdamsProfession. He was the first that euer bore Armes. What, ar't a Heathen? how dost thou vnderstand the Scripture? the Scripture sayesAdamdig'd;could hee digge without Armes?Ile put another question to thee; if thou answerest me not to the purpose, confesse thy selfe⸺ What is he that builds stronger then either the Mason, the Shipwright, or the Carpenter? I like thy wit well in good faith, the Gallowes does well; but how does it well? it does well to those that doe ill: now, thou dost ill to say the Gallowes is built stronger then the Church: Argall, the Gallowes may doe well to thee. Too't againe, Come. I, tell me that, and vnyoake. Too't. Cudgell thy braines no more about it; for your dull Asse will not mend his pace with beating; and when you are ask't this question next, say a Graue‑maker: the Houses that he makes, lasts till Doomesday: go, get thee to Taughan, fetch me a stoupe of Liquor. Sings. In youth when I did loue, did loue, me thought it was very sweete: To contract O the time for a my behoue, O me thought there was nothing meete. sings. But Age with his stealing steps hath caught me in his clutch: And hath shipped me intill the Land, as if I had neuer beene such. sings. A Pickhaxe and a Spade, a Spade. for and a shrowding‐Sheete: O a Pit of Clay for to be made, for such a Guest is meete. Mine Sir: O a Pit of Clay for to be made, for such a Guest is meete. You lye out on't Sir, and therefore it is not yours: for my part, I doe not lye in't; and yet it is mine. 'Tis a quicke lye Sir, 'twill away againe from me to you. For no man Sir. For none neither. One that was a woman Sir; but rest her Soule, shee's dead. Of all the dayes i'th yeare, I came too't that day that our last King Hamlet o'recame Fortinbras. Cannot you tell that? euery foole can tell that: It was the very day, that young Hamlet was borne, hee that was mad, and sent into England. Why, because he was mad; hee shall recouer his wits there; or if he do not, it's no great matter there. 'Twill not beseene in him, there the men are as mad as he. Very strangely they say. Faith e'ene with loosing his wits. Why heere in Denmarke: I haue bin sixeteene heere, man and Boy thirty yeares. Ifaith, if he be not rotten before he die (as we haue many pocky Coarses now adaies, that will scarce hold the laying in) he will last you some eight yeare, or nine yeare. A Tanner will last you nine year e. Why sir, his hide is so tan'd with his Trade, that he will keepe out water a great while. And your water, is a sore Decayer of your horson dead body. Heres a Scull now: this Scul, has laine in the earth three & twenty years. A whorson mad Fellowes it was; Whose doe you think it was? A pestlence on him for a mad Rogue, a pou'rd pour'd a Flaggon of Renish on my head once. This same Scull Sir, this same Scull sir, was Yoricks Scull, the Kings Iester. E'ene that. 
Second Clown	#F-ham-clo.2	12	I tell thee she is, and therefore make her Grauestraight. the Crowner hath sate on her, and finds it Christian buriall. Why 'tis found so. Nay but heare you Goodman Deluer. But is this law? Will you ha the truth on't: if this had not beene a Gentlewoman, shee should haue beene buried out of Christian Buriall. Was he a Gentleman? Why he had none. Go too. The Gallowes maker; for that Frame outliues a thousand Tenants. Who builds stronger then a Mason, a Shipwright, or a Carpenter? Marry, now I can tell. Masse, I cannot tell. 
Fortinbras, Prince of Norway	#F-ham-for	6	Go Captaine, from me greet the Danish King, Tell him that by his license, Fortinbras Claimes the conueyance of a promis'd March Ouer his Kingdome. You know the Rendeuous: If that his Maiesty would ought with vs, We shall expresse our dutie in his eye, And let him know so. Go safely on. Where is this sight? His quarry cries on hauocke. Oh proud death, What feast is toward in thine eternall Cell. That thou so many Princes, at a shoote, So bloodily hast strooke. Let vs hast to heare it, And call the Noblest to the Audience. For me, with sorrow, I embrace my Fortune, I haue some Rites of memory in this Kingdome,  Which are ro to claime, my vantage doth Inuite me, Let foure Captaines Beare Hamlet like a Soldier to the stage, For he was likely, had he beene put on To haue prou'd most royally: And for his passage, The Souldiours Musicke, and the rites of Warre Speake lowdly for him. Take vp the body; Such a fight as this Becomes the field, but heere shewes much amis. Go, bid the Souldiers shoote. 
Francisco, a soldier	#F-ham-fra	8	Nay answer me: Stand & vnfold your selfe. Barnardo? You come most carefully vpon your houre. For this releese much thankes: 'Tis bitter cold, And I am sicke at heart. Not a Mouse stirring. I thinke I heare them. Stand: who's there? Giue you good night. Barnardo ha's my place: giue you goodnight. 
Gentleman, courtier	#F-ham-gen	1	Good my Lord be quiet. 
Gertrude, Queen of Denmark and mother to Hamlet	#F-ham-ger	69	Good Hamlet cast thy nightly colour off, And let thine eye looke like a Friend on Denmarke. Do not for euer with thy veyled lids Seeke for thy Noble Father in the dust; Thou know'st 'tis common, all that liues must dye, Passing through Nature, to Eternity. If it be; Why seemes it so particular with thee. Let not thy Mother lose her Prayers Hamlet: I prythee stay with vs, go not to Wittenberg. Good Gentlemen, he hath much talk'd of you, And sure I am, two men there are not liuing, To whom he more adheres. If it will please you To shew vs so much Gentrie, and good will, As to expend your time with vs a‑while, For the supply and profit of our Hope, Your Visitation shall receiue such thankes As fits a Kings remembrance. Thankes Guildensterne and gentle Rosincrance. And I beseech you instantly to visit My too much changed Sonne. Go some of ye, And bring the Gentlemen where Hamlet is. Amen. I doubt it is no other, but the maine, His Fathers death, and our o're‑hasty Marriage. More matter, with lesse Art. Came this from Hamlet to her. It may be very likely. So he ha's indeed. But looke where sadly the poore wretch Comes reading. Did he receiue you well? Did you assay him to any pastime? I shall obey you, And for your part Ophelia, I do wish That your good Beauties be the happy cause Of Hamlets wildenesse: so shall I hope your Vertues Will bring him to his wonted way againe, To both your Honors. Come hither my good Hamlet, sit by me. Sleepe rocke thy Braine, Sleepes And neuer come mischance betweene vs twaine. The Lady protests to much me thinkes. How fares my Lord? Ile warrant you, feare me not. Withdraw, I heare him comming. Hamlet, thou hast thy Father much offended. Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue. Why how now Hamlet? Haue you forgot me? Nay, then Ile set those to you that can speake. What Wilt thou do? thou wilt not murther me? Helpe, helpe, hoa. Oh me, what hast thou done? Oh what a rash, and bloody deed is this? As kill a King? What haue I done, that thou dar'st wag thy tong, In noise so rude against me? Aye me; what act; that roares so lowd, & thunders in the Index. O Hamlet, speake no more. Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soule, And there I see such blacke and grained spots, As will not leaue their Tinct. Oh speake to me no more, These words like Daggers enter in mine eares. No more sweet Hamlet. No more. Alas he's mad. Alas, how is't with you? That you bend your eye on vacancie, And with their corporall ayre do hold discourse. Forth at your eyes, your spirits wildely peepe, And as the sleeping Soldiours in th'Alarme, Your bedded haire, like life in excrements, Start vp, and stand an end. Oh gentle Sonne, Vpon the heate and flame of thy distemper Sprinkle coole patience. Whereon do you looke? To who do you speake this? Nothing at all, yet all that is I see. No, nothing but our selues. This is the very coynage of your Braine, This bodilesse Creation extasie is very cunning in. Oh Hamlet, Thou hast cleft my heart in twaine. What shall I do? Be thou assur'd, if words be made of breath, And breath of life: I haue no life to breath What thou hast saide to me. Alacke I had forgot: 'Tis so concluded on. Ah my good Lord, what haue I seene to night? Mad as the Seas, and winde, when both contend Which is the Mightier in his lawless fit Behinde the Arras, hearing some thing stirre, He whips his Rapier out, and cries a Rat, a Rat, And in his brainish apprehension killes The vnseene good old man. To draw apart the body he hath kild, O're whom his very madnesse like some Oare Among a Minerall of Mettels base Shewes it selfe pure. He weepes for what is done. I will not speake with her. What would she haue? 'Twere good she were spoken with, For she may strew dangerous coniectures In ill breeding minds. Let her come in. To my sicke soule (as sinnes true Nature is) Each toy seemes Prologue, to some great amisse, So full of Artlesse iealousie is guilt, It spill's it selfe, in fearing to be spilt. How now Ophelia? Alas sweet Lady: what imports this Song? Nay but Ophelia. Alas, looke heere my Lord. Alacke, what noyse is this? How cheerefully on the false Traile they cry. Oh this is Counter you false Danish Dogges. Calmely good Laertes. But not by him. One woe doth tread vpon anothers heele, So fast they'l follow: your Sister's drown'd Laertes. There is a Willow growes aslant a Brooke, That shewes his hore leaues in the glassie streame: There with fantasticke Garlands did she come, Of Crow‑flowers, Nettles, Daysies, and long Purples, That liberall Shepheards giue a grosser name; But our cold Maids doe Dead Mens Fingers call them: There on the pendant boughes, her Coronet weeds Clambring to hang; an enuious sliuer broke, When downe the weedy Trophies, and her selfe, Fell in the weeping Brooke, her cloathes spred wide, And Mermaid‑like, a while they bore her vp, Which time she chaunted snatches of old tunes, As one incapable of her owne distresse, Or like a creature Natiue, and indued Vnto that Element: but long it could not be, Till that her garments, heauy with her drinke, Pul'd the poore wretch from her melodious buy, To muddy death. Drown'd, drown'd. Sweets, to the sweet farewell. I hop'd thou should'st haue bin my Hamlets wife: I thought thy Bride‑bed to haue deckt (sweet Maid) And not t'haue strew'd thy Graue. Hamlet, Hamlet. Oh my Sonne, what Theame? For loue of God forbeare him. He's fat, and scant of breath. Heere's a Napkin, rub thy browes, The Queene Carowses to thy fortune, Hamlet. I will my Lord; I pray you pardon me. Come, let me wipe thy face. No, no, the drinke, the drinke. Oh my deere Hamlet, the drinke, the drinke, I am poyson'd. 
Father's Ghost, Ghost of Hamlet's Father	#F-ham-gho	14	Marke me. My hower is almost come, When I to sulphurous and tormenting Flames Must render vp my selfe. Pitty me not, but lend thy serious hearing To what I shall vnfold. So art thou to reuenge, when thou shalt heare. I am thy Fathers Spirit, Doom'd for a certain terme to walke the night; And for the day confin'd to fast in Fiers, Till the foule crimes done in my dayes of Nature Are burnt and purg'd away? But that I am forbid To tell the secrets of my Prison‑House; I could a Tale vnfold, whose lightest word Would harrow vp thy soule, freeze thy young blood, Make thy two eyes like Starres, start from their Spheres, Thy knotty and combined locks to part, And each particular haire to stand an end, Like Quilles vpon the fretfull Porpentine: But this eternall blason must not be To eares of flesh and bloud; list Hamlet, oh list, If thou didst euer thy deare Father loue. Reuenge his foule and most vnnaturall Murther. Murther most foule, as in the best it is; But this most foule, strange, and vnnaturall. I finde thee apt, And duller should'st thou be then the fat weede That rots it selfe in ease, on Lethe Wharfe, Would'st thou not stirre in this. Now Hamlet heare: It's giuen out, that sleeping in mine Orchard, A Serpent stung me: so the whole eare of Denmarke, Is by a forged processe of my death Rankly abus'd: But know thou Noble youth, The Serpent that did sting thy Fathers life, Now weares his Crowne. I that incestuous, that adulerate Beast With witchcraft of his wits, hath Traitorous guifts. Oh wicked Wit, and Gifts, that haue the power So to seduce? Won to to to this shamefull Lust The will of my most seeming vertuous Queene: Oh Hamlet, what a falling off was there, From me, whose loue was of that dignity, That it went hand in hand, euen with the Vow I made to her in Marriage; and to decline Vpon a wretch, whose Naturall gifts were poore To those of mine. But Vertue, as it neuer wil be moued, Though Lewdnesse court it in a shape of Heauen: So Lust, though to a radiant Angell link'd, Will sate it selfe in a Celestiall bed, & prey on Garbage. Oo But  The Tragedie of Hamlet.  But soft, me thinkes I sent the Mornings Ayre; Briefe let me be: Sleeping within mine Orchard, My custome alwayes in the afternoone; Vpon my secure hower thy Vncle stole With iuyce of cursed Hebenon in a Violl, And in the Porches of mine eares did poure The leaperous Distilment; whose effect Holds such an enmity with bloud of Man, That swift as Quick‑siluer, it courses through The naturall Gates and Allies of the Body; And with a sodaine vigour it doth posset And curd, like Aygre droppings into Milke, The thin and wholsome blood: so did it mine; And a most instant Tetter bak'd about, Most Lazar‑like, with vile and loathsome crust, All my smooth Body. Thus was I, sleeping, by a Brothers hand, Of Life, of Crowne, and Queene at once dispatcht; Cut off euen in the Blossomes of my Sinne, Vnhouzzled, disappointed, vnnaneld, No reckoning made, but sent to my account With all my imperfections on my head; Oh horrible, Oh horrible, most horrible: If thou hast nature in thee beare it not; Let not the Royall Bed of Denmarke be A Couch for Luxury and damned Incest. But howsoeuer thou pursuest this Act, Taint not thy mind; nor let thy Soule contriue Against thy Mother ought; leaue her to heauen, And to those Thornes that in her bosome lodge, To pricke and sting her. Fare thee well at once; The Glow‑worme showes the Matine to be neere, And gins to pale his vneffectuall Fire: Adue, adue, Hamlet: remember me. Sweare. Sweare. Sweare. Sweare. Do not forget: this Visitation Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose. But looke, Amazement on thy Mother sits; O step betweene her, and her fighting Soule, Conceit in weakest bodies, strongest workes.  Speake to her Hamlet. 
Gentlemen	#F-ham-gmn	1	within. Hamlet, Lord Hamlet. 
Guildenstern, courtier	#F-ham-gui	29	We both obey, And here giue vp our selues, in the full bent, To lay our Seruices freely at your feete, To be commanded. Heauens make our presence and our practices Pleasant and helpfull to him. Mine honour'd Lord? Happy, in that we are not ouer‑happy: on Fortunes Cap, we are not the very Button. Faith, her priuates, we. Prison, my Lord? Which dreames indeed are Ambition: for the very substance of the Ambitious, is meerely the shadow of a Dreame. What should we say my Lord? My Lord, we were sent for. Oh there ha's beene much throwing about of Braines. There are the Players. In what my deere Lord? Nor do we finde him forward to be sounded, But with a crafty Madnesse keepes aloofe: When we would bring him on to some Confession Of his true state. But with much forcing of his disposition. Good my Lord, vouchsafe me a word with you. The King, sir. Is in his retyrement, maruellous distemper'd. No my Lord, rather with choller. Good my Lord put your discourse into some frame, and start not so wildely from my affayre. The Queene your Mother, in most great affliction of spirit, hath sent me to you. Nay, good my Lord, this courtesie is not ofthe right breed. If it shall please you to make me a wholsome answer, I will doe your Mothers command'ment:if not, your pardon, and my returne shall bee the end ofmy Businesse. What, my Lord? O my Lord, if my Dutie be too bold, my loue is too vnmannerly. My Lord, I cannot. Beleeue me, I cannot. I know no touch of it, my Lord. But these cannot I command to any vtterance of hermony, I haue not the skill. We will our selues prouide: Most holie and Religious feare it is To keepe those many many bodies safe That liue and feede vpon your Maiestie. A thing my Lord? 
Hamlet, son of the former king and nephew to the present king	#F-ham-ham	340	A little more then kin, and lesse then kinde. Not so my Lord, I am too much i'th'Sun. I Madam, it is common. Seemes Madam? Nay, it is: I know not Seemes: 'Tis not alone my Inky Cloake (good Mother) Nor Customary suites of solemne Blacke, Nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath, No, nor the fruitfull Riuer in the Eye, Nor the deiected hauiour of the Visage, Together with all Formes, Moods, shewes of Griefe, That can denote me truly. These indeed Seeme, For they are actions that a man might play: But I haue that Within, which passeth show; These, but the Trappings, and the Suites of woe. I shall in all my beft best Obey you Madam. Oh that this too too solid Flesh, would melt, Thaw, and resolue it selfe into a Dew: Or that the Euerlasting had not fixt His Cannon 'gainst Selfe‑slaughter. O God, O God! How weary, stale, flat, and vnprofitable Seemes to me all the vses of this world? Fie on't? Oh fie, fie, 'tis an vnweeded Garden That growes to Seed: Things rank, and grosse in Nature Possesse it meerely. That it should come to this: But two months dead: Nay, not so much; not two, So excellent a King, that was to this Hiperion to a Satyre: so louing to my Mother, That he might not beteene the windes of heauen Visit her face too roughly. Heauen and Earth Must I remember: why she would hang on him, As if encrease of Appetite had growne By what it fed on; and yet within a month? Let me not thinke on't: Frailty, thy name is woman. A little Month, or ere those shooes were old, With which she followed my poore Fathers body Like Niobe, all teares. Why she, euen she. (O Heauen! A beast that wants discourse of Reason Would haue mourn'd longer) married with mine Vnkle, My Fathers Brother: but no more like my Father, Then I to Hercules. Within a Moneth? Ere yet the salt of most vnrighteous Teares Had left the flushing of her gauled eyes, She married. O most wicked speed, to post With such dexterity to Incestuous sheets: It is not, nor it cannot come to good. But breake my heart, for I must hold my tongue. I am glad to see you well: Horatio, or I do forget my selfe. Sir my good friend, Ile change that name with you: And what make you from Wittenberg Horatio? Mar­  The Tragedie of Hamlet.  Marcellus. I am very glad to see you: good euen Sir. But what in faith make you srom Wittemberge? I would not haue your Enemy say so; Nor shall you doe mine eare that violence, To make it truster of your owne report Against your selfe. I know you are no Truant: But what is your affaire in Elsenour? Wee'l teach you to drinke deepe, ere you depart. I pray thee doe not mock me (fellow Student) I thinke it was to see my Mothers Wedding. Thrift, thrift Horatio: the Funerall Bakt‑meats Did coldly furnish forth the Marriage Tables; Would I had met my dearest foe in heauen, Ere I had euer seene that day Horatio. My Father, me thinkes I see my father. In my minds eye (Horatio) He was a man, take him for all in all: I shall not look vpon his like againe. Saw? Who? The King my Father? For Heauens loue let me heare. But where was this? Did you not speake to it? Tis very strange. Indeed, indeed Sirs; but this troubles me.  Hold you the watch to Night? Arm'd, say you? From top to toe? Then saw you not his face? What, lookt he frowningly? Pale, or red? And fixt his eyes vpon you? I would I had beene here. Very like, very like: staid it long? His Beard was grisly? no. Ile watch to Night; perchance 'twill wake a(gaine. If it assume my noble Fathers person, Ile speake to it, though Hell it selfe should gape And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all, Is you haue hitherto conceald this sight; Let it bee treble in your silence still: And whatsoeuer els shall hap to night, Giue it an vnderstanding but no tongue; I will requite your loues; so, fare ye well: Vpon the Platforme twixt eleuen and twelue, Ile visit you. Your loue, as mine to you: farewell. My Fathers Spirit in Armes? All is not well: I doubt some foule play: would the Night were come; Till then sit still my soule; foule deeds will rise, Though all the earth orewhelm them to mens eies. The Ayre bites shrewdly: is it very cold? What hower now? The King doth Wake to night, and takes his (rouse, Keepes wassels and the swaggering vpspring reeles, And as he dreines his draughts of Renish downe, The kettle Drum and Trumpet thus bray out The triumph of his Pledge. I marry ist; And to my mind, though I am natiue heere, And the manner borne: It is a CustomeThe final "e" here and in the previous line are only partially inked. More honour'd in the breach, then the obseruance. Angels and Ministers of Grace defend vs: Be thou a Spirit of health, or Goblin damn'd, Bring with thee ayres from Heauen, or blasts from Hell, Be thy euents wicked or charitable, Thou com'st in such a questionable shape That I will speake to thee. Ile call thee Hamlet, King, Father, Royall Dane: Oh, oh, answer me, Let me not burst in Ignorance; but tell Why thy Canoniz'd bones Hearsed in death, Haue burst their cerments, why the Sepulcher Wherein we saw thee quietly enurn'd, Hath op'd his ponderous and Marble iawes, To cast thee vp againe? What may this meane? That thou dead Coarse againe in compleat steele, Reuisits thus the glimpses of the Moone, Making Night hidious? And we fooles of Nature, So horridly to shake our disposition, With thoughts beyond thee; reaches of our Soules, Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we doe? It will not speake: then will I follow it. Why, what should be the feare? I doe not set my life at a pins fee; And for my Soule, what can it doe to that? Being a thing immortall as it selfe: It waues me forth againe; Ile follow it. It wafts me still: goe on, Ile follow thee. Hold off your hand. My fate cries out, And makes each petty Artire in this body, As hardy as the Nemian Lions nerue: Still am I cal'd? Vnhand me Gentlemen: By Heau'n, Ile make a Ghost of him that lets me: I say away, goe on, Ile follow thee. Where wilt thou lead me? speak; Ile go no fur(ther. I will. Alas poore Ghost. Speake, I am bound to heare. What? Oh Heauen! Murther? Hast, hast me to know it, That with wings as swift As meditation, or the thoughts of Loue, May sweepe to my Reuenge. O my Propheticke soule: mine Vncle? Oh all you host of Heauen! Oh Earth; what els? And shall I couple Hell? Oh fie: hold my heart; And you my sinnewes, grow not instant Old; But beare me stiffely vp: Remember thee? I, thou poore Ghost, while memory holds a seate In this distracted Globe: Remember thee? Yea, from the Table of my Memory, Ile wipe a way all triuiall fond Records, All sawes of Bookes, all formes, all presures past, That youth and obseruation coppied there; And thy Commandment all alone shall liue Within the Booke and Volume of my Braine, Vnmixt with baser matter; yes, yes, by Heauen: Oh most pernicious woman! Oh Villaine, Villaine, smiling damned Villaine! My Tables, my Tables; meet it is I set it downe, That one may smile, and smile and be a Villaine; At least I'm sure it may be so in Denmarke; So Vnckle there you are: now to my word; It is; Adue, Adue, Remember me: I haue I sworn't. Hillo, ho, ho, boy; come bird, come. Oh wonderfull! No you'l reueale it. How say you then, would heart of man once (think it? But you'l be secret? There's nere a villaine dwelling in all Denmarke But hee's an arrant knaue. Why right, you are i'th'right; And so, without more circumstance at all, I hold it fit that we shake hands, and part: You, as your busines and desires shall point you: For euery man ha's businesse and desire, Such as it is: and for mine owne poore part, Looke you, Ile goe pray. I'm sorry they offend you heartily: Yes faith, heartily, Ycs, by Saint Patricke, but there is my Lord, And much offence too, touching this Vision heere: It is an honest Ghost, that let me tell you: For your desire to know what is betweene vs, O'remaster't as you may. And now good friends, As you are Friends, Schollers and Soldiers, Giue me one poore request. Neuer make known what you haue seen to night. Nay, but swear't. Vpon my sword. Indeed, vpon my sword, Indeed. Ah ha boy. sayest thou so. Art thou there truepenny? Come one you here this fellow in the selleredgeConsent to sweare. Neuer to speake of this that you haue seene. Sweare by my sword. Hic & vbique? Then wee'l shift for grownd, Come hither Gentlemen, And lay your hands againe vpon my sword, Neuer to speake of this that you haue heard: Sweare by my Sword. Well said old Mole. can'st worke i'th' ground so (fast? A worthy Pioner, once more remoue good friends. And therefore as a stranger giue it welcome. There are more things in Heauen and Earth, Horatio, Then are dream't of in our PhilosophyHere a full-stop has not been inked. But come, Here as before, neuer so helpe you mercy, How strange or odde so ere I beare my selfe; (As I perchance heereafter shall thinke meet To put an Anticke disposition on:) That you at such time seeing me, neuer shall With Armes encombred thus, or thus, head shake; Or by pronouncing of some doubtfull Phrase; As well, we know, or we could and if we would, Or if we list to speak; or there be and if there might, Or such ambiguous giuing out to note, That  The Tragedie of Hamlet.  That you know ought of me; this not to doe: So grace and mercy at your most neede helpe you: Sweare. Rest, rest perturbed Spirit: so Gentlemen, With all my loue I doe commend me to you; And what so poore a man as Hamlet is, May doe t'expresse his loue and friending to you, God willing shall not lacke: let vs goe in together, And still your fingers on your lippes I pray, The time is out of ioynt: Oh Cursed spight, That euer I was borne to set it right, Nay, come let's goe together. Well, God‑a‑mercy. Excellent, excellent well: y'are a Fishmonger. Then I would you were so honest a man. I sir, to be honest as this world goes, is to bee one man pick'd out of two thousand. For if the Sun breed Magots in a dead dogge, being a good kissing Carrion ⸺ Haue you a daughter? Let her not walke i'th'Sunne; Conception is a blessing, but not as your daughter may conceiue. Friend looke too't. Words, words, words. Betweene who? Slanders Sir: for the Satyricall slaue saies here,that old men haue gray Beards; that their faces are wrinkled; their eyes purging thicke Amber, or Plum‑TreeGumme: and that they haue a plentifull locke of Wit,together with weake Hammes. All which Sir, though Imost powerfully, and potently beleeue; yet I holde itnot Honestie to haue it thus set downe: For you yourselfe Sir, should be old as I am, if like a Crab you couldgo backward. Into my Graue? You cannot Sir take from me any thing, that I will more willingly part withall, except my life, my life. These tedious old fooles. My excellent good friends? How do'st thou Guildensterne? Oh, Rosincrane Rosincrance ; good Lads: How doe ye both? Nor the Soales of her Shoo? Then you liue about her waste, or in the middle of her fauour? In the secret parts of Fortune? Oh, most true: she is a Strumpet. What's the newes? Then is Doomesday neere: But your newes is not true. Let me question more in particular: what haue you my good friends, deserued at the hands of Fortune, that she sends you to Prison hither? Denmark's a Prison. A goodly one, in which there are many Confines, Wards and Dungeons;Denmarkebeing one o'th'worst. Why then 'tis none to you; for there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so: to me it is a prison. O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell, and count my selfe a King of infinite space; were it not that I haue bad dreames. A dreame it selfe is but a shadow. Then are our Beggers bodies; and our Monarchs and out‑stretcht Heroes the Beggers Shadowes:shall wee to th'Court: for, by my fey I cannot reason? No such matter. I will not sort you with the rest of my seruants: for to speake to you like an honest man: I am most dreadfully attended; but in the beaten way of friendship, What make you at Elsonower? Begger that I am, I am euen poore in thankes; but I thanke you: and sure deare friends my thanks are too deare a halfepeny; were you not sent for? Is it your owne inclining? Is it a free visitation? Come, deale iustly with me: come, come; nay speake. Why any thing. But to the purpose; you weresent for; and there is a kinde confession in your lookes;which your modesties haue not craft enough to color, I know the good King & Queene haue sent for you. That you must teach me: but let mee coniure you by the rights of our fellowship, by the consonancy of our youth, by the Obligation of our euer‑preserued loue, and by what more deare, a better proposer could charge you withall; be euen and direct with me, whether you were sent for or no. Nay then I haue an eye of you; if you loue me hold not off. I will tell you why; so shall my anticipationpreuent your discouery of your secricie to the King andQueene: moult no feather, I haue of late, but whereforeI know not, lost all my mirth, forgone all custome of exercise; and indeed, it goes so heauenly with my disposition; that this goodly frame the Earth, seemes to me a sterrill Promontory; this most excellent Canopy the Ayre,look you, this braue ore‑hanging, this Maiesticall Roofe,fretted with golden fire: why, it appeares no other thingto mee, then a foule and pestilent congregation of vapours. What a piece of worke is a man! how Noble inReason? how infinite in faculty? in sorme and mouinghow expresse and admirable? in Action, how like an Angel? in apprehension, how like a God? the beauty of theworld, the Parragon of Animals; and yet to me, what isthis Quintessence of Dust? Man delights not me; no,nor Woman neither; though by your smiling you seemeto say so. Why did you laugh, when I said, Man delights not me? He that playes the King shall be welcome; his Maiesty shall haue Tribute of mee: the aduenturous Knight shal vse his Foyle and Target: the Louer shall not sigh gratis, the humorous man shall end his part in peace: the Clowne shall make those laugh whose lungs are tickled a'th'sere: and the Lady shall say her minde freely; or the blanke Verse shall halt for't: what Players are they? How chances it they trauaile? their residence both in reputation and profit was better bothwayes. Doe they hold the same estimation they did when I was in the City? Are they so follow'd? How comes it? doe they grow rusty? What are they Children? Who maintains 'em?How are they escoted? Will they pursue the Quality nolonger then they can sing? Will they not say afterwardsif they should grow themselues to common Players (asit is like most if their meanes are nobetter) their Writers do them wrong, to make them exclaim against theirowne Succession. Is't possible? Do the Boyes carry it away? It is not strange: for mine Vnckle is King ofDenmarke, and those that would make mowes at himwhile my Father liued; giue twenty, forty,, an hundredDucates a peece, for his picture in Little. There is something in this more then Naturall, if Philosophie couldfinde it out. Gentlemen, you are welcom to Elsonower: your hands, come: The appurtenance of Welcome, is Fashion and Ceremony. Let me comply with you in the Garbe, lest my extent to the Players (which I tell you must shew fairely outward) should more appeare like entertainment then yours. You are welcome: but my Vnckle Father, and Aunt Mother are deceiu'd. I am but mad North, North‑West: when the Winde is Southerly, I know a Hawke from a Handsaw. Hearke you Guildensterne, and you too: at each eare a hearer: that great Baby you see there, is not yet out of his swathing clouts. I will Prophesie. Hee comes to tell me of thePlayers. Mark it, you say right Sir: for a Monday morning 'twas so indeed. My Lord, I haue Newes to tell you. When Rossius an Actor in Rome— Buzze, buzze. Then can each Actor on his Asse⸺ O Iephta Iudge of Israel, what a Treasure had'st thou? Why one faire Daughter, and no more,  The which he loued passing well. Am I not i'th'right old Iephta? Nay that followes not. Why, As by lot, God wot: and then you know, It came to passe, as most like it was: The first rowe of the Pons Chanson will shew you more. For looke where my Abridgements come. Enter foure or fiue Players. Y'are welcome Masters, welcome all. I am glad to seethee well: Welcome good Friends. O my old Friend?Thy face is valiant since I saw thee last: Com'st thou tobeard me in Denmarke? What, my yong Lady and Mistris? Byrlady your Ladiship is neerer Heauen then whenI saw you last, by the altitude of a Choppine. Pray Godyour voice like a peece of vncurrant Gold be not crack'dwithin the ring. Masters, you are all welcome:wee'l e'neto't like French Faulconers, flie at any thing we see: wee'lhaue a Speech straight. Come giue vs a tast of your quality: come, a passionate speech. I heard thee speak me a speech once, but it wasneuer Acted: or if it was, not aboue once, for the Play Iremember pleas'd not the Million, 'twasCauiarieto theGenerall: but it was (as I receiu'd it and others, whoseiudgement in such matters, cried in the top of mine) anexcellent Play; well digested in the Scœnes, set downewith as much modestie, as cunning. I remember one said,there was no Sallets in the lines, to make the matter sauoury; nor no matter in the phrase, that might indite theAuthor of affection, but cal'd it an honest method. Onecheefe Speech in it, I cheefely lou'd, 'twasÆneasTaletoDido, and thereabout of it especially, where he speaksofPriamsslaughter. If it liue in your memory, begin atthis Line, let me see, let me see: The ruggedPyrrhusliketh'HyrcanianBeast. It is not so: it begins withPyrrhus The rugged Pyrrhus, he whose Sable Armes Blacke as his purpose, did the night resemble When he lay couched in the Ominous Horse, Hath now this dread and blacke Complexion smear'd With Heraldry more dismall: Head to foote Now is he to take Geulles, horridly Trick'd With blood of Fathers, Mothers, Daughters, Sonnes, Bak'd and impasted with the parching streets, That lend a tyrannous, and damned light To their vilde Murthers, roasted in wrath and fire, And thus o're‑sized with coagulate gore, VVith eyes like Carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus Old Grandsire Priam seekes. It shall to'th Barbars, with your beard. Prythee say on: He's for a Iigge, or a tale of Baudry, or heesleepes. Say on; come toHecuba. The inobled Queene? 'Tis well, Ile haue thee speake out the rest,soone. Good my Lord, will you see the Players wel bestow'd. Do ye heare, let them be well vs'd: for they arethe Abstracts and breefe Chronicles of the time. Afteryour death, you were better haue a bad Epitaph, thentheir ill report while you liued. Gods bodykins man, better. Vse euerie man after his desart, and who should scape whipping: vse them after your own Honor and Dignity. The lesse they deserue, the more merit is in your bountie. Take them in. Follow him Friends: wee'l heare a play to morrow. Dost thou heare me old Friend, can you play themurther ofGonzago? Wee'l ha't to morrow night. You could for a need study a speech of some dosen or sixteene lines, which I would set downe, and insert in't? Could ye not? Very well. Follow that Lord, and looke you mock him not. My good Friends, Ile leaue you til night you are welcome to Elsonower? I so, God buy'ye: Now I am alone. Oh what a Rogue and Pesant slaue am I? Is it not monstrous that this Player heere, But in a Fixion, in a dreame of Passion, Could force his soule so to his whole conceit, That from her working, all his visage warm'd: Teares in his eyes, distraction in's Aspect, A broken voyce, and his whole Function suiting With Formes, to his Conceit? And all for nothing? For Hecuba? What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, That he should weepe for her? What would he doe, Had he the Motiue and the Cue for passion That I haue? He would drowne the Stage with teares, And cleaue the generall eare with horrid speech: Make mad the guilty, and apale the free, Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed, The very faculty, of Eyes and Eares, Yet I,A mark has been drawn in pencil following the end of this line. A dull and muddy‑metled Rascall, peake Like Iohn a‑dreames, vnpregnant of my cause, And can say nothing: No, not for a King, Vpon whose property, and most deere life, A damn'd defeate was made. Am I a Coward? Who calles me Villaine? breakes my pate a‑croffe? Pluckes off my Beard, and blowes it in my face? Tweakes me by'th'Nose? giues me the Lye i'th'Throate, As deepe as to the Lungs? Who does me this? Ha? Why I should take it: for it cannot be, But I am Pigeon‑Liuer'd, and lacke Gall To make Oppression bitter, or ere this, I should haue fatted all the Region Kites With this Slaues Offall, bloudy: a Bawdy villaine, Remorselesse, Treacherous, Letcherous, kindles villaine! Oh Vengeance! Who? What an Asse am I? I sure, this is most braue, That I, the Sonne of the Deere murthered, Prompted to my Reuenge by Heauen, and Hell, Must (like a Whore) vnpacke my heart with words, And fall a Cursing like a very Drab, A Scullion? Fye vpon't: Foh. About my Braine. I haue heard, that guilty Creatures sitting at a Play,Marks have been drawn in pencil on either side of this line. Haue by the very cunning of the Scœne, Bene strooke so to the soule, that presently They haue proclaim'd their Malefactions. For Murther, though it haue no tongue, will speake With most myraculous Organ. Ile haue these Players, Play something like the murder of my Father, Before mine Vnkle. Ile obserue his lookes, Ile rent him to the quicke: If he but blench I know my course. The Spirit that I haue seene May be the Diuell, and the Diuel hath power T'assume a pleasing shape, yea and perhaps Out of my Weaknesse, and my Melancholly, As he is very potent with such Spirits, Abuses me to damne me. Ile haue grounds More Relatiue then this: The Play's the thing, Wherein Ile catch the Conscience of the King. To be, or not to be, that is the Question: Whether 'tis Nobler in the minde to suffer The Slings and Arrowes of outragious Fortune, Or to take Armes against a Sea of troubles, And by opposing end them: to dye, to sleepe No more; and by a sleepe, to say we end The Heart‑ake, and the thousand Naturall shockes  That Flesh is heyre too? 'Tis a consummation Deuoutly to be wish'd. To dye to sleepe, To sleepe, perchance to Dreame; I, there's the rub, For in that sleepe of death, what dreames may come, When we haue shufflel'd off this mortall coile, Must giue vs pawse. There's the respect That makes Calamity of so long life: For who would beare the Whips and Scornes of time, The Oppressors wrong, the poore mans Contumely, The pangs of dispriz'd Loue, the Lawes delay, The infolence of Office, and the Spurnes That patient merit of the vnworthy takes, When he himselfe might his Quietus make With a bare Bodkin? Who would these Fardles beare To grunt and sweat vnder a weary life, But that the dread of something after death, The vndiscouered Countrey, from whose Borne No Traueller returnes, Puzels the will, And makes vs rather beare those illes we haue, Then flye to others that we know not of. Thus Conscience does make Cowards of vs all, And thus the Natiue hew of Resolution Is sicklied o're, with the pale cast of Thought, And enterprizes of great pith and moment, With this regard their Currants turne away, And loose the name of Action. Soft you now, The faire Ophelia? Nimph, in thy Orizons Be all my sinnes remembred. I humbly thanke you: well, well, well. No, no, I neuer gaue you ought. Ha, ha: Are you honest? Are you faire? That if you be honest and faire, your Honesty should admit no discourse to your Beautie. I trulie: for the power of Beautie, will sooner transforme Honestie from what it is, to a Bawd, then the force of Honestie can translate Beautie into his likenesse. This was sometime a Paradox, but now the time giues it proofe. I did loue you once. You should not haue beleeued me. For verThis r is partially worn away.tue cannot so innocculate our old stocke, but we shall rThis r is partially worn away.ellish of it. I loued you not. Get thee to a Nonnerie. Why would'st thoube a breeder of Sinners? I am my selfe indifferent honest,but yet I could accuse me of such things, that it were better my Mother had not borne me. I am very prowd, reuengefull, Ambitious, with more offences at my becke,then I haue thoughts to put them in imagination, to giuethem shape, or time to acte them in. What should such Fel­  The Tragedie of Hamlet.  Fellows as I do crawling between heaven and Earth. We are arrant knaues all, beleeue none of vs. Goe thy wayes to a Nunnery. Where's your Father? Let the doores be shut vpon him, that he may play the Foole no way, but in's owne house. Farewell. If thou doest Marry, Ile giue thee this Plaguefor, thy Dowrie. Be thou as chast as Ice, as pure as Snow,thou shalt not escape Calumny. Get thee to a Nunnery.Go, Farewell. Or if thou wilt needs Marry, marry a fool:for Wise mem know well enough, what monsters youmake of them. To a Nunnery go, and quickly too. Farwell. I haue heard of your pratlings too wel enough.God has giuen you one pace, and you make your selfe another: you gidge, you amble, and you lispe, and nicknameGods creatures, and make your Wantonnesse, your Ignorance. Go too, Ile no more on't, it hath made me mad,I say, we will haue no more Marriages. Those that aremarried already, all but one shall liue, the rest shall keepas they are. To a Nunnery, go. Speake the Speech I pray you, as I pronounc'dit to you trippingly on the Tongue; But if you mouth it,as many of your Players do, I had as liue the Town‑Cryerhad spoke my Lines: Nor do not saw the Ayre too muchyour hand thus, but vse all gently; for in the verie Torrent, Tempest, and (as I may say) the Whirle‑winde ofPassion, you must acquire and beget a Temperance thatmay giue it Smoothnesse. O it offends mee to the Soule,to see a robustious Pery‑wig‑pated Fellow, teare a Passion to tatters, to verie ragges, to split the eares of theGroundlings: who (for the most part) are capeable ofnothing, but inexplicable dumbe shewes, & noise: I couldhaue such a Fellow whipt for o're‑doing Termagant: itout‑Herod's Herod. Pray you auoid it. Be not too tame neyther: but let your owneDiscretion be your Tutor. Sute the Action to the Word,the Word to the Action, with this speciall obseruance:That you ore‑stop not the modestie of Nature; for anything so ouer‑done, isfrō fromthe purpose of Playing, whoseend both at the first and now, was and is, to hold as 'twerthe Mirrour vp to Nature; to shew Vertue her owneFeature, Scorne her owne Image, and the verie Age andBodie of the Time, his forme and pressure. Now, thisouer‑done, or come tardie off, though it make the vnskilfull laugh, cannot but make the Iudicious greeue; Thecensure of the which One, must in your allowance o'reway a whole Theater of Others. Oh, there bee Playersthat I haue seene Play, and heard others praise, and thathighly (not to speake it prophanely) that neyther hauingthe accent of Christians, nor the gate of Christian, Pagan,or Norman, haue so strutted and bellowed, that I hauethought some of Natures Iouerney‑men had made men,and not made them well, they imitated Humanity so abhominably. O reforme it altogether. And let those that play your Clownes, speake no more then is set downe for them. For there be of them, that will themselues laugh, to set on some quantitie of barren Spectators to laugh too, though in the meane time, some necessary Question of the Play be then to be considered: that's Villanous, & shewes a most pittifull Ambition in the Foole that vses it. Go make you readie. Exit Players. Enter Polonius, Rosincrance, and Guildensterne. How now my Lord, Will the King heare this peece of Worke? Bid the players make hast. Exit Polonius. Will you two helpe to hasten them? What hoa, Horatio? Horatio, thou art eene as just a man As ere my Conuersation coap'd withall. Nay, do not thinke I flatter: For what aduancement may I hope from thee, That no Reuennew hast, but thy good spirits To  The Tragedie of Hamlet.  To feed & cloath thee. Why shold the poor be flatter'd? No, let the Candied tongue, like absurd pompe, And crooke the pregnant Hindges of the knee, Where thrift may follow faining? Dost thou heare, Since my deere Soule was Mistris of my choyse, And could of men distinguish, her election Hath seal'd thee for her selfe. For thou hast bene As one in suffering all, that suffers nothing. A man that Fortunes buffets, and Rewards Hath 'tane with equall Thankes. And blest are those, Whose Blood and Iudgement are so well co‑mingled, That they are not a Pipe for Fortunes finger, To sound what stop she please. Giue me that man, That is not Passions Slaue, and I will weare him In my hearts Core: I, in my Heart of heart, As I do thee. Something too much of this. There is a Play to night before the King. One Scœne of it comes neere the Circumstance Which I haue told thee, of my Fathers death. I prythee, when thou see'st that Acte a‑foot, Euen with the verie Comment of my Soule Obserue mine Vnkle: If his occulted guilt, Do not it selfe vnkennell in one speech, It is a damned Ghost that we haue seene: And my Imaginations are as foule As Vulcans Stythe. Giue him needfull note, For I mine eyes will riuet to his Face: And after we will both our iudgements ioyne, To censure of his seeming. They are comming to the Play: I must be idle. Get you a place. Excellent I faith, of the Camelions dish: I eate the Ayre promise‑cramm'd, you cannot feed Capons so. No, nor mine. Now my Lord, you plaid once i'th'Vniuersity, you say? And what did you enact? It was a bruite part of him, to kill so Capitall a Calfe there. Be the Players ready?. No good Mother, here's Mettle more attractiue. Ladie, shall I lye in your Lap? I meane, my Head vpon your Lap? Do you thinke I meant Country matters? That's a faire thought to ly between Maids legs Nothing. Who I? Oh God, your onely Iigge‑maker: what shoulda man do, but be merrie. For looke you how cheerefully my Mother lookes, and my Father dyed within's twoHoures. So long? Nay then let the Diuel weare blacke,for Ile haue a suite of Sables. Oh Heauens! dye two moneths ago, and not forgotten yet? Then there's hope, agreat mans Memorie, may out‑liue his life halfe a yeare:But byrlady he must builde Churches then: or else shallhe suffer not thinking on, with the Hoby‑horsse, whoseEpitaph is, For o, For o, the Hoby‑horse is forgot. Marry this is Miching Malicho, that meanes Mischeefe. We shall know by these Fellowes: the Players cannot keepe counsell, they'l tell all. I, or any shew that you'l shew him. Bee not you asham'd to shew, hee'l not shame to tell you what it meanes. Is this a Prologue, or the Poesie of a Ring? As Womans loue. Wormwood, Wormwood. If she should breake it now. Madam, how like you this Play? Oh but shee'l keepe her word. No, no, they do but iest, poyson in iest, no Offence i'th'world. The Mouse‑trap: Marry how? Tropically:This Play is the Image of a murder done inVienna: Gon­ zagois the Dukes name, his wifeBaptista: you shall seeanon: 'tis a knauish peece of worke: But what o'that?Your Maiestie, and wee that haue free soules, it touchesvs not: let the galld iade winch: our withers are vnrung. Enter Lucianus. This is one Lucianus nephew to the King. I could interpret betweene you and your loue: if I could see the Puppets dallying. It would cost you a groaning, to take off my edge. So you mistake Husbands.Begin Murderer. Pox, leaue thy damnable Faces, andbegin. Come, the croaking Rauen doth bellow for Reuenge. He poysons him i'th'Garden for's estate: His name's Gonzago: the Story is extant and writ in choyce Italian. You shall see anon how the Murtherer gets the loue of Gonzago's wife. What, frighted with false fire. Why let the strucken Deere go weepe, The Hart vngalled play: For some must watch, while some must sleepe; So runnes the world away. Would not this Sir, and a Forrest of Feathers, if the rest of my Fortunes turne tutne Turke with me; with two Prouniciall Roses on my rac'd Shooes, get me a Fellowship in a crie of Players sir. A whole one I, For thou dost know: Oh Damon deere, This Realme dismantled was of Ioue himselfe, And now reignes heere. A verie verie Paiocke. Oh good Horatio, Ile take the Ghosts word for a thousand pound. Did'st perceiue? Vpon the talke of the poysoning? Oh, ha? Come some Musick. Come yͤ Recorders: For if the King like not the Comedie, Why then belike he likes it not perdie. Come some Musicke. Sir a whole History. I sir, what of him? With drinke Sir? Your wisedome should shew it selfe more richer, to signifie this to his Doctor: for for me to put himto his Purgation, would perhaps plundge him into farremore Choller. I am tame Sir, pronounce. You are welcome. Sir, I cannot. Make you a wholsome answere: my wits diseas'd. But sir, such answers as I can make, you shal command: or rather you say, my Mother: therfore no morebut to the matter. My Mother you say. Oh wonderfull Sonne, that can so astonish aMother. But is there no sequell at the heeles of this Mothers admiration? We shall obey, were she ten times our Mother. Haue you any further Trade with vs? So I do still, by these pickers and stealers. Sir I lacke Aduancement. I, but while the grasse growes, the Prouerbe is something musty. Enter one with a Recorder. O the Recorder. Let me see, to withdraw with you, why do you go about to recouer the winde of mee, as if you would driue me into a toyle? I do not well vnderstand that. Will you play vpon this Pipe? I pray you. I do beseech you. 'Tis as easie as lying: gouerne these Ventiges with your finger and thumbe, giue it breath with your mouth, and it will discourse most excellent Musicke. Looke you, these are the stoppes. Why looke you now, how vnworthy a thingyou make of me: you would play vpon mee; you wouldseeme to know my stops: you would pluck out the heartof my Mysterie; you would sound mee from my lowestNote, to the top of my Compasse: and there is much Musicke, excellent Voice, in this little Organe, yet cannotyou make it. Why do you thinke, that I am easier to beeplaid on, then a Pipe? Call me what Instrument you will,though you can fret me, you cannot play vpon me, Godblesse you Sir. Do you see that Clowd? that's almost in shape like a Camell. Me thinkes it is like a Weazell. Or like a Whale? Then will I come to my Mother, by and by: They foole me to the top of my bent. I will come by and by. By and by, is easily said. Leaue me Friends: 'Tis now the verie witching time of night, When Churchyards yawne, and Hell it selfe breaths out Contagion to this world. Now could I drink hot blood, And do such bitter businesse as the day Would quake to looke on. Soft now, to my Mother: Oh Heart, loose not thy Nature; let not euer The Soule of Nero, enter this firme bosome: Let me be cruell, not vnnaturall, I will speake Daggers to her, but vse none: My Tongue and Soule in this be Hypocrites. How in my words someuer she be shent, To giue them Seales, neuer my Soule consent. Now might I do it pat, now he is praying, And now Ile doo't, and so he goes to Heauen, And so am I reueng'd: that would be scann'd, A Villaine killes my Father, and for that I his foule Sonne, do this same Villaine send To heauen. Oh this is hyre and Sallery, not Reuenge. He tooke my Father grossely, full of bread, With all his Crimes broad blowne, as fresh as May, And how his Audit stands, who knowes, saue Heauen: But in our circumstance and course of thought 'Tis heauie with him; and am I then reueng'd, To take him in the purging of his Soule, When he is fit and season'd for his passage? No. Vp Sword, and know thou a more horrid hent  When he is drunke asleepe: or in his Rage, Or in th'incestuous pleasure of his bed, At gaming, swearing, or about some acte That ha's no rellish of Saluation in't, Then trip him, that his heeles may kicke at Heauen, And that his Soule may be as damn'd and blacke As Hell, whereto it goes. My Mother stayes, This Physicke but prolongs thy sickly dayes. within. Mother, mother, mother. Now Mother, what's the matter? Mother, you haue my Father much offended. Go, go, you question with an idle tongue. Whats the matter now? No by the Rood, not so: You are the Queene, your Husbands Brothers wife, But would you were not so. You are my Mother. Come, come, and sit you downe, you shall not boudge: You go not till I set you vp a glasse, Where you may see the inmost part of you? How now, a Rat? dead for a Ducate, dead. Nay I know not, is it he King? A bloody deed, almost as bad good Mother, As kill a King, and marrie with his Brother. I Lady, 'twas my word. Thou wretched, rash, intruding foole farewell, I tooke thee for thy Betters, take thy Fortune, Thou find'st to be too busie, is some danger. Leaue wringing of your hands, peace, sit you downe, And let me wring your heart, for so I shall If it be made of penetrable stuffe; If damned Custome haue not braz'd it so, That it is proofe and bulwarke against Sense. Such an Act That blurres the grace and blush of Modestie, Cals Vertue Hypocrite, takes off the Rose From the faire forehead of an innocent loue, And makes a blister there. Makes marriage vowes As false as Dicers Oathes. Oh such a deed, As  The Tragedie of Hamlet.  As from the body of Contraction pluckes The very soule, and sweete Religion makes A rapsidie of words. Heauens face doth glow, Yea this solidity and compound masse, With tristfull visage as against the doome, Is thought‑sicke at the act. Looke heere vpon this Picture, and on this, The counterfet presentment of two Brothers: See what a grace was seated on his Brow, Hyperions curles, the front of Ioue himselfe, An eye like Mars, to threaten or command A Station, like the Heraland Mercurie New lighted on a heauen‑kissing hill: A Combination, and a forme indeed, Where euery God did seeme to set his Seale, To giue the world assurance of a man. This was your Husband. Looke you now what followes. Heere is your Husband, like a Mildew'd eare Blasting his wholsom breath. Haue you eyes? Could you on this faire Mountaine leaue to feed, And batten on this Moore? Ha? Haue you eyes? You cannot call it Loue: For at your age, The hey‑day in the blood is tame, it's humble, And waites vpon the Iudgement: and what Iudgement Would step from this, to this? What diuell was't, That thus hath cousend yon at hoodman‑blinde? O Shame! where is thy Blush? Rebellious Hell, If thou canst mutine in a Matrons bones, To flaming youth, let Vertue be as waxe, And melt in her owne fire. Prodaime no shame, When the compulsiue Ardure giues the charge, Since Frost it selfe, as actiuely doth burne, As Reason panders Will. Nay, but to liue In the ranke sweat of an enseamed bed, Stew'd in Corruption; honying and making loue Ouer the nasty Stye. A Murderer, and a Villaine: A Slaue, that is not twentieth patt part the tythe Of your precedent Lord. A vice of Kings, A Cutpurse of the Empire and the Rule. That from a shelfe, the precious Diadem stole, And put it in his Pocket. A King of shreds and patches. Saue me; and houer o're me with your wings You heauenly Guards. What would you gracious figure? Do you not come your tardy Sonne to chide, That laps't in Time and Passion, lets go by Th'important acting of your dread command? Oh say. How is it with you Lady? On him, on him: look you how pale he glares. His forme and cause conioyn'd, preaching to stones, Would make them capeable. Do not looke vpon me, Least with this pitteous action you conuert My sterne effects: then what I haue to do, Will want true colour; teares perchance for blood. Do you see nothing there? Nor did you nothing heare? Why look you there: looke how it steals away: My Father in his habite, as he liued, Look where he goes euen now out at the Portall. Exctasie? My Pulse as yours doth temperately keepe time, And makes as healthful Musicke. it is not madnesse That I haue vttered; bring me to the Test And I the matter will re‑word . which madnesse Would gamboll from. Mother, for loue of Grace, Lay not a flattering Vnction to your soule, That not your trespasse, but my madnesse speakes; It will but skin and fme the Vlcerous place, Whil'st ranke Corruption mining all within, Infects vnseene. Confesse your selfe to Heauen, Repent what's past, auoyd what is to come, And do not spred the Compost or the Weedes, To make them ranke. Forgiue me this my Vertue, For in the fatnesse of this pursie times, Vertue it selfe, of Vice must pardon begge, Yea courb, and woe, for leaue to do him good. O throw away the worser past of it, And liue the purer with the other halfe. Good night, but go not to mine Vnkles bed, Assume a Vertue, if you haue it not, refraine to night, And that shall lend a kinde of easinesse To the next abstinence. Once more goodnight, And when you are desirous o be blest,An ink mark follows the end of this line. Ile blessing begge of you. For this fame Lord, I do repent: but heauen hath pleased it so, To punish me with this, and this with me, That I must be their Scourge and Minister. I will bestow him, and will answer well The death I gaue him: so againe, good night, I must be cruell, onely to be kinde; Thus bad begins, and worse remaines behinde. Not this by no meanes that I bid you do: Let the blunt King tempt you againe to bed, Pinch Wanton on your cheeke, call you his Mouse, And let him for a paire of reechie kisses, pp2 Or  The Tragedie of Hamlet.  Or padling in your necke with his damn'd Fingers, Make you to rauell all this matter out, That I essentially am not in madnesse, But made in craft. 'Twere good you let him know, For who that's but a Queene, faire, sober, wise, Would from a Paddocke, from a Bat, a Gibbe, Such deere concernings hide, Who would do so, No in despight of Sense and Secrecie, Vnpegge the Basket on the houses top: Let the Birds flye, and like the famous Ape To try Conclusions in the Basket, creepe And breake your owne necke downe. I must to England, you know that? This man shall set me packing: Ile lugge the Guts into the Neighbor roome, Mother goodnight. Indeede this Counsellor Is now most still, most secret, and most graue, Who was in life, a foolish prating Knaue. Come sir, to draw toward an end with you. Good night Mother. Safely stowed. What noise? Who cals on Hamlet? Oh heere they come. Compounded it with dust, whereto 'tis Kinne. Do not beleeue it. That I can keepe your counsell, and not mineowne. Besides, to be demanded of a Spundge, what replication should be made by the Sonne of a King. I sir, that sokes vp the Kings Countenance, hisRewards, his Authorities (but such Officers do the Kingbest seruice in the end. He keepes them like an Ape inthe corner of his iaw, first mouh'd to be last swallowed,when he needes what you haue glean'd, it is but squeezing you, and Spundge you shall be dry againe. I am glad of it: a knauish speech sleepes in a foolish eare. The body is with the King, but the King is not With the body. The King, is a thing ⸺ Of nothing: bring me to him, hide Fox, and all after. At Supper. Not where he eats, but where he is eaten, a certaine conuocation of wormes are e'ne at him. Your wormis your onely Emperor for diet. We fat all creatures elseto fat vs, and we fat our selfe for Magots. Your fat King,and your leane Begger is but variable seruice to dishes,but to one Table that's the end. Nothing but to shew you how a King may go a Progresse through the guts of a Begger. In heauen, send thither to see. If your Messenger finde him not there, seeke him i'th other place yourselfe: but indeed, if you finde him not this moneth, youshall nose him as you go vp the staires into the Lobby. He will stay till ye come. For England? Good. I see a Cherube that see's him: but come, for England. Farewell deere Mother. My Mother: Father and Mother is man and wife: man & wife is one flesh, and so my mother. Come, for England. Ha's this fellow no feeling of his businesse, that he sings at Graue‑making? Tis ee'n so; the hand of little Imployment hath the daintier sense. That Scull had a tongue in it, and could singonce: how the knaue iowles it to th' grownd, as if itwereCainesIaw‑bone, that did the first murther: Itmight be the Pate of a Polititian which this Asse o're Offices: one that could circumuent God, might it not? Or of a Courtier, which could say, Good Morrow sweet Lord: how dost thou, good Lord? thismight be my Lord such a one, that prais'd my Lord sucha ones Horse, when he meant to begge it; might it not? Why ee'n so: and now my Lady Wormes, Chaplesse, and knockt about the Mazard with a Sextons Spade; heere's fine Reuolution, if wee had the tricke to fee't. Did these bones cost no more the breeding, but to play at Loggets with 'em? mine ake to thinke on't. There's another: why might not that bee theScull of of a Lawyer? where be his Quiddits now? hisQuillets? his Cases? his Tenures, and his Tricks? whydoe's he suffer this rude knaue now to knocke him aboutthe Sconce with a dirty Shouell, and will not tell him ofhis Action of Battery? hum. This fellow might be in'stime a great buyer of Land, with his statutes, his Recognizances, his Fines, his double Vouchers, his Recoueries:Is this the fine of his Fines, and the recouery of his Recoueries, to haue his fine Pate full of fine Dirt? will hisVouchers vouch him no more of his Purchases, and double ones too, then the length and breadth of a paire ofIndentures? the very Conueyances of his Lands willhardly lye in this Boxe; and must the Inheritor himselfehaue no more? ha? Is not Parchment made of Sheep‑skinnes? They are Sheepe and Calues that seek out assurance in that. I will speake to this fellow; whose Graue'sthis Sir? I thinke it be thine indeed: for thou liest in't. Thou dost lye in't, to be in't and say 'tis thine: 'tis for the dead, not for the quicke, therefore thou lyest. What man dost thou digge it for? What woman then? Who is to be buried in't? How absolute the knaue is? wee must speake by the Carde, or equiuocation will vndoe vs: by the Lord Horatio, these three yeares I haue taken note of it, the Age is growne so picked, that the toe of the Pesant comes so neere the heeles of our Courtier, hee galls his Kibe. How long hast thou been a Graue‑maker? How long is that since? I marry, why was he sent into England? Why? How came he mad? How strangely? Vpon what ground? How long will a man lie'ith'earth ere he rot? Why he, more then another? Whose was it? Nay, I know not. This? Let me see. Alas pooreYorick, I knew himHo­ ratio,a fellow of infinite Iest; of most excellent fancy, hehath borne me on his backe a thousand times.And how abhorred my Imagination is, my gorge rises at it. Heerehung those lipps, that I haue kist I know not how oft.VVhere be your Iibes now? Your Gambals?YourSongs? Your flashes of Merriment that were wont toset the Table on a Rore? No one now to mock your ownIeering? Quite chopfalne? Now get you to my LadiesChamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thicke, to thisfauour she must come. Make her laugh at that: prytheeHoratiotell me one thing. Dost thou thinkeAlexanderlookt o'this fashion i'th'earth? And smelt so? Puh. To what base vses we may returneHoratio.Why may not Imagination trace the Noble dust ofA­ lexander, till he find it stopping a bunghole. No faith, not a iot. But to follow him thetherwith modestie enough, & likeliehood to lead it; as thus.Alexanderdied:Alexanderwas buried:Alexanderreturneth into dust; the dust is earth; of earth we makeLome, and why of that Lome (whereto he was conuerted) might they not stopp a Beere‑barrell? Imperiall Cæsar, dead and turn'd to clay, Might stop a hole to keepe the winde away. Oh, that that earth, which kept the world in awe, Should patch a Wall, t'expell the winters flaw. But soft, but soft, aside; heere comes the King. Enter King, Queen, Laertes, and a Coffin, with Lords attendant. The Queene, the Courtiers. Who is that they follow,  And with such maimed rites? This doth betoken, The Coarse they follow, did with disperate hand, Fore do it owne life; 'twas fome Estate. Couch we a while, and mark. That is Laertes, a very Noble youth: Marke. What, the faire Ophelia? What is he, whose griefes Beares such an Emphasis? whose phrase of Sorrow Coniure the wandrinig Starres, and makes them stand Like wonder‑wounded hearers? This is I, Hamlet the Dane. Thou prai'st not well, I prythee take thy fingers from my throat; Sir though I am not Spleenatiue, and rash, Yet haue I fomething in me dangerous, Which let thy wisenesse feare. Away thy hand. Why I will fight with him vppon this Theme, Vntill my eielids will no longer wag. I lou'd Ophelia; fortie thousand Brothers Could not (with all there quanitie of Loue) Make vp my summe. What wilt thou do for her? Come show me what thou'lt doe. Woo't weepe? Woo't fight? Woo't teare thy selfe? Woo't drinke vp Esile, eate a Crocodile? Ile  The Tragedie of Hamlet.  Ile doo't. Dost thou come heere to whine; To outface me with leaping in her Graue? Be buried quicke with her, and so will I. And if thou prate of Mountaines; let them throw Millions of Akers on vs; till our ground Sindging his pate against the burning Zone, Make Ossa like a wart. Nay, and thoul't mouth, Ile rant as well as thou. Heare you Sir: What is the reason that you vse me thus? I loud' lou'd you euer; but it is no matter: Let Hercules himselfe doe what he may, The Cat will Mew, and Dogge will haue his day. So much for this Sir; now let me see the other, You doe remember all the Circumstance. Sir, in my heart there was a kinde of fighting, That would not let me sleepe; me thought I lay Worse then the mutines in the Bilboes, rashly, (And praise be rashnesse for it) let vs know, Our indiscretion sometimes serues vs well, When our deare plots do paule, and that should teach vs, There's a Diuinity that shapes our ends, Rough‑hew them how we will. Vp from my Cabin My sea‑gowne scarft about me in the darke, Grop'd I to finde out them; had my desire, finger'd their Packet, and in fine, withdrew To mine owne roome againe, making so bold, (My feares forgetting manners) to vnseale Their grand Commission, where I found Horatio, Oh royall knauery: An exact command, Larded with many seuerall sorts of reason; Importing Denmarks health, and Englands too, With hoo, such Bugges and Goblins in my life, that on the superuize no leasure bated, No not to stay the grinding of the Axe, My head should be struck off. Here's the Commission, read it at more leysure: But wilt thou heare me how I did proceed? Being thus benetted round with Villaines, Ere I could make a Prologue to my braines, They had begun the Play. I sate me downe, Deuis'd a new Commission, wrote it faire, I once did hold it as our Statists doe, A basenesse to write faire; and laboured much How to forget that learning: but Sir now, It did me Yeomans seruice: wilt thou know The effects of what I wrote? An earnest Coniuration from the King, As England was his faithfull Tributary, As loue betweene them, as the Palme should flourish, As Peace should still her wheaten Garland weare, And stand a Comma 'tweene their amities, And many such like Assis of great charge, That on the view and know of these Contents, Without debatement further, more or lesse, He should the bearers put to sodaine death, Not shriuing time allowd. Why, euen in that was Heauen ordinate; I had my fathers Signet in my Purse, Which was the Model of that Danish Seale: Folded the Writ vp in forme of the other, Subscrib'd it, gau't th'impression, plac't it safely, The changeling neuer knowne: Now, the next day Was our Sea fight, and what to this was sement, Thou know'st already. Why man, they did make loue to this imployment They are not neere my Conscience; their debate Doth by their owne insinuation grow: 'Tis dangerous, when the baser nature comes Betweene the passe, and fell incensed points Of mighty opposites. Does it not, thinkst thee, stand me now vpon He that hath kil'd my King, and whor'd my Mother, Pop t in betweene th'election and my hopes, Throwne out his Angle for my proper life, And with such coozenage; is't not perfect conscience, To quit him with this arme? And is't not to be damn'd To let this Canker of our nature come In further euill. It will be short, The interim's mine, and a mans life's no more Then to say one: but I am very sorry good Horatio, That to Laertes I forgot my selfe; For by the image of my Cause, I see The Portraiture of his; Ile count his fauours: But sure the brauery of his griefe did put me Into a Towring passion. I humbly thank you Sir, dost know this waterflie? Thy state is the more gracious; for'tis a vice toknow him: he hath much Land, and fertile; let a Beastbe Lord of Beasts, and his Crib shall stand at the KingsMesse; 'tis a Chowgh; but as I saw spacious in the possession of dirt. I will receiue it with all diligence of spirit; put your Bonet to his right vse,'tis for the head. No, beleeue mee 'tis very cold, the winde is Northerly. Mee thinkes it is very soultry, and hot for my Complexion. I beseech you remember. What's his weapon? That's two of his weapons; but well. What call you the Carriages? The phrase would bee more Germaine to thematter: If we could carry Cannon by our sides; I wouldit might be Hangers till then; but on sixe Barbary Horses against sixe French Swords: their Assignes, and threeliberall conceited Carriages, that's the French but against the Danish; why is this impon'd as you call it? How if I answere no? Sir, I will walke heere in the Hall; if it please his Maiestie, 'tis the breathing time of day with me; let the Foyles bee brought, the Gentleman willing, and the King hold his purpose; I will win for him if I can: if not, Ile gaine nothing but my shame, and the odde hits. To this effect Sir, after what flourish your nature will. Yours, yours; hee does well to commend it himselfe, there are no tongues else for's tongue. He did Complie with his Dugge before hee suck't it: thus had he and mine more of the same Beauy that I know the drossie age dotes on; only got the tune of the time, and outward habite of encounter, a kinde of yesty collection, which carries them through & through the most fond and winnowed opinions;and doe but blow them to their tryalls: the Bubbles are out. I doe not thinke so, since he went into France,I haue beene in continuall practice; I shall winne at theoddes: but thou wouldest not thinke how all heere about my heart: but it is no matter. It is but foolery; but it is such a kinde of gain‑giuing as would perhaps trouble a woman. Not a whit, we defie Augury; there's a speciallProuidence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now,'tis notto come: if it bee not come, it will bee now: if itbe not now; yet it will come; the readinesse is all, since noman ha's ought of what he leaues. What is't to leaue betimes? Giue me your pardon Sir, I'ue done you wrong, But pardon't as you are a Gentleman. This presence knowes, And you must needs haue heard how I am punisht With sore distraction? What I haue done That might your nature honour, and exception Roughly awake, I heere proclaime was madnesse: Was't Hamlet wrong'd Laertes? Neuer Hamlet. If Hamlet from himselfe be tane away: And when he's not himselfe, do's wrong Laertes, Then Hamlet does it not, Hamlet denies it: Who does it then? His Madnesse? If't be so, Hamlet is of the Faction that is wrong'd, His madnesse is poore Hamlets Enemy. Sir, in this Audience, Let my disclaiming from a purpos'd euill, Free me so farre in your most generous thoughts, That I haue shot mine Arrow o're the house, And hurt my Mother. I do embrace it freely, And will this Brothers wager frankely play. Giue vs the Foyles: Come on. Ile be your foile Laertes, in mine ignorance, Your Skill shall like a starre i'th'darkest night, Sticke fiery off indeede. No by this hand. Verie well my Lord, Your Grace hath laide the oddes a'th'weaker side. This likes me well, These Foyles haue all a length. Come on sir. One. Iudgement. Ile play this bout first, set by a‑while. Come: Another hit; what say you? Good Madam. I dare not drinke yet Madam, By and by. Come, for the third. Laertes, you but dally, I pray you passe with your best violence, I am affear'd you make a wanton of me. Nay come, againe. How does the Queene? Oh Villany! How? Let the doore be lock'd. Treacherie, seeke it out. The point envenom'd too, Then venome to thy worke. Heere thou incestuous, murdrous, Damned Dane, Drinke off this Potion: Is thy Vnion heere? Follow my Mother. Heauen make thee free of it, I follow thee. I am dead Horatio, wretched Queene adiew, You that looke pale, and tremble at this chance, That are but Mutes or audience to this acte: Had I but time (as this fell Sergeant death Is strick'd in his Arrest) oh I could tell you. But let it be: Horatio, I am dead, Thou liu'st, report me and my causes right To the vnsatisfied. As th'art a man, giue me the Cup. Let go, by Heauen Ile haue't. Oh good Horatio, what a wounded name, (Things standing thus vnknowne) shall liue behind me. If thou did'st euer hold me in thy heart, Absent thee from felicitie a while, And in this harsh world draw thy breath in paine, To tell my Storie. March afarre off, and shout within. What warlike noyse is this? O I dye Horatio: The potent poyson quite ore‑crowes my spirit, I cannot liue to heare the Newes from England,' But I do prophesie th'election lights On Fortinbras, he ha's my dying voyce, So tell him with the occurrents more and lesse, Which haue solicited. The rest is silence, O, o, o, o. 
Horatio, friend to Hamlet	#F-ham-hor	104	Friends to this ground. A peece of him. Tush, tush,'twill not appeare. Well, sit, we downe, And let vs heare Barnardo speake of this. Most like: It harrowes me with fear & wonder What art thou that vsurp'st this time of night, Together with that Faire and Warlike forme In which the Maiesty of buried Denmarke Did sometimes march: By Heauen I charge thee Speake. Stay: speake; speake: I Charge thee, Speake. Before my God, I might not this beleeue Without the sensible and true auouch Of mine owne eyes. As thou art to thy selfe, Such was the very Armour he had on, When th'Ambitious Norwey combatted: So frown'd he once, when in an angry parle He smot the sledded Pollax on the Ice. 'Tis strange. In what particular thought to work, l know not: But in the grosse and scope of my Opinion, This boades some strange erruption to our State. That can I, At  The Tragedie of Hamlet.  At least the whisper goes so: Our last King, Whose Image euen but now appear'd to vs, Was (as you know) by Fortinbras of Norway, (Thereto prick'd on by a most emulate Pride) Dar'd to the Combate. In which, our Valiant Hamlet, (For so this side of our knowne world esteem'd him) Did slay this Fortinbras: who by a Seal'd Compact, Well ratified by Law, and Heraldrie, Did forfeite (with his life) all those his Lands Which he stood seiz'd on, to the Conqueror; Against the which, a Moity competent Was gaged by our King: which had return'd To the Inheritance of Fortinbras, Had he bin Vanquisher, as by the same Cou'nant And carriage of the Article designe, His fell to Hamlet. Now sir, young Fortinbras, Of vnimproued Mettle, hot and full, Hath in the skirts of Norway, heere and there, Shark'd vp a List of Landlesse Resolutes, For Foode and Diet, to some Enterprize That hath a stomacke m't: which is no other (And it doth well appeare vnto our State) But to recouer of vs by strong hand And termes Compulsatiue, those foresaid Lands So by his Father lost: and this (I take it) Is the maine Motiue os our Preparations, The Sourse of this our Watch, and the cheefe head Of this post‑hast, and Romage in the Land. Enter Ghost againe. But soft, behold: Loe, where it comes againe: Ile crosse it, though it blast me. stay Illusion: If thou hast any sound, or vse of Voyce, Speake to me. If there be any good thing to be done, That may to thee do ease, and grace to me; speak to me. If thou art priuy to thy Countries Fate (Which happily foreknowing may auoyd) Oh speake. Or, if thou hast vp‑hoorded in thy life Extorted Treasure in the wombe of Earth, (For which, they say, you Spirits oft walke in death) Speake of it. Stay, and speake. Stop it Marcellus. Do, if it will not stand. 'Tis heere. And then it started, like a guilty thing Vpon a fearfull Summons. I haue heard, The Cocke that is the Trumpet to the day, Doth with his lofty and shrill‑sounding Throate Awake the God of Day: and at his warning, Whether in Sea, or Fire, in Earth, or Ayre, Th'extrauagant, and erring Spirit, hyes To his Confine. And of the truth heerein, This prescnt Obiect made probation. So haue I heard, and do in part beleeue it. But looke, the Morne in Russet mantle clad, Walkes o're the dew of yon high Easterne Hill, Breake we our Watch vp, and by my aduice Let vs impart what we haue seene to night Vnto yong Hamlet. For vpon my life, This Spirit dumbe to vs, will speake to him: Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it, As needfull in our Loues, fitting our Duty? Haile to your Lordship. The same my Lord, And your poore Seruant euer. A truant disposition, good my Lord. My Lord, I came to see your Fathers Funerall. Indeed my Lord, it followed hard vpon. Oh where my Lord? I saw him once; he was a goodly King. My Lord, I thinke I saw him yesternight. My Lord, the King your Father. Season your admiration for a while With an attent eare; till I may deliuer Vpon the witnesse of these Gentlemen, This maruell to you. Two nights together, had these Gentlemen (Marcellus and Barnardo) on their Watch In the dead wast and middle of the night Beene thus encountred. A figure like your Father, Arm'd at all points exactly, Cap a Pe, Appeares before them, and with sollemne march Goes slow and stately: By them thrice he walkt, By their opprest and feare‑surprized eyes, Within his Truncheons length; whilst they bestil'd Almost to Ielly with the Act of feare, Stand dumbe and speake not to him. This to me In dreadfull secrecie impart they did, And I with them the third Night kept the Watch, Whereas they had deliuer'd both in time, Forme of the thing; each word made true and good, The Apparition comes. I knew your Father: These hands are not more like. My Lord, I did; But answere made it none: yet once me thought It lifted vp it its head, and did addresse It selfe to motion, like as it would speake: But euen then, the Morning Cocke crew lowd; And at the sound it shrunke in hast away, And vanisht from our sight. As I doe liue my honourd Lord 'tis true; And we did thinke it writ downe in our duty To let you know of it. O yes, my Lord, he wore his Beauer vp. A countenance more in sorrow then in anger. Nay very pale. Most constantly. It would haue much amaz'd you. While one with moderate hast might tell a hun(dred. Not when I saw't. It was, as I haue seene it in his life, A Sable Siluer'd. I warrant you it will. It is a nipping and an eager ayre. I thinke it lacks of twelue. Indeed I heard it not: then it drawes neere the (season, Wherein the Spirit held his wont to walke. What  The Tragedie of Hamlet. This page is either worn or imperfectly inked, so parts of many letters are missing.  What does this meane my Lord? Is it a custome? Looke my Lord, it comes. It beckons you to goe away with it, As if it some impartment did desire To you alone. No, by no meanes. Doe not my Lord. What if it tempt you toward the Floud my Lord? Or to the dreadfull Sonnet of the Cliffe, That beetles o're his base into the Sea, And there assumes some other horrible forme, Which might depriue your Soueraignty of Reason, And draw you into madnesse thinke of it? Be rul'd, you shall not goe. He waxes desperate with imagination. Haue after, to what issue will this come? Heauen will direct it. Heauen secure him. Illo, ho, ho, my Lord. What newes, my Lord? Good my Lord tell it. Not I, my Lord, by Heauen. There needs no Ghost my Lord, come from the Graue, to tell vs this. These are but wild and hurling words, my Lord. There's no offence my Lord. What is't my Lord? we will. Infaith my Lord, not I. Propose the Oath my Lord. Oh day and night; but this is wondrous strange. Heere sweet Lord, at your Seruice. O my deere Lord. Well my Lord. If he steale ought the whil'st this Play is Playing, And scape detecting, I will pay the Theft. Halfe a share. You might haue Rim'd. Verie well my Lord. I did verie well note him. She is importunate, indeed distract her moode will needs be pittied. She speakes much of her Father; saies she heares There's trickes i'th'world, and hems, and beats her heart, Spumes enuiously at Strawes, speakes things in doubt, That carry but halfe sense: Her speech is nothing, Yet the vnshaped vse of it doth moue The hearers to Collection; they ayme at it, And botch the words vp fit to their owne thoughts, Which as her winkes, and nods, and gestures yeeld them,  Indeed would make one thinke there would be thought, Though nothing sure, yet much vnhappily. What are they that would speake with me? Let them come in, I do not know from what part of the world I should be greeted, if not from Lord Hamlet. Let him blesse thee too. Custome hath made it in him a property of easinesse. It might, my Lord. I, my Lord. Not a iot more, my Lord. I my Lord, and of Calue‑skinnes too. What's that my Lord? E'ene so. E'ene so, my Lord. 'Twere to consider: to curiously to consider so. Remember it my Lord? That is most certaine. Ist possible? I beseech you. I, good my Lord. How was this seal'd? So Guildensterne and Rosincrance, go too't. Why, what a King is this? It must be shortly knowne to him from England What is the issue of the businesse there. Peace, who comes heere? No my good Lord. This Lapwing runs away with the shell on his head. You will lose this wager, my Lord. Nay, good my Lord. If your minde dislike any thing, obey. I will forestall their repaire hither, and say you are not fit. They bleed on both sides. How is't my Lord? Neuer beleeue it. I am more an Antike Roman then a Dane: Heere's yet some Liquor left. Now cracke a Noble heart: Goodnight sweet Prince, And flights of Angels sing thee to thy rest, Why do's the Drumme come hither? What is it ye would see; If ought of woe, or wonder, cease your search. Not from his mouth, Had it th'abilitie of life to thanke you: He neuer gaue command'ment for their death. But since so iumpe vpon this bloodie question, You from the Polake warres, and you from England Are heere arriued. Giue order that these bodies High on a stage be placed to the view, And let me spcake to th'yet vnknowing world, How these things came about. So shall you heare Of carnall, bloudie, and vnnaturall acts, Of accidentall iudgements, casuall slaughters Of death's put on by cunning, and forc'd cause, And in this vp shot, purposes mistooke, Falne on the Inuentors heads. All this can I Truly deliuer. Of that I shall haue alwayes cause to speake, And from his mouth Whose voyce will draw on more: But let this same be presently perform'd, Euen whiles mens mindes are wilde, Lest more mischance On plots, and errors happen. 
	#F-ham-hor #F-ham-mar	9	We doe my Lord. Arm'd, my Lord. My Lord, from head to foote. within. My Lord, my Lord. I, by Heau'n, my Lord. My Lord, we will not. Wee'l wait vpon you. We will my Lord. We will haste vs. 
Laertes, son to Polonius	#F-ham-lae	60	Dread my Lord, Your leaue and fauour to returne to France,There is an ink mark at the end of this line. From whence, though willingly I came to Denmarke To shew my duty in your Coronation, Yet now I must confesse, that duty done, My thoughts and wishes bend againe towards France, And bow them to your gracious leaue and pardon. My necessaries are imbark't; Farewell: And Sister, as the Winds giue Benefit, And Conuoy is assistant; doe not sleepe, But let me heare from you. For Hamlet, and the trifling of his fauours, Hold it a fashion and a toy in Bloud; A Violet in the youth of Primy Nature; Froward, not permanent; sweet not lasting The suppliance of a minute? No more. Thinke it no more: For nature cressant does not grow alone, In thewes and Bulke: but as his Temple waxes, The inward seruice of the Minde and Soule Growes wide withall. Perhaps he loues you now, And now no soyle nor cautell doth besmerch The vertue of his feare: but you must feare His  The Tragedie of Hamlet.  His greatnesse weigh'd, his will is not his owne; For hee himselfe is subiect to his Birth: Hee may not, as vnuallued persons doe, Carue for himselfe; for, on his choyce depends The sanctity and health of the weole State. And therefore must his choyce be circumscrib'd Vnto the voyce and yeelding of that Body, Whereof he is the Head. Then if he sayes he loues you, It fits your wisedome so farre to beleeue it; As he in his peculiar Sect and force May giue his saying deed: which is no further, Then the maine voyce of Denmarke goes withall. Then weigh what losse your Honour may sustaine, If with too credent eare you list his Songs; Or lose your Heart; or your chast Treasure open To his vnmastred importunity. Feare it Ophelia, feare it my deare Sister, And keepe within the reare of your Affection; Out of the shot and danger of Desire. The chariest Maid is Prodigall enough, If she vnmaske her beauty to the Moone; Vertue it selfe scapes not calumnious stroakes, The Canker Galls, the Infants of the Spring Too oft before the buttons be disclos'd, And in the Morne and liquid dew of Youth, Contagious blastments are most imminent. Be wary then, best safety lies in feare; Youth to it selfe rebels, though none else neere. Oh, feare me not. Enter Polonius. I stay too long; but here my Father comes: A double blessing is a double grace; Occasion smiles vpon a second leaue. Most humbly doe I take my leaue, my Lord. Farewell Ophelia, and remember well What I haue said to you. Farewell. Where is the King, sirs? Stand you all without. I pray you giue me leaue. I thanke you: Keepe the doore. Oh thou vilde King, giue me my Father. That drop of blood, that calmes Proclaimes me Bastard: Cries Cuckold to my Father, brands the Harlot Euen here between the chaste vnsmirched brow Of my true Mother. Where's my Father? How came he dead? Ile not be Iuggel'd with. To hell Allegeance: Vowes, to the blackest diuell. Conscience and Grace, to the profoundest Pit. I dare Damnation: to this point I stand, That both the worlds I giue to negligence, Let come what comes: onely Ile be reueng'd Most throughly for my Father. My Will, not all the world, And for, my meanes, Ile husband them so well, They shall go farre with little. None but his Enemies. To his good Friends, thus wide Ile opemy Armes: And like the kinde Life‑rend'ring Politician, Repast them with my blood. How now? what noise is that? Oh heate drie vp my Braines, teares seuen times salt, Burne out the Sence and Vertue of mine eye. By Heauen, thy madnesse shall be payed by waight, Till our Scale turnes the beame. Oh Rose of May, Deere Maid, kinde Sister, sweet Ophelia: Oh Heauens, is't possible, a yong Maids wits, Should be as mortall as an old mans life? Nature is fine in Loue, and where 'tis fine, It sends some precious instance of it selfe After the thing it loues. Had'st thou thy wits, and did'st perswade Reuenge, it could not moue thus. This nothings more then matter. A document in madnesse, thoughts & remembrance fitted. Thought, and Affliction, Passion, Hell it selfe: She turnes to Fauour, and to prettinesse. Do you see this, you Gods? Let this be so: His meanes of death, his obscure buriall; No Trophee, Sword, nor Hatchment o're his bones, No Noble rite, nor formall ostentation, Cry to be heard, as 'twere from Heauen to Earth, That I must call in question. It well appeares. But tell me, Why you proceeded not against these feates, So crimefull, and so Capitall in Nature, As by your Safety, Wisedome, all things else,  You mainly were stirr'd vp? And so haue I a Noble Father lost, A Sister driuen into desperate tearmes, Who was (if praises may go backe againe) Stood Challenger on mount of all the Age For her perfections. But my reuenge will come. Know you the hand? I'm lost in it my Lord; but let him come, It warmes the very sicknesse in my heart, That I shall liue and tell him to his teeth; Thus diddest thou. If so you'l not o'rerule me to a peace. A Norman was't? Vpon my life Lamound. I know him well, he is the Brooch indeed, And Iemme of all our Nation. Why out of this, my Lord? Why aske you this? To cut his throat i'th'Church. I will doo't, And for that purpose Ile annoint my Sword: I bought an Vnction of a Mountebanke So mortall, I but dipt a knife in it, Where it drawes blood, no Cataplasme so rare, Collected from all Simples that haue Vertue Vnder the Moone, can saue the thing from death, That is but scratcht withall: Ile touch my point, With this contagion that if I gall him slightly, It may be death. Drown'd! O where? Alas then, is she drown'd? Too much of water hast thou poore Ophelia, And therefore I forbid my teares: but yet It is our tricke, Nature her custome holds, Let shame say what it will; when these are gone The woman will be out: Adue my Lord. I haue a speech of fire, that faine would blaze, But that this folly doubts it. What Cerimony else? What Cerimony else? Must there no more be done? Lay her i'th'earth, And from her faire and vnpolluted flesh, May Violets spring. I tell thee (churlish Priest) A Ministring Angell shall my Sister be, When thou liest howling? Oh terrible woer, Fall ten times trebble, on that cursed head Whose wicked deed, thy most Ingenious sence Depriu'd thee of. Hold off the earth a while, Till I haue caught her once more in mine armes: Leaps in the graue. Now pile your dust, vpon the quick, and dead, Till of this flat a Mountaine you haue made, To o're top old Pelion, or the skyish head Of blew Olympus. The deuill take thy soule. Iam satisfied in Nature, Whose motiue in this case should stirre me most To my Reuenge. But in my termes of Honor I stand aloofe, and will no reconcilement, Till by some elder Masters of knowne Honor, I haue a voyce, and president of peace To keepe my name vngorg'd. But till that time, I do receiue your offer'd loue like loue, And wil not wrong it. Come one for me. You mocke me Sir. This is too heauy, Let me see another. Come on sir. No. Well: againe. A touch, a touch, I do confesse. My Lord, Ile hit him now. And yet 'tis almost 'gainst my conscience. Say you so? Come on. Haue at you now. Why as a Woodcocke To mine Sprindge, Osricke, I am iustly kill'd with mine owne Treacherie. it is heere Hamlet. Hamlet, thou art slaine, No Medicine in the world can do thee good. In thee, there is not halfe an houre of life; The Treacherous Instrument is in thy hand, Vnbated and envenom'd: the foule practise Hath turn'd it selfe on me. Loe, heere I lye, Neuer to rise againe: Thy Mothers poyson'd:  I can no more, the King, the King's too blame. He is iustly seru'd. It is a poyson temp'red by himselfe: Exchange forgiuenesse with me, Noble Hamlet; Mine and ray Fathers death come not vpon thee, Nor thine on me. 
Lucianus	#F-ham-luc	1	Thoughts blacke, hands apt, Drugges fit, and Time agreeing: Confederate season, else, no Creature seeing: Thou mixture ranke, of Midnight Weeds collected, With Hecats Ban, thrice blasted, thrice infected, Thy naturall Magicke, and dire propertie, On wholsome life, vsurpe immediately. 
Marcellus, Officer	#F-ham-mar	31	And Leige‑men to the Dane. O farwel honest Soldier, who hath relieu'd you? Holla Barnardo. What, ha's this thing appear'd againe to night. Horatio saies,'tis but our Fantasie, And will not let beleefe take hold of him Touching this dreaded sight, twice seene of vs, Therefore I haue intreated him along With vs, to watch the minutes of this Night, That if againe this Apparition come, He may approue our eyes, and speake to it. Peace, breake thee of: Enter the Ghost. Looke where it comes againe. Thou art a Scholler; speake to it Horatio. Question it Horatio. It is offended. 'Tis gone, and will not answer. Is it not like the King? Thus twice before, and iust at this dead houre, With Martiall stalke, hath he gone by our Watch. Good now sit down, & tell me he that knowes Why this same strict and most obseruant Watch, So nightly toyles the subiect of the Land, And why such dayly Caft Cast of Brazon Cannon And Forraigne Mart for Implements of warre: Why such impresse of Ship‑wrights, whose sore Taske Do's not diuide the Sunday from the weeke, What might be toward, that this sweaty hast Doth make the Night ioynt‑Labourer with the day: Who is't that can informe me? Shall I strike at ir it with my Partizan? 'Tis gone. Exit Ghost. We do it wrong, being so Maiesticall To offer it the shew of Violence, For it is as the Ayre, invulnerable, And our vaine blowes, malicious Mockery. It faded on the crowing of the Cocke. Some sayes, that euer 'gainst that Season comes Wherein our Sauiours Birth is celebrated, The Bird of Dawning singeth all night long: And then (they say) no Spirit can walke abroad, The nights are wholsome, then no Planets strike, No Faiery talkes, nor Witch hath power to Charme:  So hallow'd, and so gracious is the time. Let do't I pray, and I this morning know Where we shall finde him most conueniently. My good Lord. My Lord, vpon the platforme where we watcht. No, it is strooke. Looke with what courteous action It wafts you to a more remoued ground: But doe not goe with it. You shall not goe my Lord. Let's follow; 'tis not fit thus to obey him. Something is rotten in the State of Denmarke. Nay, let's follow him. Lord Hamlet. So be it. How ist't is't my Noble Lord? Nor I, my Lord. Nor I my Lord: in faith. We haue sworne my Lord already. 
Messenger	#F-ham-mes	3	Saue your selfe, my Lord. The Ocean (ouer‑peering of his List) Eates not the Flats with more impittious haste Then young Laertes, in a Riotous head, Ore‑beares your Officers, the rabble call him Lord, And as the world were now but to begin, Antiquity forgot, Custome not knowne, The Ratifiers and props of euery word, They cry choose we? Laertes shall be King, Caps, hands, and tongues, applaud it to the clouds, Laertes shall be King, Laertes King. Letters my Lord from Hamlet. This to your Maiesty: this to the Queene. Saylors my Lord they say, I saw them not: They were giuen me by Claudio, he receiu'd them. 
Ophelia, daughter to Polonius	#F-ham-oph	58	Doe you doubt that? No more but so. I shall th'effect of this good Lesson keepe, As watchmen to my heart: but good my Brother Doe not as some vngracious Pastors doe, Shew me the steepe and thorny way to Heauen; Whilst like a puft and recklesse Libertine Himselfe, the Primrose path of dalliance treads, And reaks not his owne reade. Tis in my memory lockt, And you your selfe shall keepe the key of it. So please you, somthing touching the L. Lord Hamlet. He hath my Lord of late, made many tenders Of his affection to me. I do not know, my Lord, what I should thinke. My Lord, he hath importun'd me with loue, In honourable fashion. And hath giuen countenance to his speech, My Lord, with all the vowes of Heauen. I shall obey my Lord. Alas my Lord, I haue beene so affrighted. My Lord, as I was sowing in my Chamber, Lord Hamlet with his doublet all vnbrac'd, No hat vpon his head, his stockings foul'd, Vngartred, and downe giued to his Anckle, Pale as his shirt, his knees knocking each other, And with a looke so pitious in purport, As if he had been loosed out of hell, To speake of horrors: he comes before me. My Lord, I doe not know: but truly I do feare it. He tooke me by the wrist, and held me hard; Then goes he to the length of all his arme; And with his other hand thus o're his brow He fals to such perusall of my face, As he would draw it. Long staid he so, At last, a little shaking of mine Arme: And thrice his head thus wauing vp and downe; He rais'd a sigh, so pittious and profound, That it did seeme to shatter all his bulke, And end his being. That done, he lets me goe, And with his head ouer his shoulders turn'd, He seem'd to finde his way without his eyes, For out adores he went without their helpe; And to the last, bended their light on me. No my good Lord: but as you did command, I did repell his Letters, and deny'de His accesse to me. Madam, I wish it may. Good my Lord, How does your Honor for this many a day? My Lord, I haue Remembrances of yours, That I haue longed long to re‑deliuer. I pray you now, receiue them. My honor'd Lord, I know right well you did, And with them words of so sweet breath compos'd, As made the things more rich, then perfume left: Take these againe, for to the Noble minde Rich gifts wax poore, when giuers proue vnkinde. There my Lord. My Lord. What meanes your Lordship? Could Beautie my Lord, haue better Comerce then your Honestie? Indeed my Lord, you made me beleeue so. I was the more deceiued. At home, my Lord. O helpe him, you sweet Heauens. O heauenly Powers, restore him. O what a Noble minde is heere o're‑throwne? The Courtiers, Soldiers, Schollers: Eye, tongue, sword, Th'expectansie and Rose of the faire State, The glasse of Fashion, and the mould of Forme, Th'obseru'd of all Obseruers, quite, quite downe. Haue I of Ladies most deiect and wretched, That suck'd the Honie of his Musicke Vowes: Now see that Noble, and most Soueraigne Reason, Like sweet Bels iangled out of tune, and harsh, That vnmatch'd Forme and Feature of blowne youth, Blasted with extasie. Oh, woe is me, T'haue seene what I haue seene: see what I see. No my Lord. I my Lord. I thinke nothing, my Lord. What is my Lord? You are merrie, my Lord? I my Lord. Nay,'tis twice two moneths, my Lord. What meanes this, my Lord? Belike this shew imports the Argument of the Play? Will they tell vs what this shew meant? You are naught, you are naught, Ile marke the Play. 'Tis briefe my Lord. You are a good Chorus, my Lord. You are keene my Lord, you are keene. Still better and worse. The King rises. Where is the beauteous Maiesty of Denmark. How shonld I your true loue know from another one? By his Cockle hat and staffe, and his Sandal shoone. Say you? Nay pray you marke. He is dead and gone Lady, he is dead and gone, At his head a grasse‑greene Turfe, at his heeles a stone. Pray you marke. White his Shrow'd as the Mountaine Snow. Larded with sweet flowers: Which bewept to the graue did not go, With true‑loue showres. Well, God dil'd you. They say the Owle was a Bakers daughter. Lord, wee know what we are, but know not what we may be. God be at your Table. Pray you let's haue no words of this: but when they aske you what it meanes, say you this: To morrow is S. Saint Valentines day, all in the morning betime, And I a Maid at your Window, to be your Valentine. Then vp he rose, & don'd his clothes, & dupt the chamber dore, Let in the Maid, that out a Maid, neuer departed more. Indeed la? without an oath Ile make an end ont. By gis, and by S. Saint Charity, Alacke, and fie for shame: Yong men wil doo't, if they come too't, By Cocke they are too blame. Quoth she before you tumbled me, Yon promis'd me to Wed: So would I ha done by yonder Sunne, And thou hadst not come to my bed. I hope all will be well. We must bee patient, but I cannot choose but weepe, to thinke they should lay him i'th'cold ground: My brother shall knowe of it, and so I thanke you for your good counsell. Come, my Coach: Goodnight Ladies: Goodnight sweet Ladies: Goodnight, goodnight. They bore him Bare fac'd on the Beer, Hey non nony, nony, hey nony: And on his graue raines many a teare, Fare you well my Doue. You must sing downe a‑downe, and you call him a‑downe‑a. Oh, how the wheele becomes it? It is the false steward that stole his masters daughter. There's Rosemary, that's for Remembraunce. Pray loue remember: and there is Paconcies, that's for Thoughts. There's Fennell for you, and Columbines: ther'sRew for you, and heere's some for me. Wee may call itHerbe Grace a Sundaies: Oh you must weare your Rewwith a difference. There's a Daysie, I would giue yousome Violets, but they wither'd all when my Father dyed: They say, he made a good end; For bonny sweet Robin is all my ioy. And will he not come againe, And will he not come againe: No, no, he is dead, go to thy Death‑bed, He neuer wil come againe. His Beard as white as Snow, All Flaxen was his Pole: He is gone, he is gone, and we cast away mone, Gramercy on his Soule. And of all Christian Soules, I pray God. God buy ye. 
Osric, courtier	#F-ham-osr	19	Your Lordship is right welcome back to Den(marke. Sweet Lord, if your friendship were at leysure, I should impart a thing to you from his Maiesty. I thanke your Lordship,'tis very hot. It is indifferent cold my Lord indeed. Exceedingly, my Lord, it is very soutry, as 'twereI cannot tell how: but my Lord, his Maiesty bad me signifie to you, that he ha's laid a great wager on your head:Sir, this is the matter. Nay, in good faith, for mine ease in good faith: Sir, you are not ignorant of what excellence Laerles is at his weapon. Rapier and dagger. The sir King ha's wag'd with him six Barbary Horses, against the which he impon'd as I take it, sixe FrenchRapiers and Poniards, with their assignes, as Girdle,Hangers or so; three of the Carriages infaith are verydeare to fancy, very responsiue to the hilts, most delicatecarriages, and of very liberall conceit. The Carriages Sir, are the hangers. The King Sir, bath laid that in a dozen passes betweene you and him, hee shall not exceed you three hits;He hath one twelue for mine, and that would come toimediate tryall, if your Lordship would vouchsafe the Answere. I meane my Lord, the opposition of your person in tryall. Shall I redeliuer you ee'n so? I commend my duty to your Lordship. I my good Lord. A hit, a very palpable hit. Nothing neither way. Looke to the Queene there hoa. How is't Laertes? Yong Fortinbras, with conquest come frõ from Poland To th'Ambassadors of England giues this warlike volly. 
First Player	#F-ham-pla.1	4	What speech, my Lord? Anon he findes him, Striking too short at Greekes. His anticke Sword, Rebellious to his Arme, lyes where it falles Repugnant to command: vnequall match, Pyrrhus at Priam driues, in Rage strikes wide: But with the whiffe and winde of his fell Sword, Th'vnnerued Father fals. Then senseless Illium, Seeming to feele his blow, with flaming top Stoopes to his Bace, and with a hideous crash Takes Prisoner Pyrrhus eare. For loe, his Sword Which was declining on the Milkie head Of Reuerend Priam, seem'd i'th'Ayre to stieke sticke : So  The Tragedie of Hamlet.  So as a painted Tyrant Pyrrhus stood, And like a Newtrall to his will and matter, did nothing. But as we often see against some storme, A silence in the Heauens, the Racke stand still, The bold windes speechlesse, and the Orbe below As hush as death: Anon the dreadfull Thunder Doth rend the Region. So after Pyrrhus pause, A ro wsed Vengeance sets him new a‑worke,An ink mark follows this line. And neuer did the Cyclops hammers fall On Mars his Armours, forg'd for proofe Eterne, With lesse remorse then Pyrrhus bleeding sword Now falles on Priam. Out, out, thou Strumpet‑Fortune, all you Gods, In generall Synod take away her power: Breake all the Spokes and Fallies from her wheele, And boule the round Naue downe the hill of Heauen, As low as to the Fiends. But who, O who, had seen the inobled Queen. Run bare‑foot vp and downe, Threatmng the flame With Bisson Rheume: A clout about that head, Where late the Diadem stood, and for a Robe About her lanke and all ore‑teamed Loines, A blanket in th'Alarum of feare caught vp. Who this had seene, with tongue in Venome steep'd, 'Gainst Fortunes State, would Treason haue pronounc'd? But if the Gods themselues did see her then, When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious sport In mincing with his Sword her Husbands limbes, The instant Burst of Clamour that she made (Vnlesse things mortall moue them not at all) Would haue made milche the Burning eyes of Heauen, And passion in the Gods. 
Player King	#F-ham-plk	4	I my Lord. I my Lord. I warrant your Honor. I hope we haue reform'd that indifferently with vs, Sir. 
Player Prologue	#F-ham-plp	1	For vs, and for our Tragedie, Heere stooping to your Clemencie: We begge your hearing Patientlie. 
Player Queen	#F-ham-plq	4	So many iournies may the Sunne and Moone Make vs againe count o're, ere loue be done. But woe is me, you are so sicke of late, So farre from cheere, and from your forme state, That I distrust you: yet though I distrust, Discomfort you (my Lord) it nothing must: For womens Feare and Loue, holds quantitie, In  The Tragedie of Hamlet.  In neither ought, or in extremity: Now what my loue is, proofe hath made you know, And as my Loue is siz'd, my Feare is so. Oh confound the rest: Such Loue, must needs be Treason in my brest: In second Husband, let me be accurst, None wed the second. but who kill'd the first. An ink mark follows the end of this line. The instances that second Marriage moue, Are base respects of Thrift, but none of Loue. A second time, I kill my Husband dead, When second Husband kisses me in Bed. Nor Earth to giue me food, not Heauen light, Sport and repose locke from me day and night: Each opposite that blankes the face of ioy, Meet what I would haue well, and it destroy: Both heere, and hence, pursue me lasting strife, If once a Widdow, euer I be Wife. 
Polonius, Lord Chamberlain	#F-ham-pol	85	He hath my Lord: I do beseech you giue him leaue to go. Yet heere Laertes? Aboord, aboord for shame, The winde sits in the shoulder of your saile, And you are staid for there: my blessing with you; And these few Precepts in thy memory, See thou Character. Giue thy thoughts no tongue, Nor any vnproportion'd thought his Act: Be thou familiar; but by no meanes vulgar: The friends thou hast, and their adoption tride, Grapple them to thy Soule, with hoopes of Steele; But doe not dull thy palme, with entertainment Of each vnhatch't, vnfledg'd Comrade. Beware Of entrance to a quarrell: but being in Bear't that th'opposed may beware of thee. Giue euery man thine eare; but few thy voyce: Take each mans censure; but reserue thy iudgement: Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy; But not exprest in fancie; rich, not gawdie: For the Apparell oft proclaimes the man. And they in France of the best ranck and station, Are of a most select and generous cheff in that. Neither a borrower, nor a lender be; For lone oft loses both it selfe and friend: And borrowing duls the edge of Husbandry. This aboue all; to thine owne selfe be true: And it must follow, as the Night the Day, Thou canst not then be false to any man.  Farewell: my Blessing season this in thee. The time inuites you, goe, your seruants send. What ist Ophelia he hath said to you? Marry, well bethought: Tis told me he hath very oft of late Giuen priuate time to you; and you your selfe Haue of your audience beene most free and bounteous. If it be so, as so tis put on me; And that in way of caution: I must tell you, You doe not vnderstand your selfe so cleerely, As it behoues my Daughter, and your Honour. What is betweene you, giue me vp the truth? Affection, puh. You speake like a greene Girle, Vnsifted in such perillous Circumstance. Doe you beleeue his tenders, as you call them? Marry Ile teach you; thinke your selfe a Baby, That you haue tane his tenders for true pay, Which are not starling. Tender your selfe more dearly; Or not to crack the winde of the poore Phrase, Roaming it thus, you'l tender me a foole. I, fashion you may call it, go too, go too. I, Springes to catch Woodcocks. I doe know When the Bloud burnes, how Prodigall the Soule Giues the tongue vowes: these blazes, Daughter, Giuing more light then heate; extinct in both, Euen in their promise, as it is a making; You muft must not take for fire. For this time Daughter, Be somewhat scanter of your Maiden presence; Set your entreatments at a higher rate, Then a command to parley. For Lord Hamlet, Beleeue so much in him, that he is young, And with a larger tether may he walke, Then may be giuen you. In few, Ophelia, Doe not beleeue his vowes; for they are Broakers, Not of the eye, which their Inuestments show: But meere implorators of vnholy Sutes, Breathing like sanctified and pious bonds, The better to beguile. This is for all: I would not, in plaine tearmes, from this time forth, Haue you so slander any moment leisure, As to giue words or talke with the Lord Hamlet: Looke too't, I charge you; come your wayes. Giue him his money, and these notes Reynoldo. You shall doe maruels wisely: good Reynoldo, Before you visite him you make inquiry Of his behauiour. And in part him, but you may say not well; But if't be hee I meane, hees very wilde; Addicted so and so; and there put on him What forgeries you please; marry, none so ranke, As may dishonour him; take need of that: But Sir, such wanton, wild, and vsuall slips, As are Companions noted and most knowne To youth and liberty. I, or drinking, fencing. swearing, Quarelling, drabbing. You may goe so farre. Faith no, as you may season it in the charge; You must not put another scandall on him, That hee is open to Incontinencie; That's not my meaning: but breath his faults so quaintly, That they may seeme the taints of liberty; The flash and out‑breake of a fiery minde, A sauagenes in vnreclaim'd bloud of generall assault. Wherefore should you doe this? Marry Sir, here's my drift, And I belieue it is a fetch of warrant: You laying these slight sulleyes on my Sonne, As 'twere a thing a little soil'd i'th'working: Marke you your party in conuerse; him you would (sound, Hauing euer seene. In the prenominate crimes,  The youth you breath of guilty, be assur'd He closes with you in this consequence: Good sir, or so, or friend, or Gentleman. According to the Phrase and the Addition, Of man and Country. And then Sir does he this? He does: what was I about to say? I was about to say somthing: where did I leaue? At closes in the consequence, I marry, He closes with you thus. I know the Gentleman, I saw him yesterday, or tother day; Or then or then, with such and such; and as you say, There was he gaming, there o'retooke in's Rouse, There falling out at Tennis; or perchance, I saw him enter such a house of saile; Videlicet, a Brothell, or so forth. See you now; Your bait of falshood, takes this Cape of truth; And thus doe we of wisedome and of reach With windlesses, and with assaies of Bias, By indirections finde directions out: So by my former Lecture and aduice Shall you my Sonne; you haue me, haue you not? God buy you; fare you well. Obserue his inclination in your selfe. And let him plye his Musicke. Farewell: How now Ophelia, what's the matter? With what, in the name of Heauen? Mad for thy Loue? What said he? Goe with me, I will goe seeke the King, This is the very extasie of Loue, Whose violent property foredoes it selfe, And  The Tragedie of Hamlet.  And leads the will to desperate Vndertakings, As oft as any passion vnder Heauen, That does afflict our Natures. I am sorrie, What haue you giuen him any hard words of late? That hath made him mad. I am sorrie that with better speed and iudgement I had not quoted him. I feare he did but trifle, And meant to wracke thee: but beshrew my iealousie: It seemes it is as proper to our Age, To cast beyond our selues in our Opinions, As it is common for the yonger sort To lacke discretion. Come, go we to the King, This must be knowne, wc being kept close might moue More greefe to hide, then hate to vtter loue. Th'Ambassadors from Norwey,my good Lord, Are ioyfully return'd. Haue I, my Lord? Assure you, my good Liege, I hold my dutie, as I hold my Soule, Both to my God, one to my gracious King: And I do thinke, or else this braine of mine Hunts not the traile of Policie, so sure As I haue vs'd to do: that I haue found The very cause of Hamlets Lunacie. Giue first admittance to th'Ambassadors, My Newes shall be the Newes to that great Feast. This businesse is very well ended. My Liege, and Madam, to expostulate What Maiestie should be, what Dutie is, Why day is day; night, night; and time is time, Were nothing but to waste Night, Day and Time. Therefore, since Breuitie is the Soule of Wit, And tediousnesse, the limbes and outward flourishes, I will be breefe. Your Noble Sonne is mad: Mad call I it; for to define true Madnesse, What is't, but to be nothing else but mad. But let that go. Madam I sweare I vse no Art at all: That he is mad, 'tis true: 'Tis true 'tis pittie, And pittie it is true: A foolish figure, But farewell it: for I will vse no Art. MaThe "a" here is only partially inked.d  The Tragedie of Hamlet.  Mad let vs grant him then: and now remaines That we finde out the cause of this effect, Or rather say, the cause of this defect; For this effect defectiue, comes by cause, Thus it remaines, and the remainder thus. Perpend, I haue a daughter: haue, whil'st she is mine, Who in her Dutie and Obedience, marke, Hath giuen me this: now gather, and surmise. The Letter. To the Celestiall, and my Soules Idoll, the most beautified Ophelia. That's an ill Phrase, a vilde Prase, beautified is a vilde Phrase: but you shall heare these in her excellent white bosome, these. Good Madam stayThe "y" here is only partially inked. awhile, I will be faithfull. Doubt thou, the Starres are fire, Doubt, that the Sunne doth moue: Doubt Truth to be a Lier, Bt never Doubt, I loue. O deere Ophelia, I am ill at these Numbers: I haue not Art toreckon my grones; but that I loue thee best, oh most Best beleeue it. Adieu. Thine euermore most deere Lady, whilst this Machine is to him, Hamlet. This in Obedience hath my daughter shew'd me: And more aboue hath his soliciting, As they fell out by Time, by Meanes, and Place, All giuen to mine eare. What do you thinke of me? I wold faine proue so. But what might you think? When I had seene this hot loue on the wing, As I perceiued it, I must tell you that Before my Daughter told me, what might you Or my dcere deere Maiestie your Queene heere, think, If I had playd the Deske or Table‑booke, Or giuen my heart a winking, mute and dumbe, Or look'd vpon this Loue, with idle sight, What might you thinke? No, I went round to worke, And (my yong Mistris) thus I did bespeake Lord Hamlet is, a Prince out of thy Starre, This must not be: and then, I Precepts gaue her, That she should locke her selfe from his Resort, Admit no Messengers, receiue no Tokens: Which done, she tooke the Fruites of my Aduice, And he repulsed. A short Tale to make, Fell into a Sadnesse, then into a Fast, Thence to a Watch, thence into a Weaknesse, Thence to a Lightnesse, and by this declension Into the Madnesse whereon now he raues, And all we waile for. Hath there bene such a time, I'de fain know that, That I haue possitiuely said, 'tis so, When it prou'd otherwise? Take this from this; if this be otherwise, If Circumstances leade me, I will finde Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeede Within the Center. You know sometimes He walkes foure houres together, here  In the Lobby. At such a time Ile loose my Daughter to him, Be you and I behinde an Arras then, Marke the encounter: If he loue her not, And be not from his reason falne thereon; Let me be no Assistant for a State, And keepe a Farme and Carters. Away I do beseech you, both away, Ile boord him presently. Exit King & Queen. Oh giue me leaue. How does my good Lord Hamlet? Do you know me, my Lord? Not I my Lord. Honest, my Lord? That's very true, my Lord. I haue my Lord. How say you by that? Still harping on my daughter: yet he knew me not at first; he said I was a Fishmonger: he is farre gone, farre gone: and truly in my youth,I suffred much extreamity for loue: very neere this. Ilespeake to him againe. What do you read my Lord? What is the matter, my Lord? I meane the matter you meane, my Lord. Though this be madnesse, Yet there is Method in't: will you walke Out of the ayre my Lord? Indeed that is out o'th'Ayre: How pregnant (sometimes) his Replies are? A happinesse, That often Madnesse hits on, Which Reason and Sanitie could not So prosperously be deliuer'd of. I will leaue him, And sodainely contriue the meanes of meeting Betweene him, and my daughter. My Honourable Lord, I will most humbly Take my leaue of you. Fare you well my Lord. You goe to seeke my Lord Hamlet; there hee is. Well be with you Gentlemen. My Lord, I haue Newes to tell you. The Actors are come hither my Lord. Vpon mine Honor. The best Actors in the world, either for Tragedie, Comedie, Historie, Pastorall: Pastoricall‑Comicall‑Historicall‑Pastorall: Tragicall‑Historicall: Tragicall‑Comicali‑Historicall‑Pastorall: Scene indiuible, or Poem vnlimited.Senecacannot be too heauy, norPlautustoo light, for the law of Writ, and the Liberty. These arethe onely men. What a Treasure had he, my Lord? Still on my Daughter. If you call meIephtamy Lord, I haue a daughter that I loue passing well. What followes then, my Lord? Fore God, my Lord, well spoken, with good accent, and good discretion. This is too long. That's good: Inobled Queene is good. Looke where he ha's not turn'd his colour, and ha's teares in's eyes. Pray you no more. My Lord, I will vse them according to their desart. Come sirs. 'Tis most true: And he beseech'd me to intreate your Maiesties To heare, and see the matter. Ophelia, walke you heere. Gracious so please ye We will bestow our selues: Reade on this booke, That shew of such an exercise may colour Your lonelinesse. We are oft too blame in this, 'Tis too much prou'd, that with Deuotions visage, And pious Action, we do surge o're The diuell himselfe. I heare him comming, let's withdraw my Lord. It shall do well. But yet do I beleeue The Origin and Commencement of this greefe Sprung from neglected loue. How now Ophelia? You neede not tell vs, what Lord Hamlet saide, We heard it all. My Lord, do as you please, But if you hold it fit after the Play, Let his Queene Mother all alone intreat him To shew his Greefes: let her be round with him, And Ile be plac'd so, please you in the eare Of all their conference. If she finde him not, To England send him: Or confine him where Your wisedome best shall thinke. And the Queene too, and that presently. That I did my Lord, and was accounted a good Actor. I did enact Iulius Cæsar, I was kill'd i'th'Capitol: Brutus kill'd me. Oh ho, do you marke that? Giue o're the Play. My Lord; the Queene would speak with you, and presently. By'th'Misse, and it's like a Camell indeed. It is back'd like a Weazell. Verie like a Whale. I will say so. My Lord, he's going to his Mothers Closset: Behinde the Arras Ile conuey my selfe To heare the Processe. Ile warrant shee'l tax him home, And as you said, and wisely was it said, 'Tis meete that some more audience then a Mother, Since Nature makes them partiall, should o're‑heare The speech of vantage. Fare you well my Liege, Ile call vpon you ere you go to bed, And tell you what I know. He will come straight: Looke you lay home to him, Tell him his prankes haue been too broad to beare with, And that your Grace hath scree'nd screen'd , and stoode betweene Much heate, and him. Ile silence me e'ene heere: Pray you be round with him. What hoa, helpe, helpe, helpe. Oh I am slaine. 
Priest	#F-ham-pri	2	Her Obsequies haue bin as farre inlarg'd. As we haue warrantis, her death was doubtfull, And but that great Command, o're‑swaies the order, She should in ground vnsanctified haue lodg'd, Till the last Trumpet. For charitable praier, Shardes, Flints, and Peebles, I should be throwne on her: Yet heere she is allowed her Virgin Rites, Her Maiden strewments, and the bringing home Of Bell and Buriall. No more be done: We should prophane the seruice of the dead, To sing sage Requiem, and such rest to her As to peace‑parted Soules. 
Reynaldo, servant to Polonius	#F-ham-rey	13	I will my Lord. My Lord, I did intend it. Polon. Marry, well said; Very well said. Looke.you Sir, Enquire me first what Danskers are in Paris; And how, and who; what meanes; and where they keepe: What company, at what expence: and finding By this encompassement and drift of question, That they doe know my sonne: Come you more nearer Then your particular demands will touch it, Take you as 'twere somc distant knowledge of him. And thus I know his father and his friends, And in part him. Doe you marke this Reynoldo? I, very well my Lord. As gaming my Lord. My Lord that would dishonour him. But my good Lord. I my Lord, I would know that. Very good my Lord. At closes in the consequence: At friend, or so, and Gentleman. My Lord I haue. Good my Lord. I shall my Lord. Well, my Lord. 
Rosencrantz, courtier	#F-ham-ros	44	Both your Maiesties Might by the Soueraigne power you haue of vs, Put your dread pleasures, more into Command Then to Entreatie. God saue you Sir. My most deare Lord? As the indifferent Children of the earth. Neither my Lord. None my Lord; but that the World's growne honest. Then is the World one. We thinke not so my Lord. Why then your Ambition makes it one: 'tis too narrow for your minde. Truely, and I hold Ambition of so ayry and light a quality, that it is but a shadowes shadow. To visit you my Lord, no other occasion. To what end my Lord? What say you? My Lord, there was no such stuffe in my thoughts. To thinke, my Lord, if you delight not in Man, what Lenton entertainment the Players shall receiue from you: wee coated them on the way, and hither are they comming to offer you Seruice. Euen those you were wont to take delight in the Tragedians of the City. I thinke their Inhibition comes by the meanes of the late Innouation? No indeed, they are not. Nay, their indeauour keepes in the wontedpace; But there is Sir an ayrie of Children, littleYases, that crye out on the top of question; andare most tyrannically clap't for't: these are now thefashiThe Tragedie of Hamlet.fashion, and so be‑ratled the common Stages (so theycall them) that many wearing Rapiers, are affraide ofGoose‑quils, and dare scarse come thither. Faith thrre ha's bene much to do on both sides:and the Nation holds it no sinne, to tarre them to Controuersie. There was for a while, no mony bid for argument, vnlesse the Poet and the Player went to Cuffes inthe Question. I that they do my Lord, Hercules & his load too. Happily he's the second time come to them: for they say, an old man is twice a childe. Good my Lord. He does confesse he feeles himselfe distracted, But from what cause he will by no meanes speake. Most like a Gentleman. Niggard of question, but of our demands Most free in his reply. Madam.it so fell out, that certain Players We ore‑wrought on the way: of these we told him, And there did seeme in him a kinde of ioy To heare of it: They are about the Court, And (as I thinke) they haue already order This night to play before him. We shall my Lord. I my Lord, they stay vpon your patience. Then thus she sayes: your behauior hath stroke her into amazement, and admiration. She desires to speake with you in her Closset, ere you go to bed. My Lord, you once did loue me. Good my Lord, what is your cause of distemThis m, and other letters on this page, are distorted by a crease running diagonally across the paper.per? You do freely barre the doore of your owne Libertie, if you deny your greefes to your Friend. How can that be, when you haue the voyce of the King himselfe, for your Succession in Denmarke? The single And peculiar life is bound With all the strength and Armour of the minde, To keepe it selfe from noyance: but much more, That Spirit, vpon whose spirit depends and rests The liues of many, the cease of Maiestie Dies not alone; but like a Gulfe doth draw What's neere it, with it. It is a massie wheele Fixt on the Somnet of the highest Mount, To whose huge Spoakes, ten thousand lesser things Are mortiz'd and adioyn'd: which when it falles, Each small annexment, pettie consequence Attends the boystrous Ruine. Neuer alone Did the King sighe, but with a generall grone. What haue you done my Lord with the dead body? Tell vs where 'tis, that we may take it thence, And beare it to the Chappell. Beleeue what? Take you me for a Spundge, my Lord? I vnderstand you not my Lord. My Lord, you must tell vs where the body is, and go with vs to the King. Where the dead body is bestow'd my'Lord, We cannot get from him. Without my Lord, guarded to know your pleasure. Hoa, Guildensterne? Bring in my Lord. 
Sailor	#F-ham-sai	2	God blesse you Sir. Hee shall Sir, and't please him. There's a Letter for you Sir: It comes from th'Ambassadours that was bound for England, if your name be Horatio, as I am let to know it is. Reads the Letter. HOratio,When thou shalt haue ouerlook'd this, giue these Fellowes some meanes to the King: They haue Letters For him. Ere we were two dayes old at Sea, a Pyrate of very Warlicke appointment gaue vs Chace. Finding our selues too slow of Saile, we put on a compelled Valour. In the Grapple, I boorded them: On the instant they got cleare of our Shippe, so I alone became their Prisoner. They haue dealt with mee, like Theeues of Mercy, but they knew what they did. I am to doe A good turne for them. Let the King haue the Letters I haue sent, and repaire thou to me with as much hast as thou wouldest flye death. I haue words to speake in your eare, will make thee dumbe, yet are they much too light for the bore of the Matter. These good Fellows will bring thee where I am. Rosincrance and Guildensterne, hold their course for England. Of them I haue much to tell thee, Farewell. He that thou knowest thine, Hamlet. Come, I will giue you way for these your Letters, And do't the speedier, that you may direct me To him from whom you brought them. 
Servant	#F-ham-ser	1	Saylors sir, they say they haue Letters for you. 
Voltemand, courtier	#F-ham-vol	2	In that, and all things, will we shew our duty. Most faire returne of Greetings, and Desires. Vpon our first, he sent out to suppresse His Nephewes Leuies, which to him appear'd To be a preparation 'gainst the Poleak: But better look'd into, he truly found It was against your Highnesse, whereat greeued, That so his Sicknesse, Age, and Impotence Was falsely borne in hand, sends out Arrests On Fortinbras, which he (in breefe) obeyes, Receiues rebuke from Norwey: and in fine, Makes Vow before his Vnkle, neuer more To giue th'assay of Armes against your Maiestie. Whereon old Norwey, ouercome with ioy, Giues him three thousand Crownes in Annuall Fee, And his Commission to imploy those Soldiers So leuied as before, against the Poleak: With an intreaty heerein further shewne, That it might please you to giue quiet passe Through your Dominions, for his Enterprize, On such regards of safety and allowance, As therein are set downe.