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			Plaintext
		
	
	
	
	
	
The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark
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ACT I
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SCENE I. Elsinore. A platform before the castle.
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FRANCISCO at his post. Enter to him BERNARDO
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BERNARDO
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Who's there?
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FRANCISCO
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Nay, answer me: stand, and unfold yourself.
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BERNARDO
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Long live the king!
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FRANCISCO
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Bernardo?
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BERNARDO
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He.
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FRANCISCO
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You come most carefully upon your hour.
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BERNARDO
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'Tis now struck twelve; get thee to bed, Francisco.
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FRANCISCO
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For this relief much thanks: 'tis bitter cold,
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And I am sick at heart.
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BERNARDO
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Have you had quiet guard?
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FRANCISCO
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Not a mouse stirring.
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BERNARDO
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Well, good night.
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If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus,
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The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste.
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FRANCISCO
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I think I hear them. Stand, ho! Who's there?
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Enter HORATIO and MARCELLUS
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HORATIO
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Friends to this ground.
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MARCELLUS
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And liegemen to the Dane.
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FRANCISCO
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Give you good night.
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MARCELLUS
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O, farewell, honest soldier:
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Who hath relieved you?
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FRANCISCO
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Bernardo has my place.
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Give you good night.
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Exit
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MARCELLUS
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Holla! Bernardo!
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BERNARDO
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Say,
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What, is Horatio there?
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HORATIO
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A piece of him.
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BERNARDO
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Welcome, Horatio: welcome, good Marcellus.
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MARCELLUS
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What, has this thing appear'd again to-night?
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BERNARDO
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I have seen nothing.
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MARCELLUS
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Horatio says 'tis but our fantasy,
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And will not let belief take hold of him
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Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us:
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Therefore I have entreated him along
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With us to watch the minutes of this night;
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That if again this apparition come,
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He may approve our eyes and speak to it.
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HORATIO
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Tush, tush, 'twill not appear.
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BERNARDO
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Sit down awhile;
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And let us once again assail your ears,
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That are so fortified against our story
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What we have two nights seen.
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HORATIO
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Well, sit we down,
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And let us hear Bernardo speak of this.
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BERNARDO
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Last night of all,
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When yond same star that's westward from the pole
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Had made his course to illume that part of heaven
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Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself,
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The bell then beating one,--
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Enter Ghost
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MARCELLUS
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Peace, break thee off; look, where it comes again!
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BERNARDO
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In the same figure, like the king that's dead.
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MARCELLUS
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Thou art a scholar; speak to it, Horatio.
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BERNARDO
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Looks it not like the king? mark it, Horatio.
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HORATIO
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Most like: it harrows me with fear and wonder.
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BERNARDO
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It would be spoke to.
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MARCELLUS
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Question it, Horatio.
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HORATIO
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What art thou that usurp'st this time of night,
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Together with that fair and warlike form
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In which the majesty of buried Denmark
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Did sometimes march? by heaven I charge thee, speak!
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MARCELLUS
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It is offended.
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BERNARDO
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See, it stalks away!
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HORATIO
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Stay! speak, speak! I charge thee, speak!
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Exit Ghost
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MARCELLUS
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'Tis gone, and will not answer.
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BERNARDO
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How now, Horatio! you tremble and look pale:
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Is not this something more than fantasy?
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What think you on't?
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HORATIO
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Before my God, I might not this believe
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Without the sensible and true avouch
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Of mine own eyes.
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MARCELLUS
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Is it not like the king?
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HORATIO
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As thou art to thyself:
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Such was the very armour he had on
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When he the ambitious Norway combated;
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So frown'd he once, when, in an angry parle,
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He smote the sledded Polacks on the ice.
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'Tis strange.
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MARCELLUS
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Thus twice before, and jump at this dead hour,
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With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch.
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HORATIO
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In what particular thought to work I know not;
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But in the gross and scope of my opinion,
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This bodes some strange eruption to our state.
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MARCELLUS
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Good now, sit down, and tell me, he that knows,
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Why this same strict and most observant watch
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So nightly toils the subject of the land,
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And why such daily cast of brazen cannon,
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And foreign mart for implements of war;
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Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore task
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Does not divide the Sunday from the week;
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What might be toward, that this sweaty haste
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Doth make the night joint-labourer with the day:
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Who is't that can inform me?
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HORATIO
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That can I;
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At least, the whisper goes so. Our last king,
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Whose image even but now appear'd to us,
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Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway,
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Thereto prick'd on by a most emulate pride,
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Dared to the combat; in which our valiant Hamlet--
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For so this side of our known world esteem'd him--
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Did slay this Fortinbras; who by a seal'd compact,
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Well ratified by law and heraldry,
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Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands
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Which he stood seized of, to the conqueror:
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Against the which, a moiety competent
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Was gaged by our king; which had return'd
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To the inheritance of Fortinbras,
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Had he been vanquisher; as, by the same covenant,
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And carriage of the article design'd,
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His fell to Hamlet. Now, sir, young Fortinbras,
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Of unimproved mettle hot and full,
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Hath in the skirts of Norway here and there
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Shark'd up a list of lawless resolutes,
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For food and diet, to some enterprise
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That hath a stomach in't; which is no other--
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As it doth well appear unto our state--
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But to recover of us, by strong hand
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And terms compulsatory, those foresaid lands
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So by his father lost: and this, I take it,
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Is the main motive of our preparations,
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The source of this our watch and the chief head
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Of this post-haste and romage in the land.
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BERNARDO
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I think it be no other but e'en so:
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Well may it sort that this portentous figure
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Comes armed through our watch; so like the king
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That was and is the question of these wars.
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HORATIO
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A mote it is to trouble the mind's eye.
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In the most high and palmy state of Rome,
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A little ere the mightiest Julius fell,
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The graves stood tenantless and the sheeted dead
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Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets:
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As stars with trains of fire and dews of blood,
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Disasters in the sun; and the moist star
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Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands
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Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse:
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And even the like precurse of fierce events,
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As harbingers preceding still the fates
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And prologue to the omen coming on,
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Have heaven and earth together demonstrated
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Unto our climatures and countrymen.--
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But soft, behold! lo, where it comes again!
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Re-enter Ghost
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I'll cross it, though it blast me. Stay, illusion!
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If thou hast any sound, or use of voice,
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Speak to me:
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If there be any good thing to be done,
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That may to thee do ease and grace to me,
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Speak to me:
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Cock crows
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If thou art privy to thy country's fate,
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Which, happily, foreknowing may avoid, O, speak!
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Or if thou hast uphoarded in thy life
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Extorted treasure in the womb of earth,
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For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death,
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Speak of it: stay, and speak! Stop it, Marcellus.
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MARCELLUS
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Shall I strike at it with my partisan?
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HORATIO
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Do, if it will not stand.
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BERNARDO
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'Tis here!
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HORATIO
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'Tis here!
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MARCELLUS
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'Tis gone!
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Exit Ghost
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We do it wrong, being so majestical,
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To offer it the show of violence;
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For it is, as the air, invulnerable,
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And our vain blows malicious mockery.
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BERNARDO
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It was about to speak, when the cock crew.
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HORATIO
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And then it started like a guilty thing
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Upon a fearful summons. I have heard,
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The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn,
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Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat
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Awake the god of day; and, at his warning,
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Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air,
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The extravagant and erring spirit hies
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To his confine: and of the truth herein
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This present object made probation.
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MARCELLUS
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It faded on the crowing of the cock.
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Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes
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Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,
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The bird of dawning singeth all night long:
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And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad;
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The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike,
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No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,
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So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.
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HORATIO
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So have I heard and do in part believe it.
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But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad,
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Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastward hill:
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Break we our watch up; and by my advice,
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Let us impart what we have seen to-night
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Unto young Hamlet; for, upon my life,
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This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him.
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Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it,
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As needful in our loves, fitting our duty?
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MARCELLUS
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Let's do't, I pray; and I this morning know
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Where we shall find him most conveniently.
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Exeunt
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SCENE II. A room of state in the castle.
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Enter KING CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, HAMLET, POLONIUS, LAERTES, VOLTIMAND, CORNELIUS, Lords, and Attendants
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KING CLAUDIUS
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Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death
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The memory be green, and that it us befitted
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To bear our hearts in grief and our whole kingdom
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To be contracted in one brow of woe,
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Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature
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That we with wisest sorrow think on him,
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Together with remembrance of ourselves.
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Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen,
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The imperial jointress to this warlike state,
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Have we, as 'twere with a defeated joy,--
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With an auspicious and a dropping eye,
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With mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage,
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In equal scale weighing delight and dole,--
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Taken to wife: nor have we herein barr'd
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Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone
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With this affair along. For all, our thanks.
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Now follows, that you know, young Fortinbras,
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Holding a weak supposal of our worth,
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Or thinking by our late dear brother's death
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Our state to be disjoint and out of frame,
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Colleagued with the dream of his advantage,
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He hath not fail'd to pester us with message,
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Importing the surrender of those lands
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Lost by his father, with all bonds of law,
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To our most valiant brother. So much for him.
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Now for ourself and for this time of meeting:
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Thus much the business is: we have here writ
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To Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras,--
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Who, impotent and bed-rid, scarcely hears
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Of this his nephew's purpose,--to suppress
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His further gait herein; in that the levies,
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The lists and full proportions, are all made
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Out of his subject: and we here dispatch
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You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltimand,
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For bearers of this greeting to old Norway;
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Giving to you no further personal power
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To business with the king, more than the scope
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Of these delated articles allow.
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Farewell, and let your haste commend your duty.
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CORNELIUS VOLTIMAND
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In that and all things will we show our duty.
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KING CLAUDIUS
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We doubt it nothing: heartily farewell.
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Exeunt VOLTIMAND and CORNELIUS
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And now, Laertes, what's the news with you?
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You told us of some suit; what is't, Laertes?
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You cannot speak of reason to the Dane,
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And loose your voice: what wouldst thou beg, Laertes,
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That shall not be my offer, not thy asking?
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The head is not more native to the heart,
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The hand more instrumental to the mouth,
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Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father.
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What wouldst thou have, Laertes?
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LAERTES
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My dread lord,
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Your leave and favour to return to France;
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From whence though willingly I came to Denmark,
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To show my duty in your coronation,
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Yet now, I must confess, that duty done,
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My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France
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And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon.
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KING CLAUDIUS
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Have you your father's leave? What says Polonius?
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LORD POLONIUS
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He hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow leave
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By laboursome petition, and at last
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Upon his will I seal'd my hard consent:
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I do beseech you, give him leave to go.
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KING CLAUDIUS
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Take thy fair hour, Laertes; time be thine,
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And thy best graces spend it at thy will!
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But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son,--
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HAMLET
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[Aside] A little more than kin, and less than kind.
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KING CLAUDIUS
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How is it that the clouds still hang on you?
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HAMLET
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Not so, my lord; I am too much i' the sun.
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QUEEN GERTRUDE
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Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off,
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And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark.
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Do not for ever with thy vailed lids
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Seek for thy noble father in the dust:
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Thou know'st 'tis common; all that lives must die,
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Passing through nature to eternity.
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HAMLET
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Ay, madam, it is common.
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QUEEN GERTRUDE
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If it be,
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Why seems it so particular with thee?
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HAMLET
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Seems, madam! nay it is; I know not 'seems.'
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'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,
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Nor customary suits of solemn black,
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Nor windy suspiration of forced breath,
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No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,
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Nor the dejected 'havior of the visage,
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Together with all forms, moods, shapes of grief,
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That can denote me truly: these indeed seem,
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For they are actions that a man might play:
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But I have that within which passeth show;
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These but the trappings and the suits of woe.
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KING CLAUDIUS
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'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet,
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To give these mourning duties to your father:
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But, you must know, your father lost a father;
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That father lost, lost his, and the survivor bound
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In filial obligation for some term
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To do obsequious sorrow: but to persever
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In obstinate condolement is a course
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Of impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief;
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It shows a will most incorrect to heaven,
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A heart unfortified, a mind impatient,
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An understanding simple and unschool'd:
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For what we know must be and is as common
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As any the most vulgar thing to sense,
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Why should we in our peevish opposition
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Take it to heart? Fie! 'tis a fault to heaven,
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A fault against the dead, a fault to nature,
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To reason most absurd: whose common theme
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Is death of fathers, and who still hath cried,
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From the first corse till he that died to-day,
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'This must be so.' We pray you, throw to earth
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This unprevailing woe, and think of us
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As of a father: for let the world take note,
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You are the most immediate to our throne;
 | 
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And with no less nobility of love
 | 
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Than that which dearest father bears his son,
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Do I impart toward you. For your intent
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In going back to school in Wittenberg,
 | 
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It is most retrograde to our desire:
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And we beseech you, bend you to remain
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Here, in the cheer and comfort of our eye,
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Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son.
 | 
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QUEEN GERTRUDE
 | 
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Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet:
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I pray thee, stay with us; go not to Wittenberg.
 | 
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HAMLET
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I shall in all my best obey you, madam.
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KING CLAUDIUS
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Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply:
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Be as ourself in Denmark. Madam, come;
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This gentle and unforced accord of Hamlet
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Sits smiling to my heart: in grace whereof,
 | 
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No jocund health that Denmark drinks to-day,
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But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell,
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And the king's rouse the heavens all bruit again,
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Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come away.
 | 
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Exeunt all but HAMLET
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 | 
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HAMLET
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O, that this too too solid flesh would melt
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Thaw and resolve itself into a dew!
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Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd
 | 
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His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! God!
 | 
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How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable,
 | 
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Seem to me all the uses of this world!
 | 
						|
Fie on't! ah fie! 'tis an unweeded garden,
 | 
						|
That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature
 | 
						|
Possess it merely. That it should come to this!
 | 
						|
But two months dead: nay, not so much, not two:
 | 
						|
So excellent a king; that was, to this,
 | 
						|
Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother
 | 
						|
That he might not beteem the winds of heaven
 | 
						|
Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth!
 | 
						|
Must I remember? why, she would hang on him,
 | 
						|
As if increase of appetite had grown
 | 
						|
By what it fed on: and yet, within a month--
 | 
						|
Let me not think on't--Frailty, thy name is woman!--
 | 
						|
A little month, or ere those shoes were old
 | 
						|
With which she follow'd my poor father's body,
 | 
						|
Like Niobe, all tears:--why she, even she--
 | 
						|
O, God! a beast, that wants discourse of reason,
 | 
						|
Would have mourn'd longer--married with my uncle,
 | 
						|
My father's brother, but no more like my father
 | 
						|
Than I to Hercules: within a month:
 | 
						|
Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears
 | 
						|
Had left the flushing in her galled 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 break, my heart; for I must hold my tongue.
 | 
						|
Enter HORATIO, MARCELLUS, and BERNARDO
 | 
						|
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
Hail to your lordship!
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
I am glad to see you well:
 | 
						|
Horatio,--or I do forget myself.
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
Sir, my good friend; I'll change that name with you:
 | 
						|
And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio? Marcellus?
 | 
						|
MARCELLUS
 | 
						|
My good lord--
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
I am very glad to see you. Good even, sir.
 | 
						|
But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg?
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
A truant disposition, good my lord.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
I would not hear your enemy say so,
 | 
						|
Nor shall you do mine ear that violence,
 | 
						|
To make it truster of your own report
 | 
						|
Against yourself: I know you are no truant.
 | 
						|
But what is your affair in Elsinore?
 | 
						|
We'll teach you to drink deep ere you depart.
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
My lord, I came to see your father's funeral.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow-student;
 | 
						|
I think it was to see my mother's wedding.
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
Indeed, my lord, it follow'd hard upon.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
Thrift, thrift, Horatio! the funeral baked meats
 | 
						|
Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.
 | 
						|
Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven
 | 
						|
Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio!
 | 
						|
My father!--methinks I see my father.
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
Where, my lord?
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
In my mind's eye, Horatio.
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
I saw him once; he was a goodly king.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
He was a man, take him for all in all,
 | 
						|
I shall not look upon his like again.
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
My lord, I think I saw him yesternight.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
Saw? who?
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
My lord, the king your father.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
The king my father!
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
Season your admiration for awhile
 | 
						|
With an attent ear, till I may deliver,
 | 
						|
Upon the witness of these gentlemen,
 | 
						|
This marvel to you.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
For God's love, let me hear.
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
Two nights together had these gentlemen,
 | 
						|
Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch,
 | 
						|
In the dead vast and middle of the night,
 | 
						|
Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your father,
 | 
						|
Armed at point exactly, cap-a-pe,
 | 
						|
Appears before them, and with solemn march
 | 
						|
Goes slow and stately by them: thrice he walk'd
 | 
						|
By their oppress'd and fear-surprised eyes,
 | 
						|
Within his truncheon's length; whilst they, distilled
 | 
						|
Almost to jelly with the act of fear,
 | 
						|
Stand dumb and speak not to him. This to me
 | 
						|
In dreadful secrecy impart they did;
 | 
						|
And I with them the third night kept the watch;
 | 
						|
Where, as they had deliver'd, both in time,
 | 
						|
Form of the thing, each word made true and good,
 | 
						|
The apparition comes: I knew your father;
 | 
						|
These hands are not more like.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
But where was this?
 | 
						|
MARCELLUS
 | 
						|
My lord, upon the platform where we watch'd.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
Did you not speak to it?
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
My lord, I did;
 | 
						|
But answer made it none: yet once methought
 | 
						|
It lifted up its head and did address
 | 
						|
Itself to motion, like as it would speak;
 | 
						|
But even then the morning cock crew loud,
 | 
						|
And at the sound it shrunk in haste away,
 | 
						|
And vanish'd from our sight.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
'Tis very strange.
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
As I do live, my honour'd lord, 'tis true;
 | 
						|
And we did think it writ down in our duty
 | 
						|
To let you know of it.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles me.
 | 
						|
Hold you the watch to-night?
 | 
						|
MARCELLUS BERNARDO
 | 
						|
We do, my lord.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
Arm'd, say you?
 | 
						|
MARCELLUS BERNARDO
 | 
						|
Arm'd, my lord.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
From top to toe?
 | 
						|
MARCELLUS BERNARDO
 | 
						|
My lord, from head to foot.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
Then saw you not his face?
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
O, yes, my lord; he wore his beaver up.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
What, look'd he frowningly?
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
A countenance more in sorrow than in anger.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
Pale or red?
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
Nay, very pale.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
And fix'd his eyes upon you?
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
Most constantly.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
I would I had been there.
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
It would have much amazed you.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
Very like, very like. Stay'd it long?
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred.
 | 
						|
MARCELLUS BERNARDO
 | 
						|
Longer, longer.
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
Not when I saw't.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
His beard was grizzled--no?
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
It was, as I have seen it in his life,
 | 
						|
A sable silver'd.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
I will watch to-night;
 | 
						|
Perchance 'twill walk again.
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
I warrant it will.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
If it assume my noble father's person,
 | 
						|
I'll speak to it, though hell itself should gape
 | 
						|
And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all,
 | 
						|
If you have hitherto conceal'd this sight,
 | 
						|
Let it be tenable in your silence still;
 | 
						|
And whatsoever else shall hap to-night,
 | 
						|
Give it an understanding, but no tongue:
 | 
						|
I will requite your loves. So, fare you well:
 | 
						|
Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve,
 | 
						|
I'll visit you.
 | 
						|
All
 | 
						|
Our duty to your honour.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
Your loves, as mine to you: farewell.
 | 
						|
Exeunt all but HAMLET
 | 
						|
 | 
						|
My father's spirit in arms! all is not well;
 | 
						|
I doubt some foul play: would the night were come!
 | 
						|
Till then sit still, my soul: foul deeds will rise,
 | 
						|
Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes.
 | 
						|
Exit
 | 
						|
 | 
						|
SCENE III. A room in Polonius' house.
 | 
						|
 | 
						|
Enter LAERTES and OPHELIA
 | 
						|
LAERTES
 | 
						|
My necessaries are embark'd: farewell:
 | 
						|
And, sister, as the winds give benefit
 | 
						|
And convoy is assistant, do not sleep,
 | 
						|
But let me hear from you.
 | 
						|
OPHELIA
 | 
						|
Do you doubt that?
 | 
						|
LAERTES
 | 
						|
For Hamlet and the trifling of his favour,
 | 
						|
Hold it a fashion and a toy in blood,
 | 
						|
A violet in the youth of primy nature,
 | 
						|
Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting,
 | 
						|
The perfume and suppliance of a minute; No more.
 | 
						|
OPHELIA
 | 
						|
No more but so?
 | 
						|
LAERTES
 | 
						|
Think it no more;
 | 
						|
For nature, crescent, does not grow alone
 | 
						|
In thews and bulk, but, as this temple waxes,
 | 
						|
The inward service of the mind and soul
 | 
						|
Grows wide withal. Perhaps he loves you now,
 | 
						|
And now no soil nor cautel doth besmirch
 | 
						|
The virtue of his will: but you must fear,
 | 
						|
His greatness weigh'd, his will is not his own;
 | 
						|
For he himself is subject to his birth:
 | 
						|
He may not, as unvalued persons do,
 | 
						|
Carve for himself; for on his choice depends
 | 
						|
The safety and health of this whole state;
 | 
						|
And therefore must his choice be circumscribed
 | 
						|
Unto the voice and yielding of that body
 | 
						|
Whereof he is the head. Then if he says he loves you,
 | 
						|
It fits your wisdom so far to believe it
 | 
						|
As he in his particular act and place
 | 
						|
May give his saying deed; which is no further
 | 
						|
Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal.
 | 
						|
Then weigh what loss your honour may sustain,
 | 
						|
If with too credent ear you list his songs,
 | 
						|
Or lose your heart, or your chaste treasure open
 | 
						|
To his unmaster'd importunity.
 | 
						|
Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister,
 | 
						|
And keep you in the rear of your affection,
 | 
						|
Out of the shot and danger of desire.
 | 
						|
The chariest maid is prodigal enough,
 | 
						|
If she unmask her beauty to the moon:
 | 
						|
Virtue itself 'scapes not calumnious strokes:
 | 
						|
The canker galls the infants of the spring,
 | 
						|
Too oft before their buttons be disclosed,
 | 
						|
And in the morn and liquid dew of youth
 | 
						|
Contagious blastments are most imminent.
 | 
						|
Be wary then; best safety lies in fear:
 | 
						|
Youth to itself rebels, though none else near.
 | 
						|
OPHELIA
 | 
						|
I shall the effect of this good lesson keep,
 | 
						|
As watchman to my heart. But, good my brother,
 | 
						|
Do not, as some ungracious pastors do,
 | 
						|
Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven;
 | 
						|
Whiles, like a puff'd and reckless libertine,
 | 
						|
Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads,
 | 
						|
And recks not his own rede.
 | 
						|
LAERTES
 | 
						|
O, fear me not.
 | 
						|
I stay too long: but here my father comes.
 | 
						|
Enter POLONIUS
 | 
						|
 | 
						|
A double blessing is a double grace,
 | 
						|
Occasion smiles upon a second leave.
 | 
						|
LORD POLONIUS
 | 
						|
Yet here, Laertes! aboard, aboard, for shame!
 | 
						|
The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail,
 | 
						|
And you are stay'd for. There; my blessing with thee!
 | 
						|
And these few precepts in thy memory
 | 
						|
See thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue,
 | 
						|
Nor any unproportioned thought his act.
 | 
						|
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.
 | 
						|
Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
 | 
						|
Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel;
 | 
						|
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
 | 
						|
Of each new-hatch'd, unfledged comrade. Beware
 | 
						|
Of entrance to a quarrel, but being in,
 | 
						|
Bear't that the opposed may beware of thee.
 | 
						|
Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice;
 | 
						|
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.
 | 
						|
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
 | 
						|
But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy;
 | 
						|
For the apparel oft proclaims the man,
 | 
						|
And they in France of the best rank and station
 | 
						|
Are of a most select and generous chief in that.
 | 
						|
Neither a borrower nor a lender be;
 | 
						|
For loan oft loses both itself and friend,
 | 
						|
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
 | 
						|
This above all: to thine ownself 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!
 | 
						|
LAERTES
 | 
						|
Most humbly do I take my leave, my lord.
 | 
						|
LORD POLONIUS
 | 
						|
The time invites you; go; your servants tend.
 | 
						|
LAERTES
 | 
						|
Farewell, Ophelia; and remember well
 | 
						|
What I have said to you.
 | 
						|
OPHELIA
 | 
						|
'Tis in my memory lock'd,
 | 
						|
And you yourself shall keep the key of it.
 | 
						|
LAERTES
 | 
						|
Farewell.
 | 
						|
Exit
 | 
						|
 | 
						|
LORD POLONIUS
 | 
						|
What is't, Ophelia, be hath said to you?
 | 
						|
OPHELIA
 | 
						|
So please you, something touching the Lord Hamlet.
 | 
						|
LORD POLONIUS
 | 
						|
Marry, well bethought:
 | 
						|
'Tis told me, he hath very oft of late
 | 
						|
Given private time to you; and you yourself
 | 
						|
Have of your audience been 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 do not understand yourself so clearly
 | 
						|
As it behoves my daughter and your honour.
 | 
						|
What is between you? give me up the truth.
 | 
						|
OPHELIA
 | 
						|
He hath, my lord, of late made many tenders
 | 
						|
Of his affection to me.
 | 
						|
LORD POLONIUS
 | 
						|
Affection! pooh! you speak like a green girl,
 | 
						|
Unsifted in such perilous circumstance.
 | 
						|
Do you believe his tenders, as you call them?
 | 
						|
OPHELIA
 | 
						|
I do not know, my lord, what I should think.
 | 
						|
LORD POLONIUS
 | 
						|
Marry, I'll teach you: think yourself a baby;
 | 
						|
That you have ta'en these tenders for true pay,
 | 
						|
Which are not sterling. Tender yourself more dearly;
 | 
						|
Or--not to crack the wind of the poor phrase,
 | 
						|
Running it thus--you'll tender me a fool.
 | 
						|
OPHELIA
 | 
						|
My lord, he hath importuned me with love
 | 
						|
In honourable fashion.
 | 
						|
LORD POLONIUS
 | 
						|
Ay, fashion you may call it; go to, go to.
 | 
						|
OPHELIA
 | 
						|
And hath given countenance to his speech, my lord,
 | 
						|
With almost all the holy vows of heaven.
 | 
						|
LORD POLONIUS
 | 
						|
Ay, springes to catch woodcocks. I do know,
 | 
						|
When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul
 | 
						|
Lends the tongue vows: these blazes, daughter,
 | 
						|
Giving more light than heat, extinct in both,
 | 
						|
Even in their promise, as it is a-making,
 | 
						|
You must not take for fire. From this time
 | 
						|
Be somewhat scanter of your maiden presence;
 | 
						|
Set your entreatments at a higher rate
 | 
						|
Than a command to parley. For Lord Hamlet,
 | 
						|
Believe so much in him, that he is young
 | 
						|
And with a larger tether may he walk
 | 
						|
Than may be given you: in few, Ophelia,
 | 
						|
Do not believe his vows; for they are brokers,
 | 
						|
Not of that dye which their investments show,
 | 
						|
But mere implorators of unholy suits,
 | 
						|
Breathing like sanctified and pious bawds,
 | 
						|
The better to beguile. This is for all:
 | 
						|
I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth,
 | 
						|
Have you so slander any moment leisure,
 | 
						|
As to give words or talk with the Lord Hamlet.
 | 
						|
Look to't, I charge you: come your ways.
 | 
						|
OPHELIA
 | 
						|
I shall obey, my lord.
 | 
						|
Exeunt
 | 
						|
 | 
						|
SCENE IV. The platform.
 | 
						|
 | 
						|
Enter HAMLET, HORATIO, and MARCELLUS
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold.
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
It is a nipping and an eager air.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
What hour now?
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
I think it lacks of twelve.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
No, it is struck.
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
Indeed? I heard it not: then it draws near the season
 | 
						|
Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk.
 | 
						|
A flourish of trumpets, and ordnance shot off, within
 | 
						|
 | 
						|
What does this mean, my lord?
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
The king doth wake to-night and takes his rouse,
 | 
						|
Keeps wassail, and the swaggering up-spring reels;
 | 
						|
And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down,
 | 
						|
The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out
 | 
						|
The triumph of his pledge.
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
Is it a custom?
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
Ay, marry, is't:
 | 
						|
But to my mind, though I am native here
 | 
						|
And to the manner born, it is a custom
 | 
						|
More honour'd in the breach than the observance.
 | 
						|
This heavy-headed revel east and west
 | 
						|
Makes us traduced and tax'd of other nations:
 | 
						|
They clepe us drunkards, and with swinish phrase
 | 
						|
Soil our addition; and indeed it takes
 | 
						|
From our achievements, though perform'd at height,
 | 
						|
The pith and marrow of our attribute.
 | 
						|
So, oft it chances in particular men,
 | 
						|
That for some vicious mole of nature in them,
 | 
						|
As, in their birth--wherein they are not guilty,
 | 
						|
Since nature cannot choose his origin--
 | 
						|
By the o'ergrowth of some complexion,
 | 
						|
Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason,
 | 
						|
Or by some habit that too much o'er-leavens
 | 
						|
The form of plausive manners, that these men,
 | 
						|
Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect,
 | 
						|
Being nature's livery, or fortune's star,--
 | 
						|
Their virtues else--be they as pure as grace,
 | 
						|
As infinite as man may undergo--
 | 
						|
Shall in the general censure take corruption
 | 
						|
From that particular fault: the dram of eale
 | 
						|
Doth all the noble substance of a doubt
 | 
						|
To his own scandal.
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
Look, my lord, it comes!
 | 
						|
Enter Ghost
 | 
						|
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
Angels and ministers of grace defend us!
 | 
						|
Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn'd,
 | 
						|
Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell,
 | 
						|
Be thy intents wicked or charitable,
 | 
						|
Thou comest in such a questionable shape
 | 
						|
That I will speak to thee: I'll call thee Hamlet,
 | 
						|
King, father, royal Dane: O, answer me!
 | 
						|
Let me not burst in ignorance; but tell
 | 
						|
Why thy canonized bones, hearsed in death,
 | 
						|
Have burst their cerements; why the sepulchre,
 | 
						|
Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd,
 | 
						|
Hath oped his ponderous and marble jaws,
 | 
						|
To cast thee up again. What may this mean,
 | 
						|
That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel
 | 
						|
Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon,
 | 
						|
Making night hideous; and we fools of nature
 | 
						|
So horridly to shake our disposition
 | 
						|
With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?
 | 
						|
Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we do?
 | 
						|
Ghost beckons HAMLET
 | 
						|
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
It beckons you to go away with it,
 | 
						|
As if it some impartment did desire
 | 
						|
To you alone.
 | 
						|
MARCELLUS
 | 
						|
Look, with what courteous action
 | 
						|
It waves you to a more removed ground:
 | 
						|
But do not go with it.
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
No, by no means.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
It will not speak; then I will follow it.
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
Do not, my lord.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
Why, what should be the fear?
 | 
						|
I do not set my life in a pin's fee;
 | 
						|
And for my soul, what can it do to that,
 | 
						|
Being a thing immortal as itself?
 | 
						|
It waves me forth again: I'll follow it.
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
What if it tempt you toward the flood, my lord,
 | 
						|
Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff
 | 
						|
That beetles o'er his base into the sea,
 | 
						|
And there assume some other horrible form,
 | 
						|
Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason
 | 
						|
And draw you into madness? think of it:
 | 
						|
The very place puts toys of desperation,
 | 
						|
Without more motive, into every brain
 | 
						|
That looks so many fathoms to the sea
 | 
						|
And hears it roar beneath.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
It waves me still.
 | 
						|
Go on; I'll follow thee.
 | 
						|
MARCELLUS
 | 
						|
You shall not go, my lord.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
Hold off your hands.
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
Be ruled; you shall not go.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
My fate cries out,
 | 
						|
And makes each petty artery in this body
 | 
						|
As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve.
 | 
						|
Still am I call'd. Unhand me, gentlemen.
 | 
						|
By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me!
 | 
						|
I say, away! Go on; I'll follow thee.
 | 
						|
Exeunt Ghost and HAMLET
 | 
						|
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
He waxes desperate with imagination.
 | 
						|
MARCELLUS
 | 
						|
Let's follow; 'tis not fit thus to obey him.
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
Have after. To what issue will this come?
 | 
						|
MARCELLUS
 | 
						|
Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
Heaven will direct it.
 | 
						|
MARCELLUS
 | 
						|
Nay, let's follow him.
 | 
						|
Exeunt
 | 
						|
 | 
						|
SCENE V. Another part of the platform.
 | 
						|
 | 
						|
Enter GHOST and HAMLET
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
Where wilt thou lead me? speak; I'll go no further.
 | 
						|
Ghost
 | 
						|
Mark me.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
I will.
 | 
						|
Ghost
 | 
						|
My hour is almost come,
 | 
						|
When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames
 | 
						|
Must render up myself.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
Alas, poor ghost!
 | 
						|
Ghost
 | 
						|
Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing
 | 
						|
To what I shall unfold.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
Speak; I am bound to hear.
 | 
						|
Ghost
 | 
						|
So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
What?
 | 
						|
Ghost
 | 
						|
I am thy father's spirit,
 | 
						|
Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night,
 | 
						|
And for the day confined to fast in fires,
 | 
						|
Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature
 | 
						|
Are burnt and purged away. But that I am forbid
 | 
						|
To tell the secrets of my prison-house,
 | 
						|
I could a tale unfold whose lightest word
 | 
						|
Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood,
 | 
						|
Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres,
 | 
						|
Thy knotted and combined locks to part
 | 
						|
And each particular hair to stand on end,
 | 
						|
Like quills upon the fretful porpentine:
 | 
						|
But this eternal blazon must not be
 | 
						|
To ears of flesh and blood. List, list, O, list!
 | 
						|
If thou didst ever thy dear father love--
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
O God!
 | 
						|
Ghost
 | 
						|
Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
Murder!
 | 
						|
Ghost
 | 
						|
Murder most foul, as in the best it is;
 | 
						|
But this most foul, strange and unnatural.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
Haste me to know't, that I, with wings as swift
 | 
						|
As meditation or the thoughts of love,
 | 
						|
May sweep to my revenge.
 | 
						|
Ghost
 | 
						|
I find thee apt;
 | 
						|
And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed
 | 
						|
That roots itself in ease on Lethe wharf,
 | 
						|
Wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear:
 | 
						|
'Tis given out that, sleeping in my orchard,
 | 
						|
A serpent stung me; so the whole ear of Denmark
 | 
						|
Is by a forged process of my death
 | 
						|
Rankly abused: but know, thou noble youth,
 | 
						|
The serpent that did sting thy father's life
 | 
						|
Now wears his crown.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
O my prophetic soul! My uncle!
 | 
						|
Ghost
 | 
						|
Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast,
 | 
						|
With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts,--
 | 
						|
O wicked wit and gifts, that have the power
 | 
						|
So to seduce!--won to his shameful lust
 | 
						|
The will of my most seeming-virtuous queen:
 | 
						|
O Hamlet, what a falling-off was there!
 | 
						|
From me, whose love was of that dignity
 | 
						|
That it went hand in hand even with the vow
 | 
						|
I made to her in marriage, and to decline
 | 
						|
Upon a wretch whose natural gifts were poor
 | 
						|
To those of mine!
 | 
						|
But virtue, as it never will be moved,
 | 
						|
Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven,
 | 
						|
So lust, though to a radiant angel link'd,
 | 
						|
Will sate itself in a celestial bed,
 | 
						|
And prey on garbage.
 | 
						|
But, soft! methinks I scent the morning air;
 | 
						|
Brief let me be. Sleeping within my orchard,
 | 
						|
My custom always of the afternoon,
 | 
						|
Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole,
 | 
						|
With juice of cursed hebenon in a vial,
 | 
						|
And in the porches of my ears did pour
 | 
						|
The leperous distilment; whose effect
 | 
						|
Holds such an enmity with blood of man
 | 
						|
That swift as quicksilver it courses through
 | 
						|
The natural gates and alleys of the body,
 | 
						|
And with a sudden vigour doth posset
 | 
						|
And curd, like eager droppings into milk,
 | 
						|
The thin and wholesome blood: so did it mine;
 | 
						|
And a most instant tetter bark'd about,
 | 
						|
Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust,
 | 
						|
All my smooth body.
 | 
						|
Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand
 | 
						|
Of life, of crown, of queen, at once dispatch'd:
 | 
						|
Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin,
 | 
						|
Unhousel'd, disappointed, unanel'd,
 | 
						|
No reckoning made, but sent to my account
 | 
						|
With all my imperfections on my head:
 | 
						|
O, horrible! O, horrible! most horrible!
 | 
						|
If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not;
 | 
						|
Let not the royal bed of Denmark be
 | 
						|
A couch for luxury and damned incest.
 | 
						|
But, howsoever thou pursuest this act,
 | 
						|
Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive
 | 
						|
Against thy mother aught: leave her to heaven
 | 
						|
And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge,
 | 
						|
To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once!
 | 
						|
The glow-worm shows the matin to be near,
 | 
						|
And 'gins to pale his uneffectual fire:
 | 
						|
Adieu, adieu! Hamlet, remember me.
 | 
						|
Exit
 | 
						|
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
O all you host of heaven! O earth! what else?
 | 
						|
And shall I couple hell? O, fie! Hold, hold, my heart;
 | 
						|
And you, my sinews, grow not instant old,
 | 
						|
But bear me stiffly up. Remember thee!
 | 
						|
Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat
 | 
						|
In this distracted globe. Remember thee!
 | 
						|
Yea, from the table of my memory
 | 
						|
I'll wipe away all trivial fond records,
 | 
						|
All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past,
 | 
						|
That youth and observation copied there;
 | 
						|
And thy commandment all alone shall live
 | 
						|
Within the book and volume of my brain,
 | 
						|
Unmix'd with baser matter: yes, by heaven!
 | 
						|
O most pernicious woman!
 | 
						|
O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain!
 | 
						|
My tables,--meet it is I set it down,
 | 
						|
That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain;
 | 
						|
At least I'm sure it may be so in Denmark:
 | 
						|
Writing
 | 
						|
 | 
						|
So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word;
 | 
						|
It is 'Adieu, adieu! remember me.'
 | 
						|
I have sworn 't.
 | 
						|
MARCELLUS HORATIO
 | 
						|
[Within] My lord, my lord,--
 | 
						|
MARCELLUS
 | 
						|
[Within]	Lord Hamlet,--
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
[Within]	Heaven secure him!
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
So be it!
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
[Within] Hillo, ho, ho, my lord!
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
Hillo, ho, ho, boy! come, bird, come.
 | 
						|
Enter HORATIO and MARCELLUS
 | 
						|
 | 
						|
MARCELLUS
 | 
						|
How is't, my noble lord?
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
What news, my lord?
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
O, wonderful!
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
Good my lord, tell it.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
No; you'll reveal it.
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
Not I, my lord, by heaven.
 | 
						|
MARCELLUS
 | 
						|
Nor I, my lord.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
How say you, then; would heart of man once think it?
 | 
						|
But you'll be secret?
 | 
						|
HORATIO MARCELLUS
 | 
						|
Ay, by heaven, my lord.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
There's ne'er a villain dwelling in all Denmark
 | 
						|
But he's an arrant knave.
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave
 | 
						|
To tell us this.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
Why, right; you are i' the right;
 | 
						|
And so, without more circumstance at all,
 | 
						|
I hold it fit that we shake hands and part:
 | 
						|
You, as your business and desire shall point you;
 | 
						|
For every man has business and desire,
 | 
						|
Such as it is; and for mine own poor part,
 | 
						|
Look you, I'll go pray.
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
These are but wild and whirling words, my lord.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
I'm sorry they offend you, heartily;
 | 
						|
Yes, 'faith heartily.
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
There's no offence, my lord.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
Yes, by Saint Patrick, but there is, Horatio,
 | 
						|
And much offence too. Touching this vision here,
 | 
						|
It is an honest ghost, that let me tell you:
 | 
						|
For your desire to know what is between us,
 | 
						|
O'ermaster 't as you may. And now, good friends,
 | 
						|
As you are friends, scholars and soldiers,
 | 
						|
Give me one poor request.
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
What is't, my lord? we will.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
Never make known what you have seen to-night.
 | 
						|
HORATIO MARCELLUS
 | 
						|
My lord, we will not.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
Nay, but swear't.
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
In faith,
 | 
						|
My lord, not I.
 | 
						|
MARCELLUS
 | 
						|
Nor I, my lord, in faith.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
Upon my sword.
 | 
						|
MARCELLUS
 | 
						|
We have sworn, my lord, already.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
Indeed, upon my sword, indeed.
 | 
						|
Ghost
 | 
						|
[Beneath] Swear.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
Ah, ha, boy! say'st thou so? art thou there,
 | 
						|
truepenny?
 | 
						|
Come on--you hear this fellow in the cellarage--
 | 
						|
Consent to swear.
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
Propose the oath, my lord.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
Never to speak of this that you have seen,
 | 
						|
Swear by my sword.
 | 
						|
Ghost
 | 
						|
[Beneath] Swear.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
Hic et ubique? then we'll shift our ground.
 | 
						|
Come hither, gentlemen,
 | 
						|
And lay your hands again upon my sword:
 | 
						|
Never to speak of this that you have heard,
 | 
						|
Swear by my sword.
 | 
						|
Ghost
 | 
						|
[Beneath] Swear.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
Well said, old mole! canst work i' the earth so fast?
 | 
						|
A worthy pioner! Once more remove, good friends.
 | 
						|
HORATIO
 | 
						|
O day and night, but this is wondrous strange!
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
And therefore as a stranger give it welcome.
 | 
						|
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
 | 
						|
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy. But come;
 | 
						|
Here, as before, never, so help you mercy,
 | 
						|
How strange or odd soe'er I bear myself,
 | 
						|
As I perchance hereafter shall think meet
 | 
						|
To put an antic disposition on,
 | 
						|
That you, at such times seeing me, never shall,
 | 
						|
With arms encumber'd thus, or this headshake,
 | 
						|
Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase,
 | 
						|
As 'Well, well, we know,' or 'We could, an if we would,'
 | 
						|
Or 'If we list to speak,' or 'There be, an if they might,'
 | 
						|
Or such ambiguous giving out, to note
 | 
						|
That you know aught of me: this not to do,
 | 
						|
So grace and mercy at your most need help you, Swear.
 | 
						|
Ghost
 | 
						|
[Beneath] Swear.
 | 
						|
HAMLET
 | 
						|
Rest, rest, perturbed spirit!
 | 
						|
They swear
 | 
						|
 | 
						|
So, gentlemen,
 | 
						|
With all my love I do commend me to you:
 | 
						|
And what so poor a man as Hamlet is
 | 
						|
May do, to express his love and friending to you,
 | 
						|
God willing, shall not lack. Let us go in together;
 | 
						|
And still your fingers on your lips, I pray.
 | 
						|
The time is out of joint: O cursed spite,
 | 
						|
That ever I was born to set it right!
 | 
						|
Nay, come, let's go together.
 | 
						|
Exeunt
 |