Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew!
Or that the Everlasting had not fixd
His canon gainst self-slaughter. O God! O God!
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable
Seem to me all the uses of this world!
Fie ont! Oh 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 ont-Frailty, thy name is woman!
A little month, or ere those shoes were old
With which she followed my poor fathers body
Like Niobe, all tears.-Why she, even she-
O God! A beast that wants discourse of reason
Would have mournd longer, married with mine uncle,
My fathers 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 Barnardo.
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;
Ill 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 my 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?
Well teach you to drink deep ere you depart.
HORATIO.
My lord, I came to see your fathers funeral.
HAMLET.
I prithee do not mock me, fellow-student.
I think it was to see my mothers wedding.
HORATIO.
Indeed, my lord, it followd hard upon.
HAMLET.
Thrift, thrift, Horatio! The funeral bakd 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 minds 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 a while
With an attent ear, till I may deliver
Upon the witness of these gentlemen
This marvel to you.
HAMLET.
For Gods love let me hear.
HORATIO.
Two nights together had these gentlemen,
Marcellus and Barnardo, on their watch
In the dead waste and middle of the night,
Been thus encounterd. A figure like your father,
Armed at point exactly, cap-à-pie,
Appears before them, and with solemn march
Goes slow and stately by them: thrice he walkd
By their oppressd and fear-surprised eyes,
Within his truncheons length; whilst they, distilld
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 deliverd, 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.
HAMLET.
Did you not speak to it?
HORATIO.
My lord, I did;
But answer made it none: yet once methought
It lifted up it 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 vanishd from our sight.
HAMLET.
Tis very strange.
HORATIO.
As I do live, my honourd 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 tonight?
Mar. and BARNARDO.
We do, my lord.
HAMLET.
Armd, say you?
Both.
Armd, my lord.
HAMLET.
From top to toe?
BOTH.
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, lookd he frowningly?
HORATIO.
A countenance more in sorrow than in anger.
HAMLET.
Pale, or red?
HORATIO.
Nay, very pale.
HAMLET.
And fixd his eyes upon you?
HORATIO.
Most constantly.
HAMLET.
I would I had been there.
HORATIO.
It would have much amazd you.
HAMLET.
Very like, very like. Stayd it long?
HORATIO.
While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred.
MARCELLUS and BARNARDO.
Longer, longer.
HORATIO.
Not when I sawt.
HAMLET.
His beard was grizzled, no?
HORATIO.
It was, as I have seen it in his life,
A sable silverd.
HAMLET.
I will watch tonight;
Perchance twill walk again.
HORATIO.
I warrant you it will.
HAMLET.
If it assume my noble fathers person,
Ill speak to it, though hell itself should gape
And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all,
If you have hitherto conceald this sight,
Let it be tenable in your silence still;
And whatsoever else shall hap tonight,
Give it an understanding, but no tongue.
I will requite your loves. So, fare ye well.
Upon the platform twixt eleven and twelve,
Ill visit you.
ALL.
Our duty to your honour.
HAMLET.
Your loves, as mine to you: farewell.
[Exeunt Horatio, Marcellus and Barnardo.]
My fathers 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 oerwhelm them, to mens eyes.
[Exit.]
Scene III
A room in Poloniuss house.
Enter Laertes and Ophelia.
LAERTES.
My necessaries are embarkd. 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 weighd, his will is not his own;
For he himself is subject to his birth:
He may not, as unvalud persons do,
Carve for himself; for on his choice depends
The sanctity and health of this whole state;
And therefore must his choice be circumscribd
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 unmasterd 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 scopes not calumnious strokes:
The canker galls the infants of the spring
Too oft before their buttons be disclosd,
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.