The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark

Scene IV. Elsinore. The platform before the Castle

Enter Hamlet, Horatio, and Marcellus.

  Ham. The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold.  Hor. It is a nipping and an eager air.  Ham. What hour now?  Hor. I think it lacks of twelve.  Mar. No, it is struck.  Hor. Indeed? I heard it not. It then draws near the season    Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk.                   A flourish of trumpets, and two pieces go off.    What does this mean, my lord?  Ham. The King doth wake to-night and takes his rouse,    Keeps wassail, and the swagg'ring upspring reels,    And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down,    The kettledrum and trumpet thus bray out    The triumph of his pledge.  Hor. Is it a custom?  Ham. 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 traduc'd and tax'd of other nations;    They clip 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'erleavens    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 e'il    Doth all the noble substance often dout To his own scandal.

Enter Ghost.

  Hor. Look, my lord, it comes!  Ham. 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 com'st 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 canoniz'd bones, hearsed in death,    Have burst their cerements; why the sepulchre    Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd,    Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws    To cast thee up again. What may this mean    That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel,    Revisits 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.  Hor. It beckons you to go away with it,    As if it some impartment did desire    To you alone.  Mar. Look with what courteous action    It waves you to a more removed ground.    But do not go with it!  Hor. No, by no means!  Ham. It will not speak. Then will I follow it.  Hor. Do not, my lord!  Ham. Why, what should be the fear?    I do not set my life at 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.  Hor. 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 fadoms to the sea    And hears it roar beneath.  Ham. It waves me still.    Go on. I'll follow thee.  Mar. You shall not go, my lord.  Ham. Hold off your hands!  Hor. Be rul'd. You shall not go.  Ham. My fate cries out    And makes each petty artire in this body    As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve.                                                [Ghost beckons.]    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  Hor. He waxes desperate with imagination.  Mar. Let's follow. 'Tis not fit thus to obey him.  Hor. Have after. To what issue wail this come?  Mar. Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.  Hor. Heaven will direct it.  Mar. Nay, let's follow him.Exeunt

Scene V. Elsinore. The Castle. Another part of the fortifications

Enter Ghost and Hamlet.

  Ham. Whither wilt thou lead me? Speak! I'll go no further.  Ghost. Mark me.  Ham. I will.  Ghost. My hour is almost come,    When I to sulph'rous and tormenting flames    Must render up myself.  Ham. Alas, poor ghost!  Ghost. Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing    To what I shall unfold.  Ham. Speak. I am bound to hear.  Ghost. So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear.  Ham. What?  Ghost. I am thy father's spirit,    Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night,    And for the day confin'd to fast in fires,    Till the foul crimes done in my days 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 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 an 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-  Ham. O God!  Ghost. Revenge his foul and most unnatural murther.  Ham. Murther?  Ghost. Murther most foul, as in the best it is;    But this most foul, strange, and unnatural.  Ham. 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 rots 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 abus'd. But know, thou noble youth,    The serpent that did sting thy father's life    Now wears his crown.  Ham. 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 mov'd,    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 hebona 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 quicksilverr it courses through    The natural gates and alleys of the body,    And with a sudden vigour it 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,    Unhous'led, disappointed, unanel'd,    No reckoning made, but sent to my account    With all my imperfections on my head.  Ham. O, horrible! O, horrible! most horrible!  Ghost. 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 glowworm shows the matin to be near    And gins to pale his uneffectual fire.    Adieu, adieu, adieu! Remember me. Exit.  Ham. O all you host of heaven! O earth! What else?    And shall I couple hell? 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 am sure it may be so in Denmark. [Writes.]    So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word:    It is 'Adieu, adieu! Remember me.'    I have sworn't.  Hor. (within) My lord, my lord!

Enter Horatio and Marcellus.

  Mar. Lord Hamlet!  Hor. Heaven secure him!  Ham. So be it!  Mar. Illo, ho, ho, my lord!  Ham. Hillo, ho, ho, boy! Come, bird, come.  Mar. How is't, my noble lord?  Hor. What news, my lord?  Mar. O, wonderful!  Hor. Good my lord, tell it.  Ham. No, you will reveal it.  Hor. Not I, my lord, by heaven!  Mar. Nor I, my lord.  Ham. How say you then? Would heart of man once think it?    But you'll be secret?  Both. Ay, by heaven, my lord.  Ham. There's neer a villain dwelling in all Denmark    But he's an arrant knave.  Hor. There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave    To tell us this.  Ham. Why, right! You are in the right!    And so, without more circumstance at all,    I hold it fit that we shake hands and part;    You, as your business and desires shall point you,    For every man hath business and desire,    Such as it is; and for my own poor part,    Look you, I'll go pray.  Hor. These are but wild and whirling words, my lord.  Ham. I am sorry they offend you, heartily;    Yes, faith, heartily.  Hor. There's no offence, my lord.  Ham. 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.  Hor. What is't, my lord? We will.  Ham. Never make known what you have seen to-night.  Both. My lord, we will not.  Ham. Nay, but swear't.  Hor. In faith,    My lord, not I.  Mar. Nor I, my lord- in faith.  Ham. Upon my sword.  Mar. We have sworn, my lord, already.  Ham. Indeed, upon my sword, indeed.

Ghost cries under the stage.

  Ghost. Swear.  Ham. Aha boy, say'st thou so? Art thou there, truepenny?    Come on! You hear this fellow in the cellarage.    Consent to swear.  Hor. Propose the oath, my lord.  Ham. Never to speak of this that you have seen.    Swear by my sword.  Ghost. [beneath] Swear.  Ham. 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 by his sword.  Ham. Well said, old mole! Canst work i' th' earth so fast?    A worthy pioner! Once more remove, good friends."  Hor. O day and night, but this is wondrous strange!  Ham. 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 encumb'red thus, or this head-shake,    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 is not to do,    So grace and mercy at your most need help you,    Swear.  Ghost. [beneath] Swear.                                                   [They swear.]  Ham. Rest, rest, perturbed spirit! So, gentlemen,    With all my love I do commend me to you;    And what so poor a man as Hamlet is    May do t' 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

Act II. Scene I. Elsinore. A room in the house of Polonius

Enter Polonius and Reynaldo.

  Pol. Give him this money and these notes, Reynaldo.  Rey. I will, my lord.  Pol. You shall do marvell's wisely, good Reynaldo,    Before You visit him, to make inquire    Of his behaviour.  Rey. My lord, I did intend it.  Pol. Marry, well said, very well said. Look you, sir,    Enquire me first what Danskers are in Paris;    And how, and who, what means, and where they keep,    What company, at what expense; and finding    By this encompassment and drift of question    That they do know my son, come you more nearer    Than your particular demands will touch it.    Take you, as 'twere, some distant knowledge of him;    As thus, 'I know his father and his friends,    And in part him.' Do you mark this, Reynaldo?  Rey. Ay, very well, my lord.  Pol. 'And in part him, but,' you may say, 'not well.    But if't be he I mean, he's very wild    Addicted so and so'; and there put on him    What forgeries you please; marry, none so rank    As may dishonour him- take heed of that;    But, sir, such wanton, wild, and usual slips    As are companions noted and most known    To youth and liberty.  Rey. As gaming, my lord.  Pol. Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing, quarrelling,    Drabbing. You may go so far.  Rey. My lord, that would dishonour him.  Pol. Faith, no, as you may season it in the charge.    You must not put another scandal on him,    That he is open to incontinency.    That's not my meaning. But breathe his faults so quaintly    That they may seem the taints of liberty,    The flash and outbreak of a fiery mind,    A savageness in unreclaimed blood,    Of general assault.  Rey. But, my good lord-  Pol. Wherefore should you do this?  Rey. Ay, my lord,    I would know that.  Pol. Marry, sir, here's my drift,    And I believe it is a fetch of warrant.    You laying these slight sullies on my son    As 'twere a thing a little soil'd i' th' working,    Mark you,    Your party in converse, him you would sound,    Having ever seen in the prenominate crimes    The youth you breathe of guilty, be assur'd    He closes with you in this consequence:    'Good sir,' or so, or 'friend,' or 'gentleman'-    According to the phrase or the addition    Of man and country-  Rey. Very good, my lord.  Pol. And then, sir, does 'a this- 'a does- What was I about tosay?    By the mass, I was about to say something! Where did I leave?  Rey. At 'closes in the consequence,' at 'friend or so,' and    gentleman.'  Pol. At 'closes in the consequence'– Ay, marry!    He closes thus: 'I know the gentleman.    I saw him yesterday, or t'other day,    Or then, or then, with such or such; and, as you say,    There was 'a gaming; there o'ertook in's rouse;    There falling out at tennis'; or perchance,    'I saw him enter such a house of sale,'    Videlicet, a brothel, or so forth.    See you now-    Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth;    And thus do we of wisdom and of reach,    With windlasses and with assays of bias,    By indirections find directions out.    So, by my former lecture and advice,    Shall you my son. You have me, have you not  Rey. My lord, I have.  Pol. God b' wi' ye, fare ye well!  Rey. Good my lord! [Going.]  Pol. Observe his inclination in yourself.  Rey. I shall, my lord.  Pol. And let him ply his music.  Rey. Well, my lord.  Pol. Farewell!Exit Reynaldo

Enter Ophelia.

    How now, Ophelia? What's the matter?  Oph. O my lord, my lord, I have been so affrighted!  Pol. With what, i' th' name of God I  Oph. My lord, as I was sewing in my closet,    Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbrac'd,    No hat upon his head, his stockings foul'd,    Ungart'red, and down-gyved to his ankle;    Pale as his shirt, his knees knocking each other,    And with a look so piteous in purport    As if he had been loosed out of hell    To speak of horrors- he comes before me.  Pol. Mad for thy love?  Oph. My lord, I do not know,    But truly I do fear it.  Pol. What said he?  Oph. He took me by the wrist and held me hard;    Then goes he to the length of all his arm,    And, with his other hand thus o'er his brow,    He falls to such perusal of my face    As he would draw it. Long stay'd he so.    At last, a little shaking of mine arm,    And thrice his head thus waving up and down,    He rais'd a sigh so piteous and profound    As it did seem to shatter all his bulk    And end his being. That done, he lets me go,    And with his head over his shoulder turn'd    He seem'd to find his way without his eyes,    For out o' doors he went without their help    And to the last bended their light on me.  Pol. Come, go with me. I will go seek the King.    This is the very ecstasy of love,    Whose violent property fordoes itself    And leads the will to desperate undertakings    As oft as any passion under heaven    That does afflict our natures. I am sorry.    What, have you given him any hard words of late?  Oph. No, my good lord; but, as you did command,    I did repel his letters and denied    His access to me.  Pol. That hath made him mad.    I am sorry that with better heed and judgment    I had not quoted him. I fear'd he did but trifle    And meant to wrack thee; but beshrew my jealousy!    By heaven, it is as proper to our age    To cast beyond ourselves in our opinions    As it is common for the younger sort    To lack discretion. Come, go we to the King.    This must be known; which, being kept close, might move    More grief to hide than hate to utter love.    Come.Exeunt

Scene II. Elsinore. A room in the Castle

Flourish. [Enter King and Queen, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, cum aliis.

  King. Welcome, dear Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.    Moreover that we much did long to see you,    The need we have to use you did provoke    Our hasty sending. Something have you heard    Of Hamlet's transformation. So I call it,    Sith nor th' exterior nor the inward man    Resembles that it was. What it should be,    More than his father's death, that thus hath put him    So much from th' understanding of himself,    I cannot dream of. I entreat you both    That, being of so young clays brought up with him,    And since so neighbour'd to his youth and haviour,    That you vouchsafe your rest here in our court    Some little time; so by your companies    To draw him on to pleasures, and to gather    So much as from occasion you may glean,    Whether aught to us unknown afflicts him thus    That, open'd, lies within our remedy.  Queen. Good gentlemen, he hath much talk'd of you,    And sure I am two men there are not living    To whom he more adheres. If it will please you    To show us so much gentry and good will    As to expend your time with us awhile    For the supply and profit of our hope,    Your visitation shall receive such thanks    As fits a king's remembrance.  Ros. Both your Majesties    Might, by the sovereign power you have of us,    Put your dread pleasures more into command    Than to entreaty.  Guil. But we both obey,    And here give up ourselves, in the full bent,    To lay our service freely at your feet,    To be commanded.  King. Thanks, Rosencrantz and gentle Guildenstern.  Queen. Thanks, Guildenstern and gentle Rosencrantz.    And I beseech you instantly to visit    My too much changed son. – Go, some of you,    And bring these gentlemen where Hamlet is.  Guil. Heavens make our presence and our practices    Pleasant and helpful to him!  Queen. Ay, amen!Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, [with some Attendants]

Enter Polonius.

  Pol. Th' ambassadors from Norway, my good lord,    Are joyfully return'd.  King. Thou still hast been the father of good news.  Pol. Have I, my lord? Assure you, my good liege,    I hold my duty as I hold my soul,    Both to my God and to my gracious king;    And I do think- or else this brain of mine    Hunts not the trail of policy so sure    As it hath us'd to do- that I have found    The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy.  King. O, speak of that! That do I long to hear.  Pol. Give first admittance to th' ambassadors.    My news shall be the fruit to that great feast.  King. Thyself do grace to them, and bring them in.                                                [Exit Polonius.]    He tells me, my dear Gertrude, he hath found    The head and source of all your son's distemper.  Queen. I doubt it is no other but the main,    His father's death and our o'erhasty marriage.  King. Well, we shall sift him.

Enter Polonius, Voltemand, and Cornelius.

    Welcome, my good friends.    Say, Voltemand, what from our brother Norway?  Volt. Most fair return of greetings and desires.    Upon our first, he sent out to suppress    His nephew's levies; which to him appear'd    To be a preparation 'gainst the Polack,    But better look'd into, he truly found    It was against your Highness; whereat griev'd,    That so his sickness, age, and impotence    Was falsely borne in hand, sends out arrests    On Fortinbras; which he, in brief, obeys,    Receives rebuke from Norway, and, in fine,    Makes vow before his uncle never more    To give th' assay of arms against your Majesty.    Whereon old Norway, overcome with joy,    Gives him three thousand crowns in annual fee    And his commission to employ those soldiers,    So levied as before, against the Polack;    With an entreaty, herein further shown,                                                [Gives a paper.]    That it might please you to give quiet pass    Through your dominions for this enterprise,    On such regards of safety and allowance    As therein are set down.  King. It likes us well;    And at our more consider'd time we'll read,    Answer, and think upon this business.    Meantime we thank you for your well-took labour.    Go to your rest; at night we'll feast together.    Most welcome home! Exeunt Ambassadors.  Pol. This business is well ended.    My liege, and madam, to expostulate    What majesty should be, what duty is,    Why day is day, night is night, and time is time.    Were nothing but to waste night, day, and time.    Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit,    And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes,    I will be brief. Your noble son is mad.    Mad call I it; for, to define true madness,    What is't but to be nothing else but mad?    But let that go.  Queen. More matter, with less art.  Pol. Madam, I swear I use no art at all.    That he is mad, 'tis true: 'tis true 'tis pity;    And pity 'tis 'tis true. A foolish figure!    But farewell it, for I will use no art.    Mad let us grant him then. And now remains    That we find out the cause of this effect-    Or rather say, the cause of this defect,    For this effect defective comes by cause.    Thus it remains, and the remainder thus.    Perpend.    I have a daughter (have while she is mine),    Who in her duty and obedience, mark,    Hath given me this. Now gather, and surmise.                                             [Reads] the letter.    'To the celestial, and my soul's idol, the most beautified      Ophelia,'-    That's an ill phrase, a vile phrase; 'beautified' is a vile      phrase.    But you shall hear. Thus:                                                        [Reads.]    'In her excellent white bosom, these, &c.'  Queen. Came this from Hamlet to her?  Pol. Good madam, stay awhile. I will be faithful. [Reads.]          'Doubt thou the stars are fire;            Doubt that the sun doth move;          Doubt truth to be a liar;            But never doubt I love.      'O dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers; I have not artto    reckon my groans; but that I love thee best, O most best,believe    it. Adieu.      'Thine evermore, most dear lady, whilst this machine is tohim,

HAMLET.'