The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark

  Laer. Where is this king? – Sirs, staid you all without.  All. No, let's come in!  Laer. I pray you give me leave.  All. We will, we will!  Laer. I thank you. Keep the door. [Exeunt his Followers.]    O thou vile king,    Give me my father!  Queen. Calmly, good Laertes.  Laer. That drop of blood that's calm proclaims me bastard;    Cries cuckold to my father; brands the harlot    Even here between the chaste unsmirched brows    Of my true mother.  King. What is the cause, Laertes,    That thy rebellion looks so giantlike?    Let him go, Gertrude. Do not fear our person.    There's such divinity doth hedge a king    That treason can but peep to what it would,    Acts little of his will. Tell me, Laertes,    Why thou art thus incens'd. Let him go, Gertrude.    Speak, man.  Laer. Where is my father?  King. Dead.  Queen. But not by him!  King. Let him demand his fill.  Laer. How came he dead? I'll not be juggled with:    To hell, allegiance! vows, to the blackest devil    Conscience and grace, to the profoundest pit!    I dare damnation. To this point I stand,    That both the world, I give to negligence,    Let come what comes; only I'll be reveng'd    Most throughly for my father.  King. Who shall stay you?  Laer. My will, not all the world!    And for my means, I'll husband them so well    They shall go far with little.  King. Good Laertes,    If you desire to know the certainty    Of your dear father's death, is't writ in Your revenge    That swoopstake you will draw both friend and foe,    Winner and loser?  Laer. None but his enemies.  King. Will you know them then?  Laer. To his good friends thus wide I'll ope my arms    And, like the kind life-rend'ring pelican,    Repast them with my blood.  King. Why, now You speak    Like a good child and a true gentleman.    That I am guiltless of your father's death,    And am most sensibly in grief for it,    It shall as level to your judgment pierce    As day does to your eye.                              A noise within: 'Let her come in.'  Laer. How now? What noise is that?

Enter Ophelia.

    O heat, dry up my brains! Tears seven times salt    Burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye!    By heaven, thy madness shall be paid by weight    Till our scale turn the beam. O rose of May!    Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia!    O heavens! is't possible a young maid's wits    Should be as mortal as an old man's life?    Nature is fine in love, and where 'tis fine,    It sends some precious instance of itself    After the thing it loves.  Oph. (sings)         They bore him barefac'd on the bier           (Hey non nony, nony, hey nony)         And in his grave rain'd many a tear.    Fare you well, my dove!  Laer. Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade revenge,    It could not move thus.  Oph. You must sing 'A-down a-down, and you call him a-down-a.'O,    how the wheel becomes it! It is the false steward, that stolehis    master's daughter.  Laer. This nothing's more than matter.  Oph. There's rosemary, that's for remembrance. Pray you, love,    remember. And there is pansies, that's for thoughts.  Laer. A document in madness! Thoughts and remembrance fitted.  Oph. There's fennel for you, and columbines. There's rue foryou,    and here's some for me. We may call it herb of grace o'Sundays.    O, you must wear your rue with a difference! There's a daisy.I    would give you some violets, but they wither'd all when myfather    died. They say he made a good end.[Sings] For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy.  Laer. Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself,    She turns to favour and to prettiness.  Oph. (sings)         And will he not come again?         And will he not come again?           No, no, he is dead;           Go to thy deathbed;         He never will come again.         His beard was as white as snow,         All flaxen was his poll.           He is gone, he is gone,           And we cast away moan.         God 'a'mercy on his soul!    And of all Christian souls, I pray God. God b' wi', you.

Exit.

  Laer. Do you see this, O God?  King. Laertes, I must commune with your grief,    Or you deny me right. Go but apart,    Make choice of whom your wisest friends you will,    And they shall hear and judge 'twixt you and me.    If by direct or by collateral hand    They find us touch'd, we will our kingdom give,    Our crown, our life, and all that we call ours,    To you in satisfaction; but if not,    Be you content to lend your patience to us,    And we shall jointly labour with your soul    To give it due content.  Laer. Let this be so.    His means of death, his obscure funeral-    No trophy, sword, nor hatchment o'er his bones,    No noble rite nor formal ostentation, -    Cry to be heard, as 'twere from heaven to earth,    That I must call't in question.  King. So you shall;    And where th' offence is let the great axe fall.    I pray you go with me.Exeunt

Scene VI. Elsinore. Another room in the Castle

Enter Horatio with an Attendant.

  Hor. What are they that would speak with me?  Servant. Seafaring men, sir. They say they have letters foryou.  Hor. Let them come in.[Exit Attendant.]    I do not know from what part of the world    I should be greeted, if not from Lord Hamlet.

Enter Sailors.

  Sailor. God bless you, sir.  Hor. Let him bless thee too.  Sailor. 'A shall, sir, an't please him. There's a letter foryou,    sir, – it comes from th' ambassador that was bound forEngland- if    your name be Horatio, as I am let to know it is.  Hor. (reads the letter) 'Horatio, when thou shalt haveoverlook'd    this, give these fellows some means to the King. They have    letters for him. Ere we were two days old at sea, a pirate of    very warlike appointment gave us chase. Finding ourselves too    slow of sail, we put on a compelled valour, and in thegrapple I    boarded them. On the instant they got clear of our ship; so I    alone became their prisoner. They have dealt with me likethieves    of mercy; but they knew what they did: I am to do a good turnfor    them. Let the King have the letters I have sent, and repairthou    to me with as much speed as thou wouldst fly death. I havewords    to speak in thine ear will make thee dumb; yet are they muchtoo    light for the bore of the matter. These good fellows willbring    thee where I am. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern hold theircourse    for England. Of them I have much to tell thee. Farewell.                            'He that thou knowest thine, HAMLET.'    Come, I will give you way for these your letters,    And do't the speedier that you may direct me    To him from whom you brought them. Exeunt.

Scene VII. Elsinore. Another room in the Castle

Enter King and Laertes.

  King. Now must your conscience my acquittance seal,    And You must put me in your heart for friend,    Sith you have heard, and with a knowing ear,    That he which hath your noble father slain    Pursued my life.  Laer. It well appears. But tell me    Why you proceeded not against these feats    So crimeful and so capital in nature,    As by your safety, wisdom, all things else,    You mainly were stirr'd up.  King. O, for two special reasons,    Which may to you, perhaps, seein much unsinew'd,    But yet to me they are strong. The Queen his mother    Lives almost by his looks; and for myself, -    My virtue or my plague, be it either which, -    She's so conjunctive to my life and soul    That, as the star moves not but in his sphere,    I could not but by her. The other motive    Why to a public count I might not go    Is the great love the general gender bear him,    Who, dipping all his faults in their affection,    Would, like the spring that turneth wood to stone,    Convert his gives to graces; so that my arrows,    Too slightly timber'd for so loud a wind,    Would have reverted to my bow again,    And not where I had aim'd them.  Laer. And so have I a noble father lost;    A sister driven into desp'rate terms,    Whose worth, if praises may go back again,    Stood challenger on mount of all the age    For her perfections. But my revenge will come.  King. Break not your sleeps for that. You must not think    That we are made of stuff so flat and dull    That we can let our beard be shook with danger,    And think it pastime. You shortly shall hear more.    I lov'd your father, and we love ourself,    And that, I hope, will teach you to imagine-

Enter a Messenger with letters.

    How now? What news?  Mess. Letters, my lord, from Hamlet:    This to your Majesty; this to the Queen.  King. From Hamlet? Who brought them?  Mess. Sailors, my lord, they say; I saw them not.    They were given me by Claudio; he receiv'd them    Of him that brought them.  King. Laertes, you shall hear them.    Leave us.Exit Messenger    [Reads]'High and Mighty, – You shall know I am set naked onyour    kingdom. To-morrow shall I beg leave to see your kingly eyes;    when I shall (first asking your pardon thereunto) recount the    occasion of my sudden and more strange return.'HAMLET.'    What should this mean? Are all the rest come back?    Or is it some abuse, and no such thing?  Laer. Know you the hand?  King. 'Tis Hamlet's character. 'Naked!'    And in a postscript here, he says 'alone.'    Can you advise me?  Laer. I am lost in it, my lord. But let him come!    It warms the very sickness in my heart    That I shall live and tell him to his teeth,    'Thus didest thou.'  King. If it be so, Laertes    (As how should it be so? how otherwise?),    Will you be rul'd by me?  Laer. Ay my lord,    So you will not o'errule me to a peace.  King. To thine own peace. If he be now return'd    As checking at his voyage, and that he means    No more to undertake it, I will work him    To exploit now ripe in my device,    Under the which he shall not choose but fall;    And for his death no wind    But even his mother shall uncharge the practice    And call it accident.  Laer. My lord, I will be rul'd;    The rather, if you could devise it so    That I might be the organ.  King. It falls right.    You have been talk'd of since your travel much,    And that in Hamlet's hearing, for a quality    Wherein they say you shine, Your sun of parts    Did not together pluck such envy from him    As did that one; and that, in my regard,    Of the unworthiest siege.  Laer. What part is that, my lord?  King. A very riband in the cap of youth-    Yet needfull too; for youth no less becomes    The light and careless livery that it wears    Thin settled age his sables and his weeds,    Importing health and graveness. Two months since    Here was a gentleman of Normandy.    I have seen myself, and serv'd against, the French,    And they can well on horseback; but this gallant    Had witchcraft in't. He grew unto his seat,    And to such wondrous doing brought his horse    As had he been incorps'd and demi-natur'd    With the brave beast. So far he topp'd my thought    That I, in forgery of shapes and tricks,    Come short of what he did.  Laer. A Norman was't?  King. A Norman.  Laer. Upon my life, Lamound.  King. The very same.  Laer. I know him well. He is the broach indeed    And gem of all the nation.  King. He made confession of you;    And gave you such a masterly report    For art and exercise in your defence,    And for your rapier most especially,    That he cried out 'twould be a sight indeed    If one could match you. The scrimers of their nation    He swore had neither motion, guard, nor eye,    If you oppos'd them. Sir, this report of his    Did Hamlet so envenom with his envy    That he could nothing do but wish and beg    Your sudden coming o'er to play with you.    Now, out of this-  Laer. What out of this, my lord?  King. Laertes, was your father dear to you?    Or are you like the painting of a sorrow,    A face without a heart,'  Laer. Why ask you this?  King. Not that I think you did not love your father;    But that I know love is begun by time,    And that I see, in passages of proof,    Time qualifies the spark and fire of it.    There lives within the very flame of love    A kind of wick or snuff that will abate it;    And nothing is at a like goodness still;    For goodness, growing to a plurisy,    Dies in his own too-much. That we would do,    We should do when we would; for this 'would' changes,    And hath abatements and delays as many    As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents;    And then this 'should' is like a spendthrift sigh,    That hurts by easing. But to the quick o' th' ulcer!    Hamlet comes back. What would you undertake    To show yourself your father's son in deed    More than in words?  Laer. To cut his throat i' th' church!  King. No place indeed should murther sanctuarize;    Revenge should have no bounds. But, good Laertes,    Will you do this? Keep close within your chamber.    Will return'd shall know you are come home.    We'll put on those shall praise your excellence    And set a double varnish on the fame    The Frenchman gave you; bring you in fine together    And wager on your heads. He, being remiss,    Most generous, and free from all contriving,    Will not peruse the foils; so that with ease,    Or with a little shuffling, you may choose    A sword unbated, and, in a pass of practice,    Requite him for your father.  Laer. I will do't!    And for that purpose I'll anoint my sword.    I bought an unction of a mountebank,    So mortal that, but dip a knife in it,    Where it draws blood no cataplasm so rare,    Collected from all simples that have virtue    Under the moon, can save the thing from death    This is but scratch'd withal. I'll touch my point    With this contagion, that, if I gall him slightly,    It may be death.  King. Let's further think of this,    Weigh what convenience both of time and means    May fit us to our shape. If this should fall,    And that our drift look through our bad performance.    'Twere better not assay'd. Therefore this project    Should have a back or second, that might hold    If this did blast in proof. Soft! let me see.    We'll make a solemn wager on your cunnings-    I ha't!    When in your motion you are hot and dry-    As make your bouts more violent to that end-    And that he calls for drink, I'll have prepar'd him    A chalice for the nonce; whereon but sipping,    If he by chance escape your venom'd stuck,    Our purpose may hold there. – But stay, what noise,

Enter Queen.

    How now, sweet queen?  Queen. One woe doth tread upon another's heel,    So fast they follow. Your sister's drown'd, Laertes.  Laer. Drown'd! O, where?  Queen. There is a willow grows aslant a brook,    That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream.    There with fantastic garlands did she come    Of crowflowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples,    That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,    But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them.    There on the pendant boughs her coronet weeds    Clamb'ring to hang, an envious sliver broke,    When down her weedy trophies and herself    Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide    And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up;    Which time she chaunted snatches of old tunes,    As one incapable of her own distress,    Or like a creature native and indued    Unto that element; but long it could not be    Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,    Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay    To muddy death.  Laer. Alas, then she is drown'd?  Queen. Drown'd, drown'd.  Laer. Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia,    And therefore I forbid my tears; but yet    It is our trick; nature her custom holds,    Let shame say what it will. When these are gone,    The woman will be out. Adieu, my lord.    I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze    But that this folly douts it. Exit.  King. Let's follow, Gertrude.    How much I had to do to calm his rage I    Now fear I this will give it start again;    Therefore let's follow.Exeunt

ACT V. Scene I. Elsinore. A churchyard

Enter two Clowns, [with spades and pickaxes].

  Clown. Is she to be buried in Christian burial when shewilfully    seeks her own salvation?  Other. I tell thee she is; therefore make her grave straight.    The crowner hath sate on her, and finds it Christian burial.  Clown. How can that be, unless she drown'd herself in her own    defence?  Other. Why, 'tis found so.  Clown. It must be se offendendo; it cannot be else. For herelies    the point: if I drown myself wittingly, it argues an act; andan    act hath three branches-it is to act, to do, and to perform;    argal, she drown'd herself wittingly.  Other. Nay, but hear you, Goodman Delver!  Clown. Give me leave. Here lies the water; good. Here standsthe    man; good. If the man go to this water and drown himself, itis,    will he nill he, he goes- mark you that. But if the watercome to    him and drown him, he drowns not himself. Argal, he that isnot    guilty of his own death shortens not his own life.  Other. But is this law?  Clown. Ay, marry, is't- crowner's quest law.  Other. Will you ha' the truth an't? If this had not been a    gentlewoman, she should have been buried out o' Christianburial.  Clown. Why, there thou say'st! And the more pity that greatfolk    should have count'nance in this world to drown or hangthemselves    more than their even-Christen. Come, my spade! There is no    ancient gentlemen but gard'ners, ditchers, and grave-makers.They    hold up Adam's profession.  Other. Was he a gentleman?  Clown. 'A was the first that ever bore arms.  Other. Why, he had none.  Clown. What, art a heathen? How dost thou understand theScripture?    The Scripture says Adam digg'd. Could he dig without arms?I'll    put another question to thee. If thou answerest me not to the    purpose, confess thyself-  Other. Go to!  Clown. What is he that builds stronger than either the mason,the    shipwright, or the carpenter?  Other. The gallows-maker; for that frame outlives a thousand    tenants.  Clown. I like thy wit well, in good faith. The gallows doeswell.    But how does it well? It does well to those that do ill. Now,    thou dost ill to say the gallows is built stronger than the    church. Argal, the gallows may do well to thee. To't again,come!  Other. Who builds stronger than a mason, a shipwright, or a    carpenter?  Clown. Ay, tell me that, and unyoke.  Other. Marry, now I can tell!  Clown. To't.  Other. Mass, I cannot tell.

Enter Hamlet and Horatio afar off.

  Clown. Cudgel thy brains no more about it, for your dull asswill    not mend his pace with beating; and when you are ask'd this    question next, say 'a grave-maker.' The houses he makes lasts    till doomsday. Go, get thee to Yaughan; fetch me a stoup of    liquor.[Exit Second Clown.][Clown digs and] sings.       In youth when I did love, did love,         Methought it was very sweet;       To contract- O- the time for- a- my behove,         O, methought there- a- was nothing- a- meet.  Ham. Has this fellow no feeling of his business, that he singsat    grave-making?  Hor. Custom hath made it in him a Property of easiness.  Ham. 'Tis e'en so. The hand of little employment hath thedaintier    sense.  Clown. (sings)         But age with his stealing steps           Hath clawed me in his clutch,         And hath shipped me intil the land,           As if I had never been such.                                            [Throws up a skull.]  Ham. That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once. Howthe    knave jowls it to the ground,as if 'twere Cain's jawbone,that    did the first murther! This might be the pate of aPolitician,    which this ass now o'erreaches; one that would circumventGod,    might it not?  Hor. It might, my lord.  Ham. Or of a courtier, which could say 'Good morrow, sweetlord!    How dost thou, good lord?' This might be my Lord Such-a-one,that    prais'd my Lord Such-a-one's horse when he meant to beg it-might    it not?  Hor. Ay, my lord.  Ham. Why, e'en so! and now my Lady Worm's, chapless, andknock'd    about the mazzard with a sexton's spade. Here's finerevolution,    and we had the trick to see't. Did these bones cost no morethe    breeding but to play at loggets with 'em? Mine ache to think    on't.  Clown. (Sings)         A pickaxe and a spade, a spade,           For and a shrouding sheet;         O, a Pit of clay for to be made           For such a guest is meet.                                      Throws up [another skull].  Ham. There's another. Why may not that be the skull of alawyer?    Where be his quiddits now, his quillets, his cases, histenures,    and his tricks? Why does he suffer this rude knave now toknock    him about the sconce with a dirty shovel, and will not tellhim    of his action of battery? Hum! This fellow might be in's timea    great buyer of land, with his statutes, his recognizances,his    fines, his double vouchers, his recoveries. Is this the fineof    his fines, and the recovery of his recoveries, to have hisfine    pate full of fine dirt? Will his vouchers vouch him no moreof    his purchases, and double ones too, than the length andbreadth    of a pair of indentures? The very conveyances of his landswill    scarcely lie in this box; and must th' inheritor himself haveno    more, ha?  Hor. Not a jot more, my lord.  Ham. Is not parchment made of sheepskins?  Hor. Ay, my lord, And of calveskins too.  Ham. They are sheep and calves which seek out assurance inthat. I    will speak to this fellow. Whose grave's this, sirrah?  Clown. Mine, sir.    [Sings] O, a pit of clay for to be made              For such a guest is meet.  Ham. I think it be thine indeed, for thou liest in't.  Clown. You lie out on't, sir, and therefore 'tis not yours.    For my part, I do not lie in't, yet it is mine.  Ham. Thou dost lie in't, to be in't and say it is thine. 'Tisfor    the dead, not for the quick; therefore thou liest.  Clown. 'Tis a quick lie, sir; 'twill away again from me to you.  Ham. What man dost thou dig it for?  Clown. For no man, sir.  Ham. What woman then?  Clown. For none neither.  Ham. Who is to be buried in't?  Clown. One that was a woman, sir; but, rest her soul, she'sdead.  Ham. How absolute the knave is! We must speak by the card, or    equivocation will undo us. By the Lord, Horatio, this threeyears    I have taken note of it, the age is grown so picked that thetoe    of the peasant comes so near the heel of the courtier hegalls    his kibe. – How long hast thou been a grave-maker?  Clown. Of all the days i' th' year, I came to't that day thatour    last king Hamlet overcame Fortinbras.  Ham. How long is that since?  Clown. Cannot you tell that? Every fool can tell that. It wasthe    very day that young Hamlet was born- he that is mad, and sent    into England.  Ham. Ay, marry, why was be sent into England?  Clown. Why, because 'a was mad. 'A shall recover his witsthere;    or, if 'a do not, 'tis no great matter there.  Ham. Why?  Clown. 'Twill not he seen in him there. There the men are asmad as    he.  Ham. How came he mad?  Clown. Very strangely, they say.  Ham. How strangely?  Clown. Faith, e'en with losing his wits.  Ham. Upon what ground?  Clown. Why, here in Denmark. I have been sexton here, man andboy    thirty years.  Ham. How long will a man lie i' th' earth ere he rot?  Clown. Faith, if 'a be not rotten before 'a die (as we havemany    pocky corses now-a-days that will scarce hold the laying in,I    will last you some eight year or nine year. A tanner willlast    you nine year.  Ham. Why he more than another?  Clown. Why, sir, his hide is so tann'd with his trade that 'awill    keep out water a great while; and your water is a soredecayer of    your whoreson dead body. Here's a skull now. This skull hathlien    you i' th' earth three-and-twenty years.  Ham. Whose was it?  Clown. A whoreson, mad fellow's it was. Whose do you think itwas?  Ham. Nay, I know not.  Clown. A pestilence on him for a mad rogue! 'A pour'd a flagonof    Rhenish on my head once. This same skull, sir, was Yorick's    skull, the King's jester.  Ham. This?  Clown. E'en that.  Ham. Let me see. [Takes the skull.] Alas, poor Yorick! I knewhim,    Horatio. A fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy.He    hath borne me on his back a thousand tunes. And now howabhorred    in my imagination it is! My gorge rises at it. Here hungthose    lips that I have kiss'd I know not how oft. Where be yourgibes    now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment that    were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mockyour    own grinning? Quite chap- fall'n? Now get you to my lady's    chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this    favour she must come. Make her laugh at that. Prithee,Horatio,    tell me one thing.  Hor. What's that, my lord?  Ham. Dost thou think Alexander look'd o' this fashion i' th'earth?  Hor. E'en so.  Ham. And smelt so? Pah!                                          [Puts down the skull.]  Hor. E'en so, my lord.  Ham. To what base uses we may return, Horatio! Why may not    imagination trace the noble dust of Alexander till he find it    stopping a bunghole?  Hor. 'Twere to consider too curiously, to consider so.  Ham. No, faith, not a jot; but to follow him thither withmodesty    enough, and likelihood to lead it; as thus: Alexander died,    Alexander was buried, Alexander returneth into dust; the dustis    earth; of earth we make loam; and why of that loam (wheretohe    was converted) might they not stop a beer barrel?    Imperious Caesar, dead and turn'd to clay,    Might stop a hole to keep the wind away.    O, that that earth which kept the world in awe    Should patch a wall t' expel the winter's flaw!    But soft! but soft! aside! Here comes the King-Enter [priests with] a coffin [in funeral procession], King, Queen, Laertes, with Lords attendant.]    The Queen, the courtiers. Who is this they follow?    And with such maimed rites? This doth betoken    The corse they follow did with desp'rate hand    Fordo it own life. 'Twas of some estate.    Couch we awhile, and mark.                                         [Retires with Horatio.]  Laer. What ceremony else?  Ham. That is Laertes,    A very noble youth. Mark.  Laer. What ceremony else?  Priest. Her obsequies have been as far enlarg'd    As we have warranty. Her death was doubtful;    And, but that great command o'ersways the order,    She should in ground unsanctified have lodg'd    Till the last trumpet. For charitable prayers,    Shards, flints, and pebbles should be thrown on her.    Yet here she is allow'd her virgin crants,    Her maiden strewments, and the bringing home    Of bell and burial.  Laer. Must there no more be done?  Priest. No more be done.    We should profane the service of the dead    To sing a requiem and such rest to her    As to peace-parted souls.  Laer. Lay her i' th' earth;    And from her fair and unpolluted flesh    May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest,    A minist'ring angel shall my sister be    When thou liest howling.  Ham. What, the fair Ophelia?  Queen. Sweets to the sweet! Farewell.                                             [Scatters flowers.]    I hop'd thou shouldst have been my Hamlet's wife;    I thought thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid,    And not have strew'd thy grave.  Laer. O, treble woe    Fall ten times treble on that cursed head    Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense    Depriv'd thee of! Hold off the earth awhile,    Till I have caught her once more in mine arms.                                             Leaps in the grave.    Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead    Till of this flat a mountain you have made    T' o'ertop old Pelion or the skyish head    Of blue Olympus.  Ham. [comes forward] What is he whose grief    Bears such an emphasis? whose phrase of sorrow    Conjures the wand'ring stars, and makes them stand    Like wonder-wounded hearers? This is I,    Hamlet the Dane. [Leaps in after Laertes.  Laer. The devil take thy soul!                                            [Grapples with him].  Ham. Thou pray'st not well.    I prithee take thy fingers from my throat;    For, though I am not splenitive and rash,    Yet have I in me something dangerous,    Which let thy wisdom fear. Hold off thy hand!  King. Pluck thein asunder.  Queen. Hamlet, Hamlet!  All. Gentlemen!  Hor. Good my lord, be quiet.[The Attendants part them, and they come out of the grave.]  Ham. Why, I will fight with him upon this theme    Until my eyelids will no longer wag.  Queen. O my son, what theme?  Ham. I lov'd Ophelia. Forty thousand brothers    Could not (with all their quantity of love)    Make up my sum. What wilt thou do for her?  King. O, he is mad, Laertes.  Queen. For love of God, forbear him!  Ham. 'Swounds, show me what thou't do.    Woo't weep? woo't fight? woo't fast? woo't tear thyself?    Woo't drink up esill? eat a crocodile?    I'll do't. Dost thou come here to whine?    To outface me with leaping in her grave?    Be buried quick with her, and so will I.    And if thou prate of mountains, let them throw    Millions of acres on us, till our ground,    Singeing his pate against the burning zone,    Make Ossa like a wart! Nay, an thou'lt mouth,    I'll rant as well as thou.  Queen. This is mere madness;    And thus a while the fit will work on him.    Anon, as patient as the female dove    When that her golden couplets are disclos'd,    His silence will sit drooping.  Ham. Hear you, sir!    What is the reason that you use me thus?    I lov'd you ever. But it is no matter.    Let Hercules himself do what he may,    The cat will mew, and dog will have his day.

Exit.