Shakespeare's First Folio Part 585

Enter Hamlet.

Ham. Now might I do it pat, now he is praying, And now Ile doo't, and so he goes to Heauen, And so am I reueng'd: that would be scann'd, A Villaine killes my Father, and for that I his foule Sonne, do this same Villaine send To heauen. Oh this is hyre and Sallery, not Reuenge.

He tooke my Father grossely, full of bread, With all his Crimes broad blowne, as fresh as May, And how his Audit stands, who knowes, saue Heauen: But in our circ.u.mstance and course of thought 'Tis heauie with him: and am I then reueng'd, To take him in the purging of his Soule, When he is fit and season'd for his pa.s.sage? No.

Vp Sword, and know thou a more horrid hent When he is drunke asleepe: or in his Rage, Or in th' incestuous pleasure of his bed, At gaming, swearing, or about some acte That ha's no rellish of Saluation in't, Then trip him, that his heeles may kicke at Heauen, And that his Soule may be as d.a.m.n'd and blacke As h.e.l.l, whereto it goes. My Mother stayes, This Physicke but prolongs thy sickly dayes.

Enter.

King. My words flye vp, my thoughts remain below, Words without thoughts, neuer to Heauen go.

Enter.

Enter Queene and Polonius.

Pol. He will come straight: Looke you lay home to him, Tell him his prankes haue been too broad to beare with, And that your Grace hath screen'd, and stoode betweene Much heate, and him. Ile silence me e'ene heere: Pray you be round with him

Ham. within. Mother, mother, mother

Qu. Ile warrant you, feare me not.

Withdraw, I heare him coming.

Enter Hamlet.

Ham. Now Mother, what's the matter?

Qu. Hamlet, thou hast thy Father much offended

Ham. Mother, you haue my Father much offended

Qu. Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue

Ham. Go, go, you question with an idle tongue

Qu. Why how now Hamlet?

Ham. Whats the matter now?

Qu. Haue you forgot me?

Ham. No by the Rood, not so: You are the Queene, your Husbands Brothers wife, But would you were not so. You are my Mother

Qu. Nay, then Ile set those to you that can speake

Ham. Come, come, and sit you downe, you shall not boudge: You go not till I set you vp a gla.s.se, Where you may see the inmost part of you?

Qu. What wilt thou do? thou wilt not murther me?

Helpe, helpe, hoa

Pol. What hoa, helpe, helpe, helpe

Ham. How now, a Rat? dead for a Ducate, dead

Pol. Oh I am slaine.

Killes Polonius

Qu. Oh me, what hast thou done?

Ham. Nay I know not, is it the King?

Qu. Oh what a rash, and b.l.o.o.d.y deed is this?

Ham. A b.l.o.o.d.y deed, almost as bad good Mother, As kill a King, and marrie with his Brother

Qu. As kill a King?

Ham. I Lady, 'twas my word.

Thou wretched, rash, intruding foole farewell, I tooke thee for thy Betters, take thy Fortune, Thou find'st to be too busie, is some danger.

Leaue wringing of your hands, peace, sit you downe, And let me wring your heart, for so I shall If it be made of penetrable stuffe; If d.a.m.ned Custome haue not braz'd it so, That it is proofe and bulwarke against Sense

Qu. What haue I done, that thou dar'st wag thy tong, In noise so rude against me?

Ham. Such an Act That blurres the grace and blush of Modestie, Cals Vertue Hypocrite, takes off the Rose From the faire forehead of an innocent loue, And makes a blister there. Makes marriage vowes As false as Dicers Oathes. Oh such a deed, As from the body of Contraction pluckes The very soule, and sweete Religion makes A rapsidie of words. Heauens face doth glow, Yea this solidity and compound ma.s.se, With tristfull visage as against the doome, Is thought-sicke at the act

Qu. Aye me; what act, that roares so lowd, & thunders in the Index

Ham. Looke heere vpon this Picture, and on this, The counterfet presentment of two Brothers: See what a grace was seated on his Brow, Hyperions curles, the front of Ioue himselfe, An eye like Mars, to threaten or command A Station, like the Herald Mercurie New lighted on a heauen-kissing hill: A Combination, and a forme indeed, Where euery G.o.d did seeme to set his Seale, To giue the world a.s.surance of a man.

This was your Husband. Looke you now what followes.

Heere is your Husband, like a Mildew'd eare Blasting his wholsom breath. Haue you eyes?

Could you on this faire Mountaine leaue to feed, And batten on this Moore? Ha? Haue you eyes?

You cannot call it Loue: For at your age, The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble, And waites vpon the Iudgement: and what Iudgement Would step from this, to this? What diuell was't, That thus hath cousend you at hoodman-blinde?

O Shame! where is thy Blush? Rebellious h.e.l.l, If thou canst mutine in a Matrons bones, To flaming youth, let Vertue be as waxe.

And melt in her owne fire. Proclaime no shame, When the compulsiue Ardure giues the charge, Since Frost it selfe, as actiuely doth burne, As Reason panders Will

Qu. O Hamlet, speake no more.

Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soule, And there I see such blacke and grained spots, As will not leaue their Tinct

Ham. Nay, but to liue In the ranke sweat of an enseamed bed, Stew'd in Corruption; honying and making loue Ouer the nasty Stye

Qu. Oh speake to me, no more, These words like Daggers enter in mine eares.

No more sweet Hamlet

Ham. A Murderer, and a Villaine: A Slaue, that is not twentieth part the tythe Of your precedent Lord. A vice of Kings, A Cutpurse of the Empire and the Rule.

That from a shelfe, the precious Diadem stole, And put it in his Pocket

Qu. No more.

Enter Ghost.

Ham. A King of shreds and patches.

Saue me; and houer o're me with your wings You heauenly Guards. What would your gracious figure?

Qu. Alas he's mad

Ham. Do you not come your tardy Sonne to chide, That laps't in Time and Pa.s.sion, lets go by Th' important acting of your dread command? Oh say

Ghost. Do not forget: this Visitation Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose.

But looke, Amazement on thy Mother sits; O step betweene her, and her fighting Soule, Conceit in weakest bodies, strongest workes.

Speake to her Hamlet

Ham. How is it with you Lady?

Qu. Alas, how is't with you?

That you bend your eye on vacancie, And with their corporall ayre do hold discourse.

Forth at your eyes, your spirits wildely peepe, And as the sleeping Soldiours in th' Alarme, Your bedded haire, like life in excrements, Start vp, and stand an end. Oh gentle Sonne, Vpon the heate and flame of thy distemper Sprinkle coole patience. Whereon do you looke?

Ham. On him, on him: look you how pale he glares, His forme and cause conioyn'd, preaching to stones, Would make them capeable. Do not looke vpon me, Least with this pitteous action you conuert My sterne effects: then what I haue to do, Will want true colour; teares perchance for blood