The Complete Works of William Shakespeare Part 116

Pro. For us, and for our tragedy, Here stooping to your clemency, We beg your hearing patiently. [Exit.]

Ham. Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring?

Oph. 'Tis brief, my lord.

Ham. As woman's love.

Enter [two Players as] King and Queen.

King. Full thirty times hath Phoebus' cart gone round Neptune's salt wash and Tellus' orbed ground, And thirty dozed moons with borrowed sheen About the world have times twelve thirties been, Since love our hearts, and Hymen did our hands, Unite comutual in most sacred bands.

Queen. So many journeys may the sun and moon Make us again count o'er ere love be done!

But woe is me! you are so sick of late, So far from cheer and from your former state.

That I distrust you. Yet, though I distrust, Discomfort you, my lord, it nothing must; For women's fear and love holds quant.i.ty, In neither aught, or in extremity.

Now what my love is, proof hath made you know; And as my love is siz'd, my fear is so.

Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear; Where little fears grow great, great love grows there.

King. Faith, I must leave thee, love, and shortly too; My operant powers their functions leave to do.

And thou shalt live in this fair world behind, Honour'd, belov'd, and haply one as kind For husband shalt thou- Queen. O, confound the rest!

Such love must needs be treason in my breast.

When second husband let me be accurst!

None wed the second but who killed the first.

Ham. [aside] Wormwood, wormwood!

Queen. The instances that second marriage move Are base respects of thrift, but none of love.

A second time I kill my husband dead When second husband kisses me in bed.

King. I do believe you think what now you speak; But what we do determine oft we break.

Purpose is but the slave to memory, Of violent birth, but poor validity; Which now, like fruit unripe, sticks on the tree, But fill unshaken when they mellow be.

Most necessary 'tis that we forget To pay ourselves what to ourselves is debt.

What to ourselves in pa.s.sion we propose, The pa.s.sion ending, doth the purpose lose.

The violence of either grief or joy Their own enactures with themselves destroy.

Where joy most revels, grief doth most lament; Grief joys, joy grieves, on slender accident.

This world is not for aye, nor 'tis not strange That even our loves should with our fortunes change; For 'tis a question left us yet to prove, Whether love lead fortune, or else fortune love.

The great man down, you mark his favourite flies, The poor advanc'd makes friends of enemies; And hitherto doth love on fortune tend, For who not needs shall never lack a friend, And who in want a hollow friend doth try, Directly seasons him his enemy.

But, orderly to end where I begun, Our wills and fates do so contrary run That our devices still are overthrown; Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own.

So think thou wilt no second husband wed; But die thy thoughts when thy first lord is dead.

Queen. Nor earth to me give food, nor heaven light, Sport and repose lock from me day and night, To desperation turn my trust and hope, An anchor's cheer in prison be my scope, Each opposite that blanks the face of joy Meet what I would have well, and it destroy, Both here and hence pursue me lasting strife, If, once a widow, ever I be wife!

Ham. If she should break it now!

King. 'Tis deeply sworn. Sweet, leave me here awhile.

My spirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile The tedious day with sleep.

Queen. Sleep rock thy brain, [He] sleeps.

And never come mischance between us twain!

Exit.

Ham. Madam, how like you this play?

Queen. The lady doth protest too much, methinks.

Ham. O, but she'll keep her word.

King. Have you heard the argument? Is there no offence in't?

Ham. No, no! They do but jest, poison in jest; no offence i' th'

world.

King. What do you call the play?

Ham. 'The Mousetrap.' Marry, how? Tropically. This play is the image of a murther done in Vienna. Gonzago is the duke's name; his wife, Baptista. You shall see anon. 'Tis a knavish piece of work; but what o' that? Your Majesty, and we that have free souls, it touches us not. Let the gall'd jade winch; our withers are unwrung.

Enter Lucia.n.u.s.

This is one Lucia.n.u.s, nephew to the King.

Oph. You are as good as a chorus, my lord.

Ham. I could interpret between you and your love, if I could see the puppets dallying.

Oph. You are keen, my lord, you are keen.

Ham. It would cost you a groaning to take off my edge.

Oph. Still better, and worse.

Ham. So you must take your husbands.- Begin, murtherer. Pox, leave thy d.a.m.nable faces, and begin! Come, the croaking raven doth bellow for revenge.

Luc. Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, and time agreeing; Confederate season, else no creature seeing; Thou mixture rank, of midnight weeds collected, With Hecate's ban thrice blasted, thrice infected, Thy natural magic and dire property On wholesome life usurp immediately.

Pours the poison in his ears.

Ham. He poisons him i' th' garden for's estate. His name's Gonzago.

The story is extant, and written in very choice Italian. You shall see anon how the murtherer gets the love of Gonzago's wife.

Oph. The King rises.

Ham. What, frighted with false fire?

Queen. How fares my lord?

Pol. Give o'er the play.

King. Give me some light! Away!

All. Lights, lights, lights!

Exeunt all but Hamlet and Horatio.

Ham. Why, let the strucken deer go weep, The hart ungalled play; For some must watch, while some must sleep: Thus runs the world away.

Would not this, sir, and a forest of feathers- if the rest of my fortunes turn Turk with me-with two Provincial roses on my raz'd shoes, get me a fellowship in a cry of players, sir?

Hor. Half a share.

Ham. A whole one I!

For thou dost know, O Damon dear, This realm dismantled was Of Jove himself; and now reigns here A very, very- pajock.

Hor. You might have rhym'd.

Ham. O good Horatio, I'll take the ghost's word for a thousand pound! Didst perceive?

Hor. Very well, my lord.

Ham. Upon the talk of the poisoning?

Hor. I did very well note him.

Ham. Aha! Come, some music! Come, the recorders!

For if the King like not the comedy, Why then, belike he likes it not, perdy.

Come, some music!

Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.

Guil. Good my lord, vouchsafe me a word with you.

Ham. Sir, a whole history.

Guil. The King, sir- Ham. Ay, sir, what of him?

Guil. Is in his retirement, marvellous distemper'd.

Ham. With drink, sir?

Guil. No, my lord; rather with choler.

Ham. Your wisdom should show itself more richer to signify this to the doctor; for me to put him to his purgation would perhaps plunge him into far more choler.

Guil. Good my lord, put your discourse into some frame, and start not so wildly from my affair.

Ham. I am tame, sir; p.r.o.nounce.