King. Arme you, I pray you to this speedie Voyage;
For we will Fetters put vpon this feare,
Which now goes too free-footed

   Both. We will haste vs.

Exeunt. Gent.

Enter Polonius.

  Pol. My Lord, he's going to his Mothers Closset:
Behinde the Arras Ile conuey my selfe
To heare the Processe. Ile warrant shee'l tax him home,
And as you said, and wisely was it said,
'Tis meete that some more audience then a Mother,
Since Nature makes them partiall, should o're-heare
The speech of vantage. Fare you well my Liege,
Ile call vpon you ere you go to bed,
And tell you what I know

   King. Thankes deere my Lord.
Oh my offence is ranke, it smels to heauen,
It hath the primall eldest curse vpon't,
A Brothers murther. Pray can I not,
Though inclination be as sharpe as will:
My stronger guilt, defeats my strong intent,
And like a man to double businesse bound,
I stand in pause where I shall first begin,
And both neglect; what if this cursed hand
Were thicker then it selfe with Brothers blood,
Is there not Raine enough in the sweet Heauens
To wash it white as Snow? Whereto serues mercy,
But to confront the visage of Offence?
And what's in Prayer, but this two-fold force,
To be fore-stalled ere we come to fall,
Or pardon'd being downe? Then Ile looke vp,
My fault is past. But oh, what forme of Prayer
Can serue my turne? Forgiue me my foule Murther:
That cannot be, since I am still possest
Of those effects for which I did the Murther.
My Crowne, mine owne Ambition, and my Queene:
May one be pardon'd, and retaine th' offence?
In the corrupted currants of this world,
Offences gilded hand may shoue by Iustice,
And oft 'tis seene, the wicked prize it selfe
Buyes out the Law; but 'tis not so aboue,
There is no shuffling, there the Action lyes
In his true Nature, and we our selues compell'd
Euen to the teeth and forehead of our faults,
To giue in euidence. What then? What rests?
Try what Repentance can. What can it not?
Yet what can it, when one cannot repent?
Oh wretched state! Oh bosome, blacke as death!
Oh limed soule, that strugling to be free,
Art more ingag'd: Helpe Angels, make assay:
Bow stubborne knees, and heart with strings of Steele,
Be soft as sinewes of the new-borne Babe,
All may be well.
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 circumstance 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 passage? 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 damn'd and blacke
As Hell, 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 glasse,
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 bloody deed is this?
  Ham. A bloody 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 damned 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 masse,
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 God did seeme to set his Seale,
To giue the world assurance 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 Hell,
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 Passion, 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

   Qu. To who do you speake this?
  Ham. Do you see nothing there?
  Qu. Nothing at all, yet all that is I see

   Ham. Nor did you nothing heare?
  Qu. No, nothing but our selues

   Ham. Why look you there: looke how it steals away:
My Father in his habite, as he liued,
Looke where he goes euen now out at the Portall.
Enter.

  Qu. This is the very coynage of your Braine,
This bodilesse Creation extasie is very cunning in

   Ham. Extasie?
My Pulse as yours doth temperately keepe time,
And makes as healthfull Musicke. It is not madnesse
That I haue vttered; bring me to the Test
And I the matter will re-word: which madnesse
Would gamboll from. Mother, for loue of Grace,
Lay not a flattering Vnction to your soule,
That not your trespasse, but my madnesse speakes:
It will but skin and filme the Vlcerous place,
Whil'st ranke Corruption mining all within,
Infects vnseene. Confesse your selfe to Heauen,
Repent what's past, auoyd what is to come,
And do not spred the Compost on the Weedes,
To make them ranke. Forgiue me this my Vertue,
For in the fatnesse of this pursie times,
Vertue it selfe, of Vice must pardon begge,
Yea courb, and woe, for leaue to do him good

   Qu. Oh Hamlet,
Thou hast cleft my heart in twaine

   Ham. O throw away the worser part of it,
And liue the purer with the other halfe.
Good night, but go not to mine Vnkles bed,
Assume a Vertue, if you haue it not, refraine to night,
And that shall lend a kinde of easinesse
To the next abstinence. Once more goodnight,
And when you are desirous to be blest,
Ile blessing begge of you. For this same Lord,
I do repent: but heauen hath pleas'd it so,
To punish me with this, and this with me,
That I must be their Scourge and Minister.
I will bestow him, and will answer well
The death I gaue him: so againe, good night.
I must be cruell, onely to be kinde;
Thus bad begins and worse remaines behinde

   Qu. What shall I do?
  Ham. Not this by no meanes that I bid you do:
Let the blunt King tempt you againe to bed,
Pinch Wanton on your cheeke, call you his Mouse,
And let him for a paire of reechie kisses,
Or padling in your necke with his damn'd Fingers,
Make you to rauell all this matter out,
That I essentially am not in madnesse,
But made in craft. 'Twere good you let him know,
For who that's but a Queene, faire, sober, wise,
Would from a Paddocke, from a Bat, a Gibbe,
Such deere concernings hide, Who would do so,
No in despight of Sense and Secrecie,
Vnpegge the Basket on the houses top:
Let the Birds flye, and like the famous Ape
To try Conclusions in the Basket, creepe
And breake your owne necke downe

   Qu. Be thou assur'd, if words be made of breath,
And breath of life: I haue no life to breath
What thou hast saide to me

   Ham. I must to England, you know that?
  Qu. Alacke I had forgot: 'Tis so concluded on

   Ham. This man shall set me packing:
Ile lugge the Guts into the Neighbor roome,
Mother goodnight. Indeede this Counsellor
Is now most still, most secret, and most graue,
Who was in life, a foolish prating Knaue.
Come sir, to draw toward an end with you.
Good night Mother.
Exit Hamlet tugging in Polonius.

Enter King.

  King. There's matters in these sighes.
These profound heaues
You must translate; Tis fit we vnderstand them.
Where is your Sonne?
  Qu. Ah my good Lord, what haue I seene to night?
  King. What Gertrude? How do's Hamlet?
  Qu. Mad as the Seas, and winde, when both contend
Which is the Mightier, in his lawlesse fit
Behinde the Arras, hearing something stirre,
He whips his Rapier out, and cries a Rat, a Rat,
And in his brainish apprehension killes
The vnseene good old man

   King. Oh heauy deed:
It had bin so with vs had we beene there:
His Liberty is full of threats to all,
To you your selfe, to vs, to euery one.
Alas, how shall this bloody deede be answered?
It will be laide to vs, whose prouidence
Should haue kept short, restrain'd, and out of haunt,
This mad yong man. But so much was our loue,
We would not vnderstand what was most fit,
But like the Owner of a foule disease,
To keepe it from divulging, let's it feede
Euen on the pith of life. Where is he gone?
  Qu. To draw apart the body he hath kild,
O're whom his very madnesse like some Oare
Among a Minerall of Mettels base
Shewes it selfe pure. He weepes for what is done

   King. Oh Gertrude, come away:
The Sun no sooner shall the Mountaines touch,
But we will ship him hence, and this vilde deed,
We must with all our Maiesty and Skill
Both countenance, and excuse.
Enter Ros. & Guild.

Ho Guildenstern:
Friends both go ioyne you with some further ayde:
Hamlet in madnesse hath Polonius slaine,
And from his Mother Clossets hath he drag'd him.
Go seeke him out, speake faire, and bring the body
Into the Chappell. I pray you hast in this.
Exit Gent.

Come Gertrude, wee'l call vp our wisest friends,
To let them know both what we meane to do,
And what's vntimely done. Oh come away,
My soule is full of discord and dismay.

Exeunt.

Enter Hamlet.

  Ham. Safely stowed

   Gentlemen within. Hamlet, Lord Hamlet

   Ham. What noise? Who cals on Hamlet?
Oh heere they come.
Enter Ros. and Guildensterne.

  Ro. What haue you done my Lord with the dead body?
  Ham. Compounded it with dust, whereto 'tis Kinne

   Rosin. Tell vs where 'tis, that we may take it thence,
And beare it to the Chappell

   Ham. Do not beleeue it

   Rosin. Beleeue what?
  Ham. That I can keepe your counsell, and not mine
owne. Besides, to be demanded of a Spundge, what replication
should be made by the Sonne of a King

   Rosin. Take you me for a Spundge, my Lord?
  Ham. I sir, that sokes vp the Kings Countenance, his
Rewards, his Authorities (but such Officers do the King
best seruice in the end. He keepes them like an Ape in
the corner of his iaw, first mouth'd to be last swallowed,
when he needes what you haue glean'd, it is but squeezing
you, and Spundge you shall be dry againe

   Rosin. I vnderstand you not my Lord

   Ham. I am glad of it: a knauish speech sleepes in a
foolish eare

   Rosin. My Lord, you must tell vs where the body is,
and go with vs to the King

   Ham. The body is with the King, but the King is not
with the body. The King, is a thing-
  Guild. A thing my Lord?
  Ham. Of nothing: bring me to him, hide Fox, and all
after.

Exeunt.

Enter King.

  King. I haue sent to seeke him, and to find the bodie:
How dangerous is it that this man goes loose:
Yet must not we put the strong Law on him:
Hee's loued of the distracted multitude,
Who like not in their iudgement, but their eyes:
And where 'tis so, th' Offenders scourge is weigh'd
But neerer the offence: to beare all smooth, and euen,
This sodaine sending him away, must seeme
Deliberate pause, diseases desperate growne,
By desperate appliance are releeued,
Or not at all.
Enter Rosincrane.

How now? What hath befalne?
  Rosin. Where the dead body is bestow'd my Lord,
We cannot get from him

   King. But where is he?
  Rosin. Without my Lord, guarded to know your
pleasure

   King. Bring him before vs

   Rosin. Hoa, Guildensterne? Bring in my Lord.
Enter Hamlet and Guildensterne.

  King. Now Hamlet, where's Polonius?
  Ham. At Supper

   King. At Supper? Where?
  Ham. Not where he eats, but where he is eaten, a certaine
conuocation of wormes are e'ne at him. Your worm
is your onely Emperor for diet. We fat all creatures else
to fat vs, and we fat our selfe for Magots. Your fat King,
and your leane Begger is but variable seruice to dishes,
but to one Table that's the end

   King. What dost thou meane by this?
  Ham. Nothing but to shew you how a King may go
a Progresse through the guts of a Begger

   King. Where is Polonius

   Ham. In heauen, send thither to see. If your Messenger
finde him not there, seeke him i'th other place your
selfe: but indeed, if you finde him not this moneth, you
shall nose him as you go vp the staires into the Lobby

   King. Go seeke him there

   Ham. He will stay till ye come

   K. Hamlet, this deed of thine, for thine especial safety
Which we do tender, as we deerely greeue
For that which thou hast done, must send thee hence
With fierie Quicknesse. Therefore prepare thy selfe,
The Barke is readie, and the winde at helpe,
Th' Associates tend, and euery thing at bent
For England

   Ham. For England?
  King. I Hamlet

   Ham. Good

   King. So is it, if thou knew'st our purposes

   Ham. I see a Cherube that see's him: but come, for
England. Farewell deere Mother

   King. Thy louing Father Hamlet

   Hamlet. My Mother: Father and Mother is man and
wife: man & wife is one flesh, and so my mother. Come,
for England.

Exit

  King. Follow him at foote,
Tempt him with speed aboord:
Delay it not, Ile haue him hence to night.
Away, for euery thing is Seal'd and done
That else leanes on th' Affaire, pray you make hast.
And England, if my loue thou holdst at ought,
As my great power thereof may giue thee sense,
Since yet thy Cicatrice lookes raw and red
After the Danish Sword, and thy free awe
Payes homage to vs; thou maist not coldly set
Our Soueraigne Processe, which imports at full
By Letters coniuring to that effect
The present death of Hamlet. Do it England,
For like the Hecticke in my blood he rages,
And thou must cure me: Till I know 'tis done,
How ere my happes, my ioyes were ne're begun.

Exit

Enter Fortinbras with an Armie.

  For. Go Captaine, from me greet the Danish King,
Tell him that by his license, Fortinbras
Claimes the conueyance of a promis'd March
Ouer his Kingdome. You know the Rendeuous:
If that his Maiesty would ought with vs,
We shall expresse our dutie in his eye,
And let him know so

   Cap. I will doo't, my Lord

   For. Go safely on.
Enter.

Enter Queene and Horatio.

  Qu. I will not speake with her

   Hor. She is importunate, indeed distract, her moode
will needs be pittied

   Qu. What would she haue?
  Hor. She speakes much of her Father; saies she heares
There's trickes i'th' world, and hems, and beats her heart,
Spurnes enuiously at Strawes, speakes things in doubt,
That carry but halfe sense: Her speech is nothing,
Yet the vnshaped vse of it doth moue
The hearers to Collection; they ayme at it,
And botch the words vp fit to their owne thoughts,
Which as her winkes, and nods, and gestures yeeld them,
Indeed would make one thinke there would be thought,
Though nothing sure, yet much vnhappily

   Qu. 'Twere good she were spoken with,
For she may strew dangerous coniectures
In ill breeding minds. Let her come in.
To my sicke soule (as sinnes true Nature is)
Each toy seemes Prologue, to some great amisse,
So full of Artlesse iealousie is guilt,
It spill's it selfe, in fearing to be spilt.
Enter Ophelia distracted.

  Ophe. Where is the beauteous Maiesty of Denmark

   Qu. How now Ophelia?
  Ophe. How should I your true loue know from another one?
By his Cockle hat and staffe, and his Sandal shoone

   Qu. Alas sweet Lady: what imports this Song?
  Ophe. Say you? Nay pray you marke.
He is dead and gone Lady, he is dead and gone,
At his head a grasse-greene Turfe, at his heeles a stone.
Enter King.

  Qu. Nay but Ophelia

   Ophe. Pray you marke.
White his Shrow'd as the Mountaine Snow

   Qu. Alas, looke heere my Lord

   Ophe. Larded with sweet Flowers:
Which bewept to the graue did not go,
With true-loue showres

   King. How do ye, pretty Lady?
  Ophe. Well, God dil'd you. They say the Owle was
a Bakers daughter. Lord, wee know what we are, but
know not what we may be. God be at your Table

   King. Conceit vpon her Father

   Ophe. Pray you let's haue no words of this: but when
they aske you what it meanes, say you this:
To morrow is S[aint]. Valentines day, all in the morning betime,
And I a Maid at your Window, to be your Valentine.
Then vp he rose, & don'd his clothes, & dupt the chamber dore,
Let in the Maid, that out a Maid, neuer departed more

   King. Pretty Ophelia

   Ophe. Indeed la? without an oath Ile make an end ont.
By gis, and by S[aint]. Charity,
Alacke, and fie for shame:
Yong men wil doo't, if they come too't,
By Cocke they are too blame.
Quoth she before you tumbled me,
You promis'd me to Wed:
So would I ha done by yonder Sunne,
And thou hadst not come to my bed

   King. How long hath she bin thus?
  Ophe. I hope all will be well. We must bee patient,
but I cannot choose but weepe, to thinke they should
lay him i'th' cold ground: My brother shall knowe of it,
and so I thanke you for your good counsell. Come, my
Coach: Goodnight Ladies: Goodnight sweet Ladies:
Goodnight, goodnight.
Enter.

  King. Follow her close,
Giue her good watch I pray you:
Oh this is the poyson of deepe greefe, it springs
All from her Fathers death. Oh Gertrude, Gertrude,
When sorrowes comes, they come not single spies,
But in Battalians. First, her Father slaine,
Next your Sonne gone, and he most violent Author
Of his owne iust remoue: the people muddied,
Thicke and vnwholsome in their thoughts, and whispers
For good Polonius death; and we haue done but greenly
In hugger mugger to interre him. Poore Ophelia
Diuided from her selfe, and her faire Iudgement,
Without the which we are Pictures, or meere Beasts.
Last, and as much containing as all these,
Her Brother is in secret come from France,
Keepes on his wonder, keepes himselfe in clouds,
And wants not Buzzers to infect his eare
With pestilent Speeches of his Fathers death,
Where in necessitie of matter Beggard,
Will nothing sticke our persons to Arraigne
In eare and eare. O my deere Gertrude, this,
Like to a murdering Peece in many places,
Giues me superfluous death.

A Noise within.

Enter a Messenger.

  Qu. Alacke, what noyse is this?
  King. Where are my Switzers?
Let them guard the doore. What is the matter?
  Mes. Saue your selfe, my Lord.
The Ocean (ouer-peering of his List)
Eates not the Flats with more impittious haste
Then young Laertes, in a Riotous head,
Ore-beares your Officers, the rabble call him Lord,
And as the world were now but to begin,
Antiquity forgot, Custome not knowne,
The Ratifiers and props of euery word,
They cry choose we? Laertes shall be King,
Caps, hands, and tongues, applaud it to the clouds,
Laertes shall be King, Laertes King

   Qu. How cheerefully on the false Traile they cry,
Oh this is Counter you false Danish Dogges.

Noise within. Enter Laertes.

  King. The doores are broke

   Laer. Where is the King, sirs? Stand you all without

   All. No, let's come in

   Laer. I pray you giue me leaue

   Al. We will, we will

   Laer. I thanke you: Keepe the doore.
Oh thou vilde King, giue me my Father

   Qu. Calmely good Laertes

   Laer. That drop of blood, that calmes
Proclaimes me Bastard:
Cries Cuckold to my Father, brands the Harlot
Euen heere betweene the chaste vnsmirched brow
Of my true Mother

   King. What is the cause Laertes,
That thy Rebellion lookes so Gyant-like?
Let him go Gertrude: Do not feare our person:
There's such Diuinity doth hedge a King,
That Treason can but peepe to what it would,
Acts little of his will. Tell me Laertes,
Why thou art thus Incenst? Let him go Gertrude.
Speake man

   Laer. Where's my Father?
  King. Dead

   Qu. But not by him

   King. Let him demand his fill

   Laer. How came he dead? Ile not be Iuggel'd with.
To hell Allegeance: Vowes, to the blackest diuell.
Conscience and Grace, to the profoundest Pit.
I dare Damnation: to this point I stand,
That both the worlds I giue to negligence,
Let come what comes: onely Ile be reueng'd
Most throughly for my Father

   King. Who shall stay you?
  Laer. My Will, not all the world,
And for my meanes, Ile husband them so well,
They shall go farre with little

   King. Good Laertes:
If you desire to know the certaintie
Of your deere Fathers death, if writ in your reuenge,
That Soop-stake you will draw both Friend and Foe,
Winner and Looser

   Laer. None but his Enemies

   King. Will you know them then

   La. To his good Friends, thus wide Ile ope my Armes:
And like the kinde Life-rend'ring Politician,
Repast them with my blood

   King. Why now you speake
Like a good Childe, and a true Gentleman.
That I am guiltlesse of your Fathers death,
And am most sensible in greefe for it,
It shall as leuell to your Iudgement pierce
As day do's to your eye.

A noise within. Let her come in.

Enter Ophelia.

  Laer. How now? what noise is that?
Oh heate drie vp my Braines, teares seuen times salt,
Burne out the Sence and Vertue of mine eye.
By Heauen, thy madnesse shall be payed by waight,
Till our Scale turnes the beame. Oh Rose of May,
Deere Maid, kinde Sister, sweet Ophelia:
Oh Heauens, is't possible, a yong Maids wits,
Should be as mortall as an old mans life?
Nature is fine in Loue, and where 'tis fine,
It sends some precious instance of it selfe
After the thing it loues

   Ophe. They bore him bare fac'd on the Beer,
Hey non nony, nony, hey nony:
And on his graue raines many a teare,
Fare you well my Doue

   Laer. Had'st thou thy wits, and did'st perswade Reuenge,
it could not moue thus

   Ophe. You must sing downe a-downe, and you call
him a-downe-a. Oh, how the wheele becomes it? It is
the false Steward that stole his masters daughter

   Laer. This nothings more then matter

   Ophe. There's Rosemary, that's for Remembraunce.
Pray loue remember: and there is Paconcies, that's for
Thoughts

   Laer. A document in madnesse, thoughts & remembrance
fitted

   Ophe. There's Fennell for you, and Columbines: ther's
Rew for you, and heere's some for me. Wee may call it
Herbe-Grace a Sundaies: Oh you must weare your Rew
with a difference. There's a Daysie, I would giue you
some Violets, but they wither'd all when my Father dyed:
They say, he made a good end;
For bonny sweet Robin is all my ioy

   Laer. Thought, and Affliction, Passion, Hell it selfe:
She turnes to Fauour, and to prettinesse

   Ophe. And will he not come againe,
And will he not come againe:
No, no, he is dead, go to thy Death-bed,
He neuer wil come againe.
His Beard as white as Snow,
All Flaxen was his Pole:
He is gone, he is gone, and we cast away mone,
Gramercy on his Soule.
And of all Christian Soules, I pray God.
God buy ye.

Exeunt. Ophelia

  Laer. Do you see this, you Gods?
  King. Laertes, I must common with your greefe,
Or you deny me right: go but apart,
Make choice of whom your wisest Friends you will,
And they shall heare and iudge 'twixt you and me;
If by direct or by Colaterall hand
They finde vs touch'd, we will our Kingdome giue,
Our Crowne, our Life, and all that we call Ours
To you in satisfaction. But if not,
Be you content to lend your patience to vs,
And we shall ioyntly labour with your soule
To giue it due content

   Laer. Let this be so:
His meanes of death, his obscure buriall;
No Trophee, Sword, nor Hatchment o're his bones,
No Noble rite, nor formall ostentation,
Cry to be heard, as 'twere from Heauen to Earth,
That I must call in question

   King. So you shall:
And where th' offence is, let the great Axe fall.
I pray you go with me.

Exeunt.

Enter Horatio, with an Attendant.

  Hora. What are they that would speake with me?
  Ser. Saylors sir, they say they haue Letters for you

   Hor. Let them come in,
I do not know from what part of the world
I should be greeted, if not from Lord Hamlet.
Enter Saylor.

  Say. God blesse you Sir

   Hor. Let him blesse thee too

   Say. Hee shall Sir, and't please him. There's a Letter
for you Sir: It comes from th' Ambassadours that was
bound for England, if your name be Horatio, as I am let
to know it is.

Reads the Letter.

Horatio, When thou shalt haue ouerlook'd this, giue these
Fellowes some meanes to the King: They haue Letters
for him. Ere we were two dayes old at Sea, a Pyrate of very
Warlicke appointment gaue vs Chace. Finding our selues too
slow of Saile, we put on a compelled Valour. In the Grapple, I
boorded them: On the instant they got cleare of our Shippe, so
I alone became their Prisoner. They haue dealt with mee, like
Theeues of Mercy, but they knew what they did. I am to doe
a good turne for them. Let the King haue the Letters I haue
sent, and repaire thou to me with as much hast as thou wouldest
flye death. I haue words to speake in your eare, will make thee
dumbe, yet are they much too light for the bore of the Matter.
These good Fellowes will bring thee where I am. Rosincrance
and Guildensterne, hold their course for England. Of them
I haue much to tell thee, Farewell.
He that thou knowest thine,
Hamlet.
Come, I will giue you way for these your Letters,
And do't the speedier, that you may direct me
To him from whom you brought them.
Enter.

Enter King and Laertes.

  King. Now must your conscience my acquittance seal,
And you must put me in your heart for Friend,
Sith you haue heard, and with a knowing eare,
That he which hath your Noble Father slaine,
Pursued my life

   Laer. It well appeares. But tell me,
Why you proceeded not against these feates,
So crimefull, and so Capitall in Nature,
As by your Safety, Wisedome, all things else,
You mainly were stirr'd vp?
  King. O for two speciall Reasons,
Which may to you (perhaps) seeme much vnsinnowed,
And yet to me they are strong. The Queen his Mother,
Liues almost by his lookes: and for my selfe,
My Vertue or my Plague, be it either which,
She's so coniunctiue to my life, and soule;
That as the Starre moues not but in his Sphere,
I could not but by her. The other Motiue,
Why to a publike count I might not go,
Is the great loue the generall gender beare him,
Who dipping all his Faults in their affection,
Would like the Spring that turneth Wood to Stone,
Conuert his Gyues to Graces. So that my Arrowes
Too slightly timbred for so loud a Winde,
Would haue reuerted to my Bow againe,
And not where I had arm'd them

   Laer. And so haue I a Noble Father lost,
A Sister driuen into desperate tearmes,
Who was (if praises may go backe againe)
Stood Challenger on mount of all the Age
For her perfections. But my reuenge will come

   King. Breake not your sleepes for that,
You must not thinke
That we are made of stuffe, so flat, and dull,
That we can let our Beard be shooke with danger,
And thinke it pastime. You shortly shall heare more,
I lou'd your Father, and we loue our Selfe,
And that I hope will teach you to imagine-
Enter a Messenger.

How now? What Newes?
  Mes. Letters my Lord from Hamlet, This to your
Maiesty: this to the Queene

   King. From Hamlet? Who brought them?
  Mes. Saylors my Lord they say, I saw them not:
They were giuen me by Claudio, he receiu'd them

   King. Laertes you shall heare them:
Leaue vs.

Exit Messenger

High and Mighty, you shall know I am set naked on your
Kingdome. To morrow shall I begge leaue to see your Kingly
Eyes. When I shall (first asking your Pardon thereunto) recount
th' Occasions of my sodaine, and more strange returne.
Hamlet.
What should this meane? Are all the rest come backe?
Or is it some abuse? Or no such thing?
  Laer. Know you the hand?
  Kin. 'Tis Hamlets Character, naked and in a Postscript
here he sayes alone: Can you aduise me?
  Laer. I'm lost in it my Lord; but let him come,
It warmes the very sicknesse in my heart,
That I shall liue and tell him to his teeth;
Thus diddest thou

   Kin. If it be so Laertes, as how should it be so:
How otherwise will you be rul'd by me?
  Laer. If so you'l not o'rerule me to a peace

   Kin. To thine owne peace: if he be now return'd,
As checking at his Voyage, and that he meanes
No more to vndertake it; I will worke him
To an exployt now ripe in my Deuice,
Vnder the which he shall not choose but fall;
And for his death no winde of blame shall breath,
But euen his Mother shall vncharge the practice,
And call it accident: Some two Monthes hence
Here was a Gentleman of Normandy,
I'ue seene my selfe, and seru'd against the French,
And they ran well on Horsebacke; but this Gallant
Had witchcraft in't; he grew into his Seat,
And to such wondrous doing brought his Horse,
As had he beene encorps't and demy-Natur'd
With the braue Beast, so farre he past my thought,
That I in forgery of shapes and trickes,
Come short of what he did

   Laer. A Norman was't?
  Kin. A Norman

   Laer. Vpon my life Lamound

   Kin. The very same

   Laer. I know him well, he is the Brooch indeed,
And Iemme of all our Nation

   Kin. Hee mad confession of you,
And gaue you such a Masterly report,
For Art and exercise in your defence;
And for your Rapier most especiall,
That he cryed out, t'would be a sight indeed,
If one could match you Sir. This report of his
Did Hamlet so envenom with his Enuy,
That he could nothing doe but wish and begge,
Your sodaine comming ore to play with him;
Now out of this

   Laer. Why out of this, my Lord?
  Kin. Laertes was your Father deare to you?
Or are you like the painting of a sorrow,
A face without a heart?
  Laer. Why aske you this?
  Kin. Not that I thinke you did not loue your Father,
But that I know Loue is begun by Time:
And that I see in passages of proofe,
Time qualifies the sparke and fire of it:
Hamlet comes backe: what would you vndertake,
To show your selfe your Fathers sonne indeed,
More then in words?
  Laer. To cut his throat i'th' Church

   Kin. No place indeed should murder Sancturize;
Reuenge should haue no bounds: but good Laertes
Will you doe this, keepe close within your Chamber,
Hamlet return'd, shall know you are come home:
Wee'l put on those shall praise your excellence,
And set a double varnish on the fame
The Frenchman gaue you, bring you in fine together,
And wager on your heads, he being remisse,
Most generous, and free from all contriuing,
Will not peruse the Foiles? So that with ease,
Or with a little shuffling, you may choose
A Sword vnbaited, and in a passe of practice,
Requit him for your Father

   Laer. I will doo't.
And for that purpose Ile annoint my Sword:
I bought an Vnction of a Mountebanke
So mortall, I but dipt a knife in it,
Where it drawes blood, no Cataplasme so rare,
Collected from all Simples that haue Vertue
Vnder the Moone, can saue the thing from death,
That is but scratcht withall: Ile touch my point,
With this contagion, that if I gall him slightly,
It may be death

   Kin. Let's further thinke of this,
Weigh what conuenience both of time and meanes
May fit vs to our shape, if this should faile;
And that our drift looke through our bad performance,
'Twere better not assaid; therefore this Proiect
Should haue a backe or second, that might hold,
If this should blast in proofe: Soft, let me see
Wee'l make a solemne wager on your commings,
I ha't: when in your motion you are hot and dry,
As make your bowts more violent to the end,
And that he cals for drinke; Ile haue prepar'd him
A Challice for the nonce; whereon but sipping,
If he by chance escape your venom'd stuck,
Our purpose may hold there; how sweet Queene.
Enter Queene.

  Queen. One woe doth tread vpon anothers heele,
So fast they'l follow: your Sister's drown'd Laertes

   Laer. Drown'd! O where?
  Queen. There is a Willow growes aslant a Brooke,
That shewes his hore leaues in the glassie streame:
There with fantasticke Garlands did she come,
Of Crow-flowers, Nettles, Daysies, and long Purples,
That liberall Shepheards giue a grosser name;
But our cold Maids doe Dead Mens Fingers call them:
There on the pendant boughes, her Coronet weeds
Clambring to hang; an enuious sliuer broke,
When downe the weedy Trophies, and her selfe,
Fell in the weeping Brooke, her cloathes spred wide,
And Mermaid-like, a while they bore her vp,
Which time she chaunted snatches of old tunes,
As one incapable of her owne distresse,
Or like a creature Natiue, and indued
Vnto that Element: but long it could not be,
Till that her garments, heauy with her drinke,
Pul'd the poore wretch from her melodious buy,
To muddy death

   Laer. Alas then, is she drown'd?
  Queen. Drown'd, drown'd

   Laer. Too much of water hast thou poore Ophelia,
And therefore I forbid my teares: but yet
It is our tricke, Nature her custome holds,
Let shame say what it will; when these are gone
The woman will be out: Adue my Lord,
I haue a speech of fire, that faine would blaze,
But that this folly doubts it.
Enter.

  Kin. Let's follow, Gertrude:
How much I had to doe to calme his rage?
Now feare I this will giue it start againe;
Therefore let's follow.

Exeunt.

Enter two Clownes.

  Clown. Is she to bee buried in Christian buriall, that
wilfully seekes her owne saluation?
  Other. I tell thee she is, and therefore make her Graue
straight, the Crowner hath sate on her, and finds it Christian
buriall

   Clo. How can that be, vnlesse she drowned her selfe in
her owne defence?
  Other. Why 'tis found so

   Clo. It must be Se offendendo, it cannot bee else: for
heere lies the point; If I drowne my selfe wittingly, it argues
an Act: and an Act hath three branches. It is an
Act to doe and to performe; argall she drown'd her selfe
wittingly

   Other. Nay but heare you Goodman Deluer

   Clown. Giue me leaue; heere lies the water; good:
heere stands the man; good: If the man goe to this water
and drowne himselfe; it is will he nill he, he goes;
marke you that? But if the water come to him & drowne
him; hee drownes not himselfe. Argall, hee that is not
guilty of his owne death, shortens not his owne life

   Other. But is this law?
  Clo. I marry is't, Crowners Quest Law

   Other. Will you ha the truth on't: if this had not
beene a Gentlewoman, shee should haue beene buried
out of Christian Buriall

   Clo. Why there thou say'st. And the more pitty that
great folke should haue countenance in this world to
drowne or hang themselues, more then their euen Christian.
Come, my Spade; there is no ancient Gentlemen,
but Gardiners, Ditchers and Graue-makers; they hold vp
Adams Profession

   Other. Was he a Gentleman?
  Clo. He was the first that euer bore Armes

   Other. Why he had none

   Clo. What, ar't a Heathen? how doth thou vnderstand
the Scripture? the Scripture sayes Adam dig'd;
could hee digge without Armes? Ile put another question
to thee; if thou answerest me not to the purpose, confesse
thy selfe-
  Other. Go too

   Clo. What is he that builds stronger then either the
Mason, the Shipwright, or the Carpenter?
  Other. The Gallowes maker; for that Frame outliues a
thousand Tenants

   Clo. I like thy wit well in good faith, the Gallowes
does well; but how does it well? it does well to those
that doe ill: now, thou dost ill to say the Gallowes is
built stronger then the Church: Argall, the Gallowes
may doe well to thee. Too't againe, Come

   Other. Who builds stronger then a Mason, a Shipwright,
or a Carpenter?
  Clo. I, tell me that, and vnyoake

   Other. Marry, now I can tell

   Clo. Too't

   Other. Masse, I cannot tell.
Enter Hamlet and Horatio a farre off.

  Clo. Cudgell thy braines no more about it; for your
dull Asse will not mend his pace with beating; and when
you are ask't this question next, say a Graue-maker: the
Houses that he makes, lasts till Doomesday: go, get thee
to Yaughan, fetch me a stoupe of Liquor.

Sings.

In youth when I did loue, did loue,
me thought it was very sweete:
To contract O the time for a my behoue,
O me thought there was nothing meete

   Ham. Ha's this fellow no feeling of his businesse, that
he sings at Graue-making?
  Hor. Custome hath made it in him a property of easinesse

   Ham. 'Tis ee'n so; the hand of little Imployment hath
the daintier sense

   Clowne sings. But Age with his stealing steps
hath caught me in his clutch:
And hath shipped me intill the Land,
as if I had neuer beene such

   Ham. That Scull had a tongue in it, and could sing
once: how the knaue iowles it to th' grownd, as if it
were Caines Iaw-bone, that did the first murther: It
might be the Pate of a Polititian which this Asse o're Offices:
one that could circumuent God, might it not?
  Hor. It might, my Lord

   Ham. Or of a Courtier, which could say, Good Morrow
sweet Lord: how dost thou, good Lord? this
might be my Lord such a one, that prais'd my Lord such
a ones Horse, when he meant to begge it; might it not?
  Hor. I, my Lord

   Ham. Why ee'n so: and now my Lady Wormes,
Chaplesse, and knockt about the Mazard with a Sextons
Spade; heere's fine Reuolution, if wee had the tricke to
see't. Did these bones cost no more the breeding, but
to play at Loggets with 'em? mine ake to thinke
on't

   Clowne sings. A Pickhaxe and a Spade, a Spade,
for and a shrowding-Sheete:
O a Pit of Clay for to be made,
for such a Guest is meete

   Ham. There's another: why might not that bee the
Scull of a Lawyer? where be his Quiddits now? his
Quillets? his Cases? his Tenures, and his Tricks? why
doe's he suffer this rude knaue now to knocke him about
the Sconce with a dirty Shouell, and will not tell him of
his Action of Battery? hum. This fellow might be in's
time a great buyer of Land, with his Statutes, his Recognizances,
his Fines, his double Vouchers, his Recoueries:
Is this the fine of his Fines, and the recouery of his Recoueries,
to haue his fine Pate full of fine Dirt? will his
Vouchers vouch him no more of his Purchases, and double
ones too, then the length and breadth of a paire of
Indentures? the very Conueyances of his Lands will
hardly lye in this Boxe; and must the Inheritor himselfe
haue no more? ha?
  Hor. Not a iot more, my Lord

   Ham. Is not Parchment made of Sheep-skinnes?
  Hor. I my Lord, and of Calue-skinnes too

   Ham. They are Sheepe and Calues that seek out assurance
in that. I will speake to this fellow: whose Graue's
this Sir?
  Clo. Mine Sir:
O a Pit of Clay for to be made,
for such a Guest is meete

   Ham. I thinke it be thine indeed: for thou liest in't

   Clo. You lye out on't Sir, and therefore it is not yours:
for my part, I doe not lye in't; and yet it is mine

   Ham. Thou dost lye in't, to be in't and say 'tis thine:
'tis for the dead, not for the quicke, therefore thou
lyest

   Clo. 'Tis a quicke lye Sir, 'twill away againe from me
to you

   Ham. What man dost thou digge it for?
  Clo. For no man Sir

   Ham. What woman then?
  Clo. For none neither

   Ham. Who is to be buried in't?
  Clo. One that was a woman Sir; but rest her Soule,
shee's dead

   Ham. How absolute the knaue is? wee must speake
by the Carde, or equiuocation will vndoe vs: by the
Lord Horatio, these three yeares I haue taken note of it,
the Age is growne so picked, that the toe of the Pesant
comes so neere the heeles of our Courtier, hee galls his
Kibe. How long hast thou been a Graue-maker?
  Clo. Of all the dayes i'th' yeare, I came too't that day
that our last King Hamlet o'recame Fortinbras

   Ham. How long is that since?
  Clo. Cannot you tell that? euery foole can tell that:
It was the very day, that young Hamlet was borne, hee
that was mad, and sent into England

   Ham. I marry, why was he sent into England?
  Clo. Why, because he was mad; hee shall recouer his
wits there; or if he do not, it's no great matter there

   Ham. Why?
  Clo. 'Twill not be seene in him, there the men are as
mad as he

   Ham. How came he mad?
  Clo. Very strangely they say

   Ham. How strangely?
  Clo. Faith e'ene with loosing his wits

   Ham. Vpon what ground?
  Clo. Why heere in Denmarke: I haue bin sixeteene
heere, man and Boy thirty yeares

   Ham. How long will a man lie i'th' earth ere he rot?
  Clo. Ifaith, if he be not rotten before he die (as we haue
many pocky Coarses now adaies, that will scarce hold
the laying in) he will last you some eight yeare, or nine
yeare. A Tanner will last you nine yeare

   Ham. Why he, more then another?
  Clo. Why sir, his hide is so tan'd with his Trade, that
he will keepe out water a great while. And your water,
is a sore Decayer of your horson dead body. Heres a Scull
now: this Scul, has laine in the earth three & twenty years

   Ham. Whose was it?
  Clo. A whoreson mad Fellowes it was;
Whose doe you thinke it was?
  Ham. Nay, I know not

   Clo. A pestilence on him for a mad Rogue, a pour'd a
Flaggon of Renish on my head once. This same Scull
Sir, this same Scull sir, was Yoricks Scull, the Kings Iester

   Ham. This?
  Clo. E'ene that

   Ham. Let me see. Alas poore Yorick, I knew him Horatio,
a fellow of infinite Iest; of most excellent fancy, he
hath borne me on his backe a thousand times: And how
abhorred my Imagination is, my gorge rises at it. Heere
hung those lipps, that I haue kist I know not how oft.
Where be your Iibes now? Your Gambals? Your
Songs? Your flashes of Merriment that were wont to
set the Table on a Rore? No one now to mock your own
Ieering? Quite chopfalne? Now get you to my Ladies
Chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thicke, to this
fauour she must come. Make her laugh at that: prythee
Horatio tell me one thing

   Hor. What's that my Lord?
  Ham. Dost thou thinke Alexander lookt o'this fashion
i'th' earth?
  Hor. E'ene so

   Ham. And smelt so? Puh

   Hor. E'ene so, my Lord

   Ham. To what base vses we may returne Horatio.
Why may not Imagination trace the Noble dust of Alexander,
till he find it stopping a bunghole

   Hor. 'Twere to consider: to curiously to consider so

   Ham. No faith, not a iot. But to follow him thether
with modestie enough, & likeliehood to lead it; as thus.
Alexander died: Alexander was buried: Alexander returneth
into dust; the dust is earth; of earth we make
Lome, and why of that Lome (whereto he was conuerted)
might they not stopp a Beere-barrell?
Imperiall Caesar, dead and turn'd to clay,
Might stop a hole to keepe the winde away.
Oh, that that earth, which kept the world in awe,
Should patch a Wall, t' expell the winters flaw.
But soft, but soft, aside; heere comes the King.
Enter King, Queene, Laertes, and a Coffin, with Lords attendant.

The Queene, the Courtiers. Who is that they follow,
And with such maimed rites? This doth betoken,
The Coarse they follow, did with disperate hand,
Fore do it owne life; 'twas some Estate.
Couch we a while, and mark

   Laer. What Cerimony else?
  Ham. That is Laertes, a very Noble youth: Marke

   Laer. What Cerimony else?
  Priest. Her Obsequies haue bin as farre inlarg'd.
As we haue warrantie, her death was doubtfull,
And but that great Command, o're-swaies the order,
She should in ground vnsanctified haue lodg'd,
Till the last Trumpet. For charitable praier,
Shardes, Flints, and Peebles, should be throwne on her:
Yet heere she is allowed her Virgin Rites,
Her Maiden strewments, and the bringing home
Of Bell and Buriall

   Laer. Must there no more be done ?
  Priest. No more be done:
We should prophane the seruice of the dead,
To sing sage Requiem, and such rest to her
As to peace-parted Soules

   Laer. Lay her i'th' earth,
And from her faire and vnpolluted flesh,
May Violets spring. I tell thee (churlish Priest)
A Ministring Angell shall my Sister be,
When thou liest howling?
  Ham. What, the faire Ophelia?
  Queene. Sweets, to the sweet farewell.
I hop'd thou should'st haue bin my Hamlets wife:
I thought thy Bride-bed to haue deckt (sweet Maid)
And not t'haue strew'd thy Graue

   Laer. Oh terrible woer,
Fall ten times trebble, on that cursed head
Whose wicked deed, thy most Ingenious sence
Depriu'd thee of. Hold off the earth a while,
Till I haue caught her once more in mine armes:

Leaps in the graue.

Now pile your dust, vpon the quicke, and dead,
Till of this flat a Mountaine you haue made,
To o're top old Pelion, or the skyish head
Of blew Olympus

   Ham. What is he, whose griefes
Beares such an Emphasis? whose phrase of Sorrow
Coniure the wandring Starres, and makes them stand
Like wonder-wounded hearers? This is I,
Hamlet the Dane

   Laer. The deuill take thy soule

   Ham. Thou prai'st not well,
I prythee take thy fingers from my throat;
Sir though I am not Spleenatiue, and rash,
Yet haue I something in me dangerous,
Which let thy wisenesse feare. Away thy hand

   King. Pluck them asunder

   Qu. Hamlet, Hamlet

   Gen. Good my Lord be quiet

   Ham. Why I will fight with him vppon this Theme.
Vntill my eielids will no longer wag

   Qu. Oh my Sonne, what Theame?
  Ham. I lou'd Ophelia; fortie thousand Brothers
Could not (with all there quantitie of Loue)
Make vp my summe. What wilt thou do for her?
  King. Oh he is mad Laertes,
  Qu. For loue of God forbeare him

   Ham. Come show me what thou'lt doe.
Woo't weepe? Woo't fight? Woo't teare thy selfe?
Woo't drinke vp Esile, eate a Crocodile?
Ile doo't. Dost thou come heere to whine;
To outface me with leaping in her Graue?
Be buried quicke with her, and so will I.
And if thou prate of Mountaines; let them throw
Millions of Akers on vs; till our ground
Sindging his pate against the burning Zone,
Make Ossa like a wart. Nay, and thou'lt mouth,
Ile rant as well as thou

   Kin. This is meere Madnesse:
And thus awhile the fit will worke on him:
Anon as patient as the female Doue,
When that her Golden Cuplet are disclos'd;
His silence will sit drooping

   Ham. Heare you Sir:
What is the reason that you vse me thus?
I lou'd you euer; but it is no matter:
Let Hercules himselfe doe what he may,
The Cat will Mew, and Dogge will haue his day.
Enter.

  Kin. I pray you good Horatio wait vpon him,
Strengthen your patience in our last nights speech,
Wee'l put the matter to the present push:
Good Gertrude set some watch ouer your Sonne,
This Graue shall haue a liuing Monument:
An houre of quiet shortly shall we see;
Till then, in patience our proceeding be.