Internet Shakespeare Editions

Author: William Shakespeare
Not Peer Reviewed

Hamlet (Quarto 2, 1604)


Enter Horatio, Gertrard,and a Gentleman.
2745Quee. I will not speake with her.
Gent. Shee is importunat,
Indeede distract, her moode will needes be pittied.
Quee. What would she haue?
Gent. She speakes much of her father, sayes she heares
2750There's tricks i'th world, and hems, and beates her hart,
Spurnes enuiously at strawes, speakes things in doubt
That carry but halfe sence, her speech is noth
ing,
Yet the vnshaped vse of it doth moue
The hearers to collection, they yawne at it,
2755And botch the words vp fit to theyr owne thoughts,
Which as her wincks, and nods, and gestures yeeld them,
Indeede would make one thinke there might be thought
Though nothing sure, yet much vnhappily.
Hora. Twere good she were spoken with, for shee may strew
2760Dangerous coniectures in ill breeding mindes,
Let her come in.
Enter Ophelia.
Quee. fTo my sicke soule, as sinnes true nature is,
fEach toy seemes prologue to some great amisse,
fSo full of artlesse iealousie is guilt,
2765fIt spills it selfe, in fearing to be spylt.
Oph. Where is the beautious Maiestie of Denmarke?
Quee. How now Ophelia?
shee sings.
Oph.
How should I your true loue know from another one,
2770By his cockle hat and staffe, and his Sendall shoone.
Quee. Alas sweet Lady, what imports this song?
Oph. Say you, nay pray you marke,
He is dead & gone Lady, he is dead and gone,
Song.
At his head a grasgreene turph, at his heeles a stone.
2774.1O ho.
Quee. Nay but Ophelia.
Oph. Pray you marke.
White his shrowd as the mountaine snow.
2775
Enter King.
Quee. Alas looke heere my Lord.
2780Oph.
Larded all with sweet flowers,
Which beweept to the ground did not go
Song.
With true loue showers.
King. How doe you pretty Lady?
Oph. Well good dild you, they say the Owle was a Bakers daugh-
2785ter, Lord we know what we are, but know not what we may be.
God be at your table.
King. Conceit vpon her Father.
Oph. Pray lets haue no words of this, but when they aske you
what it meanes, say you this.
2790
To morrow is S. Valentines day,
Song.
All in the morning betime,
And I a mayde at your window
To be your Valentine.
Then vp he rose, and dond his close, and dupt the chamber doore,
Let in the maide, that out a maide, neuer departed more.
King. Pretty Ophelia.
2795Oph. Indeede without an oath Ile make an end on't,
By gis and by Saint Charitie,
alack and fie for shame,
Young men will doo't if they come too't,
by Cock they are too blame.
2800Quoth she, Before you tumbled me, you promisd me to wed,
(He answers.) So would I a done by yonder sunne
And thou hadst not come to my bed.
King. How long hath she beene thus?
2805Oph. I hope all will be well, we must be patient, but I cannot chuse
but weepe to thinke they would lay him i'th cold ground, my brother
shall know of it, and so I thanke you for your good counsaile. Come
my Coach, God night Ladies, god night.
Sweet Ladyes god night, god night.
King. Follow her close, giue her good watch I pray you.
O this is the poyson of deepe griefe, it springs all from her Fathers
death, and now behold, ô Gertrard, Gertrard,
2815When sorrowes come, they come not single spyes,
But in battalians: first her Father slaine,
Next, your sonne gone, and he most violent Author
Of his owne iust remoue, the people muddied
Thick and vnwholsome in thoughts, and whispers
2820For good Polonius death: and we haue done but greenly
In hugger mugger to inter him: poore Ophelia
Deuided from herselfe, and her faire iudgement,
VVithout the which we are pictures, or meere beasts,
Last, and as much contayning as all these,
2825Her brother is in secret come from Fraunce,
Feeds on this wonder, keepes himselfe in clowdes,
And wants not buzzers to infect his eare
With pestilent speeches of his fathers death,
Wherein necessity of matter beggerd,
2830Will nothing stick our person to arraigne
In eare and eare: ô my deare Gertrard, this
Like to a murdring peece in many places
Giues me superfluous death.
A noise within.
Enter a Messenger.
King. Attend, where is my Swissers, let them guard the doore,
What is the matter?
Messen. Saue your selfe my Lord.
The Ocean ouer-peering of his list
2840Eates not the flats with more impitious hast
Then young Laertes in a riotous head
Ore-beares your Officers: the rabble call him Lord,
And as the world were now but to beginne,
Antiquity forgot, custome not knowne,
2845The ratifiers and props of euery word,
The cry choose we, Laertes shall be King,
Caps, hands, and tongues applau'd it to the clouds,
Laertes shall be King, Laertes King.
Quee. How cheerefully on the false traile they cry.
A noise within.
2850O this is counter you false Danish dogges.
Enter Laertes with others.
King. The doores are broke.
Laer. Where is this King? sirs stand you all without.
All. No lets come in.
2855Laer. I pray you giue me leaue.
All. VVe will, we will.
Laer. I thanke you, keepe the doore, ô thou vile King,
Giue me my father.
Quee. Calmely good Laertes.
2860Laer. That drop of blood thats calme proclames me Bastard,
Cries cuckold to my father, brands the Harlot
Euen heere betweene the chast vnsmirched browe
Of my true mother.
2865King. VVhat is the cause Laertes
That thy rebellion lookes so gyant like?
Let him goe Gertrard, doe not feare our person,
There's such diuinitie doth hedge a King,
That treason can but peepe to what it would,
2870Act's little of his will, tell me Laertes
Why thou art thus incenst, let him goe Gertrard.
Speake man.
Laer. Where is my father?
King. Dead.
2875Quee. But not by him.
King. Let him demaund his fill.
Laer. How came he dead, I'le not be iugled with,
To hell allegiance, vowes to the blackest deuill,
Conscience and grace, to the profoundest pit
2880I dare damnation, to this poynt I stand,
That both the worlds I giue to negligence,
Let come what comes, onely I'le be reueng'd
Most throughly for my father.
King. Who shall stay you?
2885Laer. My will, not all the worlds:
And for my meanes I'le husband them so well,
They shall goe farre with little.
King. Good Laertes, if you desire to know the certainty
2890Of your deere Father, i'st writ in your reuenge,
That soopstake, you will draw both friend and foe
Winner and looser.
Laer. None but his enemies,
King. Will you know them then?
2895Laer. To his good friends thus wide I'le ope my armes,
And like the kind life-rendring Pelican,
Repast them with my blood.
King. Why now you speake
Like a good child, and a true Gentleman.
2900That I am guiltlesse of your fathers death,
And am most sencibly in griefe for it,
It shall as leuell to your iudgement peare
As day dooes to your eye.
A noyse within.
2905
Enter Ophelia
Laer. Let her come in.
How now, what noyse is that?
O heate, dry vp my braines, teares seauen times salt
Burne out the sence and vertue of mine eye,
By heauen thy madnes shall be payd with weight
2910Tell our scale turne the beame. O Rose of May,
Deere mayd, kind sister, sweet Ophelia,
O heauens, ist possible a young maids wits
Should be as mortall as a poore mans life.
Oph.
They bore him bare-faste on the Beere,
Song.
And in his graue rain'd many a teare,
2920Fare you well my Doue.
Laer. Hadst thou thy wits, and did'st perswade reuenge
It could not mooue thus.
Oph. You must sing a downe a downe,
And you call him a downe a. O how the wheele becomes it,
It is the false Steward that stole his Maisters daughter.
Laer. This nothing's more then matter.
Oph. There's Rosemary, thats for remembrance, pray you loue re-
member, and there is Pancies, thats for thoughts.
2930Laer. A document in madnes, thoughts and remembrance fitted.
Ophe. There's Fennill for you, and Colembines, there's Rewe for
you, & heere's some for me, we may call it herbe of Grace a Sondaies,
you may weare your Rewe with a difference, there's a Dasie, I would
2935giue you some Violets, but they witherd all when my Father dyed,
they say a made a good end.
For bonny sweet Robin is all my ioy.
Laer. Thought and afflictions, passion, hell it selfe
2940She turnes to fauour and to prettines.
Oph.
And wil a not come againe,
Song.
And wil a not come againe,
No, no, he is dead, goe to thy death bed,
He neuer will come againe.
2945His beard was as white as snow,
Flaxen was his pole,
He is gone, he is gone, and we cast away mone,
God a mercy on his soule,
and of all Christians soules,
2950God buy you.
Laer. Doe you this ô God.
King. Laertes, I must commune with your griefe,
Or you deny me right, goe but apart,
Make choice of whom your wisest friends you will,
2955And they shall heare and iudge twixt you and me,
If by direct, or by colaturall hand
They find vs toucht, we will our kingdome giue,
Our crowne, our life, and all that we call ours
To you in satisfaction; but if not,
2960Be 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 funerall,
2965No trophe sword, nor hatchment ore his bones,
No noble right, nor formall ostentation,
Cry to be heard as twere from heauen to earth,
That I must call't in question.
King. So you shall,
2970And where th'offence is, let the great axe fall.
I pray you goe with me.
Exeunt.