Internet Shakespeare Editions

About this text

  • Title: Hamlet (Folio 1, 1623)
  • Editor: David Bevington
  • Textual editor: Eric Rasmussen
  • ISBN: 978-1-55058-434-9

    Copyright David Bevington. This text may be freely used for educational, non-profit purposes; for all other uses contact the Editor.
    Author: William Shakespeare
    Editor: David Bevington
    Peer Reviewed

    Hamlet (Folio 1, 1623)

    273
    The Tragedie of Hamlet
    Ham. Nothing but to shew you how a King may go
    a Progre s s e through the guts of a Begger.
    King. Where is Polonius.
    2695 Ham. In heauen, send thither to see. If your Me s s en-
    ger 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.
    2700 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 ha st done, mu st send thee hence
    With fierie Quickne s s e. Therefore prepare thy selfe,
    2705The Barke is readie, and the winde at helpe,
    Th'A s s ociates tend, and euery thing at bent
    For England.
    Ham. For England?
    King. I Hamlet.
    2710 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.
    2715 Hamlet. My Mother: Father and Mother is man and
    wife: man & wife is one fle sh, and so my mother. Come,
    for England. Exit
    King. Follow him at foote,
    Tempt him with speed aboord:
    2720Delay 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 ha st.
    And England, if my loue thou hold st at ought,
    As my great power thereof may giue thee sense,
    2725Since yet thy Cicatrice lookes raw and red
    After the Dani sh Sword, and thy free awe
    Payes homage to vs; thou mai st not coldly set
    Our Soueraigne Proce s s e, which imports at full
    By Letters coniuring to that effect
    2730The present death of Hamlet. Do it England,
    For like the Hecticke in my blood he rages,
    And thou mu st cure me: Till I know 'tis done,
    How ere my happes, my ioyes were ne're begun. Exit

    Enter Fortinbras with an Armie.
    2735 For. Go Captaine, from me greet the Dani sh 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 Maie sty would ought with vs,
    2740We shall expre s s e our dutie in his eye,
    And let him know so.
    Cap. I will doo't, my Lord.
    For. Go safely on. Exit.
    Enter Queene and Horatio.
    2745 Qu. I will not speake with her.
    Hor. She is importunate, indeed di stract, her moode
    will needs be pittied.
    Qu. What would she haue?
    Hor. She speakes much of her Father; saies she heares
    2750There's trickes i'th'world, and hems, and beats her heart,
    Spurnes enuiou sly at Strawes, speakes things in doubt,
    That carry but halfe sense: Her speech is nothing,
    Yet the vn shaped vse of it doth moue
    The hearers to Collection; they ayme at it,
    2755And botch the words vp fit to their owne thoughts,
    Which as her winkes, and nods, and ge stures yeeld them,
    Indeed would make one thinke there would be thought,
    Though nothing sure, yet much vnhappily.
    Qu. 'Twere good she were spoken with,
    2760For 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 ami s s e,
    So full of Artle s s e iealou sie is guilt,
    2765It spill's it selfe, in fearing to be spilt.
    Enter Ophelia di stracted.
    Ophe, Where is the beauteous Maie sty of Denmark.
    Qu. How now Ophelia?
    Ophe. How should I your true loue know from another one?
    2770 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 gra s s e-greene Turfe, at his heeles a stone.
    2775 Enter King.
    Qu. Nay but Ophelia.
    Ophe. Pray you marke.
    White his Shrow'd as the Mountaine Snow.
    Qu. Alas, looke heere my Lord.
    2780 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
    2785a 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. 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.
    2795 Ophe. Indeed la? without an oath Ile make an end ont.
    By gis, and by S. Charity,
    Alacke, and fie for shame:
    Yong men wil doo't, if they come too't,
    By Cocke they are too blame.
    2800 Quoth she before you tumbled me,
    You promis'd me to Wed:
    So would I ha done by yonder Sunne,
    And thou had st not come to my bed.
    King. How long hath she bin this?
    2805 Ophe. I hope all will be well. We mu st 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:
    2810Goodnight, goodnight. Exit.
    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,
    2815When sorrowes comes, they come not single spies,
    But in Battaliaes. Fir st, her Father slaine,
    Next your Sonne gone, and he mo st violent Author
    Of his owne iu st remoue: the people muddied,
    Thicke and vnwholsome in their thoughts, and whispers
    2820For 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
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