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  • 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)

    The Tragedie of Hamlet 273
    Ham. Nothing but to shew you how a King may go
    a Progresse through the guts of a Begger.
    King. Where is Polonius.
    2695Ham. In heauen, send thither to see. If your Messen-
    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.
    2700Ham. 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,
    2705The Barke is readie, and the winde at helpe,
    Th'Associates tend, and euery thing at bent
    For England.
    Ham. For England?
    King. I Hamlet.
    2710Ham. 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.
    2715Hamlet. 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:
    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 hast.
    And England, if my loue thou holdst at ought,
    As my great power thereof may giue thee sense,
    2725Since 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
    2730The 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.
    2735For. 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,
    2740We shall expresse 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.
    2745Qu. 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
    2750There'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,
    2755And 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,
    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 amisse,
    So full of Artlesse iealousie is guilt,
    2765It 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?
    2770By 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.
    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.
    2780Ophe. 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:
    2790
    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.
    2795Ophe. 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.
    2800Quoth 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 this?
    2805Ophe. 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:
    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. 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
    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,
    pp3 Without
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