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  • Title: Hamlet (Quarto 2, 1604)
  • Textual editor: Eric Rasmussen
  • ISBN: 978-1-55058-434-9

    Copyright Internet Shakespeare Editions. This text may be freely used for educational, non-proift purposes; for all other uses contact the Coordinating Editor.
    Author: William Shakespeare
    Not Peer Reviewed

    Hamlet (Quarto 2, 1604)

    Prince of Denmarke.
    This man shall set me packing,
    Ile lugge the guts into the neighbour roome;
    2580 Mother good night indeed, this Counsayler
    Is now mo st still, mo st secret, and mo st graue,
    Who was in life a mo st fooli sh prating knaue.
    Come sir, to draw toward an end with you.
    Good night mother. Exit.

    Eenter King,and Queene, with Rosencraus
    2586.1 and Guylden sterne.
    King. There's matter in these sighes, these profound heaues,
    You mu st tran slate, tis fit we vnder stand them,
    2590 Where is your sonne?
    2590.1 Ger. Be stow this place on vs a little while.
    Ah mine owne Lord, what haue I seene to night?
    King. What Gertrard, how dooes Hamlet?
    Ger. Mad as the sea and wind when both contend
    Which is the mightier, in his lawle s s e fit,
    2595 Behind the Arras hearing some thing stirre,
    Whyps out his Rapier, cryes a Rat, a Rat,
    And in this braini sh apprehen sion kills
    The vnseene good old man.
    King. O heauy deede!
    2600 It had beene so with vs had wee been there,
    His libertie is full of threates to all,
    To you your selfe, to vs, to euery one,
    Alas, how shall this bloody deede be answer'd?
    It will be layd to vs, whose prouidence
    2605 Should haue kept short, re straind, and out of haunt
    This mad young man; but so much was our loue,
    We would not vnder stand what was mo st fit,
    But like the owner of a foule disease
    To keepe it from divulging, let it feede
    2610 Euen on the pith of life: where is he gone?
    Ger. To draw apart the body he hath kild,
    Ore whom, his very madnes like some ore
    Among a minerall of mettals base,
    Showes it selfe pure, a weepes for what is done.
    2615 King. O Gertrard, come away,
    The
    K.