What do you like about the ISE? What could we do better? Please tell us in this 10-minute survey!

Start Survey

Internet Shakespeare Editions

Become a FriendSign in


Jump to line
Help on texts

About this text

  • 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    Not Peer Reviewed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.
    But soft, behold, loe where it comes againe
    Ile crosse it though it blast mee: stay illusion, It spreads his armes.
    If thou hast any sound or vse of voyce,
    Speake to me, if there be any good thing to be done
    130That may to thee doe ease, and grace to mee,
    Speake to me.
    If thou art priuie to thy countries fate
    Which happily foreknowing may auoyd
    O speake:
    Or if thou hast vphoorded in thy life
    Extorted treasure in the wombe of earth
    135For which they say your spirits oft walke in death. The cocke crowes.
    Speake of it, stay and speake, stop it Marcellus.
    Mar. Shall I strike it with my partizan?
    Hor. Doe if it will not stand.
    Bar. Tis heere.
    140Hor. Tis heere.
    Mar. Tis gone.
    We doe it wrong being so Maiesticall
    To offer it the showe of violence,
    For it is as the ayre, invulnerable,
    145And our vaine blowes malicious mockery.
    Bar. It was about to speake when the cock crewe.
    Hor. And then it started like a guilty thing,
    Vpon a fearefull summons; I haue heard,
    The Cock that is the trumpet to the morne,
    150Doth with his lofty and shrill sounding throat
    Awake the God of day, and at his warning
    Whether in sea or fire, in earth or ayre
    Th'extrauagant and erring spirit hies
    To his confine, and of the truth heerein
    155This present obiect made probation.
    Mar. It faded on the crowing of the Cock.
    Some say that euer gainst that season comes
    Wherein our Sauiours birth is celebrated
    This bird of dawning singeth all night long,
    160And then they say no spirit dare sturre abraode
    The nights are wholsome, then no plannets strike,
    No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charme