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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    Not Peer Reviewed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.
    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
    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.
    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.
    Quee. Nay but Ophelia.
    Oph. Pray you marke.
    White his shrowd as the mountaine snow.
    2775Enter King.
    Quee. Alas looke heere my Lord.
    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.