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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    Not Peer Reviewed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.
    they not stoppe a Beare-barrell?
    3400Imperious sar dead, and turn'd to Clay,
    Might stoppe a hole, to keepe the wind away.
    O that that earth which kept the world in awe,
    Should patch a wall t'expell the waters flaw.
    But soft, but soft awhile, here comes the King,
    Enter K. Q.
    The Queene, the Courtiers, who is this they follow?
    Laertes and
    And with such maimed rites? this doth betoken,
    The corse they follow, did with desprat hand
    3410Foredoo it owne life, twas of some estate,
    Couch we a while and marke.
    Laer. What Ceremonie els?
    Ham. That is Laertes a very noble youth, marke.
    Laer. What Ceremonie els?
    3415Doct. Her obsequies haue been as farre inlarg'd
    As we haue warrantie, her death was doubtfull,
    And but that great commaund ore-swayes the order,
    She should in ground vnsanctified been lodg'd
    Till the last trumpet: for charitable prayers,
    3420Flints and peebles should be throwne on her:
    Yet heere she is allow'd her virgin Crants,
    Her mayden strewments, and the bringing home
    Of bell and buriall.
    Laer. Must there no more be doone?
    3425Doct. No more be doone.
    We should prophane the seruice of the dead,
    To sing a Requiem and such rest to her
    As to peace-parted soules.
    Laer. Lay her i'th earth,
    3430And from her faire and vnpolluted flesh
    May Violets spring: I tell thee churlish Priest,
    A ministring Angell shall my sister be
    When thou lyest howling.
    Ham. What, the faire Ophelia.
    3435Quee. Sweets to the sweet, farewell,
    I hop't thou should'st haue been my Hamlets wife,
    I thought thy bride-bed to haue deckt sweet maide,
    And not haue strew'd thy graue.
    Laer. O treble woe