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- Edition: Hamlet
Hamlet (Modern, Editor's Version)
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3189[5.1]
I tell thee she is, and therefore make her grave straight. The 31933144crowner hath sat on her, and finds it Christian burial.
Why, 'tis found so.
It must be se offendendo, it cannot be else, for here lies the 31993149point: if I drown myself wittingly, it argues an act, and an act hath 32003150three branches: it is to act, to do, and to perform. Argal, she drowned 32013151herself wittingly.
Nay, but hear you, Goodman Delver.
Give me leave. Here lies the water; good. Here stands the 32053154man; good. If the man go to this water and drown himself, it is, will 32063155he, nill he, he goes. Mark you that. But if the water come to him and 32073156drown him, he drowns not himself. Argal, he that is not guilty of 32093157his own death shortens not his own life.
But is this law?
Ay, marry, is't, crowner's quest law.
Will you ha' the truth on't? If this had not 3213been a 3161gentlewoman, she should have been buried 3214out o'Christian burial.
Why, there thou say'st, and the more pity that great folk 32163163should have countenance in this world to drown or hang themselves 32173164more than their even-Christian. Come, my spade. There is no 32183165ancient gentlemen but gardeners, ditchers, and gravemakers. They hold 32193166up Adam's profession.
Was he a gentleman?
'A was the first that ever bore arms.
Why, he had none.
What, art a heathen? How dost thou 3225understand the Scripture? The Scripture says Adam digged. 3226 Could he dig without arms? I'll put another 3227question to thee. If thou answerest me not to the purpose, 3228confess thyself--
Go to.
The gallows-maker, for that frame outlives a thousand tenants.
I like thy wit well, in good faith, the gallows 3235does well.3176But how does it well? It does well to those 3236that do ill. Now, thou 3177dost ill to say the gallows is 3237built stronger than the church. Argal, the gallows 32383178may do well to thee. To't again, come.
Ay, tell me that, and unyoke.
Marry, now I can tell.
To't.
Mass, I cannot tell.
Cudgel thy brains no more about it, for your 3247dull ass will 3186not mend his pace with beating; and when 3248you are asked this question 3187next, say "a grave-maker." 3249The houses that he makes lasts till doomsday. 3188Go get thee 3250to Johan. Fetch me a stoup of liquor.
5.1.25.1[Exit Second Clown.]
5.1.25.2[The First Clown digs.]
In youth when I did love, did love,
Custom hath made it in him a property of 3259easiness.
'Tis e'en so. The hand of little employment hath 3261the daintier sense.
Clown sings.
But age with his stealing steps
5.1.36.1[The Clown throws up a skull.]
That skull had a tongue in it and could sing once. How the 32683203knave jowls it to the ground, as if 'twere Cain's jawbone, that did the 32693204first murder! This might be the pate of a politician, which this ass now 32703205o'er-offices, one that would circumvent God, might it not?
It might, my lord.
Or of a courtier, which could say, "Good morrow, sweet lord, 32743208how dost thou, good lord?" This might be my Lord Such-a-one, that 32753209praised my Lord Such-a-one's horse when 'a meant to beg it, might it not?
Ay, my lord.
Why, e'en so. And now my Lady Worm's, 3279chapless, and knocked 3212about the mazard with a sexton's 3280spade. Here's fine revolution, an 3213we had the trick to 3281see't. Did these bones cost no more the breeding 3214but 3282to play at loggets with 'em? Mine ache to think 3283on't.
Sings.
A pickax and a spade, a spade,
5.1.45.1[He throws up another skull.]
There's another. Why might not that be the 3290skull of a lawyer? 3220Where be his quiddities now, his 3291quillets, his cases, his tenures, and his 3221tricks? Why 3292does he suffer this rude knave now to knock him 3222about 3293the sconce with a dirty shovel, and will not tell him of 3294his 3223action of battery? H'm! This fellow might be 3295in's time a great buyer of 3224land, with his statutes, his 3296recognizances, his fines, his double 3225vouchers, his recoveries. Is this the 3297fine of his fines, and the recovery of his 3298recoveries, to have his fine pate full of fine dirt? Will his 32993226vouchers vouch him no more of his purchases, and double 3300ones too, than the length 3227and breadth of a pair of 3301indentures? The very conveyances of his 3228lands will 3302hardly lie in this box, and must th'inheritor himself have 33033229no more, ha?
Not a jot more, my lord.
Is not parchment made of sheepskins?
Ay, my lord, and of calves' skins too.
They are sheep and calves which seek out assurance 3308in 3234that. I will speak to this fellow.--Whose grave's 3309this, sirrah?
Mine, sir.
5.1.51.1[Sings.]
I think it be thine indeed, for thou liest in't.
You lie out on't, sir, and therefore 'tis not yours. For my part, I 33153238do not lie in't, and yet it is mine.
Thou dost lie in't, to be in't and say 'tis thine. 'Tis for the dead, 33173240not for the quick; therefore thou liest.
'Tis a quick lie, sir; 'twill away again from me to you.
What man dost thou dig it for?
For no man, sir.
What woman, then?
For none, neither.
Who is to be buried in't?
One that was a woman, sir, but, rest her soul, she's dead.
[To Horatio] How absolute the knave is! We must speak by the card, or 33293249equivocation will undo us. By the Lord, Horatio, these three years I 33303250have taken note of it, the age is grown so picked that the toe of the 33313251peasant comes so near the heel of the courtier he galls his kibe.--How 33333252long hast thou been grave-maker?
Of all the days i'th' year, I came to't that day 3335that our last King 3254Hamlet overcame Fortinbras.
How long is that since?
Cannot you tell that? Every fool can tell that. It was the 33383257very day that young Hamlet was born--he that is mad and sent into 33393258England.
Ay, marry, why was he sent into England?
Why, because 'a was mad. 'A shall recover his wits there, or if 33423261'a do not, 'tis no great matter there.
Why?
'Twill not be seen in him there. There the men are as mad as he.
How came he mad?
Very strangely, they say.
How strangely?
Faith, e'en with losing his wits.
Upon what ground?
How long will a man lie i'th' earth ere he rot?
I'faith, if 'a be not rotten before 'a die--as we have 3355many 3273pocky corses nowadays that will scarce hold 3356the laying in--'a will last you some eight 3274year, or nine 3357year. A tanner will last you nine year.
Why he more than another?
Why, sir, his hide is so tanned with his trade that 'a will keep 33603277out water a great while; and your water is a sore decayer of your 33613278whoreson dead body. [He picks up a skull.] Here's a skull 3362now: this skull hath lain you i'th' earth three-and-twenty years.
Whose was it?
A whoreson mad fellow's it was. Whose do you think it was?
Nay, I know not.
A pestilence on him for a mad rogue! 'A poured a flagon of 33683283Rhenish on my head once. This same skull, sir, was Yorick's skull, the 33693284King's jester.
This?
E'en that.
Let me see. [taking the skull] Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio, 3373a fellow of infinite 3288jest, of most excellent fancy. He 3374hath borne me on his back a 3289thousand times, and now how 3375abhorred in my imagination it is! My gorge 3290rises at it. Here 3376hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how 3291oft.--3377Where be your gibes now? Your gambols, your 3378songs, your 3292flashes of merriment that were wont to 3379set the table on a roar? Not one 3293now to mock your own 3380grinning? Quite chopfall'n? Now get you 3294to my lady's 3381chamber and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this 33823295favor she must come. Make her laugh at that. 33833296Prithee, Horatio, tell me one thing.
What's that, my lord?
Dost thou think Alexander looked o'this fashion i'th' earth?
E'en so.
And smelt so? Pah!
5.1.92.1[He throws the skull down.]
E'en so, my lord.
To what base uses we may return, Horatio! Why may not 33913303imagination trace the noble dust of Alexander till 'a find it stopping 33923304a bunghole?
'Twere to consider too curiously to consider so.
No, faith, not a jot. But to follow him thither 3395with modesty 3307enough, and likelihood to lead it, as thus: 3396Alexander died, Alexander was 3308buried, Alexander returneth 3397into dust, the dust is earth, of earth we 3309make 3398loam, and why of that loam whereto he was converted might 33993310they not stop a beer-barrel?
5.1.100.1Enter King, Queen, Laertes, and a coffin [containing the corpse of Ophelia, in funeral procession, with the "Doctor" or Priest], with Lords attendant.
5.1.106.1[Hamlet and Horatio conceal themselves. Ophelia's body is taken to the grave.]
What ceremony else?
[Aside to Horatio] That is Laertes, a very noble youth. Mark.
What ceremony else?
Her obsequies have been as far enlarged
Must there no more be done?
No more be done.
Lay her i'th' earth,
[To Horatio] What, the fair Ophelia!
[Scattering flowers] Sweets to the sweet! Farewell.
Oh, treble woe
[Coming forward] What is he whose grief
[Grappling with Hamlet] The devil take thy soul!
Thou pray'st not well.
5.1.152.1[Hamlet and Laertes are parted.]
Why, I will fight with him upon this theme
Oh, my son, what theme?
I loved Ophelia. Forty thousand brothers
Oh, he is mad, Laertes.
For love of God, forbear him.
'Swounds, show me what thou'lt do.
This is mere madness,
[To Laertes] Hear you, sir,
5.1.179.1Exit Hamlet.
I pray you, good Horatio, wait upon him.
5.1.180.1And Horatio [exits too].
5.1.186.1Exeunt.