Internet Shakespeare Editions

About this text

  • Title: Hamlet (Folio 1, 1623)
  • Editor: David Bevington
  • Textual editor: Eric Rasmussen
  • ISBN: 978-1-55058-434-9

    Copyright David Bevington. This text may be freely used for educational, non-profit purposes; for all other uses contact the Editor.
    Author: William Shakespeare
    Editor: David Bevington
    Peer Reviewed

    Hamlet (Folio 1, 1623)

    Enter Queene and Horatio.
    2745Qu. I will not speake with her.
    Hor. She is importunate, indeed distract, her moode
    will needs be pittied.
    Qu. What would she haue?
    Hor. She speakes much of her Father; saies she heares
    2750There's trickes i'th'world, and hems, and beats her heart,
    Spurnes enuiously at Strawes, speakes things in doubt,
    That carry but halfe sense: Her speech is nothing,
    Yet the vnshaped vse of it doth moue
    The hearers to Collection; they ayme at it,
    2755And botch the words vp fit to their owne thoughts,
    Which as her winkes, and nods, and gestures yeeld them,
    Indeed would make one thinke there would be thought,
    Though nothing sure, yet much vnhappily.
    Qu. 'Twere good she were spoken with,
    2760For she may strew dangerous coniectures
    In ill breeding minds. Let her come in.
    To my sicke soule (as sinnes true Nature is)
    Each toy seemes Prologue, to some great amisse,
    So full of Artlesse iealousie is guilt,
    2765It spill's it selfe, in fearing to be spilt.
    Enter Ophelia distracted.
    Ophe, Where is the beauteous Maiesty of Denmark.
    Qu. How now Ophelia?
    Ophe. How should I your true loue know from another one?
    2770By his Cockle hat and staffe, and his Sandal shoone.
    Qu. Alas sweet Lady: what imports this Song?
    Ophe. Say you? Nay pray you marke.
    He is dead and gone Lady, he is dead and gone,
    At his head a grasse-greene Turfe, at his heeles a stone.
    2775 Enter King.
    Qu. Nay but Ophelia.
    Ophe. Pray you marke.
    White his Shrow'd as the Mountaine Snow.
    Qu. Alas, looke heere my Lord.
    2780Ophe. Larded with sweet flowers:
    Which bewept to the graue did not go,
    With true-loue showres.
    King. How do ye, pretty Lady?
    Ophe. Well, God dil'd you. They say the Owle was
    2785a Bakers daughter. Lord, wee know what we are, but
    know not what we may be. God be at your Table.
    King. Conceit vpon her Father.
    Ophe. Pray you let's haue no words of this: but when
    they aske you what it meanes, say you this:
    To morrow is S. Valentines day, all in the morning betime,
    And I a Maid at your Window, to be your Valentine.
    Then vp he rose, & don'd his clothes, & dupt the chamber dore,
    Let in the Maid, that out a Maid, neuer departed more.
    King. Pretty Ophelia.
    2795Ophe. Indeed la? without an oath Ile make an end ont.
    By gis, and by S. Charity,
    Alacke, and fie for shame:
    Yong men wil doo't, if they come too't,
    By Cocke they are too blame.
    2800Quoth she before you tumbled me,
    You promis'd me to Wed:
    So would I ha done by yonder Sunne,
    And thou hadst not come to my bed.
    King. How long hath she bin this?
    2805Ophe. I hope all will be well. We must bee patient,
    but I cannot choose but weepe, to thinke they should
    lay him i'th'cold ground: My brother shall knowe of it,
    and so I thanke you for your good counsell. Come, my
    Coach: Goodnight Ladies: Goodnight sweet Ladies:
    2810Goodnight, goodnight. Exit.
    King. Follow her close,
    Giue her good watch I pray you:
    Oh this is the poyson of deepe greefe, it springs
    All from her Fathers death. Oh Gertrude, Gertrude,
    2815When sorrowes comes, they come not single spies,
    But in Battaliaes. First, her Father slaine,
    Next your Sonne gone, and he most violent Author
    Of his owne iust remoue: the people muddied,
    Thicke and vnwholsome in their thoughts, and whispers
    2820For good Polonius death; and we haue done but greenly
    In hugger mugger to interre him. Poore Ophelia
    Diuided from her selfe, and her faire Iudgement,
    pp3 Without
    274 The Tragedie of Hamlet.
    Without the which we are Pictures, or meere Beasts.
    Last, and as much containing as all these,
    2825Her Brother is in secret come from France,
    Keepes on his wonder, keepes himselfe in clouds,
    And wants not Buzzers to infect his eare
    With pestilent Speeches of his Fathers death,
    Where in necessitie of matter Beggard,
    2830Will nothing sticke our persons to Arraigne
    In eare and eare. O my deere Gertrude, this,
    Like to a murdering Peece in many places,
    Giues me superfluous death. A Noise within.
    Enter a Messenger.
    2835Qu. Alacke, what noyse is this?
    King. Where are my Switzers?
    Let them guard the doore. What is the matter?
    Mes. Saue your selfe, my Lord.
    The Ocean (ouer-peering of his List)
    2840Eates not the Flats with more impittious haste
    Then young Laertes, in a Riotous head,
    Ore-beares your Officers, the rabble call him Lord,
    And as the world were now but to begin,
    Antiquity forgot, Custome not knowne,
    2845The Ratifiers and props of euery word,
    They cry choose we? Laertes shall be King,
    Caps, hands, and tongues, applaud it to the clouds,
    Laertes shall be King, Laertes King.
    Qu. How cheerefully on the false Traile they cry,
    2850Oh this is Counter you false Danish Dogges.
    Noise within. Enter Laertes.
    King. The doores are broke.
    Laer. Where is the King, sirs? Stand you all without.
    All. No, let's come in.
    2855Laer. I pray you giue me leaue.
    Al. We will, we will.
    Laer. I thanke you: Keepe the doore.
    Oh thou vilde King, giue me my Father.
    Qu. Calmely good Laertes.
    2860Laer. That drop of blood, that calmes
    Proclaimes me Bastard:
    Cries Cuckold to my Father, brands the Harlot
    Euen heere betweene the chaste vnsmirched brow
    Of my true Mother.
    2865King. What is the cause Laertes,
    That thy Rebellion lookes so Gyant-like?
    Let him go Gertrude: Do not feare our person:
    There's such Diuinity doth hedge a King,
    That Treason can but peepe to what it would,
    2870Acts little of his will. Tell me Laertes,
    Why thou art thus Incenst? Let him go Gertrude.
    Speake man.
    Laer. Where's my Father?
    King. Dead.
    2875Qu. But not by him.
    King. Let him demand his fill.
    Laer. How came he dead? Ile not be Iuggel'd with.
    To hell Allegeance: Vowes, to the blackest diuell.
    Conscience and Grace, to the profoundest Pit.
    2880I dare Damnation: to this point I stand,
    That both the worlds I giue to negligence,
    Let come what comes: onely Ile be reueng'd
    Most throughly for my Father.
    King. Who shall stay you?
    2885Laer. My Will, not all the world,
    And for my meanes, Ile husband them so well,
    They shall go farre with little.
    King. Good Laertes:
    If you desire to know the certaintie
    2890Of your deere Fathers death, if writ in your reuenge,
    That Soop-stake you will draw both Friend and Foe,
    Winner and Looser.
    Laer. None but his Enemies.
    King. Will you know them then.
    2895La. To his good Friends, thus wide Ile ope my Armes:
    And like the kinde Life-rend'ring Politician,
    Repast them with my blood.
    King. Why now you speake
    Like a good Childe, and a true Gentleman.
    2900That I am guiltlesse of your Fathers death,
    And am most sensible in greefe for it,
    It shall as leuell to your Iudgement pierce
    As day do's to your eye.
    A noise within. Let her come in.
    2905 Enter Ophelia.
    Laer. How now? what noise is that?
    Oh heate drie vp my Braines, teares seuen times salt,
    Burne out the Sence and Vertue of mine eye.
    By Heauen, thy madnesse shall be payed by waight,
    2910Till our Scale turnes the beame. Oh Rose of May,
    Deere Maid, kinde Sister, sweet Ophelia:
    Oh Heauens, is't possible, a yong Maids wits,
    Should be as mortall as an old mans life?
    Nature is fine in Loue, and where 'tis fine,
    2915It sends some precious instance of it selfe
    After the thing it loues.
    They bore him bare fac'd on the Beer,
    Hey non nony, nony, hey nony:
    And on his graue raines many a teare,
    2920Fare you well my Doue.
    Laer. Had'st thou thy wits, and did'st perswade Re-
    uenge, it could not moue thus.
    Ophe. You must sing downe a-downe, and you call
    him a-downe-a. Oh, how the wheele becomes it? It is
    2925the false Steward that stole his masters daughter.
    Laer. This nothings more then matter.
    Ophe. There's Rosemary, that's for Remembraunce.
    Pray loue remember: and there is Paconcies, that's for
    2930Laer. A document in madnesse, thoughts & remem-
    brance fitted.
    Ophe. There's Fennell for you, and Columbines: ther's
    Rew for you, and heere's some for me. Wee may call it
    Herbe-Grace a Sundaies: Oh you must weare your Rew
    2935with a difference. There's a Daysie, I would giue you
    some Violets, but they wither'd all when my Father dy-
    ed: They say, he made a good end;
    For bonny sweet Robin is all my ioy.
    Laer. Thought, and Affliction, Passion, Hell it selfe:
    2940She turnes to Fauour, and to prettinesse.
    And will he not come againe,
    And will he not come againe:
    No, no, he is dead, go to thy Death-bed,
    He neuer wil come againe.
    2945His Beard as white as Snow,
    All Flaxen was his Pole:
    He is gone, he is gone, and we cast away mone,
    Gramercy on his Soule.
    And of all Christian Soules, I pray God.
    2950God buy ye. Exeunt Ophelia
    Laer. Do you see this, you Gods?
    King. Laertes, I must common with your greefe,
    Or you deny me right: go but apart,
    The Tragedie of Hamlet. 275
    Make choice of whom your wisest Friends you will,
    2955And they shall heare and iudge 'twixt you and me;
    If by direct or by Colaterall hand
    They finde vs touch'd, we will our Kingdome giue,
    Our Crowne, our Life, and all that we call Ours
    To you in satisfaction. But if not,
    2960Be you content to lend your patience to vs,
    And we shall ioyntly labour with your soule
    To giue it due content.
    Laer. Let this be so:
    His meanes of death, his obscure buriall;
    2965No Trophee, Sword, nor Hatchment o're his bones,
    No Noble rite, nor formall ostentation,
    Cry to be heard, as 'twere from Heauen to Earth,
    That I must call in question.
    King. So you shall:
    2970And where th'offence is, let the great Axe fall.
    I pray you go with me. Exeunt