Is she to be buried in Christian burial, that 3191willfully seeks her own salvation?

I tell thee she is, and therefore make her grave 3193straight. The crowner hath sat on her, and finds it 3195Christian burial.

How can that be, unless she drowned herself in 3196her own defense?

Why, 'tis found so.

It must be se offendendo , it cannot be else. For 3199here lies the point: if I drown myself wittingly, it 3200argues an act, and an act hath three branches: it is an 3201act to do and to perform. Argal, she drowned herself 3202wittingly.

Nay, but hear you, goodman delver.

Give me leave. Here lies the water; good. 3205Here stands the man; good. If the man go to this 3206water and drown himself, it is, will he, nill he, he goes; 3207mark you that? But if the water come to him and drown 3208him, he drowns not himself. Argal, he that is not 3209guilty of his 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 gentlewoman, she should have been buried 3214out of Christian burial.

Why, there thou say'st, and the more pity that 3216great folk should have countenance in this world to 3217drown or hang themselves more than their 3218even-Christian. Come, my spade. There is no ancient gentlemen 3219but gardeners, ditchers, and gravemakers. They hold up 3220Adam's profession.

Was he a gentleman?

He was the first that ever bore arms.

Why, he had none.

Why, 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.

What is he that builds stronger than either the 3231mason, the shipwright, or the carpenter?

The gallows-maker, for that frame outlives a 3233thousand tenants.

I like thy wit well, in good faith, the gallows 3235does well. But how does it well? It does well to those 3236that do ill. Now, thou dost ill to say the gallows is 3237built stronger than the church. Argal, the gallows 3238may do well to thee. To't again, come.

"Who builds stronger than a mason, a 3240shipwright, or a carpenter?"

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 not mend his pace with beating; and when 3248you are asked this question next, say "a grave-maker." The 3249houses that he makes lasts till doomsday. Go, get thee 3250to Youghan, fetch me a stoup of liquor.

Has this fellow no feeling of his business, that 3257he sings at grave-making?

Custom hath made it in him a property of 3259easiness.

'Tis e'en so. The hand of little employment hath 3261the daintier sense.

That skull had a tongue in it and could sing 3268once. How the knave jowls it to th' ground, as if it 3269were Cain's jawbone, that did the first murder! It 3270might be the pate of a politician, which this ass 3271o'er-offices, one that could circumvent God, might it not?

It might, my lord.

Or of a courtier, which could say, "Good 3274morrow, sweet lord, how dost thou, good lord?" This 3275might be my Lord Such-a-one, that praised my Lord 3276Such-a-one's horse when he meant to beg it, might it not?

Ay, my lord.

Why, e'en so. And now my Lady Worm's, 3279chapless, and knocked about the mazard with a sexton's 3280spade. Here's fine revolution, if we had the trick to 3281see't. Did these bones cost no more the breeding but 3282to play at loggets with 'em? Mine ache to think 3283on't.

There's another. Why might not that be the 3290skull of a lawyer? Where be his quiddits now? His 3291quillets? His cases? His tenures, and his tricks? Why 3292does he suffer this rude knave now to knock him about 3293the sconce with a dirty shovel, and will not tell him of 3294his action of battery? Hum! This fellow might be in's 3295time a great buyer of land, with his statutes, his 3296recognizances, his fines, his double vouchers, his recoveries. 3297 Is this the fine of his fines, and the recovery of his 3298recoveries, to have his fine pate full of fine dirt? Will his 3299vouchers vouch him no more of his purchases, and 3300double ones too, than the length and breadth of a pair of 3301indentures? The very conveyances of his lands will 3302hardly lie in this box, and must the inheritor himself 3303have no 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 that seek out 3308assurance in that. I will speak to this fellow.--Whose grave's 3309this, sir?

Mine, sir.

I think it be thine indeed, for thou liest in't.

You lie out on't, sir, and therefore it is not yours. 3315For my part, I do not lie in't, and yet it is mine.

Thou dost lie in't, to be in't and say 'tis thine. 3317'Tis for the dead, not for the quick; therefore thou 3318liest.

'Tis a quick lie, sir; 'twill away again from me 3320to 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, 3327she's dead.

5.1.643328Hamlet[To Horatio]

How absolute the knave is! We must speak 3329by the card, or equivocation will undo us. By the 3330Lord, Horatio, these three years I have taken note of it, 3331the age is grown so picked that the toe of the peasant 3332comes so near the heels of our courtier he galls his 3333kibe.--How long hast thou been grave-maker?

Of all the days i'th'year, I came to't that day 3335that our last King Hamlet o'ercame Fortinbras.

How long is that since?

Cannot you tell that? Every fool can tell that. 3338It was the very day that young Hamlet was born--he 3339that was mad and sent into England.

Ay, marry, why was he sent into England?

Why, because he was mad. He shall recover his 3342wits there; or if he do not, it's no great matter there.

Why?

'Twill not be seen in him. 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?

Why, here in Denmark. I have been sexton 3352here, man and boy, thirty years.

How long will a man lie i'th'earth ere he rot?

I'faith, if he be not rotten before he die--as we have 3355many pocky corses nowadays that will scarce hold 3356the laying in--he will last you some eight year, 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 3360he will keep out water a great while; and your water 3361is a sore decayer of your whoreson dead body. [He picks up a skull.]Here's a skull 3362now: this skull has lain in the earth three-and-twenty years.

Whose was it?

A whoreson mad fellow's it was. 3365Whose do you think it was?

Nay, I know not.

A pestilence on him for a mad rogue! 'A poured a 3368flagon of Rhenish on my head once. This same skull, 3369sir, this same skull, sir, was Yorick's skull, the King's jester.

This?

E'en that.

Let me see. [He takes the skull.]Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, 3373Horatio, a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. He 3374hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and how 3375abhorred my imagination is! My gorge rises at it. Here 3376hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft.-- 3377Where be your gibes now? Your gambols? Your 3378songs? Your flashes of merriment that were wont to 3379set the table on a roar? No one now to mock your own 3380jeering? Quite chopfall'n? Now get you to my lady's 3381chamber and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this 3382favor she must come. Make her laugh at that. 3383Prithee, Horatio, tell me one thing.

What's that, my lord?

Dost thou think Alexander looked o' this 3386fashion i'th'earth?

E'en so.

And smelt so? Puh!

E'en so, my lord.

To what base uses we may return, Horatio! 3391Why may not imagination trace the noble dust of 3392Alexander till he find it stopping a bunghole?

'Twere to consider too curiously to consider so.

No, faith, not a jot. But to follow him thither 3395with modesty enough, and likelihood to lead it, as thus: 3396Alexander died; Alexander was buried; Alexander 3397returneth into dust; the dust is earth; of earth we make 3398loam, and why of that loam whereto he was 3399converted might they not stop a beer-barrel?

5.1.1013404But soft, but soft, aside! Here comes the King,

5.1.1023407The Queen, the courtiers. Who is that they follow,

5.1.1033408And with such maimèd rites? This doth betoken,

5.1.1043409The corse they follow did with desperate hand

5.1.1053410Fordo it own life. 'Twas some estate.

5.1.1063411Couch we awhile and mark.

What ceremony else?

5.1.1093413Hamlet[To Horatio]

That is Laertes, a very noble youth. Mark.

What ceremony else?

Her obsequies have been as far enlarged

5.1.1113416As we have warrantise. Her death was doubtful,

5.1.1123417And, but that great command o'ersways the order,

5.1.1133418She should in ground unsanctified have lodged

5.1.1143419Till the last trumpet. For charitable prayer,

5.1.1153420Shards, flints, and pebbles should be thrown on her;

5.1.1163421Yet here she is allowed her virgin rites,

5.1.1173422Her maiden strewments, and the bringing home

5.1.1183423Of bell and burial.

Must there no more be done?

Must there no more be done? No more be done.

5.1.1203426We should profane the service of the dead

5.1.1213427To sing sage requiem and such rest to her

5.1.1223428As to peace-parted souls.

As to peace-parted souls. Lay her i'th'earth,

5.1.1233430And from her fair and unpolluted flesh

5.1.1243431May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest,

5.1.1253432A minist'ring angel shall my sister be

5.1.1263433When thou liest howling.

When thou liest howling. 3434Hamlet[To Horatio]

What, the fair Ophelia?

5.1.1273435Queen[Scattering flowers]

Sweets to the sweet! Farewell.

5.1.1283436I hoped thou shouldst have been my Hamlet's wife.

5.1.1293437I thought thy bride-bed to have decked, sweet maid,

5.1.1303438And not t'have strewed thy grave.

And not t'have strewed thy grave. Oh, terrible woe

5.1.1313440Fall ten times treble on that cursèd head

5.1.1323441Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense

5.1.1333442Deprived thee of! Hold off the earth awhile,

5.1.1343443Till I have caught her once more in mine arms.

5.1.1353445Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead,

5.1.1363446Till of this flat a mountain you have made

5.1.1373447To o'ertop old Pelion, or the skyish head

5.1.1383448Of blue Olympus.

Of blue Olympus. 3449Hamlet[Coming forward]

What is he whose griefs

5.1.1393450Bears such an emphasis, whose phrase of sorrow

5.1.1403451Conjure[s] the wand'ring stars, and makes them stand

5.1.1413452Like wonder-wounded hearers? This is I,

5.1.1423453Hamlet the Dane.

5.1.1433454Laertes[Grappling with Hamlet]The devil take thy soul!

Thou pray'st not well.

5.1.145I prithee take thy fingers from my throat.

5.1.1463457Sir, though I am not splenative and rash,

5.1.1473458Yet have I something in me dangerous,

5.1.1483459Which let thy wiseness fear. Away thy hand!

Pluck them asunder.

Hamlet, Hamlet!

Good my lord, be quiet.

Why, I will fight with him upon this theme

5.1.1533464Until my eyelids will no longer wag.

Oh, my son, what theme?

I loved Ophelia. Forty thousand brothers

5.1.1563467Could not, with all their quantity of love,

5.1.1573468Make up my sum. What wilt thou do for her?

Oh, he is mad, Laertes.

For love of God, forbear him.

Come, show me what thou'lt do.

5.1.1613472Woo't weep? Woo't fight? Woo't tear thyself?

5.1.1623473Woo't drink up eisil? Eat a crocodile?

5.1.1633474I'll do't. Dost thou come here to whine?

5.1.1643475To outface me with leaping in her grave?

5.1.1653476Be buried quick with her, and so will I.

5.1.1663477And if thou prate of mountains, let them throw

5.1.1673478Millions of acres on us, till our ground,

5.1.1683479Singeing his pate against the burning zone,

5.1.1693480Make Ossa like a wart. Nay, an thou'lt mouth,

5.1.1703481I'll rant as well as thou.

I'll rant as well as thou. This is mere madness,

5.1.1713483And thus awhile the fit will work on him;

5.1.1723484Anon, as patient as the female dove

5.1.1733485When that her golden couplet are disclosed,

5.1.1743486His silence will sit drooping.

His silence will sit drooping. 3487Hamlet[To Laertes]Hear you, sir:

5.1.1753488What is the reason that you use me thus?

5.1.1763489I loved you ever. But it is no matter.

5.1.1773490Let Hercules himself do what he may,

5.1.1783491The cat will mew, and dog will have his day.

I pray you, good Horatio, wait upon him.

5.1.1803493[Aside to Laertes] Strengthen then you[r] patience in our last night's speech;

5.1.1813494We'll put the matter to the present push.--

5.1.1823495Good Gertrude, set some watch over your son.--

5.1.1833496This grave shall have a living monument.

5.1.1843497An hour of quiet shortly shall we see;

5.1.1853498Till then, in patience our proceeding be.