Horatio.

And then it started, like a guilty thing
Upon a fearful summons. I have heard,
The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn,
Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat
Awake the god of day; and, at his warning,
Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air,
The extravagant and erring spirit hies
To his confine.

Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comes
Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,
This bird of dawning singeth all night long :
And then, they say, no spirit can walk abroad;
The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike;
No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm ;
So hallowed and so gracious is the time.
But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad,
Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill.
Break we our watch up: and, by my advice,
Let us impart what we have seen to-night
Unto young Hamlet; for, upon my life,
This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him.

[Exeunt c.

Scene Second.

{

ELSINORE. A ROOM OF STATE IN THE
CASTLE.

[Enter the King, Queen, Polonius, Laertes, Lords,
and Attendants.

King.

Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death
The memory be green; and that it us befitted
To bear our hearts in grief, and our whole kingdom
To be contracted in one brow of woe;
Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature,
That we with wisest sorrow think on him,
Together with remembrance of ourselves.

Therefore, our sometime sister, now our queen,
The imperial jointress of this warlike state,
Have we, as 't were with a defeated joy,-
Taken to wife: nor have we herein barred
Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone
With this affair along :- for all, our thanks.
And now, Laertes, what's the news with you ?

[Laertes kneels

You told us of some suit; what is 't, Laertes ?

You cannot speak of reason to the Dane,

And lose your voice: what wouldst thou beg, Laertes,

That shall not be my offer, not thy asking ?

The head is not more native to the heart,

The hand more instrumental to the mouth,
Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father.

What wouldst thou have, Laertes ?

Dread my lord,

Laer.

Your leave and favor to return to France;

From whence though willingly I came to Denmark,

To show my duty in your coronation ;

Yet now, I must confess, that duty done,

My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France,

And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon.

King.

Have you your father's leave? What says Polonius ?

Pol.

He hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow leave
By laboursome petition; and, at last,
Upon his will I sealed my hard consent :
I do beseech you, give him leave to go.

King.

Take thy fair hour, Laertes; time be thine,
And thy best graces spend it at thy will! -

[Enter Hamlet c.

But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son,

A little more than kin and less than kind.

King.

How is it that the clouds still hang on you ?

Hamlet.

Not so, my lord; I am too much i' the sun.

[The King, Polonius, and Laertes retire R.

Queen.

Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off,

And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark.

Do not forever with thy vailed lids

Seek for thy noble father in the dust :

Thou know'st 't is common, - all that live must die,

Passing through nature to eternity.

Hamlet.

Ay, madam, it is common.

Queen.

If it be,

Why seems it so particular with thee ?

Hamlet.

Seems, madam! nay, it is; I know not seems.
'T is not alone my inky cloak, good mother,
Nor customary suits of solemn black,
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,
Nor the dejected haviour of the visage,
Together with all forms, modes, shows of grief,
That can denote me truly: these, indeed, seem,
For they are actions that a man might play:
But I have that within which passeth show;
These but the trappings and the suits of woe.

[Exit Laertes, leaving the King and Polonius.
The King advances.

King.

'T is sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet, To give these mourning duties to your father:

But, you must know, your father lost a father;

That father lost, lost his; and the survivor bound,

In filial obligation, for some term

To do obsequious sorrow; but to perséver

In obstinate condolement, is a course

Of impious stubbornness; 't is unmanly grief:

It shows a will most incorrect to heaven.

We pray you, throw to earth

This unprevailing woe; and think of us
As of a father: for let the world take note,
You are the most immediate to our throne;
Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son.

Queen.

Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet:
I pray thee, stay with us; go not to Wittenberg.

Hamlet.

I shall in all my best obey you, madam.

King.

Why, 't is a loving and a fair reply:

Be as ourself in Denmark. Madam, come.

[Polonius advances to R. I. E.

This gentle and unforced accord of Hamlet

Sits smiling to my heart: in grace whereof,

No jocund health that Denmark drinks to-day,

But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell;

And the king's rouse the heavens shall bruit again,

Re-speaking earthly thunder.

[March. Exeunt all except Hamiet

Hamlet.

O, that this too, too solid flesh would melt,

Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew!

Or that the Everlasting had not fixed

His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God!

How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable
Seem to me all the uses of this world!

Fie on't! O, fie! 't is an unweeded garden,
That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature
Possess it merely. That it should come to this!
But two months dead! - nay, not so much, not two:
So excellent a king; that was, to this,
Hyperion to a satyr: so loving to my mother,
That he might not beteem the winds of heaven
Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth!
Must I remember? why, she would hang on him,
As if increase of appetite had grown

By what it fed on: and yet, within a month,—
Let me not think on 't;- Frailty, thy name is woman!--
A little month; or ere those shoes were old
With which she followed my poor father's body,
Like Niobe, all tears; - why she, even she,
O God! a beast, that wants discourse of reason,
Would have mourned longer,- married with my uncle;
My father's brother; but no more like my father
Than I to Hercules.

It is not, nor it cannot come to, good:

But break, my heart, -for I must hold my tongue!

[Enter Horatio, Marcellus, and Bernardo C.

Horatio.

Hail to your lordship! I am glad to see you well :

Hamlet.

Horatio, or I do forget myself.

Horatio.

The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever.

Hamlet.

Sir, my good friend; I'll change that name with you:
And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio ?-
Marcellus?

My good lord,

Mar.