You do not understand yourself so clearly
As it behooves my daughter and your honour.
What is between you? give me up the truth.
Oph.
He hath, my lord, of late made many tenders
Of his affection to me.
Pol.
Affection! pooh! you speak like a green girl,
Unsifted in such perilous circumstance.
Do you believe his tenders, as you call them?
Oph.
I do not know, my lord, what I should think.
Pol.
Marry, I'll teach you: think yourself a baby;
That you have ta'en these tenders for true pay,
Which are not sterling. Tender yourself more dearly;
Or,--not to crack the wind of the poor phrase,
Wronging it thus,--you'll tender me a fool.
Oph.
My lord, he hath importun'd me with love
In honourable fashion.
Pol.
Ay, fashion you may call it; go to, go to.
Oph.
And hath given countenance to his speech, my lord,
With almost all the holy vows of heaven.
Pol.
Ay, springes to catch woodcocks. I do know,
When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul
Lends the tongue vows: these blazes, daughter,
Giving more light than heat,--extinct in both,
Even in their promise, as it is a-making,--
You must not take for fire. From this time
Be something scanter of your maiden presence;
Set your entreatments at a higher rate
Than a command to parley. For Lord Hamlet,
Believe so much in him, that he is young;
And with a larger tether may he walk
Than may be given you: in few, Ophelia,
Do not believe his vows; for they are brokers,--
Not of that dye which their investments show,
But mere implorators of unholy suits,
Breathing like sanctified and pious bawds,
The better to beguile. This is for all,--
I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth
Have you so slander any moment leisure
As to give words or talk with the Lord Hamlet.
Look to't, I charge you; come your ways.
Oph.
I shall obey, my lord.
[Exeunt.]
Scene IV. The platform.
[ Enter Hamlet, Horatio, and Marcellus.]
Ham.
The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold.
Hor.
It is a nipping and an eager air.
Ham.
What hour now?
Hor.
I think it lacks of twelve.
Mar.
No, it is struck.
Hor.
Indeed? I heard it not: then draws near the season
Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk.
[A flourish of trumpets, and ordnance shot off within.]
What does this mean, my lord?
Ham.
The King doth wake to-night and takes his rouse,
Keeps wassail, and the swaggering up-spring reels;
And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down,
The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out
The triumph of his pledge.
Hor.
Is it a custom?
Ham.
Ay, marry, is't;
But to my mind,--though I am native here,
And to the manner born,--it is a custom
More honour'd in the breach than the observance.
This heavy-headed revel east and west
Makes us traduc'd and tax'd of other nations:
They clepe us drunkards, and with swinish phrase
Soil our addition; and, indeed, it takes
From our achievements, though perform'd at height,
The pith and marrow of our attribute.
So oft it chances in particular men
That, for some vicious mole of nature in them,
As in their birth,--wherein they are not guilty,
Since nature cannot choose his origin,--
By the o'ergrowth of some complexion,
Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason;
Or by some habit, that too much o'er-leavens
The form of plausive manners;--that these men,--
Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect,
Being nature's livery, or fortune's star,--
Their virtues else,--be they as pure as grace,
As infinite as man may undergo,--
Shall in the general censure take corruption
From that particular fault: the dram of eale
Doth all the noble substance often doubt
To his own scandal.
Hor.
Look, my lord, it comes!
[Enter Ghost.]
Ham.
Angels and ministers of grace defend us!--
Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn'd,
Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell,
Be thy intents wicked or charitable,
Thou com'st in such a questionable shape
That I will speak to thee: I'll call thee Hamlet,
King, father, royal Dane; O, answer me!
Let me not burst in ignorance; but tell
Why thy canoniz'd bones, hearsed in death,
Have burst their cerements; why the sepulchre,
Wherein we saw thee quietly in-urn'd,
Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws
To cast thee up again! What may this mean,
That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel,
Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon,
Making night hideous, and we fools of nature
So horridly to shake our disposition
With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?
Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we do?
[Ghost beckons Hamlet.]
Hor.
It beckons you to go away with it,
As if it some impartment did desire
To you alone.
Mar.
Look with what courteous action
It waves you to a more removed ground:
But do not go with it!
Hor.
No, by no means.
Ham.
It will not speak; then will I follow it.
Hor.
Do not, my lord.
Ham.
Why, what should be the fear?
I do not set my life at a pin's fee;
And for my soul, what can it do to that,
Being a thing immortal as itself?
It waves me forth again;--I'll follow it.
Hor.
What if it tempt you toward the flood, my lord,
Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff
That beetles o'er his base into the sea,
And there assume some other horrible form
Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason,
And draw you into madness? think of it:
The very place puts toys of desperation,
Without more motive, into every brain
That looks so many fadoms to the sea
And hears it roar beneath.
Ham.
It waves me still.--
Go on; I'll follow thee.
Mar.
You shall not go, my lord.
Ham.
Hold off your hands.
Hor.
Be rul'd; you shall not go.
Ham.
My fate cries out,
And makes each petty artery in this body
As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve.--
[Ghost beckons.]
Still am I call'd;--unhand me, gentlemen;--
[Breaking free from them.]
By heaven, I'll make a
ghost of him that lets me!--
I say, away!--Go on; I'll follow thee.
[Exeunt Ghost and Hamlet.]
Hor.
He waxes desperate with imagination.
Mar.
Let's follow; 'tis not fit thus to obey him.
Hor.
Have after.--To what issue will this come?
Mar.
Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.
Hor.
Heaven will direct it.
Mar.
Nay, let's follow him.
[Exeunt.]
Scene V. A more remote part of the Castle.
[ Enter Ghost and Hamlet.]
Ham.
Whither wilt thou lead me? speak! I'll go no further.
Ghost.
Mark me.
Ham.
I will.
Ghost.
My hour is almost come,
When I to sulph'uous and tormenting flames
Must render up myself.
Ham.
Alas, poor ghost!
Ghost.
Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing
To what I shall unfold.
Ham.
Speak; I am bound to hear.
Ghost.
So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear.
Ham.
What?
Ghost.
I am thy father's spirit;
Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night,
And for the day confin'd to wastein fires,
Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature
Are burnt and purg'd away. But that I am forbid
To tell the secrets of my prison-house,
I could a tale unfold whose lightest word
Would harrow up thy soul; freeze thy young blood;
Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres;
Thy knotted and combined locks to part,
And each particular hair to stand on end
Like quills upon the fretful porcupine:
But this eternal blazon must not be
To ears of flesh and blood.--List, list, O, list!--
If thou didst ever thy dear father love--
Ham.
O God!
Ghost.
Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder.
Ham.
Murder!
Ghost.
Murder most foul, as in the best it is;
But this most foul, strange, and unnatural.
Ham.
Haste me to know't, that I, with wings as swift
As meditation or the thoughts of love,
May sweep to my revenge.
Ghost.
I find thee apt;
And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed
That rots itself in ease on Lethe wharf,
Wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear.
'Tis given out that, sleeping in my orchard,
A serpent stung me; so the whole ear of Denmark
Is by a forged process of my death
Rankly abus'd; but know, thou noble youth,
The serpent that did sting thy father's life
Now wears his crown.
Ham.
O my prophetic soul!
Mine uncle!
Ghost.
Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast,
With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts,--
O wicked wit and gifts, that have the power
So to seduce!--won to his shameful lust
The will of my most seeming-virtuous queen:
O Hamlet, what a falling-off was there!
From me, whose love was of that dignity
That it went hand in hand even with the vow
I made to her in marriage; and to decline
Upon a wretch whose natural gifts were poor
To those of mine!
But virtue, as it never will be mov'd,
Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven;
So lust, though to a radiant angel link'd,
Will sate itself in a celestial bed
And prey on garbage.
But soft! methinks I scent the morning air;
Brief let me be.--Sleeping within my orchard,
My custom always of the afternoon,
Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole,
With juice of cursed hebenon in a vial,
And in the porches of my ears did pour
The leperous distilment; whose effect
Holds such an enmity with blood of man
That, swift as quicksilver, it courses through
The natural gates and alleys of the body;
And with a sudden vigour it doth posset
And curd, like eager droppings into milk,
The thin and wholesome blood; so did it mine;
And a most instant tetter bark'd about,
Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust
All my smooth body.
Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand,
Of life, of crown, of queen, at once dispatch'd:
Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin,
Unhous'led, disappointed, unanel'd;
No reckoning made, but sent to my account
With all my imperfections on my head:
O, horrible! O, horrible! most horrible!
If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not;
Let not the royal bed of Denmark be
A couch for luxury and damned incest.
But, howsoever thou pursu'st this act,
Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive
Against thy mother aught: leave her to heaven,
And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge,
To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once!
The glowworm shows the matin to be near,
And 'gins to pale his uneffectual fire:
Adieu, adieu! Hamlet, remember me.
[Exit.]
Ham.
O all you host of heaven! O earth! what else?
And shall I couple hell? O, fie!--Hold, my heart;
And you, my sinews, grow not instant old,
But bear me stiffly up.--Remember thee!
Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat
In this distracted globe. Remember thee!
Yea, from the table of my memory
I'll wipe away all trivial fond records,
All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past,
That youth and observation copied there;
And thy commandment all alone shall live
Within the book and volume of my brain,
Unmix'd with baser matter: yes, by heaven!--
O most pernicious woman!
O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain!
My tables,--meet it is I set it down,
That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain;
At least, I am sure, it may be so in Denmark:
[Writing.]
So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word;
It is 'Adieu, adieu! remember me:'
I have sworn't.
Hor.
[Within.] My lord, my lord,--
Mar.
[Within.] Lord Hamlet,--
Hor.
[Within.] Heaven secure him!
Ham.
So be it!
Mar.
[Within.] Illo, ho, ho, my lord!
Ham.
Hillo, ho, ho, boy! Come, bird, come.
[Enter Horatio and Marcellus.]
Mar.
How is't, my noble lord?
Hor.
What news, my lord?
Ham.
O, wonderful!
Hor.
Good my lord, tell it.
Ham.
No; you'll reveal it.
Hor.
Not I, my lord, by heaven.
Mar.
Nor I, my lord.
Ham.
How say you then; would heart of man once think it?--
But you'll be secret?
Hor. and Mar.
Ay, by heaven, my lord.
Ham.
There's ne'er a villain dwelling in all Denmark
But he's an arrant knave.
Hor.
There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave
To tell us this.
Ham.
Why, right; you are i' the right;
And so, without more circumstance at all,
I hold it fit that we shake hands and part:
You, as your business and desires shall point you,--
For every man hath business and desire,
Such as it is;--and for my own poor part,
Look you, I'll go pray.
Hor.
These are but wild and whirling words, my lord.
Ham.
I'm sorry they offend you, heartily;
Yes, faith, heartily.
Hor.
There's no offence, my lord.
Ham.
Yes, by Saint Patrick, but there is, Horatio,
And much offence too. Touching this vision here,--
It is an honest ghost, that let me tell you:
For your desire to know what is between us,
O'ermaster't as you may. And now, good friends,
As you are friends, scholars, and soldiers,
Give me one poor request.
Hor.
What is't, my lord? we will.
Ham.
Never make known what you have seen to-night.
Hor. and Mar.
My lord, we will not.
Hamlet, Prince of Denmark (Collins edition) Page 3