Enter two Clownes.

Is she to bee buried in Christian buriall,

that wilfully seekes her owne saluation?

I tell thee she is, and therefore make her

Graue straight, the Crowner hath sate on her, and finds

it Christian buriall.

How can that be, vnlesse she drowned

her selfe in her owne defence?

Why 'tis found so.

It must be Se offendendo, it cannot bee else:

for heere lies the point; If I drowne my selfe wittingly, it

argues an Act: and an Act hath three branches. It is an

Act to doe and to performe; argall she drown'd her selfe

wittingly.

Nay but heare you Goodman Deluer.

Giue me leaue; heere lies the water; good:

heere stands the man; good: If the man goe to this water

and drowne himsele; it is will he nill he, he goes; marke

you that? But if the water come to him & drowne him;

hee drownes not himselfe. Argall, hee that is not guilty of

his owne death, shortens not his owne life.

But is this law?

I marry is't, Crowners Quest Law.

Will you ha the truth on't: if this had

not beene a Gentlewoman, shee should haue beene buried

out of Christian Buriall.

Why there thou say'st. And the more pitty

that great folke should haue countenance in this world to

drowne or hang themselues, more then their euen Christian.

Come, my Spade; there is no ancient Gentlemen,

but Gardiners, Ditchers and Graue-makers; they

hold vp Adams Profession.

Was he a Gentleman?

He was the first that euer bore Armes.

Why he had none.

What, ar't a Heathen? how dost thou

vnderstand the Scripture? the Scripture sayes Adam

dig'd; could hee digge without Armes? Ile put another

question to thee; if thou answerest me not to the purpose,

confesse thy selfe---

Go too.

What is he that builds stronger then

either the Mason, the Shipwright, or the Carpenter?

The Gallowes maker; for that Frame

outliues a thousand Tenants.

I like thy wit well in good faith, the

Gallowes does well; but how does it well? it does well to

those that doe ill: now, thou dost ill to say the Gallowes is

built stronger then the Church: Argall, the Gallowes may

doe well to thee. Too't againe, Come.

Who builds stronger then a Mason, a

Shipwright, or a Carpenter?

I, tell me that, and vnyoake.

Marry, now I can tell.

Too't.

Masse, I cannot tell. Enter Hamlet and Horatio a farre off.

Cudgell thy braines no more about it; for

your dull Asse will not mend his pace with beating; and

when you are ask't this question next, say a Graue-maker:

the Houses that he makes, lasts till Doomesday: go,

get thee to Yaughan, fetch me a stoupe of Liquor.

Sings. In youth when I did loue, did loue,

To contract O the time for a my behoue,

O me thought there was nothing meete.

Ha's this fellow no feeling of his businesse, that he

sings at Graue-making?

Custome hath made it in him a property of

easinesse.

'Tis ee'n so; the hand of little Imployment

hath the daintier sense.

sings.

And hath shipped me intill the Land,

as if I had neuer beene such.

That Scull had a tongue in it, and could sing

once: how the knaue iowles it to th' grownd, as if it were

Caines Iaw-bone, that did the first murther: It might be

the Pate of a Polititian which this Asse o're Offices:

one that could circumuent God, might it not?

It might, my Lord.

Or of a Courtier, which could say, Good Morrow

sweet Lord: how dost thou, good Lord? this

might be my Lord such a one, that prais'd my Lord

such a ones Horse, when he meant to begge it; might it

not?

I, my Lord.

Why ee'n so: and now my Lady Wormes, Chaplesse,

and knockt about the Mazard with a Sextons

Spade; heere's fine Reuolution, if wee had the tricke to

see't. Did these bones cost no more the breeding, but

to play at Loggets with 'em? mine ake to thinke on't.

sings.

A Pickhaxe and a Spade, a Spade,

O a Pit of Clay for to be made,

for such a Guest is meete.

There's another: why might not that bee the Scull

of a Lawyer? where be his Quiddits now? his Quillets?

his Cases? his Tenures, and his Tricks? why doe's he

suffer this rude knaue now to knocke him about the

Sconce with a dirty Shouell, and will not tell him of his

Action of Battery? hum. This fellow might be in's

time a great buyer of Land, with his Statutes, his Recognizances,

his Fines, his double Vouchers, his Recoueries:

Is this the fine of his Fines, and the recouery of his

Recoueries, to haue his fine Pate full of fine Dirt? will

his Vouchers vouch him no more of his Purchases, and

double ones too, then the length and breadth of a paire

of Indentures? the very Conueyances of his Lands will

hardly lye in this Boxe; and must the Inheritor himselfe

haue no more? ha?

Not a iot more, my Lord.

Is not Parchment made of Sheep-skinnes?

I my Lord, and of Calue-skinnes too.

They are Sheepe and Calues that seek out assurance

in that. I will speake to this fellow: whose

Graue's this Sir?

Mine Sir:

O a Pit of Clay for to be made,

for such a Guest is meete.

I thinke it be thine indeed: for thou liest in't.

You lye out on't Sir, and therefore it is

not yours: for my part, I doe not lye in't; and yet it is mine.

Thou dost lye in't, to be in't and say 'tis thine:

'tis for the dead, not for the quicke, therefore thou

lyest.

'Tis a quicke lye Sir, 'twill away againe

from me to you.

What man dost thou digge 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

Soule, shee's dead.

How absolute the knaue is? wee must speake by

the Carde, or equiuocation will vndoe vs: by the Lord

Horatio, these three yeares I haue taken note of it, the Age

is growne so picked, that the toe of the Pesant comes so

neere the heeles of our Courtier, hee galls his Kibe. How

long hast thou been a Graue-maker?

Of all the dayes i'th' yeare, I came too't that

day that our last King Hamlet o'recame Fortinbras.

How long is that since?

Cannot you tell that? euery foole can tell

that: It was the very day, that young Hamlet was borne,

hee that was mad, and sent into England.

I marry, why was he sent into England?

Why, because he was mad; hee shall recouer

his wits there; or if he do not, it's no great matter

there.

Why?

'Twill not be seene in him, there

the men are as mad as he.

How came he mad?

Very strangely they say.

How strangely?

Faith e'ene with loosing his wits.

Vpon what ground?

Why heere in Denmarke: I haue bin

sixeteene heere, man and Boy thirty yeares.

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

Ifaith, if he be not rotten before he die (as

we haue many pocky Coarses now adaies, that will scarce

hold the laying in) he will last you some eight yeare, or

nine yeare. A Tanner will last you nine yeare.

Why he, more then another?

Why sir, his hide is so tan'd with his

Trade, that he will keepe out water a great while. And your

water, is a sore Decayer of your horson dead body.

Heres a Scull now: this Scul, has laine in the earth three & twenty

years.

Whose was it?

A whoreson mad Fellowes it was; / Whose

doe you thinke it was?

Nay, I know not.

A pestlence on him for a mad Rogue,

a pou'rd a Flaggon of Renish on my head once. This

same Scull Sir, this same Scull sir, was Yoricks Scull, the Kings Iester.

This?

E'ene that.

Let me see. Alas poore Yorick, I knew him

Horatio, a fellow of infinite Iest; of most excellent fancy,

he hath borne me on his backe a thousand times: And

how abhorred my Imagination is, my gorge

rises at it. Heere hung those lipps, that I haue kist I

know not how oft. Where be your Iibes now? Your

Gambals? Your Songs? Your flashes of Merriment that

were wont to set the Table on a Rore? No one now to

mock your own Ieering? Quite chopfalne? Now get

you to my Ladies Chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch

thicke, to this fauour she must come. Make her laugh at

that: prythee Horatio tell me one thing.

What's that my Lord?

Dost thou thinke Alexander lookt o'this fashion

i'th' earth?

E'ene so.

And smelt so? Puh.

E'ene so, my Lord.

To what base vses we may returne Horatio. Why

may not Imagination trace the Noble dust of Alexander,

till he find it stopping a bunghole.

'Twere to consider: to curiously to consider so.

No faith, not a iot. But to follow him thether

with modestie enough, & likeliehood to lead it; as thus.

Alexander died: Alexander was buried: Alexander

returneth into dust; the dust is earth; of earth we make

Lome, and why of that Lome (whereto he was conuerted)

might they not stopp a Beere-barrell?

Imperiall Casar, dead and turn'd to clay,

Might stop a hole to keepe the winde away.

Oh, that that earth, which kept the world in awe,

Should patch a Wall, t'expell the winters flaw.

But soft, but soft, aside;

Enter King, Queene, Laertes, and a Coffin,

with Lords attendant.

heere comes the King.

The Queene, the Courtiers. Who is that they follow,

And with such maimed rites? This doth betoken,

The Coarse they follow, did with disperate hand,

Fore do it owne life; 'twas some Estate.

Couch we a while, and mark.

What Cerimony else?

That is Laertes, a very Noble youth: Marke.

What Cerimony else?

Her Obsequies haue bin as farre inlarg'd.

As we haue warrantis, her death was doubtfull,

And but that great Command, o're-swaies the order,

She should in ground vnsanctified haue lodg'd,

Till the last Trumpet. For charitable praier,

Shardes, Flints, and Peebles, should be throwne on her:

Yet heere she is allowed her Virgin Rites,

Her Maiden strewments, and the bringing home

Of Bell and Buriall.

Must there no more be done?

No more be done:

We should prophane the seruice of the dead,

To sing sage Requiem, and such rest to her

As to peace-parted Soules.

Lay her i'th' earth,

And from her faire and vnpolluted flesh,

May Violets spring. I tell thee (churlish Priest)

A Ministring Angell shall my Sister be,

When thou liest howling?

What, the faire Ophelia?

Sweets, to the sweet farewell.

I hop'd thou should'st haue bin my Hamlets wife:

I thought thy Bride-bed to haue deckt (sweet Maid)

And not t'haue strew'd thy Graue.

Oh terrible woer,

Fall ten times trebble, on that cursed head

Whose wicked deed, thy most Ingenious sence

Depriu'd thee of. Hold off the earth a while,

Till I haue caught her once more in mine armes:

Leaps in the graue.

Now pile your dust, vpon the quicke, and dead,

Till of this flat a Mountaine you haue made,

To o're top old Pelion, or the skyish head

Of blew Olympus.

What is he, whose griefes

Beares such an Emphasis? whose phrase of Sorrow

Coniure the wandring Starres, and makes them stand

Like wonder-wounded hearers? This is I,

Hamlet the Dane.

The deuill take thy soule.

Thou prai'st not well,

I prythee take thy fingers from my throat;

Sir though I am not Spleenatiue, and rash,

Yet haue I something in me dangerous,

Which let thy wisenesse feare. Away thy hand.

Pluck them asunder.

Hamlet, Hamlet.

Good my Lord be quiet.

Why I will fight with him vppon this Theme.

Vntill my eielids will no longer wag.

Oh my Sonne, what Theame?

I lou'd Ophelia; fortie thousand Brothers

Could not (with all there quantitie of Loue)

Make vp my summe. What wilt thou do for her?

Oh he is mad Laertes,

For loue of God forbeare him.

Come show me what thou'lt doe.

Woo't weepe? Woo't fight? Woo't teare thy selfe?

Woo't drinke vp Esile, eate a Crocodile?

Ile doo't. Dost thou come heere to whine;

To outface me with leaping in her Graue?

Be buried quicke with her, and so will I.

And if thou prate of Mountaines; let them throw

Millions of Akers on vs; till our ground

Sindging his pate against the burning Zone,

Make Ossa like a wart. Nay, and thoul't mouth,

Ile rant as well as thou.

This is meere Madnesse:

And thus awhile the fit will worke on him:

Anon as patient as the female Doue,

When that her golden Cuplet are disclos'd;

His silence will sit drooping.

Heare you Sir:

What is the reason that you vse me thus?

I loud' you euer; but it is no matter:

Let Hercules himselfe doe what he may,

The Cat will Mew, and Dogge will haue his day.

I pray you good Horatio wait vpon him,

Exit.

Strengthen you patience in our last nights speech,

Wee'l put the matter to the present push:

Good Gertrude set some watch ouer your Sonne,

This Graue shall haue a liuing Monument:

An houre of quiet shortly shall we see;

Till then, in patience our proceeding be.

Exeunt.

Enter Hamlet and Horatio.

So much for this Sir; now let me see the other,

You doe remember all the Circumstance.

Remember it my Lord?

Sir, in my heart there was a kinde of fighting,

That would not let me sleepe; me thought I lay

Worse then the mutines in the Bilboes, rashly,

(And praise be rashnesse for it) let vs know,

Our indiscretion sometimes serues vs well,

When our deare plots do paule, and that should teach vs,

There's a Diuinity that shapes our ends,

Rough-hew them how we will.

That is most certaine.

Vp from my Cabin

My sea-gowne scarft about me in the darke,

Grop'd I to finde out them; had my desire,

Finger'd their Packet, and in fine, withdrew

To mine owne roome againe, making so bold,

(My feares forgetting manners) to vnseale

Their grand Commission, where I found Horatio,

Oh royall knauery: An exact command,

Larded with many seuerall sorts of reason;

Importing Denmarks health, and Englands too,

With hoo, such Bugges and Goblins in my life,

That on the superuize no leasure bated,

No not to stay the grinding of the Axe,

My head shoud be struck off.

Ist possible?

Here's the Commission, read it at more leysure:

But wilt thou heare me how I did proceed?

I beseech you.

Being thus benetted round with Villaines,

Ere I could make a Prologue to my braines,

They had begun the Play. I sate me downe,

Deuis'd a new Commission, wrote it faire,

I once did hold it as our Statists doe,

A basenesse to write faire; and laboured much

How to forget that learning: but Sir now,

It did me Yeomans seruice: wilt thou know

The effects of what I wrote?

I, good my Lord.

An earnest Coniuration from the King,

As England was his faithfull Tributary,

As loue betweene them, as the Palme should flourish,

As Peace should still her wheaten Garland weare,

And stand a Comma 'tweene their amities,

And many such like Assis of great charge,

That on the view and know of these Contents,

Without debatement further, more or lesse,

He should the bearers put to sodaine death,

Not shriuing time allowed.

How was this seal'd?

Why, euen in that was Heauen ordinate;

I had my fathers Signet in my Purse,

Which was the Modell of that Danish Seale:

Folded the Writ vp in forme of the other,

Subscrib'd it, gau't th' impression, plac't it safely,

The changeling neuer knowne: Now, the next day

Was our Sea Fight, and what to this was sement,

Thou know'st already.

So Guildensterne and Rosincrance, go too't.

Why man, they did make loue to this imployment

They are not neere my Conscience; their debate

Doth by their owne insinuation grow:

'Tis dangerous, when the baser nature comes

Betweene the passe, and fell incensed points

Of mighty opposites.

Why, what a King is this?

Does it not, thinkst thee, stand me now vpon

He that bath kil'd my King, and whor'd my Mother,

Popt in betweene th'election and my hopes,

Throwne out his Angle for my proper life,

And with such coozenage; is't not perfect conscience,

To quit him with this arme? And is't not to be damn'd

To let this Canker of our nature come

In further euill.

It must be shortly knowne to him from England

What is the issue of the businesse there.

It will be short, / The interim's mine,

and a mans life's no more / Then to say one:

but I am very sorry good Horatio,

That to Laertes I forgot my selfe;

For by the image of my Cause, I see

The Portraiture of his; Ile count his fauours:

But sure the brauery of his griefe did put me

Into a Towring passion.

Peace, who comes heere?

Enter young Osricke.

Your Lordship is right welcome back to Den-marke.

I humbly thank you Sir, dost

know this waterflie?

No my good Lord.

Thy state is the more gracious;

for 'tis a vice to know him: he hath much Land, and

fertile; let a Beast be Lord of Beasts, and his Crib shall

stand at the Kings Messe; 'tis a Chowgh; but as I saw

spacious in the possession of dirt.

Sweet Lord, if your friendship were at leysure, I

should impart a thing to you from his Maiesty.

I will receiue it with all diligence of spirit;

put your Bonet to his right vse, 'tis for the head.

I thanke your Lordship, 'tis very hot.

No, beleeue mee 'tis very cold, the winde is

Northerly.

It is indifferent cold my Lord indeed.

Mee thinkes it is very soultry, and hot for my

Complexion.

Exceedingly, my Lord, it is very soultry, as 'twere

I cannot tell how: but my Lord, his Maiesty bad me

signifie to you, that he ha's laid a great wager on your head:

Sir, this is the matter.

I beseech you remember.

Nay, in good faith, for mine ease in good faith:

Sir, you are not ignorant of what excellence Laertes

is

at his weapon.

What's his weapon?

Rapier and dagger.

That's two of his weapons; but well.

The sir King ha's wag'd with him six Barbary

Horses, against the which he impon'd as I take it,

sixe French Rapiers and Poniards, with their assignes, as

Girdle, Hangers or so: three of the Carriages infaith

are very deare to fancy, very responsiue to the hilts, most

delicate carriages, and of very liberall conceit.

What call you the Carriages?

The Carriages Sir, are the hangers.

The phrase would bee more Germaine to the

matter: If we could carry Cannon by our sides; I would

it might be Hangers till then; but on sixe Barbary

Horses against sixe French Swords: their Assignes, and

three liberall conceited Carriages, that's the French but

against the Danish; why is this impon'd as you

call it?

The King Sir, hath laid that in a dozen

passes betweene you and him, hee shall not exceed you

three hits; He hath one twelue for mine, and that would

come to imediate tryall, if your Lordship would vouchsafe

the Answere.

How if I answere no?

I meane my Lord, the opposition of your person

in tryall.

Sir, I will walke heere in the Hall; if it please his

Maiestie, 'tis the breathing time of day with me; let the

Foyles bee brought, the Gentleman willing, and the King

hold his purpose; I will win for him if I can: if not, Ile

gaine nothing but my shame, and the odde hits.

Shall I redeliuer you ee'n so?

To this effect Sir, after what flourish your

nature will.

I commend my duty to your Lordship.

Yours, yours;

hee does well to commend it himselfe, there are no

tongues else for's tongue.

This Lapwing runs away with the shell on his

head.

He did Complie with his Dugge before hee suck't

it: thus had he and mine more of the same Beauy that I

know the drossie age dotes on; only got the tune of the

time, and outward habite of encounter, a kinde of yesty

collection, which carries them through & through the

most fond and winnowed opinions; and doe but blow

them to their tryalls: the Bubbles are out.

You will lose this wager, my Lord.

I doe not thinke so, since he went into France, I

haue beene in continuall practice; I shall winne at the oddes:

but thou wouldest not thinke how all heere about my

heart: but it is no matter.

Nay, good my Lord.

It is but foolery; but it is such a kinde of gain-giuing

as would perhaps trouble a woman.

If your minde dislike any thing, obey. I will

forestall their repaire hither, and say you are not fit.

Not a whit, we defie Augury; there's a speciall

Prouidence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, 'tis not

to come: if it bee not to come, it will bee now: if it be not

now; yet it will come; the readinesse is all, since no man

ha's ought of what he leaues. What is't to leaue betimes?

with other Attendants with Foyles, and Gauntlets,

a Table and Flagons of Wine on it.

Come Hamlet, come, and take this hand from me.

Giue me your pardon Sir, I'ue done you wrong,

But pardon't as you are a Gentleman.

This presence knowes, / And you must needs haue heard

how I am punisht / With sore distraction?

What I haue done / That might your nature honour, and exception

Roughly awake, I heere proclaime was madnesse:

Was't Hamlet wrong'd Laertes? Neuer Hamlet.

If Hamlet from himselfe be tane away:

And when he's not himselfe, do's wrong Laertes,

Then Hamlet does it not, Hamlet denies it:

Who does it then? His Madnesse? If't be so,

Hamlet is of the Faction that is wrong'd,

His madnesse is poore Hamlets Enemy.

Sir, in this Audience,

Let my disclaiming from a purpos'd euill,

Free me so farre in your most generous thoughts,

That I haue shot mine Arrow o're the house,

And hurt my Mother.

I am satisfied in Nature,

Whose motiue in this case should stirre me most

To my Reuenge. But in my termes of Honor

I stand aloofe, and will no reconcilement,

Till by some elder Masters of knowne Honor,

I haue a voyce, and president of peace

To keepe my name vngorg'd. But till that time,

I do receiue your offer'd loue like loue,

And wil not wrong it.

I do embrace it freely,

And will this Brothers wager frankely play.

Giue vs the Foyles: Come on.

Come one for me.

Ile be your foile Laertes, in mine ignorance,

Your Skill shall like a Starre i'th'darkest night,

Sticke fiery off indeede.

You mocke me Sir.

No by this hand.

Giue them the Foyles yong Osricke,

Cousen Hamlet, you know the wager.

Verie well my Lord,

Your Grace hath laide the oddes a'th'weaker side.

I do not feare it, / I haue seene you both:

But since he is better'd, we haue therefore oddes.

This is too heauy, / Let me see another.

This likes me well, / These Foyles haue all a length.

I my good Lord.

Prepare to play.

Set me the Stopes of wine vpon that Table:

If Hamlet giue the first, or second hit,

Or quit in answer of the third exchange,

Let all the Battlements their Ordinance fire,

The King shal drinke to Hamlets better breath,

And in the Cup an vnion shal he throw

Richer then that, which foure successiue Kings

In Denmarkes Crowne haue worne. / Giue me the Cups,

And let the Kettle to the Trumpets speake,

The Trumpet to the Cannoneer without,

The Cannons to the Heauens, the Heauen to Earth,

Now the King drinkes to Hamlet. Come, begin,

And you the Iudges beare a wary eye.

Come on sir.

Come on sir.

They play.

One.

No.

Iudgement.

A hit, a very palpable hit.

Trumpets sound, and shot goes off.

Well: againe.

Stay, giue me drinke. / Hamlet, this Pearle is thine,

Here's to thy health. Giue him the cup,

Ile play this bout first, set by a-while.

Come:

Another hit; what say you?

A touch, a touch, I do confesse.

Our Sonne shall win.

He's fat, and scant of breath.

Heere's a Napkin, rub thy browes,

The Queene Carowses to thy fortune, Hamlet.

Good Madam.

Gertrude, do not drinke.

I will my Lord; / I pray you pardon me.

It is the poyson'd Cup, it is too late.

I dare not drinke yet Madam, / By and by.

Come, let me wipe thy face.

My Lord, Ile hit him now.

I do not thinke't.

And yet 'tis almost 'gainst my conscience.

Come for the third. /Laertes, you but dally,

I pray you passe with your best violence,

I am affear'd you make a wanton of me.

Say you so? Come on.

Play.

Nothing neither way.

Haue at you now.

In scuffling they change Rapiers.

Part them, they are incens'd.

Nay come, againe.

Looke to the Queene there hoa.

They bleed on both sides. How is't my Lord?

How is't Laertes?

Why as a Woodcocke / To mine Sprindge, Osricke,

I am iustly kill'd with mine owne Treacherie.

How does the Queene?

She sounds to see them bleede.

No, no, the drinke, the drinke. / Oh my deere Hamlet,

the drinke, the drinke, / I am poyson'd.

Oh Villany! How? Let the doore be lock'd.

Treacherie, seeke it out.

It is heere Hamlet. / Hamlet, thou art slaine,

No Medicine in the world can do thee good.

In thee, there is not halfe an houre of life;

The Treacherous Instrument is in thy hand,

Vnbated and envenom'd: the foule practise

Hath turn'd it selfe on me. Loe, heere I lye,

Neuer to rise againe: Thy Mothers poyson'd:

I can no more, the King, the King's too blame.

The point envenom'd too,

Then venome to thy worke.

Treason, Treason.

O yet defend me Friends, I am but hurt.

Heere thou incestuous, murdrous, / Damned Dane,

Drinke off this Potion:

Is thy Vnion heere?

Follow my Mother.

King Dyes.

He is iustly seru'd.

It is a poyson temp'red by himselfe:

Exchange forgiuenesse with me, Noble Hamlet;

Mine and my Fathers death come not vpon thee,

Nor thine on me.

Dyes.

Heauen make thee free of it, I follow thee.

I am dead Horatio, wretched Queene adiew,

You that looke pale, and tremble at this chance,

That are but Mutes or audience to this acte:

Had I but time (as this fell Sergeant death

Is strick'd in his Arrest) oh I could tell you.

But let it be: Horatio, I am dead,

Thou liu'st, report me and my causes right

To the vnsatisfied.

Neuer beleeue it.

I am more an Antike Roman then a Dane:

Heere's yet some Liquor left.

As th'art a man, giue me the Cup.

Let go, by Heauen Ile haue't.

Oh good Horatio, what a wounded name,

(Things standing thus vnknowne) shall liue behind me.

If thou did'st euer hold me in thy heart,

Absent thee from felicitie awhile,

And in this harsh world draw thy breath in paine,

To tell my Storie.

March afarre off, and shout within.

What warlike noyse is this? Enter Osricke.

Yong Fortinbras, with conquest come frõ Poland

To th' Ambassadors of England giues

rhis warlike volly.

O I dye Horatio:

The potent poyson quite ore-crowes my spirit,

I cannot liue to heare the Newes from England,

But I do prophesie th'election lights

On Fortinbras, he ha's my dying voyce,

So tell him with the occurrents more and lesse,

Which haue solicited. The rest is silence. O, o, o, o.

Now cracke a Noble heart: / Goodnight sweet Prince,

And flights of Angels sing thee to thy rest,

Why do's the Drumme come hither?

Drumme, Colours, and Attendants.

Where is this sight?

What is it ye would see;

If ought of woe, or wonder, cease your search.

His quarry cries on hauocke. Oh proud death,

What feast is toward in thine eternall Cell.

That thou so many Princes, at a shoote,

So bloodily hast strooke.

The sight is dismall,

And our affaires from England come too late,

The eares are senselesse that should giue vs hearing,

To tell him his command'ment is fulfill'd,

That Rosincrance and Guildensterne are dead:

Where should we haue our thankes?

Not from his mouth,

Had it th'abilitie of life to thanke you:

He neuer gaue command'ment for their death.

But since so iumpe vpon this bloodie question,

You from the Polake warres, and you from England

Are heere arriued. Giue order that these bodies

High on a stage be placed to the view,

And let me speake to th'yet vnknowing world,

How these things came about. So shall you heare

Of carnall, bloudie, and vnnaturall acts,

Of accidentall iudgements, casuall slaughters

Of death's put on by cunning, and forc'd cause,

And in this vpshot, purposes mistooke,

Falne on the Inuentors heads. All this can I

Truly deliuer.

Let vs hast to heare it,

And call the Noblest to the Audience.

For me, with sorrow, I embrace my Fortune,

I haue some Rites of memory in this Kingdome,

Which are ro claime, my vantage doth / Inuite me,

Of that I shall haue alwayes cause to speake,

And from his mouth / Whose voyce will draw on more:

But let this same be presently perform'd,

Euen whiles mens mindes are wilde, / Lest more mischance

On plots, and errors happen.

Let foure Captaines

Beare Hamlet like a Soldier to the Stage,

For he was likely, had he beene put on

To haue prou'd most royally: / And for his passage,

The Souldiours Musicke, and the rites of Warre

Speake lowdly for him.

Take vp the body; Such a sight as this

Becomes the Field, but heere shewes much amis.

Go, bid the Souldiers shoote.

Ordenance are shot off.

Is she to be buried in Christian burial

when she wilfully seeks her own salvation?

I tell thee she is. Therefore make her

grave straight. The crowner hath sat on her, and finds

it Christian burial.

How can that be, unless she drowned

herself in her own defence?

Why, 'tis found so.

It must be se offendendo. It cannot be else.

For here lies the point: if I drown myself wittingly, it

argues an act, and an act hath three branches – it is to

act, to do, and to perform. Argal, she drowned herself

wittingly.

Nay, but hear you, Goodman Delver.

Give me leave. Here lies the water – good.

Here stands the man – good. If the man go to this water

and drown himself, it is, will he nill he, he goes, mark

you that. But if the water come to him and drown him,

he drowns not himself. Argal, he that is not guilty 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 been a gentlewoman, she should have been buried

out o' Christian burial.

Why, there thou sayst. And the more pity

that great folk should have countenance in this world to

drown or hang themselves more than their even-Christian.

Come, my spade. There is no ancient gentlemen

but gardeners, ditchers, and grave-makers. They

hold up 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

understand the Scripture? The Scripture says Adam

digged. Could he dig without arms? I'll put another

question to thee. If thou answerest me not to the purpose,

confess thyself –

Go to!

What is he that builds stronger than

either the mason, the shipwright, or the carpenter?

The gallows-maker, for that frame

outlives a thousand tenants.

I like thy wit well, in good faith. The

gallows does well. But how does it well? It does well to

those that do ill. Now thou dost ill to say the gallows is

built stronger than the church. Argal, the gallows may

do well to thee. To't again, come.

Who builds stronger than a mason, a

shipwright, 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 dull ass will not mend his pace with beating. And

when you are asked this question next, say ‘ a grave-maker.’

The houses he makes lasts till doomsday. Go,

get thee in, and fetch me a stoup of liquor.

(sings) In youth, when I did love, did love,

Methought it was very sweet

To contract – O – the time for – a – my behove,

O, methought there – a – was nothing – a – meet.

Has this fellow no feeling of his business? 'A

sings in grave-making.

Custom hath made it in him a property of

easiness.

'Tis e'en so. The hand of little employment

hath the daintier sense.

(sings)

But age with his stealing steps

Hath clawed me in his clutch,

And hath shipped me into the land,

As if I had never been such.

That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing

once. How the knave jowls it to the ground, as if 'twere

Cain's jawbone, that did the first murder! This might be

the pate of a politician, which this ass now o'erreaches;

one that would circumvent God, might it not?

It might, my lord.

Or of a courtier, which could say ‘ Good morrow,

sweet lord! How dost thou, sweet lord?’ This

might be my Lord Such-a-one, that praised 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, chopless,

and knocked about the mazzard with a sexton's

spade. Here's fine revolution, an we had the trick to

see't. Did these bones cost no more the breeding but

to play at loggats with them? Mine ache to think on't.

(sings)

A pickaxe and a spade, a spade,

For and a shrouding sheet.

O, a pit of clay for to be made

For such a guest is meet.

There's another. Why may not that be the skull

of a lawyer? Where be his quiddities now, his quillets,

his cases, his tenures, and his tricks? Why does he

suffer this mad knave now to knock him about the

sconce with a dirty shovel, and will not tell him of his

action of battery? Hum! This fellow might be in's

time a great buyer of land, with his statutes, his recognizances,

his fines, his double vouchers, his recoveries.

Is this the fine of his fines, and the recovery of his

recoveries, to have his fine pate full of fine dirt? Will

his vouchers vouch him no more of his purchases, and

double ones too, than the length and breadth of a pair

of indentures? The very conveyances of his lands will

scarcely lie in this box, and must th' inheritor himself

have 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 which seek out assurance

in that. I will speak to this fellow. – Whose

grave's this, sirrah?

Mine, sir.

(sings) O, a pit of clay for to be made

For such a guest is meet.

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 do not lie in't, and yet it is mine.

Thou dost lie in't, to be in't and say it is thine.

'Tis for the dead, not 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.

How absolute the knave is! We must speak by

the card, or equivocation will undo us. By the Lord,

Horatio, this three years I have took note of it, the age

is grown so picked that the toe of the peasant comes so

near the heel of the courtier he galls his kibe. – How

long hast thou been grave-maker?

Of all the days i'th' year, I came to't that

day that our last King Hamlet overcame Fortinbras.

How long is that since?

Cannot you tell that? Every fool can tell

that. It was that very day that young Hamlet was born –

he that is mad, and sent into England.

Ay, marry, why was he sent into England?

Why, because 'a was mad. 'A shall recover

his wits there. Or, if '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?

Why, here in Denmark. I have been

sexton here, man and boy, thirty years.

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

Faith, if 'a be not rotten before 'a die, as

we have many pocky corses nowadays that will scarce

hold the laying in, 'a will last you some eight year or

nine year. 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 out water a great while, and your

water is a sore decayer of your whoreson dead body.

Here's a skull now hath lien 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 Rhenish on my head once. This

same skull, sir, was, sir, Yorick's skull, the King's jester.

This?

E'en that.

Let me see. Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him,

Horatio. A fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy.

He hath bore me on his back a thousand times. And

now how abhorred in my imagination it is! My gorge

rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I

know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? Your

gambols, your songs, your flashes of merriment that

were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now to

mock your own grinning? Quite chop-fallen? Now get

you to my lady's table and tell her, let her paint an inch

thick, to this favour she must come. Make her laugh at

that. Prithee, 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!

E'en so, my lord.

To what base uses we may return, Horatio! Why

may not imagination trace the noble dust of Alexander

till 'a find it stopping a bunghole?

'Twere to consider too curiously to consider so.

No, faith, not a jot. But to follow him thither

with modesty enough, and likelihood to lead it; as thus:

Alexander died, Alexander was buried, Alexander

returneth to dust; the dust is earth; of earth we make

loam; and why of that loam whereto he was converted

might they not stop a beer barrel?

Imperious Caesar, dead and turned to clay,

Might stop a hole to keep the wind away.

O, that that earth which kept the world in awe

Should patch a wall t' expel the winter's flaw!

But soft, but soft awhile!

Here comes the King,

The Queen, the courtiers. Who is this they follow?

And with such maimed rites? This doth betoken

The corse they follow did with desperate hand

Fordo it own life. 'Twas of some estate.

Couch we awhile, and mark.

What ceremony else?

That is Laertes, a very noble youth. Mark.

What ceremony else?

Her obsequies have been as far enlarged

As we have warranty. Her death was doubtful,

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

She should in ground unsanctified have lodged

Till the last trumpet. For charitable prayers,

Shards, flints, and pebbles should be thrown on her.

Yet here she is allowed her virgin crants,

Her maiden strewments, and the bringing home

Of bell and burial.

Must there no more be done?

No more be done.

We should profane the service of the dead

To sing a requiem and such rest to her

As to peace-parted souls.

Lay her i'th' earth,

And from her fair and unpolluted flesh

May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest,

A ministering angel shall my sister be

When thou liest howling.

What, the fair Ophelia?

Sweets to the sweet! Farewell.

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

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

And not have strewed thy grave.

O, treble woe

Fall ten times double on that cursed head

Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense

Deprived thee of! Hold off the earth awhile,

Till I have caught her once more in mine arms.

Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead

Till of this flat a mountain you have made

T' o'ertop old Pelion or the skyish head

Of blue Olympus.

(coming forward)

What is he whose grief

Bears such an emphasis, whose phrase of sorrow

Conjures the wandering stars, and makes them stand

Like wonder-wounded hearers? This is I,

Hamlet the Dane.

The devil take thy soul!

Thou prayest not well.

I prithee take thy fingers from my throat.

For, though I am not splenitive and rash,

Yet have I in me something dangerous,

Which let thy wisdom fear. Hold off thy hand.

Pluck them asunder.

Hamlet, Hamlet!

Gentlemen!

Good my lord, be quiet.

Why, I will fight with him upon this theme

Until my eyelids will no longer wag.

O my son, what theme?

I loved Ophelia. Forty thousand brothers

Could not with all their quantity of love

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

O, he is mad, Laertes.

For love of God, forbear him.

'Swounds, show me what thou't do.

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

Woo't drink up eisel? Eat a crocodile?

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

To outface me with leaping in her grave?

Be buried quick with her, and so will I.

And if thou prate of mountains, let them throw

Millions of acres on us, till our ground,

Singeing his pate against the burning zone,

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

I'll rant as well as thou.

This is mere madness.

And thus a while the fit will work on him.

Anon, as patient as the female dove

When that her golden couplets are disclosed,

His silence will sit drooping.

Hear you, sir.

What is the reason that you use me thus?

I loved you ever. But it is no matter.

Let Hercules himself do what he may,

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

I pray thee, good Horatio, wait upon him.

(to Laertes)

Strengthen your patience in our last night's speech.

We'll put the matter to the present push.

Good Gertrude, set some watch over your son.

This grave shall have a living monument.

An hour of quiet shortly shall we see.

Till then in patience our proceeding be.

So much for this, sir. Now shall you see the other.

You do remember all the circumstance?

Remember it, my lord!

Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting

That would not let me sleep. Methought I lay

Worse than the mutines in the bilboes. Rashly,

And praised be rashness for it – let us know

Our indiscretion sometime serves us well

When our deep plots do pall, and that should learn us

There's a divinity that shapes our ends,

Rough-hew them how we will –

That is most certain.

Up from my cabin,

My sea-gown scarfed about me, in the dark

Groped I to find out them, had my desire,

Fingered their packet, and in fine withdrew

To mine own room again, making so bold,

My fears forgetting manners, to unseal

Their grand commission; where I found, Horatio –

Ah, royal knavery! – an exact command,

Larded with many several sorts of reasons,

Importing Denmark's health, and England's too,

With, ho! such bugs and goblins in my life,

That on the supervise, no leisure bated,

No, not to stay the grinding of the axe,

My head should be struck off.

Is't possible?

Here's the commission. Read it at more leisure.

But wilt thou hear now how I did proceed?

I beseech you.

Being thus be-netted round with villainies,

Or I could make a prologue to my brains

They had begun the play. I sat me down,

Devised a new commission, wrote it fair.

I once did hold it, as our statists do,

A baseness to write fair, and laboured much

How to forget that learning. But, sir, now

It did me yeoman's service. Wilt thou know

Th' effect of what I wrote?

Ay, good my lord.

An earnest conjuration from the King,

As England was his faithful tributary,

As love between them like the palm might flourish,

As peace should still her wheaten garland wear

And stand a comma 'tween their amities,

And many suchlike as's of great charge,

That on the view and knowing of these contents,

Without debatement further, more or less,

He should those bearers put to sudden death,

Not shriving time allowed.

How was this sealed?

Why, even in that was heaven ordinant.

I had my father's signet in my purse,

Which was the model of that Danish seal,

Folded the writ up in the form of th' other,

Subscribed it, gave't th' impression, placed it safely,

The changeling never known. Now, the next day

Was our sea-fight, and what to this was sequent

Thou knowest already.

So Guildenstern and Rosencrantz go to't.

Why, man, they did make love to this employment.

They are not near my conscience. Their defeat

Does by their own insinuation grow.

'Tis dangerous when the baser nature comes

Between the pass and fell incensed points

Of mighty opposites.

Why, what a king is this!

Does it not, think thee, stand me now upon –

He that hath killed my King and whored my mother,

Popped in between th' election and my hopes,

Thrown out his angle for my proper life,

And with such cozenage – is't not perfect conscience

To quit him with this arm? And is't not to be damned

To let this canker of our nature come

In further evil?

It must be shortly known to him from England

What is the issue of the business there.

It will be short. The interim is mine;

And a man's life's no more than to say ‘one'.

But I am very sorry, good Horatio,

That to Laertes I forgot myself.

For by the image of my cause I see

The portraiture of his. I'll court his favours.

But, sure, the bravery of his grief did put me

Into a towering passion.

Peace, who comes here?

Your lordship is right welcome back to Denmark.

I humbly thank you, sir. (aside to Horatio) Dost

know this waterfly?

(aside to Hamlet)

No, my good lord.

(aside to Horatio)

Thy state is the more gracious,

for 'tis a vice to know him. He hath much land, and

fertile. Let a beast be lord of beasts, and his crib shall

stand at the king's mess. 'Tis a chough, but, as I say,

spacious in the possession of dirt.

Sweet lord, if your lordship were at leisure, I

should impart a thing to you from his majesty.

I will receive it, sir, with all diligence of spirit.

Put your bonnet to his right use. 'Tis for the head.

I thank your lordship, it is very hot.

No, believe me, 'tis very cold. The wind is

northerly.

It is indifferent cold, my lord, indeed.

But yet methinks it is very sultry and hot for my

complexion.

Exceedingly, my lord. It is very sultry, as 'twere

– I cannot tell how. But, my lord, his majesty bade me

signify to you that 'a has laid a great wager on your head.

Sir, this is the matter –

I beseech you remember.

Nay, good my lord. For mine ease, in good faith.

Sir, here is newly come to court Laertes; believe me,

an absolute gentleman, full of most excellent differences,

of very soft society and great showing. Indeed, to speak

feelingly of him, he is the card or calendar of gentry.

For you shall find in him the continent of what part a

gentleman would see.

Sir, his definement suffers no perdition in you,

though, I know, to divide him inventorially would dizzy

th' arithmetic of memory, and yet but yaw neither in

respect of his quick sail. But, in the verity of extolment,

I take him to be a soul of great article, and his infusion

of such dearth and rareness as, to make true diction of

him, his semblable is his mirror, and who else would

trace him, his umbrage, nothing more.

Your lordship speaks most infallibly of him.

The concernancy, sir? Why do we wrap the

gentleman in our more rawer breath?

Sir?

Is't not possible to understand in another

tongue? You will to't, sir, really.

What imports the nomination of this

gentleman?

Of Laertes?

(aside to Hamlet)

His purse is empty already.

All's golden words are spent.

Of him, sir.

I know you are not ignorant –

I would you did, sir. Yet, in faith, if you did, it

would not much approve me. Well, sir?

You are not ignorant of what excellence Laertes

is –

I dare not confess that, lest I should compare

with him in excellence. But to know a man well were to

know himself.

I mean, sir, for his weapon. But in the imputation

laid on him by them, in his meed he's unfellowed.

What's his weapon?

Rapier and dagger.

That's two of his weapons. But, well!

The King, sir, hath wagered with him six Barbary

horses, against the which he has impawned, as I take it,

six French rapiers and poniards, with their assigns, as

girdle, hangers, and so. Three of the carriages, in faith,

are very dear to fancy, very responsive to the hilts, most

delicate carriages, and of very liberal conceit.

What call you the carriages?

(aside to Hamlet)

I knew you must be edified

by the margent ere you had done.

The carriages, sir, are the hangers.

The phrase would be more germane to the

matter it we could carry a cannon by our sides. I would

it might be ‘ hangers ’ till then. But on! Six Barbary

horses against six French swords, their assigns, and

three liberal-conceited carriages. That's the French bet

against the Danish. Why is this all impawned, as you

call it?

The King, sir, hath laid, sir, that in a dozen

passes between yourself and him he shall not exceed you

three hits. He hath laid on twelve for nine; and it would

come to immediate trial if your lordship would vouchsafe

the answer.

How if I answer no?

I mean, my lord, the opposition of your person

in trial.

Sir, I will walk here in the hall. If it please his

majesty, it is the breathing time of day with me. Let the

foils be brought, the gentleman willing, and the King

hold his purpose, I will win for him an I can, If not, I

will gain nothing but my shame and the odd hits.

Shall I redeliver you e'en so?

To this effect, sir, after what flourish your

nature will.

I commend my duty to your lordship.

Yours, yours.

He does well to commend it himself. There are no

tongues else for's turn.

This lapwing runs away with the shell on his

head.

'A did comply, sir, with his dug, before 'a sucked

it. Thus has he, and many more of the same bevy that I

know the drossy age dotes on, only got the tune of the

time and, out of an habit of encounter, a kind of yeasty

collection, which carries them through and through the

most fanned and winnowed opinions; and do but blow

them to their trial, the bubbles are out.

My lord, his majesty commended him to you by

young Osrick, who brings back to him that you attend

him in the hall. He sends to know if your pleasure hold

to play with Laertes, or that you will take longer time.

I am constant to my purposes. They follow the

King's pleasure. If his fitness speaks, mine is ready,

now or whensoever, provided I be so able as now.

The King and Queen and all are coming down.

In happy time.

The Queen desires you to use some gentle entertainment

to Laertes before you fall to play.

She well instructs me.

You will lose this wager, my lord.

I do not think so. Since he went into France I

have been in continual practice. I shall win at the odds.

But thou wouldst not think how ill all's here about my

heart. But it is no matter.

Nay, good my lord –

It is but foolery. But it is such a kind of gaingiving

as would perhaps trouble a woman.

If your mind dislike anything, obey it. I will

forestall their repair hither and say you are not fit.

Not a whit. We defy augury. There is special

providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, 'tis not

to come. If it be not to come, it will be now. If it be not

now, yet it will come. The readiness is all. Since no man

knows of aught he leaves, what is't to leave betimes?

Let be.

Come, Hamlet, come, and take this hand from me.

Give me your pardon, sir. I have done you wrong.

But pardon't, as you are a gentleman.

This presence knows, and you must needs have heard,

How I am punished with a sore distraction.

What I have done

That might your nature, honour, and exception

Roughly awake, I here proclaim was madness.

Was't Hamlet wronged Laertes? Never Hamlet.

If Hamlet from himself be ta'en away,

And when he's not himself does wrong Laertes,

Then Hamlet does it not. Hamlet denies it.

Who does it then? His madness. If't be so,

Hamlet is of the faction that is wronged.

His madness is poor Hamlet's enemy.

Sir, in this audience,

Let my disclaiming from a purposed evil

Free me so far in your most generous thoughts

That I have shot mine arrow o'er the house

And hurt my brother.

I am satisfied in nature,

Whose motive in this case should stir me most

To my revenge. But in my terms of honour

I stand aloof, and will no reconcilement

Till by some elder masters of known honour

I have a voice and precedent of peace

To keep my name ungored. But till that time

I do receive your offered love like love,

And will not wrong it.

I embrace it freely,

And will this brothers' wager frankly play.

Give us the foils. Come on.

Come, one for me.

I'll be your foil, Laertes. In mine ignorance

Your skill shall, like a star i'th' darkest night,

Stick fiery off indeed.

You mock me, sir.

No, by this hand.

Give them the foils, young Osrick. Cousin Hamlet,

You know the wager?

Very well, my lord.

Your grace has laid the odds o'th' weaker side.

I do not fear it. I have seen you both.

But since he is bettered, we have therefore odds.

This is too heavy. Let me see another.

This likes me well. These foils have all a length?

Ay, my good lord.

Set me the stoups of wine upon that table.

If Hamlet give the first or second hit,

Or quit in answer of the third exchange,

Let all the battlements their ordnance fire.

The King shall drink to Hamlet's better breath,

And in the cup an union shall he throw

Richer than that which four successive kings

In Denmark's crown have worn. Give me the cups,

And let the kettle to the trumpet speak,

The trumpet to the cannoneer without,

The cannons to the heavens, the heaven to earth,

‘ Now the King drinks to Hamlet.’ Come, begin.

(trumpets the while)

And you, the judges, bear a wary eye.

Come on, sir.

Come, my lord.

One.

No.

Judgement?

A hit, a very palpable hit.

Well, again.

Stay, give me drink. Hamlet, this pearl is thine.

Here's to thy health. Give him the cup.

I'll play this bout first; set it by awhile.

Come.

Another hit. What say you?

A touch, a touch. I do confess't.

Our son shall win.

He's fat and scant of breath.

Here, Hamlet, take my napkin. Rub thy brows.

The Queen carouses to thy fortune, Hamlet.

Good madam!

Gertrude, do not drink.

I will, my lord. I pray you, pardon me.

(aside)

It is the poisoned cup. It is too late.

I dare not drink yet, madam. By and by.

Come, let me wipe thy face.

(aside to the King)

My lord, I'll hit him now.

(aside to Laertes)

I do not think't.

(aside)

And yet it is almost against my conscience.

Come for the third, Laertes. You do but dally.

I pray you, pass with your best violence.

I am afeard you make a wanton of me.

Say you so? Come on.

Nothing neither way.

Have at you now!

Part them. They are incensed.

Nay, come. Again!

Look to the Queen there. Ho!

They bleed on both sides. How is it, my lord?

How is't, Laertes?

Why, as a woodcock to mine own springe, Osrick.

I am justly killed with mine own treachery.

How does the Queen?

She swounds to see them bleed.

No, no, the drink, the drink! O my dear Hamlet!

The drink, the drink! I am poisoned.

O, villainy! Ho! Let the door be locked.

Treachery! Seek it out.

It is here, Hamlet. Hamlet, thou art slain.

No medicine in the world can do thee good.

In thee there is not half an hour's life.

The treacherous instrument is in thy hand,

Unbated and envenomed. The foul practice

Hath turned itself on me. Lo, here I lie,

Never to rise again. Thy mother's poisoned.

I can no more. The King, the King's to blame.

The point envenomed too?

Then, venom, to thy work.

Treason! Treason!

O, yet defend me, friends. I am but hurt.

Here, thou incestuous, murderous, damned Dane,

Drink off this potion.

Is thy union here?

Follow my mother.

He is justly served.

It is a poison tempered by himself.

Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet.

Mine and my father's death come not upon thee,

Nor thine on me!

Heaven make thee free of it! I follow thee.

I am dead, Horatio. Wretched Queen, adieu!

You that look pale and tremble at this chance,

That are but mutes or audience to this act,

Had I but time – as this fell sergeant, Death,

Is strict in his arrest – O, I could tell you –

But let it be. Horatio, I am dead.

Thou livest. Report me and my cause aright

To the unsatisfied.

Never believe it.

I am more an antique Roman than a Dane.

Here's yet some liquor left.

As th' art a man,

Give me the cup. Let go. By heaven, I'll ha't!

O God, Horatio, what a wounded name,

Things standing thus unknown, shall I leave behind me!

If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart,

Absent thee from felicity awhile,

And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain,

To tell my story.

What warlike noise is this?

Young Fortinbras, with conquest come from Poland,

To the ambassadors of England gives

This warlike volley.

O, I die, Horatio!

The potent poison quite o'ercrows my spirit.

I cannot live to hear the news from England.

But I do prophesy th' election lights

On Fortinbras. He has my dying voice.

So tell him, with th' occurrents, more and less,

Which have solicited – the rest is silence.

Now cracks a noble heart. Good night, sweet Prince,

And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!

(march within)

Why does the drum come hither?

Where is this sight?

What is it you would see?

If aught of woe or wonder, cease your search.

This quarry cries on havoc. O proud Death,

What feast is toward in thine eternal cell

That thou so many princes at a shot

So bloodily hast struck?

The sight is dismal,

And our affairs from England come too late.

The ears are senseless that should give us hearing,

To tell him his commandment is fulfilled,

That Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead.

Where should we have our thanks?

Not from his mouth,

Had it th' ability of life to thank you.

He never gave commandment for their death.

But since, so jump upon this bloody question,

You from the Polack wars, and you from England,

Are here arrived, give order that these bodies

High on a stage be placed to the view.

And let me speak to th' yet unknowing world

How these things came about. So shall you hear

Of carnal, bloody, and unnatural acts,

Of accidental judgements, casual slaughters,

Of deaths put on by cunning and forced cause,

And, in this upshot, purposes mistook

Fallen on th' inventors' heads. All this can I

Truly deliver.

Let us haste to hear it,

And call the noblest to the audience.

For me, with sorrow I embrace my fortune.

I have some rights of memory in this kingdom,

Which now to claim my vantage doth invite me.

Of that I shall have also cause to speak,

And from his mouth whose voice will draw on more.

But let this same be presently performed,

Even while men's minds are wild, lest more mischance

On plots and errors happen.

Let four captains

Bear Hamlet like a soldier to the stage.

For he was likely, had he been put on,

To have proved most royal. And for his passage

The soldiers' music and the rites of war

Speak loudly for him.

Take up the bodies. Such a sight as this

Becomes the field, but here shows much amiss.

Go, bid the soldiers shoot.