Guil. The King, Sir

Ham. Ay, Sir, what of him?

Guil. Is, in his retirement, marvellous dislemper'd→ Ham. With drink, Sir?

1

Gull. No, my Lord, with choler.

Ham. Your wifdom fhould fhew itself more rich, to fignify this to his Doctor; for, for me to put him to his purgation, would, perhaps, plunge him into more choler.

Guil. Good my Lord, put your discourse into some frame, and start not fo wildly from my affair.

Ham. I am tame, Sir.Pronounce.

Guil. The Queen your mother, in most great affiction of fpirit, hath fent me to you.

Ham. You are welcome.

Guil. Nay, good my Lord, this Courtefy is not of the right Breed. If it fhall please you to make me a wholesome anfwer, I will do your mother's commandment; if not, your pardon and my return fhall be the end of my business.

Ham. Sir, I cannot.

Guil. Whit, my Lord?

Ham. Make you a wholesome answer: my wit's difeas'd. But, Sir, fuch anfwer as I can make, you fhall command; or, rather, as you fay, my mother. Therefore no more but to the matter. My mother, you fay

Rof. Then thus fhe fays. Your behaviour hath ftruck her into amazement, and admiration.

Ham. Oh wonderful fon, that can fo aftonish a mother! But is there no fequel at the heels of this mo> ther's admiration?

1

Rof. She defires to speak with you in her closet, ere you go to bed.

9 With drink, Sir?] Hamlet unkle's love of drink shall not be takes particular care that his forgotten.

Ham.

Ham. We fhall obey, were fhe ten times our mother. Have you any further trade with us?

Rof. My Lord, you once did love me.

Ham. So I do ftill, by thefe pickers and ftealers. Rof. Good my Lord, what is your caufe of diftemper? You do, furely, bar the door of your own liberty, if you deny your griefs to your friend. Ham. Sir, I lack advancement.

Rof. How can that be, when you have the voice of the King himfelf, for your fucceffion, in Denmark? Ham. Ay, but while the grafs grows-the Proverb is fomething mufty.

Enter one, with a Recorder.

To withdraw

Oh, the Recorders; let me fee one.
with you-Why do you go about to recover the wind
of me, as if you would drive me into a toile?

Guil. Oh my Lord, if my duty be too ball, my love is too unmannerly.

Ham. I do not well understand that. Will you play upon this pipe?

Guil. My Lord, I cannot.

Ham. I pray you.

Guil. Believe me, I cannot.

Ham. I do befeech you.

Guil. I know no touch of it, my Lord.

Ham. 'Tis as eafy as lying.

Govern thefe +venta

ges with your fingers and thumb, give it breath with your mouth, and it will difcourfe moft eloquent mufick. Look you, thefe are the ftops.

Guil. But thefe cannot I command to any utterance of harmony; I have not the skill.

Ham. Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you would make of me; you would play upon me, you would feem to know my ftops; you would pluck out the heart of my mystery; you would found me from my lowest note, to the top of my compass; and there is much mufick, excellent voice, in this little organ, yet cannot you make it speak. Why, do you think, that I am eafier to be play'd on than a pipe? Call me what inftrument you will, though you can God bless fret me, you cannot play upon me. you, Sir.

Enter Polonius.

Pol. My Lord, the Queen would speak with you, and presently.

Ham. Do you fee yonder cloud, that's almost in fhape of a Camel ?

Pol. By the mafs, and it's like a Camel, indeed.
Ham. Methinks it is like an Ouzle.

Pel. It is black like an Ouzle.

Ham. Or, like a Whale?

Pol. Very like a Whale.

Ham Then will I come to my mother by and by3 they fool me to the top of my bent.I will come by and by.

Pol. I will fay fo.

Ham. By and by is eafily faid. Leave me, friends.

'Tis now the very witching time of night,

[Exeunt.

When church-yards yawn, and hell itself breathes

And do fuch bitter, bufinefs as the day

Would quake to look on. Soft, now to my mo

ther

O heart, lofe not thy nature; let not ever
The Soul of Nero enter this firm bofom
Let me be cruel, but not unnatural;
I will fpeak daggers to her, but ufe none.
My tongue and foul in this be hypocrites;
How in my words foever the be shent,
? To give them feals never my foul confent!

SCENE

VIII.

Enter King, Rofincrantz, and Guildenftern.

King. I like him not, nor ftands it fafe with us
To let his madnefs range. Therefore, prepare you;
I your Commiffion will forthwith dispatch,
And he to England fhall along with you.
The terms of our eftate may not endure
Hazard so near us, as doth hourly grow

6 And do fuch BITTER bufinefs as the day

Would quake to look on-] The expreffion is almost burlesque. The old quarto reads,

And do fuch bufinefs as the BIT-
TER day

Would quake to look on.
This is a little corrupt indeed,
but much nearer Shakespear's
words, who wrote,

BETTER day, which gives the sentiment great force and dignity. At this very

time, (fays he) hell breathes out
contagion to the world, whereby
night becomes polluted and exe-
crable; the horror therefore of
this feafon fits me for a deed,
which the pure and facred day
This
would quake to look on.
is faid with great claffical propri
ety. According to ancient fu- -
perftition, night was prophane
and execrable; and day, pure
and holy.
WARBURTON.
To give them feals—] i. e.
put them in execution.

WARB.

8 Out of his Lunacies.

Gul. We will provide ourselves;
Moft holy and religious fear it is

To keep thofe many, many Bodies, fafe,
That live and fed upon your Majesty.

Ref The fingle and peculiar life is bound,
With all the ftrength and armour of the mind,
To keep itself from noyance; but much more,
9 That fpirit, on whofe weal depends and rests
The lives of many. The ceafe of Majesty
Dies not alone, but like a gulf, doth draw
What's near it with it. It's a maffy wheel
Fixt on the fummit of the highest mount,
To whofe huge fpokes ten thousand leffer things
Are mortiz'd and adjoin'd; which, when it falls,
Each small annexment, petty confequence,
Attends the boift'rous ruin. Ne'er alone
Did the King figh; but with a general groan.
King. Arm you, I pray you, to this speedy voyage;
For we will fetters put upon this fear,

Which now goes too free-footed.

Both. We will hafte us.

Enter Polonius.

[Exeunt Gentlemen.

Pol. My Lord, he's going to his mother's closet Behind the arras I'll convey myfelf

8 Out of his Lunacies.] The
old quarto's read,

Out of his Brows.
This was from the ignorance of
the first editors; as is this unne-
ceffary Alexand ine, which we
owe to the players. The poet,
I am perfuaded, wrote,

-as doth hourly grow

Out of his Lunes
i.e, is madnef, frenzy, THEOB.

I take Brows to be, properly read, Fows, which, I think, is a provincial word, for perverfe humours; which being, I fuppofe not understood, was changed to Lunacies. But of this I am not confident.

9 That perit, on whofe weal-] So the quarto. The folio gives, On whole fpirit.

Το