Polonius.

(To Ophelia) Here, take this book; he'll think you're at your pray❜rs.

(To the King) Come, let's be off; I hear him on the

stairs.

[Exeunt King and Polonius.

Enter HAMLET.

SONG.-HAMLET.

(Tune-" Here we go up, up, up.")

When a man becomes tir'd of his life,
The question is, " to be, or not to be?"
For before he dare finish the strife,

His reflections most serious ought to be.
When his troubles too numerous grow,
And he knows of no method to mend them,
Had he best bear them tamely, or no?
Or by stoutly opposing them end them?

Ri tol de rol, &c.

To die is to sleep-nothing more-
And by sleeping to say we end sorrow,
And pain, and ten thousand things more-
O, I wish it were my turn to-morrow!
But, perchance, in that sleep we may dream,
For we dream in our beds very often-
Now, however capricious 't may seem,
I've no notions of dreams in a coffin.

Ri tol de rol, &c.

'Tis the doubt of our ending all snugly
That makes us with life thus dispute;
Or who'd bear with a wife old and ugly,
Or the length of a chancery suit?
Or who would bear fardels, and take

Kicks, cuffs, frowns, and many an odd thing,
When he might his own quietus make,
And end all his cares with a bodkin?

Ri tol de rol, &c.

Truly, death is a fine thing to talk of,

But I'll leave it to men of more learning;
For my own part, I've no wish to walk off,
For I find there's no chance of returning.-
After all, 'tis the pleasanter way,

To bear up as we can 'gainst our sorrow:

So if things go not easy to-day,

Let us hope they'll go better to-morrow.

Ri tol de rol, &c.

Hamlet.

Oh, ho! Ophelia here. I'll shew my airs.- (Aside.) Think of my pranks, Ophelia, in your pray❜rs.

Ophelia.

I hope you're well, my Lord. (Aside) I fear he'll bite (c).

Hamlet.

Methinks I'm something better, though not quite.

Ophelia.

I've got your present here; I'll now return it,
Tho' oft I've had an itcnhig, Sir, to burn it:
Pray take it back.

Hamlet.

What is't you mean?

Ophelia.

The pair

Of worsted garters from the Easter fair.

You know you gave them, and with words bewitching, Last week when I was frying in the kitchen.

I've left them ever since upon the shelf,

In hopes you'd come and put them on yourself;
But since you did not, they're not worth a penny:
So take them back.

Let me tell you, Miss Ophelia, your behaviour's very rude, And your whims and freaks and fancies ought in time to be

subdu'd;

So if my advice will better you, to give it 'tis my duty:Imprimis :-let your honesty discourse not with your beauty. Won't you, won't you, won't you to a nunnery go?

I told you once I lov'd you; but 'twas easy to perceive
That I didn't care a fig for you, as now you will believe.
In future, trust to none of us; we're arrant knaves at best;
And I (as soon you'll find) am no better than the rest.
Won't you, won't you, &c.

If you marry, (just to comfort you,) this plague take for

portion,

That calumny will twig you, tho' you act with greatest caution: But get some fool to marry you, if disengag'd your heart is; I shall not tell the reason-but 'twere better for both parties. Won't you, won't you, &c.

I've lately been inform'd that you paint both red and white: Heav'n gave you one face, and to make another is not right. Your pranks have made me mad-Marriage bells no more shall jingle—

The married may remain so, but the rest shall all keep single. Won't you, won't you, &c.

Ophelia.

O, what a pity such a charming lad

[Exit Hamlet.

Should, at his time of life, go roaring mad!
He says he loves me not-I'll call him in again,
And his affections try to win again.

RECITATIVE (accompanied,) and DUETT (d).

HAMLET and OPHELIA.

RECITATIVE.

Ophelia.

Dear Hamlet, pray come back. (Enter Hamlet.) I'm your's

for ever.

Hamlet.

And shall we never part, love?

(Together.)

Ah! no, never!

DUETT.

(Tune-" I've kiss'd and I've prattled.”)

Hamlet.

I've made love to fifty young women in Denmark,
And chang'd them as oft, d'ye see:

But if she would promise to love me-why, then mark-
Ophelia's the maid for me.

Ophelia.

I've kiss'd and I've prattled with fifty young fellows,
And chang'd them as oft, d'ye see:

But if he would not be so devilish jealous,
Young Hamlet's the lad for me.

Hamlet.

Your father, I know, doesn't much like the match;
But we in our choice will be free:

I'm a prince-and he ought to be glad of the catch,
For Ophelia's the maid for me.